#/ but I guess...he'll appear after it ends

[ask-the-shiny-pokemons]

( @breed-station ) Indigo @ Wil: "Say, to be in this showbusiness, there are no exceptions of rivalry. Who might it be? And even then, rivals mostly come from friendships. Would you consider them your friend?"

"Yea, I have a rival. And he was favorite inspiration of all time until now. Oh no, here he comes."

"¡Hola, pinkface! Is this your amiigo?"

"No, I just met him for the first time. I just talking about you and-"

Diego uses Flower Trick to Wil and vanishes with sneaky jump.

"¡Adiós, amigo!"

"YEOWCH! A-anyway, I really want to be his friend somehow. But we should know each other too well…"

Diego is ready to shine!

Ask hints coming soon.

[ @breed-station ]

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Zoro is jealous of how impressed you are with another man's strength. A few insults and broken breezeblocks later, he makes sure he's the only man you have eyes on.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Roronoa Zoro is a man too busy to boast. He perceives his skills and attributes as a means to an end and not a goal in itself; achieving unmatched swordsmanship is but a method of becoming the world's greatest swordsman.

It's completely useless to waste one's potential only to earn fame and admiration. If one sees their abilities as a goal, they tend to abandon their growth once the goal is achieved, never discovering what they can really do. Therefore, boasting is a manmade border between the current state of things and the wonderful possibilities.

Or so he tells himself.

The crowd cheers again as the blue-haired boy breaks another stack of planks. Each time he adds one more obstacle, the mob of onlookers is sure that this time, he's bound to fail. They've been wrong so far.

Zoro and you have been watching the show from affair but only because you refused to walk away. Sure, on your adventures you have seen people or unimaginable skills and attributes. Nevertheless, the man on the makeshift stage is just that - a man. No Devil Fruit, no canons-for-arms or anything of this sort. Just a person with determination and years of practice.

"Damn, that's some strength," you say in awe. "It's amazing."

Zoro only scoffs, scowling while he stands with his arms crossed. "Come on, this is nothing."

"Oh, right, breaking a stack of five wooden planks with your bare fist is just a regular Tuesday, eh?"

"Definitely not for a twig like him," he answers while still glaring at the boastful plank-breaker. "A gust of wind could break his bones."

Something about his huffing and puffing doesn't sit right with you. After all, why does he care in the first place? Zoro is not the kind of person to be interested in things that are not directly connected to him. It's almost as if...

Is he jealous of the attention?

"You know what, Zoro?" When you turn to look at him, he notices the challenging glint in your eyes. You're up to no good, aren't you? "I'd love to see you try and break even one plank."

He scoffs again but this time he looks almost offended at the implication. "I wouldn't even get out of bed for one."

"That's not a good measure." You shake your head decisively. "It's already hard to make you get up." Then, an idea sparks in your thoughts - something he's sure not to reject. "Let's do it like this. If you can one-up that guy, I'll do whatever you want."

Zoro's brown eyes stare into yours with a new intensity. He seems to be trying to guess how serious you are about your promise. "Anything goes?" he asks suspiciously.

"Nothing that will tarnish my dignity." As a warning, you point your finger at him. "Or dirty my shirt."

Then, to your utmost satisfaction, he gives you a smirk beaming with confidence.

"You're going to regret this."

"I hope so," you answer.

He clenches his jaw at your frivolous tone, his mind racing in a thousand different directions at once. What do you mean you "hope to regret" your wager? What exactly do you think he'll ask of you?

No matter the answers to his questions, Zoro has found a new source of motivation inside him. He can ask anything. As nice as that sounds, and he's sure to let his imagination run amok, the more satisfying prize will be the look of awe you're bound to give him. If you're impressed with this boastful twig of a man, how dazzled will you be with Zoro when he beats him? Maybe you'll finally stop looking at other men like they're actually worth even a second of your time or a speck of your attention.

"Hey, wood boy!" Zoro exclaims at the top of his lungs while making his way through the excited crowd towards the makeshift stage. "Let's see who's stronger."

"A brave challenger appears!" The blue-haired man announces. Whispers erupt among the onlookers. "Or maybe he's stupid?" he directs his question at his fans. Then, when Zoro enters the stage, the man looks at him with a feeling of superiority smeared across his face. "I'll have you know, I'm the local champion."

Up close, the blue-haired man looks even less impressive than from the ground. He's rather scrawny compared to men of similar strength and he could definitely use a long bath. Zoro is almost offended that you'd look at this poser of a clown instead of him.

"Only local?" Zoro asks. He erupts in laughter, making his opponent's expression visibly falter. "Not much of a title. I've seen rocks bigger than this island."

The whispers turn into loud conversations as half of the crowd demands Zoro to take back his words and the other half begs for a showdown to see who's the true master between them.

"Ambitious!" the blue-haired man exclaims with fake casualness, clearly trying to hide his own uneasiness. "That's what I like to see. But I must warn you that breaking wood with the sheer power of your bare fist is neither easy nor simple. Are you sure you can manage?"

Zoro laughs again. His posture only grows with confidence while the other man seems to be becoming smaller with each of Zoro's insults. "Wood is for children."

The blue-haired man swallows nervously. Sweat trickles down his neck. "Alright then." He clasps his hands together, rubbing them to ease the arousing tension. "What do you propose?"

"Breezeblocks."

The crowd audibly gasps and you're not any different. To break something that can render someone unconscious, if not dead, without having to use much strength? Even for someone like Zoro, the suggestion seems more than audacious. True, you wanted to see him prove his bold talk but not break his hands.

But before the blue-haired man can protest or diverge the discussion, a group of eager men bring a load of breezeblocks on stage. Their eyes shine with impatience and desire to see uncommon strength as they take away the wooden boards and set up the first breezeblock for each of them to break. The hollow bricks are placed atop regular, clay bricks that the blue-haired man has used to lay the planks on.

With a light gesture of his hand, Zoro allows the apparent master to begin. The man stretches his arms and cracks his joints. Despite being visibly experienced in this art, there is a noticeable nervousness in his movements, too. As though he's not as confident as he was five minutes ago.

Measuring one or two times beforehand, the local champion slams his fists on the breezeblock. A muffled thud resounds and the crowd falls silent. Then, a loud grunt fills the tense air but not a speck of cement is lifted. The breeze block did not break but considering the agony on the man's face and the deep red of his hand, something surely did break.

Zoro laughs for the third time. Strangely enough, he seems almost suspiciously laid-back. He reaches for the blue-haired man's unbroken breezeblock and places it atop his. If the crowd was silent before, it's deathly quiet now. They don't even dare breathe, awaiting the resolution of this unforeseen wager.

His eyes meet yours and never stray as he punches the stack of breezeblock. They break, fall and crumble on the stagefloor. Zoro doesn't look phased in any way, nor does his hand look to be injured. Judging by his casual attitude, he can easily break a lot more than just two breezeblocks. Maybe one day he'll find out but not at the moment - that's not the point of his little show of strength.

Some people try to accost him or talk to him as he makes his way back to you but Zoro's usual glares and silence quickly mitigate their enthusiasm and soon the mob of onlookers just cheers among themselves.

"Alright, I'm impressed," you admit with a nod. "In capital letters."

"So, anything I want, huh?" He can't help the smile curving his lips. It's a big word that you've used - a little too big for Zoro's imagination because it too happily strayed in directions that might break his heart permanently if you reject him.

"I suppose you do deserve compensation for holding yet another title of a champion. The dreadful weight of success," you say in a dramatic tone. "Now, what is this 'anything' you've decided on?"

Truthfully, he hasn't decided yet. If this "more than friends, less than lovers" situation he has with you was a game of chess, he's just made his opening move. You played back and put him in a place where there are simply too many options to reconsider. So what choice does he have to make to have you in a checkmate?

[moonsaver]

Okay, honestly, I'm still reeling from the entire penacony quest, but here's my take on Sunday so far;

He's manipulative, obviously.

But like.. the type that's kind of hesitant from time to time because he's still sincere to a degree. At least, when it comes to his loved ones.

So, I guess that hesitance decreases a lot if you're just some nobody. Even then, Sunday does want the better for everyone, too. It just means that others may bear the brunt of it for the most part before being able to get ahold of it.

Also, at the very least, even if some people suffer, at the end Sunday believes they will reach where they want to, after. In that case, however, Sunday suffers far more than them, without actually ever reaching his own destination or idea of paradise.

However, this view is a bit distorted. Sunday believes to be "sacrificing" himself, shouldering loneliness and burdens in order to uphold everyone else's "paradise". But to the others, he's simply a tyrant overruling everyone's will with his own idea of Order.

Sunday deeply cares. He cares too much. That's kind of the problem.

A bit of self-destructing tendencies when pushed too far, I guess.

Lets ignore logic established by the quest for a second (because i literally am still reeling from it)

Imagine Sunday first discovers this possibility. He's terrified of it, but at the same time, he truly thinks this is humanity's salvage – for everyone who has deeply suffered. He thinks of you.

You who have had your fair share of pain, who confides in him late at night in the quiet of your privacy, hushed voices like silenced by a thick blanket through the wall.

You deserve to live a sweeter life. He thinks. No. You deserve more. He knows.

The first person he ever wants to step into this paradise – you.

Now, although Sunday was defeated in the end, we all know that unfortunately, our ragtag team had to wake up again because defeating him first was a dream. This means at some point, Sunday did succeed.

And after everyone wakes, you don't. You continue sleeping soundly. So does Sunday.

The rest of the world can return to their miserable, bitter lives outside of this dream; but Sunday will be damned if he's letting you go. Perhaps.. it's not a selfless wish, anymore. Perhaps at this point, Sunday desperately, selfishly, grips onto you with the latches of a sweet, deep dream. One where he was fatally destined to never reach, only to control from the waking world. Now that everyone else has woken, he wants to return to the dream. He wants to return to you, who he has so lovingly entrenched deep into it.

Also, Robin. Im in SO much pain... PLEASW..

Do you guys think.. even if Robin was vehemently resistant against Sunday's ideas..

Even though Sunday knew she wouldn't stand for it..

Do you guys think.. he wanted her to also join him at the end and enjoy the "Paradise" he created aswell?

Do you think he would have wanted Robin to stop worrying about everything, to take rest, to finally come home, and sing to her heart's content inside the dream? The dream where they set the bird free? The dream where Sunday still has a sweet tooth? The dream where she never has to wear elaborate neck-pieces? The dream where neither of them was hurt? Where neither of them left each other?

Oh...ogh. . My heart.

Sunday would be such a scary lover, too.

I mean even normally, I don't think a relationship with him would be that healthy

Particularly because it seems so healthy

If reader was in a relationship with normal sunday, I mean.. it's gonna at least appear healthy and normal, even to them. It's probably just Sunday having to constantly burden himself with all the dirty strings he has to pull, the quiet rush of water when he washes his hands before caressing the side of your face, the tight, closed smile he would give if you ever asked him what was wrong.. he can't let you know.

I think he'll take a yandere route in an established relationship if you do happen to find out what's been going on behind the scenes. He'll have to calm you down, and you promise you won't peep about it. The build up is almost invisible, because things seem to go back to the way they were. Before Sunday starts acting a bit.. restless. That would be when his yan! Tendencies would start kicking in, for a variety of reasons.

I feel like y'know, out of all the hsr cast, he's one of the characters who is genuinely very close to becoming a yandere canonically. Control freak? Check. Twisted ideals? Check. Unchecked power? Check. Hypnotization/manipulation? Check.

Also, the slight difference of his color pallete as opposed to Robin's.

His is much more washes out than Robin's. It's more "duller" but also more professional, and the gold of his halo is more colder than the warmer tone of Robin's halo. They both still have white/grey as a major color in their palletes, but Sunday's is accompanied by deep navy blues, or washed out blues. Robin's is very vibrant and purple. The only blue segment of her pallete is her hair, and it's remarkably more vibrant than Sunday's.

Also.. Sunday's whole ideas on "weak" and "strong"

Of course, it wasn't all correct, but that doesn't mean they didn't hold some semblance of sense.

Regardless, this playing with yan! Tendencies..... HOOOOO boy

So many thoughts. Sunday manipulating his partner is quite possibly the most common theme in them.

[sheep-from-rad]

How Solomon is fairing (Obey me Nightbringer)

Note: It's been a while since I wrote something Obey me related. The new game got me in a chokehold and then at the same time Starrail got released! I guess I'll genshin later.

Warnings: None

Masterlist: [Obey me]

Everyone is talking about how the brothers feel about your sudden disappearance but what about how Solomon feels? 

Solomon who…

                is torn between waiting for at Cocytus hall and wanting to pick you up from the House of Lamentation. Eventually he'll just go out after you go attend your duties, visit Simeon, and hope that he runs to you after the day.

Solomon who…

               knows that you're capable and powerful enough but can't help but worry because you were both at a disadvantage.

Solomon who…

               misses the warmth of Purgatory Hall and tries his hardest for Cocytus hall to feel the same. Sure he sees Simeon and Luke whenever he visits HOL but can't help but feel the invisible barriers that sets him apart from the two. He can't help but miss playing games with Luke and miss Simeon's nagging when he doesn't come down or when he misses his meals. 

Solomon who…

               misses the brothers from the original timeline. From time to time they get into fights but unlike this timeline where the two of you are thrown in, he can't help but also walk on eggshells given that they are not the same brothers before. He won't admit it but he also misses Diavolo, Barbatos, and the rest of the new exchange students. 

Solomon who…

               wonders if Thirteen already noticed that you and his presence are missing in the timeline. Maybe if she notices it and then she will be able to help the two of you to go home. 

Solomon who…

               tells you to be careful but always risks his immortal life to make new connections, gather information, and make backup plans in case you two suddenly need to run.

Solomon who…

               has healing magic always active on his non dominant hand and combative magic on the other in case some entity suddenly appears.

Solomon who…

               already made a routine of getting up at night to check on you in case you have nightmares. He knew that the comfort of the House of Lamentation is different from the new environment that is Cocytus Hall. The new home is not secured as the Purgatory Hall from the original timeline. It doesn't have the spells he carved around the house to make him sleep easy at night. 

Solomon who…

               burns most of his grimm on take outs because he knows his cooking is not the best and he doesn't want you slaving on a stove after a long day of working as an attendant.

Solomon who…

               knows that once the two of you come back to the original timeline, will be the one to blame for the shenanigans because of his shady deals.

Solomon who…

               wishes that he can just approach Barbatos about the time anomaly and the situation the two of you are in but can't because doing so will make a paradox that might end up harming you and the others.

Solomon who…

               knows that his intentions on helping and protecting are pure but can't help but despises himself because he thinks that he's using the situation as a leverage to be closer to your heart.

[getonite]

PLAYING : HOTLINE ! — DAZAI TUNES IN!

𝗧hinking about Dazai, your childhood friend and the one who shows his vulnerability only to you. Years after you've gone and left the Port Mafia and your terrible past behind, he knocks on your door. He looks downright terrible. His bloodied hands are trembling as he grips onto the fabric of Odasaku's coat, he's trembling, and on the verge of tears.

"Dazai, how'd you—" he practically leaps, his bandaged arms wrap around your neck, squeezing harshly, though you wonder how he found you... Ango.

There's not a word spoken between you two, but you know exactly what he needs. You pull him inside, carefully closing the door. "How about we clean you up first, okay?" You whisper. He stinks. His eyelids are puffy and there's red underlining his eyelashes. His hair is due for a wash with split ends, and he's pale. You guess he hasn't taken too much care of himself since you left. He silently nods, leaning his full bodyweight into you.

You bring him to your bathroom, carefully peeling the layers of clothing from him. The first to come off is the black coat he's regularly worn since he joined the Port Mafia.

His knees are to his chest as he speaks for the first time. "Mori-san's coat, burn it. I don't need it," he whispers in a raspy voice as if he's been screaming. You hum in acknowledgement as you set the dirty thing on the bathroom tile. Your hands carefully help him undress before starting to undo his bandages. "Years later and you still can't change your bandages like I told you to," he hears you whisper with a small smile. The bloodied and worn bandages fall to the floor as he hears the sound of streaming water come from the bathtub inches from him.

Once he's in the bath, you carefully rinse his body with warm water, lathering his new and old scars with soap carefully. There's a hint of guilt in your heart as you hear him wince, though this is probably for the best.

The pads of your fingers massage his scalp as you wash his hair, just like you did when the two of you were kids. You carefully trim his wet hair and brush it before getting him out of the tub, helping him dry off. You were likely the only person he could truly trust to see him so...bare and vulnerable. You couldn't exactly tell if the silence was tense or comforting, regardless you continued with is predictable mute moment. He always got like that when there was something wrong, you sigh.

"How about, I get you something to eat? I made some bento boxes, you can eat one and then brush your teeth, is that okay?" You speak softly and re-bandage his tender skin.

You smile softly at him when be finally nods. "Okay," you whisper and attempt to finish quickly before his mind changes.

As his hair dries it becomes its usual fluffy self, you'd assume hair matches personality; however, Dazai's eyes were close to dead. He only seemed to relax, feel different, when you touched him so gently. You quickly clean up and head to make him food. "You don't have to eat all of it y'know...just some, okay?" You whisper, setting the box in front of him.

He can tell your eyes are studying him as he eats, wondering what your Dazai from years ago has turned into. You look at him proudly when he finishes half of it before pushing it away. "Thank you," you whisper.

Handing him a toothbrush, you let him brush his teeth and fix the mess that is your bedroom, knowing he'll ask to sleep. And surely, 5 minutes later he stumbles to your doorway. "Can I...Can I stay?" You look him up and down, smiling softly. Compared to the terrible look he had when he first appeared at your door, he looks better. No longer like a man seconds from being a corpse.

"'Course," You smile, pulling back the covers, "C'mere."

He walks to the bed, crawling onto the soft sheets carefully. His brown eyes look at you expectingly, watching you get under the covers with him. He moves his body next to yours, putting his face into your neck without a word. "Ready to talk?" You whisper. His hoarse voice whispers a 'No.'

The calming effect your fingers have as they glide along him and his hair makes him feel like he's home. "Okay, just sleep. I'll be right here, I'm not leaving."

Dazai again, speaks no words, but his legs entertangle with yours. He remembers just why he came here. He missed you. Even if Odasaku is gone, he has you to make sure he doesn't go over the deep end. He'll save people, he'll grant Odasaku's last wish. But first, he wants to rest. Right next to his home.

"I promise, sleep." The man listens, squeezing onto you as if to test that this is real before drifting off.

For the first time in days...he's at peace.

A/N: dazai srsly needs a hug, 'n ill b the one 2 give it 2 him if no one else will! we need more fluffy fics of taking care of dazai, rather than dazai taking care of us. nyway, if u haven't signed up 4 the new tag list u totally should! there's new options n better format.

SUBSCRIBERS : @avatsu @sofliesy @tamreadfanfiction

[batty-pham]

Ghost King Dann/ tech guy on the JLA space station. With JLA needing to summon the Ghost King only he has spell blocks in place to prevent being summoned while at work.

5 to 1 why the summoning failed and how Batman used a phone to get a hold of the ghost king

Danny learned his lesson with his steadily lowering grades in school after his half-death. As soon as he had his first Summoning in the middle of taking someone's over complicated coffee order, he ran to clockwork, asking if there was a way to make it so that never happened again. Danny needed the money, he needed the job to pay for college. He couldn't afford to constantly be pulled away from work for ghost bull shit like he was from school.

Clockwork was very happy to find a work around, as long as Danny was working, the summoning spell wouldn't work.

Danny no longer was working at that shitty coffee place, he had moved up in the world... literally. Caught in Earth's orbit, a beautiful view of the stars, helping out the heros while he no longer worried about being one.

Yeah, Danny loved working on the Watchtower.

Danny didn't think anything of it when he felt the slight pull of a summoning as he messed with some faulty wiring, he ignored it as he usually did when he worked, completely obvious to the increasing tension in the other room as the league waited for The King who never arrived.

Constantine was pissed, he was ordered to sit and wait at the currently opened doorway until he made an appearance. Batman stayed alongside him, not wanting to miss the appearance of an unknown entity in their base.

Hours went by.

Danny was getting more and more frustrated, the small problem ended up being several layers more complicated than it should be. He wanted to bang his head into a wall. Oh well. At least he'll get overtime, right?

It was well over 12 hours after the portal was initially opened before Danny finally clocked out, completely forgetting about the summoning.

It wasn't until he was engulfed in green smoke that he finally remembered. "Ah- fuck." He swore, mentally and physically exhausted, absolutely defeated. "What do you want?" He sighed, running his hand on his face, only to be met with the eyes of...Batman? What? Did he literally just get summoned to the other room?

"uh...is there a tech problem in here or...you could have just...called...me?" Danny looked around, baffled and confused. Some of the other heroes were in the room as well, asleep but in positions where it was clear they were trying to stay awake when they passed out.

"bloody hell- you were here the entire fucking time?!" Constantine exclaimed, causing a few heroes to jump awake.

"...yeah? I was working on-"

"... you're the ghost king?" Batman asked, cutting Danny off.

"I thought you guys knew? I mean you guys wouldn't just let anyone up here?"

Danny was met with silence.

"...guess not."

[kpopnstarwars]

Second Chance: Jeong Yunho x Reader

A/N: i honestly feel like i went through multiple divorces writing this (also i have never written a standalone fic this long, like this is double the longest fic i've ever written, but it's huge like yunho so what can i say)

tw: alcohol, swearing, HUGE angst, eventual fluff, people are drunk, there's a party (yes that deserves a warning), gets a little smutty at the end, mention of marriage (twice), could be kinda ooc near the beginning because i started writing this within a month of stanning

wc: 5.3k

The second you step through the doorway, you're already regretting conceding so easily to Wooyoung. He's got his nagging technique perfected - you'd probably be curled up on your sofa binging your favourite movies, surrounded with snacks and fluffy blankets and the comforts of your own home if he wasn't nearly as persuasive as he is.

Instead, here you are, at a party you're not very... invested in, half sulking as San welcomes you in, wishing you were at home, watching the Star Wars prequels back to back with Seonghwa.

San is already half drunk. It's easy to tell; his face and the tips of his ears are blushed a rosy pink, and he's giggling at nothing in particular as he hangs off your shoulders, clinging onto your shirt as if he'll lose you in his own semi-crowded living room. You anticipate another five minutes of clingy San, punctuated by tipsy zoomies, before the alcohol he had (probably just a few shots, to be honest) kicks in, and he begins to feel sleepy. With practiced ease - yes, you've done this many times before - you steer him towards the sofa, grinning at Yeosang as you dump San next to him.

'Nooo...' San mumbles. 'Where are you... where...' You pat his shoulder. 'I'm not leaving yet, don't worry. Yeosang will look after you.'

Retreating into the small crowd before said man can protest at this forced role of caretaker, you wade your way over to Seonghwa and Hongjoong; greeting both, you have a quick exchange about the former's outfit - one he altered himself - before briefly summarising your wishes about watching Star Wars with the latter. In response, he nods sympathetically, but you can tell he's got his eyes fixed on a girl somewhere over your shoulder, so you move on quickly, searching for Wooyoung. Vaguely, you spot Mingi towering over almost everyone in the corner, but knowing that the one person you're trying to avoid today may be with him, you look away before your eyes seize the chance to find him.

'Look who showed up!' A voice crows behind you. You turn around, rolling your eyes. 'And whose fault is that, Woo?' 'He's looking out for you,' Jongho tells you, appearing beside Wooyoung. 'Maybe you needed to get out of the house and - ' 'And talk to you-know-who,' Wooyoung finishes. 'No,' you snap. 'Absolutely not.' He pats your head. 'Here, have a drink. Maybe after it you'll be more open to the idea.' Reluctantly, you take the cup from him. 'Thanks, I guess.'

Wooyoung and Jongho begin talking about some trend on TikTok that they're planning on roping Mingi into doing with them - in truth, it doesn't quite capure your attention as much as the tall, achingly familiar silhouette across the room does. Before you can stop it, your gaze snags on him, on the angles of his jaw and his elbows, on the curving slope of his shoulders. Inhaling sharply, you quickly look away.

And then you glance over at him again.

Just once, and just long enough to see if he's with anyone.

If he's with a girl.

You know he's perfectly capable of it. You know many people at this party who wouldn't say no to him, even if they knew it was just a rebound. You tell yourself you wouldn't really care, it wouldn't really bother you, but it would. Especially if it was her. Somewhere deep inside you, he's still yours; yours to covet, yours to touch and kiss and love.

But he's not, and he brought that upon himself.

'Hey,' Wooyoung says, waving a hand in front of your face. 'You in there?' You smack his hand away. 'I wish I wasn't.' Jongho raises his eyebrows. 'You should just talk to him, if it's bothering you that badly. It's almost been three weeks, you know.' 'Or if you don't want to talk, you can get as drunk as San,' Wooyoung adds helpfully. 'You would definitely forget everything. I don't think our Sannie even knows his own name right now.' You glance down at your cup, and your stomach twists. 'No thanks.'

Wooyoung wraps an arm around you and squeezes you tightly, smiling sadly. You know he just wants you to cheer up, and this realisation makes you painfully aware of the way you're ruining the mood, of the pity in your friends' eyes as they look at you, of the stifling press of bodies that aren't even that close to you. Handing your drink to Jongho, you tell them that you're heading to the toilet.

You take the long way around San's living room. It's partly to avoid the area that you know he is in, and partly because you can feel Mingi's eyes boring into the side of you head. Skirting around the sofa - which is somehow crammed with triple the amount of people it's designed to fit - you wave at Yeosang, who's glaring at you from where he's half squashed under San. In the bathroom, it's a lot quieter, the thumping bass from Hongjoong's playlist and the hum of voices muffled by the closed door. You glance at yourself at the mirror; you're confronted with your own slightly downturned mouth.

Well, you promised Wooyoung you'd come, not that you'd be happy about it.

After a few minutes, you deem it time for you to emerge again. Schooling your features into something a little more cheerful, you step out of the bathroom, only to be ambushed by the one and only Song Mingi. You sigh. You know what he's here to say, you know he's your friend and he means well, but still, you can't help but feel the beginnings of annoyance bubble up within you. Immediately, you push it down. None of it was Mingi's fault.

'Hi, Mingi,' you say, unable to erase the hint of tiredness in your tone. 'How are you?' He asks, concern bleeding into his features. 'I'm doing alright,' you reply, knowing he sees through you easily enough. 'Haven't been sleeping too well, though.' Scratching the back of his head, he looks at you apologetically. 'Look, you know what I'm going to say.' You sigh. 'Go on.' 'You're both my friends,' he sighs. 'It sucks to see you both sad. Yunho's been beating himself up about it for weeks, ever since it happened, and... I know you miss him too. Please, just give him a second chance.'

You blink. It's the first time someone's mentioned him by name tonight, and the pain wells up in you again, fresh and cutting, ripping away the hazy walls of apathy that you'd struggled so hard to build around yourself. Maybe it's fitting that Mingi is the one who causes them to crumble; before everything went to hell with Yunho, it was always you three who hung out together the most, who relied on each other and supported each other, no matter what. It was the closest thing to perfect you've had in your life.

Then Yunho had to ruin it.

He was too heavy handed when he had your heart in his grasp, he was too careless with the trust you'd put in him. Of course you miss him, of course it hurt when you tore him out from he'd been embedded in your life, nestled into the softest part of you heart. Of course you hate avoiding him, but you hate how you let him hurt you more. You refuse to let him in again, just to make the same mistake.

Slowly, you shake your head. Swallowing around the bitterness on your tongue, you look up at Mingi, a deep sadness springing up inside you at the despondency in his eyes. Your voice sounds disembodied, the words far away as you speak.

'I'm sorry, Mingi. I don't think I can do that.'

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

After your talk with Mingi, you begin to see getting as drunk as San in a more favourable light. You let Wooyoung shove exactly two shots down your gullet before you realise that tonight, alcohol isn't going to help you; the shots are acrid in your throat, and the deep throb of the bass - which you normally enjoy - is beginning to give you a headache. Defeated and deflated like a rather morose balloon, you tell Jongho that you're going to get a glass of water.

You realise you've misplayed as soon as you step into the kitchen.

He's there.

Yunho.

Digging your nails into your palms, you jerk your head aprubtly to the side to avoid his eyes as they search for yours. There's no way you're backing out of the kitchen because he's here, there's no way you're so weak that you can't stand the sight of him. Determined, you turn your back to him, reaching into the cupboard to grab a glass, filling it up and sipping at the water. You can feel his eyes burning into your back, and this time you can't help yourself.

A glance over your shoulder is all it takes for the sudden onslaught of memories. Months of dates and years of friendship flash before you, tugging your heart this way and that. He stands there, propped against the counter, his brown eyes anchored on you, his lips half parted as if he's about to speak, and all you can see in him is scene after bittersweet scene: Yunho holding your waist in a crowd, Yunho dancing with you around the living room at two in the morning, Yunho making you laugh until you can't breathe, Yunho holding you tight as you cry, Yunho with his pretty lips on yours, Yunho with his beautiful hands on your body, Yunho telling you that he loves you, Yunho, Yunho, Yunho.

And then it's Yunho, bathed in morning light as he lies in bed beside you, his features serious and solemn and deceptively honest as he tells you the sweetest words you've ever heard in your life.

Finally, it's Yunho the traitor, seen across a crowded, badly lit club on the same day, Mingi beside him, disbelieving as he gapes at your boyfriend kissing a girl, a girl who is not you, who could not even be mistaken for you. You've replayed the scene many times in your head, the way he looked up, catching your eyes as you turned to walk away. He caught up with you in the street, and you had the worst arguement of your life in a seedy, dark alleyway, refusing to let him touch you as you cradled the broken pieces of your heart to your chest - it was no longer his to have.

Looking at him now, he looks different; like your Yunho, but tired. There are bags under his eyes - at least you aren't the only one losing sleep - and his hands clench and unclench at his sides, his jaw working as he searches for words. Carefully, you set your glass down on the counter, crossing your arms.

'I...' He starts, but trails off.

Something ignites in your chest as you watch him fumble over words, stumbling over unfinished sentences. Anger burns bright inside you, a potent mix of frustration and longing and bitter sorrow welling up like poison, making you want to hurt him like he hurt you, demanding retribution. All you can see his lips on hers, and it fucking stings.

'Why are you talking to me?' You ask lowly, voice frosty. Yunho takes a step closer. 'I - I'm sorry. I miss you - so fucking much. I want you back, I need you. I just wish I could make it right so we could - ' 'If you want me back so badly, why did you kiss her?' You hiss. 'Did you forget about me in that moment? Or did you just not care?' He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. 'I, I know I fucked up, badly, and - '

You scoff. You're too angry, too raw, to care about the anguish on his face. He doesn't understand: he doesn't understand that he broke your trust and your heart and you, he doesn't understand that his apology is too late - it was late the moment he touched that girl.

'Fucked up badly?' You snap, incredulous. 'Just badly? Do you remember what you said that morning, on the very same day, while we were still in bed? Do you remember what you told me? You said that you were really serious. You said that one day you were going to marry me. Do you know how happy I was, thinking that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me?' You throw your hands up in the air. 'Well, I guess it was all a shitty lie.'

Yunho staggers back as if you actually punched him. His eyes are wounded as they search yours, and he steadies himself against the counter, gripping it so hard his knuckles bleed white. Clenching his jaw, he stares at you, speechless, and you know that you succeeded in your mission to hurt him. It doesn't feel as good as you thought it would.

Then, the kitchen door swings open.

A swell of music spills inside, along with a very tipsy looking girl. Laughter floats through from the living room. Both you and Yunho just look at her, forgetting that you were arguing in San's kitchen, at a party, and she returns your gazes, bewildered as she looks between the two of you.

'Uh, sorry, I didn't know I was interrupting something. I'll, I'll come back later?' You force yourself to smile, despite it being the expression your features least want to make right now, your voice surprisingly steady. 'Don't worry, you're alright, come in. We should probably go somewhere else.' 'Yeah,' she mumbles, quickly retreating and firmly shutting the door despite your words.

You glance over to Yunho. His hands are shaking as he lifts them, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, and all the fight leaves you at the sight. For all the years you've known him, he's cried maybe four or five times. Your stomach churns with guilt. You caused his tears.

'Hey,' you say softly. 'Do you want to go somewhere more private?' He nods, his voice thick when he speaks. 'Y - yeah, my car's two minutes away. It's in the multi-storey car park.' 'Okay,' you sigh. 'Let's go.'

He's silent as you rinse out your glass and put it on the dish rack, wiping your hands on your trousers. Ducking your head, you weave your way to the front door, slipping past Wooyoung and avoiding Yeosang and Mingi's eyes as they stare at you, surprise evident in their features as they spot Yunho trailing you. You don't want to consider what they must be thinking at the look on his face. There's no chance that they won't miss the pain in his expression, and you feel sick, burdened with the knowledge that you were petty enough to sharpen your words to deadly points and wield them like weapons.

You remain silent as you walk with him to the car park - he doesn't keep in step with you, instead hovering a few paces behind. The quiet swallows you whole, smothering any rage left in your system, and you hold the lift for him, retreating to the opposite corner as he reaches out to press the button for the top floor. Out of the corner of your eye, you study him in the scratched mirror. Although you don't dare look up at his face, you can feel his gaze, and a lump forms in the back of your throat, thinking of how many times you've been tucked under his arm in the lift to his apartment, his long fingers stroking down your side.

Harshly, you swallow, reminding yourself that you can't let him in.

You can't open your heart, just for it to be broken again.

Despite this, you find your gaze straying over his reflection. He must have left his jacket at San's, because all he has on is his black t-shirt and jeans, the former of which is slightly damp down the front - someone probably spilt their drink on him, and the fabric clings to his skin in a way that makes you yearn to press him against the wall and kiss him until you're both dizzy. One of his hands is shoved in his jeans pockets; you desperately wish that you could slip your fingers in with his, just to feel his warmth and his skin against yours. Even under the crappy lift lights, he's beautiful, as beautiful as ever. It's how you've always seen him, how you always will.

The top floor of the car park is open, and during the time you were in the lift, it's begun to rain. You begin shivering, and out of your peripheral, you see Yunho lift his hand before he pulls it back quickly, as if he was going to reach out to you and tug you close before he thought better of it. His car is the only one there, seeing as it's well into the night, and he unlocks it as you walk towards it. Hesitating with your fingers on the passenger door handle, you pause, debating with yourself - he hovers on the driver's side, watching as you deliberate before choosing the backseat.

You don't want to admit it, but you want to be closer to him.

Within seconds, you're sitting next to him in the back of his car, and you're faced with the looming need to pick up your disaster of a conversation where you left off; raising your eyes to find his, relief washes through you to find them steady, the emotions in them whirling and a total mess, but not too overwhelming. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself to ask the question that's been on the tip of your tongue all night. You tell yourself that you can do this, that you can pretend this doesn't hurt as much as it does, but it's quickly proven a lie when your voice comes out weak and smaller than you'd like.

'Why - why did you do it?'

A haunted look enters his eyes as he scrubs a hand over his face.'I... I don't know. She pulled me down, and I just didn't move, I just let her, because it was nice to feel wanted - ' His voice cracks. ' - even though you had always given me so much more than that. You loved me and I fucked it up. I took you for granted and - '

Harshly, he swallows, cutting himself off. His words are rushed, tight, his hands fisted in his lap as he looks away for a second, breaking eye contact and staring out into the car park as he steels himself. You're reeling from his words, from the painful honesty that laces them, like poison on a blade. There's no doubt that, even with your walls up, you still love him, because his desperation is like a knife twisted in your heart - hesitantly, you reach out, wanting to touch him, to comfort him somehow. In response, he grabs your hand, almost crushing it in his grip.

'Please,' he whispers brokenly. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I - I just need you to let me love you again. I never wanted to hurt you, I - ' 'But you did, Yunho,' you reply softly, grief making your voice thick and unsteady.

His face crumples. Bringing his trembling hands to his face, he turns away to hide the tears spilling down his face, and regret shoots through you like a bullet through the heart. Gripping his hand, you pull him to face you, but suddenly you can't stop, won't stop, tugging him closer until he's in your arms. It feels so right to share space with him, and you wonder why you ever tried to get over him and push him away when he's all you ever wanted, when he's your home. Sobs wrack his body, and you press your lips to his forehead, your own tears running down your cheeks into his hair as you tighten your arms around him.

'You hurt me, Yunho,' you choke out. 'I can't deny you hurt me. But it hurt because I loved you, and I love you now. I loved you when you kissed her, and I hated myself for it, but I guess my heart knew who it was made for, because I never stopped loving you.'

His chest heaves, a great shudder running through him, and he trembles, a giant felled by your sweet, healing words. He presses his lips against your shoulder, tasting the salt of his own tears in the wet material of your shirt; his fingers twine into your hair, and you can feel the effort it takes for him to get his words out between his rattling sobs in the strain of his voice, but he does.

'I - I missed you with every breath I took while you were gone,' he says. 'I lost the best part of me when you left. I love you, I'm a fucking fool, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - '

Gently, you press a finger against his lips, making him look up at you. His words don't matter any more, not while he's in your arms and not while you know that you should have never let him go, that you should have never let either of you try to live without the other.

'I missed you too, Yunho,' you murmur. 'And I will never stop loving you.'

At your words, he goes completely still. He's frozen for a moment, his face inches from yours. A shiver runs down his back, and his eyes dart down to your lips.

'Can I - fuck - I need - '

He's taut as a bow string, thrumming with energy, and you can see the desperation on his face - he needs your lips on his as much as he needs to breathe. And yet, he still asks. You know then, with every fibre of your being, that he's what you want, that he's the only one you'll ever want, ever love.

'Yes,' you breathe. 'Yes.'

Cold moonlight limns his features as he leans in, but there's nothing cold about the look in his eyes. One hand cups your jaw, the other cupping the nape of your neck, his long fingers warm against your skin - his breath flutters softly against your lips before he closes the gap between you. The breath is knocked from you; he's never kissed you with this sort of aching tenderness, and you sink into his touch, eyes drifting shut.

You feel like you're falling again, the way you did the first time, when you'd rant to Mingi for hours about the smallest touch or moment you shared with Yunho, except this time, you lean into the tug of gravity with an eagerness you've never felt before. Like before, you teeter on the edge of a precipice, except, this time, you know what's at the bottom; you know the exhiliration of the fall, and the deep, aching love that awaits.

You jump, arms outstretched, knowing Yunho will catch you.

After you kiss Yunho for what seems like hours, running your hands up his back and burying them into his hair, pressing him closer to you and drinking him in, he drives you home. You're still drunk on his taste as you curl into him on your sofa, talking to him about nothing in particular, just soaking in the euphoria of being in his arms again; truly, you don't notice that your words become further and further apart, and that your eyes are drooping - you're too busy listening to the soft timbre of his voice. Nothing matters to you in this moment. It's just you and him, wonderfully relaxed against each other, not allowing an inch of space between you. Honestly, you're unsure where you end and Yunho begins.

Your heart is overflowing.

You're home.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Yunho isn't quite aware what the words leaving his mouth mean. He's too busy studying the tilt of your neck and the way your lashes fall against your face, relearning the essence of you. A smile tugs at his lips when you finally succumb to sleep, head flopping against his chest. It reminds him of the many occurences when you'd fall asleep on him while watching movies: the times before he asked you out, when he'd carefully hold you, his heart pounding in his ears, and the times after, where he'd cradle you to him, peppering kisses all over your face.

Gently, he gathers you up in his arms and carries you to your bed, laying you down and tucking the blanket from the sofa over you - he knows you hate to get under the sheets without a shower and your so called 'outside clothes' off. Planning to quietly return to his car, Yunho straightens, but a small tug at the bottom of his shirt prevents him from standing up all the way. A glance down finds your fingers fisted in the hem of the black fabric; blearily, you blink your eyes at him, peeking out from beneath the blanket.

'Stay,' you mumble. 'Please.'

Yunho's heart flutters in his chest. You're beautiful, even with your hair a mess and your eyes and face still a little red from crying, and he could never resist you. He thinks he'd do anything for you, if you'd dare ask.

This time, he's determined that he's going to marry you. He wants to be yours forever - he wants to wake up by your side every morning, he wants to come home to you, he wants to tell you he loves you in your every waking moment.

Sitting down on the mattress beside you, he lets you clamber into his arms and snuggle into his chest.

'Whatever you say, my love.'

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

When you wake up the next day, you're utterly relaxed. It's as if your body knows that you're in the safest place you could ever be - in Yunho's arms. His breathing is still deep, his hair a mess, the way it always is in the mornings. You don't think you've ever felt this comfortable; the mattress seems to cradle your back, the blankets a warm cocoon around you, and Yunho is draped over you, his long limbs tangled with yours. Smiling dumbly, you kiss his fluffed up hair, carding your fingers through it. A soft laugh leaves you when you realise his mouth is half open and that he's drooling on you, his cheek pressed against your shoulder.

Extracting one arm from beneath the blankets, you scrabble around your bedside for your phone. Yunho makes a soft sleepy noise, a frown digging into his forehead, and you hush him, rubbing his back soothingly; you're terribly relaxed right now, and you don't want to get up just yet.

In fact, you're pretty sure you want to stay like this forever.

Quickly, you snap a few pictures of him on your phone, unable to resist. Scrolling through your notifications from last night, you find a text from Mingi, asking how you are - he doesn't ask why you left the party with Yunho yesterday, or how it went, but his curiosity is still evident. You open the chat, a grin making its way onto your face.

Second chance granted, you type.

And then you throw your phone back onto your bedside table, ready to enjoy your morning with the man stirring in your arms. Yunho huffs quietly as he surfaces from his dreams, his long arms tightening around you; he buries his face into your neck, pressing a sweet kiss there, then another and another. Threading your fingers into his hair, your eyes close as he mouths at the hollow of your throat. He shifts so he's more comfortably situated between your legs, and you kiss his temple.

'Mm,' you hum contentedly. 'Morning.' 'Morning, love,' he replies.

His voice is raspy - deep and familiar as it always is in the morning. A memory comes to you: one of the many mornings you spent with him in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs with his skin on yours, and your stomach flips, warm longing bubbling up inside you. Gently, you tug at his hair, and he responds immediately, something that you suspect was already semi-hard nudging at your core before he shifts back quickly.

You frown as he pulls back a little. Searching his eyes, which have brightened a good deal since he first blinked them open, you examine them for any caution, but all you find is a deep seated fire.

'What's up?' You ask softly, cupping his face. He turns his head so he can kiss your palm. 'I - I want to... but I don't want to do anything too fast if you don't want it. I know I hurt you.' Leaning in, you press your forehead against his. 'Fuck going slow, Yunho. I love you. You know I do.'

It feels wonderful to say. The infatuation soaking the words is sweet on your tongue, magnificently domestic, something you missed saying to him every day, whispering it into his hair and against his lips like an oath. You feel like you're floating, a thrum of heat flushing through your body at the look in his eyes. He's tense, his muscles rock hard under your hands, his gaze transfixed on yours. Slowly, his lips part.

'Sweetheart,' he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your neck. 'You're driving me insane.' His touch travels to your cheek, his breath ghosting over your skin. 'I love you. More than you could ever know.'

He holds your gaze for a moment, and you find yourself mesmerised by him - his hair's a mess and his t-shirt is rumpled and emotions burn in his eyes, setting you on fire.

Fuck, he's glorious.

You grab his chin, fitting your lips to his. Yunho reciprocates like a man starved, his tongue licking into your mouth, hot and wet, his fingers curling around your waist and bringing your body snug against his - your head falls back against the pillows, eyes drifting closed when his hands trail teasingly up your body to cup your breasts, pushing up the hem of your shirt. Dipping his head, he nips at your skin, and you wouldn't stop the way your hips buck up into his even if you could.

A soft noise leaves your throat when his fingers ghost over your core, and he chuckles softly; you groan his name, nails scratching lightly at his shoulder, spurring him on as gently, he pushes your legs open, smoothly moving down the bed so that he's framed between your thighs. He keeps his gaze on yours as he slips your underwear off you, a smirk tugging at his lips when a shudder wracks your body at the first touch of his fingers on your slit, your back arching - you'd be embarrassed, but there's liquid fire in your veins, and all you can think of is him.

'Fuck, Yunho,' you choke out. 'Fuck.' 'You like that?' He teases, slipping a finger inside.

A whine rips from your chest. You clamp tightly around him, vice like, and he begins to pump his fingers in and out, his lower lip trapped under his teeth as he watches your face contort in pleasure. Wickedly, he curls his fingers inside you, sending bolts of pleasure shooting white hot through you, his carnal expression turning almost sadistic, as if he's studying the exact angle at which your eyes roll back.

On your bedside table, your phone dings once, then three times more in quick succession. You know it's Mingi.

You ignore it. There are more pressing matters at hand, slotted right between your legs and pressing feather light kisses to your thighs.

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (9/?)

Part Summary: You get more than you bargained for on Halloween

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader, temporary Leigh x Danny | Word count for this part: 7.300+ | Warnings: Light angst, R and Leigh being obtuse | Author's Note: Longest chapter so far (and about 90% of it is just Leigh and R)! I have officially written another novel length fic with this update. From a two-shot to this? Wouldn't be possible without everyone's support. Thank you, everyone. I have a little treat for you at the end.

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

-

Despite Leigh's promise to bring Logan in for his vaccinations, she missed the appointment again for the second time. Understanding that life gets hectic, you decide that rather than seeing Logan miss another round of critical vaccinations, you'll take matters into your own hands and arrange a home visit at the Shaw’s.

On the day of the visit, you discover that Logan has gained 2.5 pounds in just two weeks. The drastic weight gain might indicate that he’s not a purebred Shih Tzu as you originally thought when you got him, or Leigh has been feeding him more than the recommended serving size. You can feel Logan’s solid back as you hold him in place while you administer the vaccine on his scruff. Leigh appears nervous, and if you weren’t determined to scold her after completing Logan’s immunizations, you might have found it adorable.

“Just a quick pinch, buddy,” you murmur soothingly to the anxious pup. Logan yelps as the needle pierces his skin, but within two seconds, it’s over. You rub his neck to distract him from the sting of the medicine, then return to your insulated bag to dispose of the syringe. Leigh watches closely as you finish with Logan, a slight frown creasing her forehead. You notice she's dressed in what you figure is her nightwear—a thin olive camisole and matching capri pants. It seems too dressed down for receiving a guest.

“Why are these vaccines so important, anyway?” she asks lightly, but you don’t miss her apprehension behind it. “I mean, he'll mostly be indoors…”

The frustration from her missing two appointments sneaks into your voice as you say, “Vaccines can mean the difference between life and death for puppies. Take the parvovirus—it's lethal and spreads quickly.”

Leigh nods, taking in the weight of your words. You notice her swallow, perhaps realizing the graveness of her oversight. “I didn't realize it was that serious,” she murmurs.

You catch yourself, realizing you might be coming across as harsher than necessary. “It's alright, Leigh. That's exactly why I came here,” you say mildly. You've dealt with many uneducated dog owners before, and Leigh is no different. You know you need to be patient with her, just as you have been with others, and you remind yourself not to let your personal feelings interfere with your professional opinions.

Logan wiggles happily at your feet, seemingly forgiving you for the shot already. “And another thing,” you add, glancing down at Logan’s round belly, “he’s put on quite a bit of weight. We need to watch his diet. Too much food isn’t good for him either.”

Leigh looks slightly embarrassed. “I guess I've been spoiling him with extra treats,” she admits. “I'll be more careful with that.”

“It’s okay. I know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to that face,” you say, smiling at Logan while you rub his chin. “Just keep to the recommended portions, and he’ll be in good shape.”

As you gather your things to leave, you remember Logan's vaccine card. After filling out the final details, you head towards the kitchen where Leigh has silently drifted off. She's busying herself with breakfast on the stove when you approach.

“Here's Logan's vaccine card,” you say, handing it to her. “He needs another dose in two weeks, so don't forget to schedule that in.”

“Thank you,” Leigh says, accepting the card with a nod. “I won't forget this time.”

The aroma of coffee wafts through the room, tickling your nose.

“I've just made some coffee. Would you like to stay for breakfast?” Leigh asks.

You hesitate, considering the offer, but you’re inclined to refuse, still irked by her missing the previous appointments. “I’m good, thanks,” you say, a bit too briskly. Leigh's face falls slightly, a look of disappointment flashing across her eyes before she gives you a small, resigned smile and turns back to the stove.

You start to leave but something stops you—the frustration from Leigh’s no-shows running over. 

“Leigh, can I ask why you didn’t make it to the clinic? And not even a text,” you find yourself saying as you spin on your heels to face her. “It’s not just unprofessional—it hurts more coming from a friend.”

“If you have a problem with me, it’s perfectly okay to transfer Logan to another clinic as long as you’ll follow through with his appointments,” you suggest, noting her standing there, mouth agape, her vivid green eyes sharply focused. Getting that off your chest didn't bring the relief you expected. Instead, you're left with a sinking feeling of regret. Looking back on your words, you realize how petty they must have sounded.

Leigh on the other hand, is momentarily stunned by your outburst, her eyes wide as she absorbs your words. Then, something shifts in her expression, a flicker of intrigue crossing her features before she clears her throat and apologizes.

“I'm really sorry,” she says sincerely, turning off the stove and setting down her spatula. “I didn't handle things well, and you were right to call me out on it.” Leigh takes a careful step closer, causing you to instinctively step back until your lower back meets the edge of the dining table. You weren't expecting Leigh to be so understanding, leaving you unsure of how to react. Should you apologize for getting upset?

Fortunately, Leigh doesn't leave you to dwell on your thoughts for long. She continues, “Why don't you stay for breakfast? I can whip up something nice, and we can catch up like we used to. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Feeling like an absolute fool and still grappling with the aftertaste of your flare-up, you find yourself in a quandary. Rejecting her offer would just drag out this uncomfortable moment even longer, which is the last thing you want. Besides, your stomach is growling—you haven’t eaten anything since you got here, and the smell of brewing coffee is too good to ignore.

“Alright,” you relent, glancing down at your feet. “That sounds good.”

Leigh looks relieved. “Perfect, just give me a minute,” she says, clapping her hands together as she turns back to her cooking.

You linger awkwardly, still standing. “Need a hand with anything?” you ask.

“Just sit there, be all pretty, and relax.”

That little compliment makes your cheeks burn even hotter. If you weren’t so distracted by your hunger and embarrassment, you'd swear it’s almost as if she’s flirting with you.

Wait.

Is she?

Then, as if the universe can hear you thinking, Leigh’s phone buzzes loudly on the kitchen counter. She snatches it up, and even though you can’t see her face, you can tell she’s happy he called as she chirps, “Hey, Danny.”

Right. Danny Greer. That name shatters your brief daydream. Suzie was right—you're too close, and it's clouding your judgment. Leigh laughs into the phone, and you look away just in time for her to turn slightly and steal a glance at you.

Alright, you think, that's it. After this breakfast, it's time to really put some space between you and Leigh. You need to clear your head and let her have her space too. It's the best move, for the sake of your friendship and your sanity.

As Leigh busies herself in the kitchen, you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through your phone, not really focusing on anything. The sound of her laughter while she talks to Danny floats over to you, making you regret agreeing to stay for breakfast and blame your inability to say no to her.

She ends the call with a lingering smile and soon approaches with two plates in hand. Each has a stack of pancakes and two sunny-side-up eggs with the edges just crisped up how you like them. The fact that Leigh remembered leaves you speechless. It’s a small detail, but it makes you guilty for brooding and feeling all jealous. 

“I hope you still like your eggs this way,” Leigh says as she sets the table.

“Thank you,” you say warmly as Leigh pours coffee for both of you. Recalling her preference, you offer to add two sugars to her cup, and she rewards you with a small, appreciative smile. She then grabs the syrup from the fridge, along with two sets of utensils, and places them on the table.

You take a bite of the fluffy pancakes, perfectly cooked and deliciously light. “These are amazing, Leigh,” you say enthusiastically.

Leigh beams, standing a bit taller with pride instead of dismissing the praise. “I'm glad you think so! I've been working on perfecting the recipe.”

“Seriously, Leigh, you could sell these.”

She laughs. “Keep the compliments coming and I might just make you breakfast more often.”

You almost choke at her words. You really should take a little break from Leigh until you can get this crush under control. Even simple remarks are starting to feel like a tightrope walk.

Leigh tilts her head slightly, a coy look crossing her face. “So…” she drawls, leaving the word hanging as she waits for you to look up from your plate.

You stop chewing once you sense her heavy gaze on you. “Hmm?”

Leaning in slightly, she lowers her voice as though about to share a secret. “This Sara... is she a friend of yours? Someone new around here?”

The piece of pancake suddenly feels like a mouthful of sawdust as you process her question. You grab your coffee and take a quick gulp to help wash it down. “I, uh, met her on a dating app, actually,” you say.

Leigh's eyebrow arches. “Oh?” 

There’s a short, tense period where you repeatedly stab your pancake and tap your foot rapidly against the leg of the stool you’re sitting on, while Leigh twirls her hair around her finger, lost in thought.

“She’s gorgeous,” Leigh finally says. “I didn’t know you were into women.” That is, unless you and the person from her advice column are one and the same. She's chosen to approach what she's dubbed the “EspressoEyes conundrum” as a Schrödinger’s cat scenario, where you simultaneously do and do not have feelings for Leigh.

You fiddle with your coffee mug. “Yeah, I think I've mentioned that before,” you say, though your memory suddenly feels unreliable.

Leigh shakes her head, certain. “No, you definitely haven't told me that.”

“Well, yes, I'm into women, but obviously I like men too,” you say, deciding it's perhaps better to just be clear. 

“We're the same then,” she says casually, as if discussing something as mundane as their taste in movies.

“Really?” You’re hoping Leigh is buying the faux surprise on your face, even though Jules had let slip about Leigh's college days.

“Yeah,” Leigh nods. “I had a serious relationship with a woman back in college. It's not something I talk about much, but it's part of who I am.”

“I see.”

Leigh takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing you over the rim of her mug with a slight tilt of her head. 

“So, do you like her? Sara, I mean,” she asks.

“Yeah, she’s great. We get along really well.”

Leigh sets her coffee cup down with a small clink, not missing a beat. “Have you guys...you know, slept together?” she asks, more bluntly than before.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a bit like you’re under interrogation. “Um…no, we haven’t.” 

A quick glint flashes in her eyes before it vanishes. Her shoulders relax as she leans back in her chair. “Sorry, that was out of line,” she mumbles with a curt, dismissive laugh. “I guess I'm just being nosy.”

The way she said it doesn't truly suggest she's sorry for crossing some lines, but you’re not focusing on that. Rather, you feel like you’ve earned the right to ask Leigh some questions about her own personal affairs.

“And you?” you start, trying to sound flippant. “How are things with you and Danny?”

Leigh matches your nonchalance as she stands up to gather the empty plates from the table. There's a smooth, practiced ease in the way she begins cleaning up, letting you know she's not about to let your questions corner her.

“Things are... going,” she replies, keeping it vague. “Danny's great. We're figuring things out as we go.”

“Where'd you meet him?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“He's Matt's brother,” Leigh says flatly, without flinching. You have to give it to her for being so straightforward about it. Not that you’re judging Leigh or anything—it’s just that moving from in-laws to lovers is quite an unconventional transition.

It’s also possible that you’re just bitter.

“Did you always find him attractive?” you ask, almost spitefully, curiosity getting the better of you. Leigh freezes, her back going rigid at your callous words. There's a moment of visible tension, but then she lets out a slow breath and lets it slide. She had been quite direct in probing about your dating life, so perhaps this levels the playing field.

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Leigh says slowly. “I—”

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!”

Neither of you heard the front door open. Jules bursts in, holding Logan who's wagging his tail wildly at the sight of familiar faces, both oblivious to the cutting atmosphere they've just entered.

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!” Jules exclaims. She looks between you and Leigh. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, noticing the residual stiffness in the air. 

“Y/N was just leaving,” Leigh says. 

You don’t need to be told twice. “Hey, Jules,” you say with a short wave. “I just came to give Logan his shots.” 

Jules frowns slightly as you start to leave so soon after her arrival. You reach over to give Logan a quick pat on the head. Turning to Leigh, you manage a tight smile and say, “Thanks for the breakfast.”

As soon as you're out the door, Jules turns to Leigh with a worried look. “What was all that about?” she asks softly.

Leigh shrugs, her expression inscrutable. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replies evenly, turning away to busy herself with the dishes.

-

You get into your car but instead of starting it, you just sit there motionless. Your hands rest aimlessly on the wheel as you lose yourself in thought.

Here’s the truth about Sara:

She's exactly your type on paper—blonde, blue-eyed, stunning. But despite all that, she hadn't managed to hold your attention. Her beauty just couldn't pull your mind away from Leigh, from her vivid green eyes that always seemed to see right through you.

The silence in the car allows you to realize what an odd question you had thrown at Leigh about Danny. You realize just how inappropriate it might have seemed, how it must have sounded coming from a place of jealousy rather than concern.

Why did you even ask that? The answer is uncomfortably clear: you can't be just friends with Leigh. Not anymore. You’ve been lying to yourself, hoping things would just sort themselves out. But they won’t. Not like this. You can’t keep doing this to yourself—or to her. 

Because right now, this friendship, if you can even call it that, is doing more harm than good.

-

“It’s not working.”

Suzie looks up from her clipboard, startled. Her red locks tumble across her face as she tilts her head, brushing them back with a quick flick of her hand.

“Seeing other people, you mean?” she asks, already guessing the root of your distress.

You run a hand through your hair, messing up your low ponytail. Frustrated, you decide to let your hair loose from the tie altogether. 

“I thought if I met someone like Sara—someone who’s practically a checklist of everything I find attractive—it would make things easier. But it’s just... not.” You massage your temples, as if trying to rub away the spell Leigh seems to have cast on you. “She's perfect, but she's not Leigh. And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about Leigh.”

“You're right about one thing though,” Suzie says, getting back to her task.

“Which is…?” 

“That Sara’s perfect,” she chuckles, and you can't help but roll your eyes. “Look, you can’t force these feelings. If your heart’s not in it, it’s not in it.”

“So…Should I keep seeing her? Maybe she’ll grow on me or something.”

Suzie stops and gives you a serious look. “Maybe. But love shouldn't feel like an obligation, you know? It’s not fair to either of you if you’re just waiting to see if you’ll catch feelings.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you acknowledge with a sigh. “She’s everything I thought I wanted. And I think she likes me.”

“Sometimes what we think we want isn’t what we really need,” Suzie answers. “Why not take a break? Give yourself some space to think. It might help you figure out what really works—whether it’s Sara, someone else, or just time to yourself.”

“You think so?”

Suzie gives a small shrug. “Look, I don’t have all the answers.”

Hearing that makes you feel a tad embarrassed. You’ve been leaning on her for advice a lot lately, and it’s probably awkward for her, especially since you're her boss. Maybe she’s just being nice because she has to be.

“Thanks, Sue,” you say, standing up from your chair to head back to your office. “I appreciate you listening to all this.”

She smiles back, and you can tell she’s relieved to move on from the subject. Suzie might not have all the answers, but maybe there’s another place you can find them.

-

That night, in your bedroom, you settle in front of your laptop, the cursor blinking expectantly on the blank submission form of the advice column. You type in your handle—EspressoEyes—a moniker you’d used before, thinking it would increase your chances of being noticed again. Quickly, you type out your query and hit send, watching as it disappears into the digital ether. No sooner have you shut your laptop than your phone rings. It’s your mom.

“Hey, Mom,” you answer, shifting to sit against your headboard.

“Hi, sweetheart! Are you coming home for Thanksgiving? We’re starting to plan the menu and would love to have you,” she says. Your chest tightens. Just hearing her voice makes you feel like you’re already home. You pretend to think for a second, considering your rather empty social calendar.

“Yeah, I’ll come home,” you decide, realizing it might be nice to get away for a bit.

“Oh good! It’s been too long. We’ll make sure to have all your favorites,” she chatters on, already listing the dishes that would normally make you salivate. But these days, you just don’t have the appetite for food.

“Sounds great, Mom. Really looking forward to it.” 

You hang up with a promise to send your flight details soon. Setting your phone down, you feel a slight relief at the thought of escaping to a place where no one knows about the mess you’re in.

-

Leigh can’t sleep. She lies wide awake, staring at the ceiling while Danny's snores fill the room. The weight of his arm draped over her stomach feels stifling, trapping her in place. She can’t breathe. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slips out from under his arm and tiptoes out of the bedroom. In the hallway, she grabs one of his shirts hanging over a chair and slips it on. It smells like sandalwood and something uniquely him—comforting yet somehow off-putting at the same time.

She pads into the kitchen to boil some water, the soft click of the stove burner igniting a comforting sound in the otherwise quiet apartment. With the kettle on, she wanders into the living room, pulling Danny's shirt closer around her. Even with the windows closed, the crisp chill of autumn seeps in.

Sitting on the couch, Leigh pulls her knees to her chest. The post-sex cocktail of oxytocin and vasopressin usually knocks her out, but tonight they fail her. Instead, her mind is filled with doubts and the urge to flee from any kind of closeness.

She remembers the last conversation with you, the disapproval on your face when you finally mentioned her relationship with Danny. It troubles her more than she expected. Were you right? Is she just scrambling to fit someone, anyone, into her life, even if it means ignoring the screams inside her head telling her to run?

The kettle whistles, snapping her out of her thoughts. She makes her tea and settles back into the couch, stirring slowly as she thinks about what it might mean to step back from everything—Danny, you, all of it.

With nothing but time until sleep takes her or the sun rises—whichever comes first—Leigh picks up her phone to distract herself. She scrolls through social media, news articles, anything to keep her mind off the spinning thoughts. Eventually, she wanders to the advice column inbox to check on the latest submissions.

Her breath catches in her throat when she sees another entry from EspressoEyes, a handle she recognizes—possibly yours. It reads:

“Is it wise to pursue other relationships if you have strong feelings for someone else? That someone is a friend, and staying just friends is becoming increasingly difficult. My feelings seem to be putting a strain on our relationship. Should I give myself some space?”

Leigh reads the message two more times. She sets her phone down, her thumb instinctively finding its way to her mouth where she nibbles at the nail, a nervous habit when she’s thinking long and hard. And the more she thinks about it, the more obvious it becomes. Of course, she's the friend you're talking about. This is you, openly struggling with your feelings for her. She had hoped things might change, might become less complicated when Sara came into the picture, but she was mistaken. 

When she asked about Sara, Leigh was trying to gauge your feelings for her, wondering if Sara's presence meant she didn't need to worry about whether you were EspressoEyes or not. In her mind, if you were involved with Sara, it would imply you weren't interested in Leigh. But she surprised even herself by asking if you had slept with Sara, unsure why she needed to know that detail. Deep down, she couldn’t openly admit just how relieved she felt when you told her you hadn’t.

Leigh picks up her phone again and starts typing out a reply to the submission. When she’s done she tosses her phone somewhere on the couch and goes back to her tea. Sitting there, she watches as the sky outside shifts from dark to a wash of pastels. 

-

A week later, Leigh’s phone vibrates incessantly on the table, the screen lighting up with Danny's name again. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she turns it off and sets it aside. They've been cycling through breakups and makeups so often it's exhausting—a twisted routine, one that's leaving her more drained each time. 

It's Halloween, and since she and Danny are off again, Leigh decides to take the night for herself. She picks Matt's favorite restaurant, which is fully decked out for the holiday, with jack-o'-lanterns lining the walls and eerie candles flickering on each table. She orders a pumpkin-spiced latte and a small plate of appetizers, settling in to enjoy her evening solo. Later, she’ll have that tiramisu that her late husband so adored.

Matt always loved this holiday because it was the one time of year Leigh would indulge him by dressing up as whatever comic book character he was into at the moment. They'd start the evening here for pre-dinner celebrations before meeting up with friends and family later on. But tonight, there are no costumes for Leigh; she's dressed simply in jeans and a cardigan, her face free of makeup, her hair tucked behind her ears to keep it out of the way while she eats. 

As she waits, she watches families and couples in costumes come and go, a bittersweet creeping up at her.

Then, you walk in. You’re dressed sharply, scanning the room like you're meeting someone—on a date. Leigh catches her breath. Were you aware that this was Matt’s favorite restaurant? Moreover, it’s been almost two weeks since that awkward morning when you left in a haste. You haven’t noticed her yet. Leigh watches you for a moment, debating what to do. She’s torn between going over or staying put. The last she contributed to the advice column, she’d left a message she hoped you'd find useful if you were indeed the person she’s been advising to. From the look of things, maybe you were taking that advice after all.

Taking a deep breath, Leigh stands and walks over. As you turn and notice her, a small, tentative smile appears on her lips when your eyes meet.

“Hey.”

You return the smile, though it's imbued with a bit of wariness. She appreciates it nonetheless.

“Hey,” you say. 

Leigh doesn't beat around the bush; she gets straight to the point of why she came over. “Look, I'm sorry,” she says, the words coming out almost demandingly. “About last time. I crossed a line asking about Sara.” 

There's an unmistakable assertiveness to her apology, carrying the same confidence and directness with which she usually addresses any issue. She doesn’t bow her head or wring her hands; instead, she holds your gaze steadily, expecting her apology to be taken as seriously as she means it. 

“It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly in line myself when I brought up Danny,” you say, looking up at her. Then, searching for something else to say, you ask, “So, are you here to meet Danny?”

Leigh seems unfazed by the mention of Danny, yet again. You feel a bit silly soon after, realizing that after just acknowledging the awkwardness of digging into each other’s romantic lives, here you are, doing it again. You just can’t help yourself, can you?

“No. I’m on my own tonight,” she replies. Then she mirrors your earlier question, a slight tilt to her head. “And you? Here with Sara?”

“No, things didn’t push through with Sara. I’m meeting someone new,” you say, the words feeling strange as they come out. It was a simple yes or no question, and you're not quite sure what compelled you to open up about the specifics of your dating life.

Leigh just nods, her face neutral, not giving away anything in reaction to your news. “I should let you get back to your, uh, date,” she says, then quietly returns to her seat.

Having a date with a stranger just a few feet away from the woman you truly care about is about as ironic as the universe can be.

-

You’re on your second americano, the bitter taste barely registering as you glance at your watch for the umpteenth time. It's been thirty minutes past the time your date was supposed to arrive, and there's still no sign of him. 

The restaurant has filled up around you. Families are tucked into booths, laughing and sharing plates piled high with food. Groups of friends clink glasses in cheerful toasts, and couples lean close, whispering and smiling over candlelit tables. Sitting alone at a table set for two, you start to feel conspicuously isolated. 

The last two texts you sent within the hour remain unanswered, their blue bubbles on the screen marking the time you spent waiting. Determined to find some explanation, you open the dating app where you met him, your fingers tapping nervously. There, his profile pops up, showing that he is currently online. Relief washes over you for a moment—maybe there's a reasonable explanation. He might still show up. But as you tap the message icon to send him a query about his whereabouts, a sudden notification stops you: you can no longer message this user.

Feeling disheartened and embarrassed, you can’t help but feel all kinds of ugly for being stood up by someone who doesn’t even mean anything to you. Did he see you waiting and decide not to meet? What about you turned him off? You find yourself scrutinizing everything about your appearance. Was it what you were wearing—perhaps not feminine enough for his taste? Your hair was pulled back, exposing your forehead; maybe he didn't like that look. Or was it your posture—too slouched or too stiff? You even wonder if he might have passed someone else on his way here, someone he found more attractive. It's unsettling to realize how quickly the self-confidence you've spent years building can be shaken in just one evening.

You signal the waiter for the check. Although your stomach is growling, the thought of eating anything seems impossible right now. You're just focused on getting out of there as quickly as you can. Just as you finish paying, Leigh appears at your table. Without a word, she slides into the seat across from you. You're surprised to see her, and although you're not really in the mood for company or conversation, her presence is somehow less intrusive than you would expect.

“I couldn't help but notice your date never arrived,” Leigh comments with an amused smile, inadvertently adding salt to the wound. You think to yourself, Way to rub it in, Leigh, but you're too drained to actually say anything confrontational, so you just mumble a small, “Yeah.”

Leigh leans in a bit closer, lowering her voice as if she's about to let you in on a secret. 

“Want to get out of here?”

-

It’s definitely not a date. Far from it.

It’s just two friends winding up spending Halloween together by chance.

It’s what Leigh keeps telling herself.

Leigh didn’t know what came over her when she went back to your table. She hadn't thought she'd be asking you to ditch the restaurant and wander the city for the rest of the night—together. What she did know was that she had been eating unusually slowly, glancing over at you occasionally to see how your evening was unfolding. But as it became painfully obvious that your date was a no-show, she couldn’t take it; seeing you left to handle the disappointment alone was more than she could bear.

Turning to Leigh in your car, you ask, “Do you mind if we stop first at the 7-Eleven on Main? I haven't had dinner yet.”

“What kind of dinner can you get from a 7-Eleven?” she asks.

You shrug and say, “Donuts.”

At the 7-Eleven, you grab a box of assorted donuts, and on a whim, you also pick up a few cans of beer to go along with them. With snacks in hand, you drive to a spot that overlooks the city—the same one where Leigh took you after getting takeouts the first time around. It’s not secluded—there’s a small crowd, with several cars parked and groups of people lounging on their car hoods.

“I wasn’t always attracted to him,” Leigh murmurs, after finishing her first beer. You both sit side-by-side with the trunk of your car open, swinging your legs while Leigh’s are crossed over the edge of the trunk.

You glance over at her, a curious ‘Hm?’ escaping your lips, though they're still full of donuts. 

Leigh chuckles at your reaction, finding the sight of your cheeks stuffed with food more endearing than she probably should. 

“Danny,” she clarifies with a sigh. “I actually used to hate him. He was always such a burden on Matt. Always dragging him into trouble.”

You think about what she's said, then offer a perspective, “You know, they say hate isn't the opposite of love, it's indifference. So maybe there’s always been something there, something more than just annoyance.”

Leigh leans back, stretching her arms out behind her for support as she considers your point. You find yourself wondering what's going through her mind. Is your honesty drawing her even closer to Danny? You could have exploited her past feelings, suggesting that maybe she's always disliked Danny and is confusing her loneliness for love. But you choose not to manipulate her emotions, even if it might be easy to sway her. You won't take advantage of her vulnerability just to get what you want.

Though you can’t deny that the temptation is there. 

“Leigh, can I ask you a question?” you say, watching her closely. 

She nods, her face open and expectant as she pops open another can of beer.

“How did you find out about me and Matt?”

Leigh takes a sip before answering. “Didn’t I mention it before?”

You purse your lips and shake your head, maintaining a neutral expression as you encourage her to elaborate.

“Danny told me,” Leigh reveals after a brief pause.

“What exactly did he tell you?” 

Leigh hesitates, her eyes flickering to the side before meeting yours again. She sets the can down, her fingers drumming against the aluminum in a slow, rhythmic pattern. 

“He just flat-out told me one night. I didn't believe him at first, so he mentioned your name to prove it, and I pieced together the rest. I tried to learn everything I could about you, where you lived... and that’s how I discovered your clinic in the city. And I... well, you know the rest,” she says. From what Leigh said, you easily conclude that Danny hadn't come clean to her about his role in facilitating your relationship with Matt. He had conveniently removed himself from the narrative, leaving out his involvement entirely. Lost in thought, you don't realize you've grown quiet until Leigh's voice pulls you back.

“Why do you ask?”

If you answer that question, you don’t believe you can continue hiding the truth about Danny any longer. As you watch Leigh, relaxed in the back of your car, her hair tousled by the gentle evening breeze, you're torn. You're afraid of disrupting her peace. The truth, as it often has, seems only to bring her pain. So, you buy yourself some time to think. 

“Do you ever wish he had just kept it to himself? That you never knew any of this?”

Leigh appears briefly disconcerted by the question. She takes some time to think about how to respond, and you give her the time she needs, reaching for another piece of donut from the box. At this rate, you're on track to polish off half a dozen all by yourself.

“Knowing the truth hurt—a lot. It felt like I was suddenly a stranger to my own life,” Leigh says, looking somewhere distant before her eyes return to you. “But then again, knowing has changed how I see things, how I see him—and even how I see you. It’s given me a chance to see things as they really are, not just how I want them to be.”

“You never would’ve met me,” you say with a light-hearted grin, almost suggesting that maybe it was better she hadn’t. But Leigh gives you a look, a gentle sadness in her eyes that makes it clear she doesn’t entertain the thought of not having met you.

“What about you? Do you wish things had stayed hidden?” she asks, turning the question back on you.

A part of you—a very significant part—trembles on the edge of laying bare your feelings for her.

Fiddling with the edge of the donut box, you let a small smile flicker across your lips, but it doesn't reach your eyes. “There's something to be said for not knowing everything. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss,” you say softly. “I mean, not knowing can save you from a lot of unnecessary heartache.”

As you speak, you’re still weighing whether knowing Leigh is turning into an unnecessary heartbreak.

Leigh nods slowly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a bittersweet smile. “Well, when you put it that way, maybe not knowing some things is for the best.”

It feels like a silent agreement on that fine line between knowing everything and being happier not knowing. Perhaps what you can do for now is spare Leigh from her own unnecessary heartbreak. If what she has with Danny is working, why ruin it?

“You know what's missing here? Music,” Leigh muses, reaching for her third beer. “Oh, and you better keep up,” she adds, glancing at the single beer you’ve had.

“Or how about you pace yourself? I'd hate for the party to end too soon for you,” you quip slyly. 

Leigh grins, unfazed by your warning. She leans closer, and her breath, warmed by the beers, brushes against your cheek. “Speaking of parties, I actually got invited to this Halloween bash tonight. Everyone's supposed to be in costume, and there will definitely be music. We should go. What do you say?”

You pretend to think about it, but you’re already clearing out your trunk and hopping off it as you reply, “Well, you did say you needed music.”

-

A party isn’t really your scene.

Leigh is already tipsy by the time you both arrive at it. People are either clad in bulky costumes or barely dressed at all. Halloween decorations dangle from the ceiling, a foot or two above the faces of the revelers as strobe lights flash in erratic bursts. You weave through a crowd of zombies and sexy nurses, the bass from the DJ's speakers vibrating under your feet.

As you're both making your way toward the bar, a co-worker spots Leigh and pulls her aside excitedly. “Leigh, over here!” they shout over the noise, grabbing her arm. She turns back to you with a slightly apologetic grin. “Just a sec, I'll catch up!” she promises, before being swallowed by the crowd, her hand slipping from your arm.

But that was half an hour ago.

Now, you're feeling dizzy from the alcohol that's been keeping you company in Leigh's absence, and the sea of masked and painted faces around you is starting to merge into a blur. You round a corridor that brings you back to the main room and finally, you spot her. Leigh is near the dance floor, laughing with a group dressed in characters you don’t recognize. She sees you and waves excitedly, her movements a bit too exaggerated. You make your way over, dodging a particularly enthusiastic witch.

“Found you,” you say, as you reach her side.

Leigh grins, her eyes bright. “Dance with me!” she yells over the music, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the throng of sweaty bodies. Too exhausted to argue, you let her lead you into the chaos. As the music takes over and you both start to dance, the rest of the party fades into the background. Leigh's hand is warm in yours, her other hand reaching up to loop around your neck. The music swells, and the crowd presses in, pushing you closer together. Her breath is sweet with the tang of alcohol, and her cheeks are flushed.

Leigh’s movements become less and less coordinated as she leans into you, her body heavenly against yours. Her lips come dangerously close to yours, barely brushing against them, and for a moment—surrounded by her warmth and scent—you're tempted. You want her, deeply, irrevocably—

But not like this.

You firm your hands on her hips, pushing her slightly away. “Hey, let's get some air, yeah?” you suggest calmly despite your heart going crazy in your chest.

She looks up at you, a bit confused but nods, her smile unfaltering. You take her hand again and guide her off the dance floor. Moving through the crowd proves to be a challenge with Leigh's unsteady steps. She stumbles, laughing as she clings to your arm for support.

“I almost ate it back there!” she exclaims, still giggling.

“Yeah, you did,” you mutter distractedly. As the festive sounds of the party fade behind the closed door, reality slaps you both with a sobering chill. Leigh is simply too drunk, and you’re almost a fool for nearly taking advantage of that. You can't concentrate on anything but what nearly happened back there.

You feel Leigh’s hand slip back into yours, slotting in place like magnets that just fit together. Her laughter has quieted, and she leans into you slightly, resting her head on your shoulder. It's then you realize that a drunken Leigh is more affectionate and less aware of physical boundaries—dangerous.

“You know, maybe we should call it a night? I can take you home,” you suggest, making an effort not to lean into her, even though the intoxicating mix of her shampoo and the faint scent of sweat beckons you closer.

Her reaction is immediate and surprisingly lucid. “I can’t go home like this,” Leigh protests, straightening up. “Jules has her own Halloween thing tonight, and I can't show up drunk and be seen like this by her. She’s been sober for a year now; I can’t just...” Her voice trails off, filled with worry. 

You glance at your wrist and see it's already 2 AM. A sigh escapes you as the reality of your early morning responsibilities begins to weigh in. You have to be up in four hours to open the clinic at 8 AM, and staying out to make sure Leigh fully sobers up is far from feasible. Leigh appears exhausted, her eyes heavy, even as she tries to muster a smile.

“Listen, Leigh,” you say, eyeing a practical solution. “I have an early start tomorrow, and you look like you need some rest. How about you crash at my place tonight? You can sleep it off and head home in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

Leigh seems to consider this for a moment, her gaze drifting towards the street where groups of men glance their way as they pass by. Finally, she nods meekly, looking relieved.

“That sounds really good right now. My head feels heavy, and I just want to go to sleep,” she mumbles, letting out a weary sigh and rubbing her eyes. You help her to her feet and steady her as you both walk back to your car, which is fortunately parked nearby. Leigh curls up in the passenger seat, and you crack the windows to let in some fresh air.

Once home, you give Leigh some clothes to change into and then start setting up the couch for yourself, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket from the cupboard. As you turn back a while later, you see Leigh, in her slightly tipsy state, misinterpreting your preparations. She gives a small, tired smile and plops down onto the couch. Reacting quickly, you catch her just before she falls completely into it.

“W-What are you doing?” she whispers, surprised as she finds herself practically in your arms, half-carried in a bridal style.

You feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your chest, aware of how close she is. “This is for me,” you say, nodding towards the couch, “you’re taking the bed.”

To avoid any further confusion, you slowly lift her up, wrapping an arm securely around her waist as you guide her to your bedroom. Leigh’s head remains tucked in your neck, her body relaxed and yielding as you move.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she mumbles against your skin, though her tone suggests she’s grateful for your care. You don’t see the blush that has crept to her own cheeks, your eyes fixed straight ahead.

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assure her as you gently set her down on your bed. “Make yourself comfortable. The mattress’ much better for a good night's sleep.”

Leigh nods, pulling the covers around her. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and more sober now.

“Anytime,” you respond with a reassuring smile. “Good night, Leigh.” You close the bedroom door softly behind you and retreat to the couch. 

“Good night, Y/N…” Leigh whispers to herself, a faint smile touching her lips as she nestles deeper into the bed. 

[g1rld1ary]

sex on the beach - spencer reid x bartender!reader

wc: 1134

cw: swearing, alcohol, i am a beer hater to my core!!!!!!!

working in a bar right near quantico was never dull. certainly not the most interesting job in the world, but you supposed you would rather be a bartender there than in some rinky-dink town in bumfuck nowhere. plus, most of the FBI agents tipped pretty decently.

you'd only been working for an hour or two when the agents started filing in, all eager to let off steam on a friday night. sometimes the job made them disagreeable but mostly it just made them want to drink, and who were you to deny them? so you were kept busy refilling glasses and mixing drinks, making small talk when you could over the pumping music.

just as a kesha song came to an end you watched the bau walk in, all serious expressions and purposeful strides. you guessed from their demeanours they'd probably just returned from a case, looking to destress together -- not that you were a profiler. ssa derek morgan sent you a nod; both a greeting and a request to get started on their drinks for him to collect once they were all settled at a table. you returned the gesture, quickly counting how many of them had made it. your eyes flew across all the usual suspects, landing on an unfamiliar face.

he was definitely younger than the others, easily able to pass for a college student if he tried -- not much older than you. he must be a new recruit, you figured, turning back to your job.

as expected, morgan was over a few minutes later, handing you his card as he collected the beer bottles between his fingers.

"who's the kid?" you looked towards the skinny brown-haired boy. morgan laughed.

"doctor spencer reid, our very own kid genius," he explained and you hummed in approval.

"his first time at a bar?" in your defence, he looked like a wolf in sheep's clothing. or more accurately, a sheep in fbi clothing. his brown sweater vest and thick brown glasses made him look adorably dorky, even in a room full of agents. morgan shrugged.

"not sure. first time with us at least, after heavy convincing from the girls." you looked as doctor reid was squished between penelope and elle, who looked to be teasing him about something or other. "he's only 23, joined the team last year so we don't know too much about him outside of work, but the kid clearly doesn't have much life experience yet."

"he's cute. send him to get the next round." derek raised an eyebrow.

"crushing on pretty boy? didn't peg him as your type." you laughed.

"as opposed to what, you and your rippling muscles?" you pretended to swoon as he scoffed good-naturedly, stepping away from the bar.

"just play nice with him or he'll never come back!" he called and you shook your head, laughing to yourself as you attended another customer.

you couldn't help glancing over to the bau's table more than was strictly necessary, unexpectedly fascinated with the young doctor. he was clearly the youngest of the group, not just by appearance, but you could tell the others teased him relentlessly without needing to hear any of the specifics. you watched him take it, but you were most interested in his drink.

you were by no means a profiler, but as someone who was frequently in charge of creating other's drinks, you were pretty in tune with their reactions. it was abundantly clear that doctor reid hated his beer. you weren't offended, it was just a bottle the bar kept stocked and you thought it tasted like ass anyway, but it was a little funny watching him struggle to make it through the bottle.

sure enough though, he was meandering awkwardly up to the bar where you stood, looking a little like he wished the ground would swallow him up. you rushed through the drink you were mixing to attend to him, much to the dismay of the other patrons waiting to order.

"the famous doctor reid," you greeted, "what can I getcha?" he looked a little alarmed that you knew his name and you smiled, explaining that morgan had pointed him out before.

"right." he swallowed awkwardly, "can i just get, uh... whatever we were just having?" you held back a laugh, figuring it would probably just make him more anxious.

"of course," you hesitated, "you don't like beer do you?" he tried to put up a fight, stammering out that he did in fact like beer, but seemed to give up before you could even start to be convinced.

"it doesn't matter though, it's just one night."

"you know it doesn't matter what you drink, right? your team isn't gonna stop inviting you because you drink something that actually tastes digestible. i mean, look at penelope," you stage whispered the last part, gesturing over to garcia's electric blue sugar rush in a glass you learnt to make specially for her. reid looked at you for a moment, clearly trying to decode something.

"what would i even have?" he asked, clearly self-conscious.

"not much of a partier? we could start you with sex on the beach--"

"what!" he blurted before you could finish, then slapped a hand over his mouth, immediately regretting it. you answered patiently,

"it's a cocktail i like; fruity and actually tastes good, like peach and cranberry so super tasty!"

"uh yeah, ok, i can try that." you nodded with a smile you hoped was friendly as you got set on making the drink for him. he watched you closely, and you found yourself uncharacteristically nervous under his gaze, despite it having no clear judgement. rather, he seemed intensely curious, eager to learn the proper procedure at a bar.

"let me know if this isn't the one for you and next time we can try something else!" you handed him the glass and he thanked you profusely, leaving you a generous tip on top of the round of beers and his cocktail.

"please come again soon," you joked, glancing down at the bill in your hand, "but doctor reid?" spencer came back toward you, "if morgan gives you any shit for what you're drinking, just tell him we all know that he drinks cosmopolitans." you chanced a wink and reid blushed, nodding. he stuttered out an affirmation, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear as he rushed back to the table.

as you watched morgan tease him about the drink reid must have taken your advice, because in a second the table was all looking at you, morgan with a particularly scandalised expression. you waved coyly, concealing the excitement you felt after your interaction with the young doctor. you thought garcia might've seen through you and avoided eye contact, busying yourself with whatever was in your sight.

this is so not what i thought I was gonna write when I started this so if u see me write another bartender one shot just close ur eyes...

[2smolbeans]

Yandere Diavolo x Innocent reader headcanons

Tags: Mindbreak, corruption, forced marriage, black mail, Mc's partner gets murdered, suicide mention, Mc goes to hell, manipulation, hostage keeping, minor world building mentions, Mc is gender neutral.

Diavolo knows how humans are. He's been there since their very creation. Humans are greedy, vicious, cruel little animals with a mind of their own. They were almost similar to demons- no, if anything - most, if not - all demons were once humans!

So, for being so cruel, so selfish. It was amazing how he stumbled upon a rare soul like you. So pure, innocent, kind..He was sure that you were predestined to go heaven once you had died. You'd make the perfect angel, after all!

Diavolo was enamored by you. How gentle you were to those who were rough with you, the way you would so gracefully own up to your mistakes - something most humans couldn't do! How you would always keep your head high whenever you were ruthlessly bullied by the world. The way you would kindly treat strangers who would be cast aside by society.

For once, he had met a human with diligence and self-control! It made you desirable and interesting - different from most humans. He needed you. You were one of a kind.

Diavolo became more curious about you with each passing day. He just had to see you. So, with a change of attire and appearance, he visited your work as a customer. Falling hard for you when you gifted him with your voice that spoke directly to him - giving him your undivided attention.

He needed more. It had been so long since he's seen such pure kind innocence directed towards him. So, of course, with his devil's charm, he tried to persuade you to be his partner.

But, unsurprisingly, you already had a partner. Of course, that was no problem for Diavolo- such a small obstacle was no path for this ancient demon!

So kindly getting rid of the waste of space that contributed no meaning to your life, Diavolo tried again. Sweetly feeding into your sins. Pride, greed, envy, and lust. Trying to get you to fall for him.

But it never worked since you were now too busy grieving for your previous partner.

He was running thin. He didn't want to force his love and affection onto you. He wanted you to swoon over him, for you to look at him without him having to force you. To have you all prettied up as his royal spouse. To have his innocent kind spouse dote on him so diligently.

So he was left no choice but to haunt you. Whispering in your ears about the unspoken knowledge, taunting you to the point of insanity, breaking you to the point of committing unforgivable sins.

So when you came to your senses, unable to cope with the reality, you ultimately killed yourself out of guilt.

Happily waiting for you in circles of hell, Diavolo came to collect you.

You were so scared, shivering from the torture you had to endure with all the other sinners. Don't worry, he'll take you away from the bad place. Only in one condition. No? That's okay. He'll happily drop you off back from where you came from!

Aww, you're clutching onto him so tightly.. I guess that means you took up his offer!

Sooner or later, you ended up as his royal spouse. Always satisfying his needs, making sure to please him with anything he wants.

You don't want to go back to the circles of hell after all. Not when Devildom is nice and safe, barely far away from limbo!

Diavolo found it admirable whenever he looked at you. Such an innocent and meek demon you were. With your cute little horns protruding out of your head and that slim tail you had from behind.

He was proud to call you his spouse. So proud that he always hosts a party dedicated to celebrating your marriage with him. It's only fair, you must be bored staying inside the castle by yourself waiting for him!

Plus, it's not like you're allowed to go out.. He can't risk his little spouse getting hurt!

Aren't you glad this is how things turned out?

And isn't it better that it'll be like this for all eternity?

.

.

.

________________________

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

You know what really gets me about ATSV

ATSV: How to do a face reveal right

[A SHORT essay on why I think Miguel and Hobie are Hot On Purpose.]

Jessica's face is completely uncovered. Ben's face is shown right away. Pavitr appears in his mask but immediately shows his face in his own intro. Margo is always unmasked too.

CMIIW but: Miguel and Hobie are the only new characters whose faces were hidden until WAY after their first lines.

You mean to tell me, two of the finest characters in the movie. The characters who look like THIS

Are shown first as this:

- for a reason!! The writers knew what they were doing 😭

They - knowing the two would receive the most fan attention - deliberately delayed their face reveals simply for the sake of the drama.

When we first meet Miguel - it's as Spider-man

He's playing the cool, cold, heroic leader (despite Gwen's teasing). We come close to seeing his face, but like him, we stop short.

They give us a taste of Miguel before we actually meet him, or see his face and full design.

The opening scenes of ATSV leaves us holding our breath.

The end of ITSV sets Miguel up to a big problem in ATSV, but he's abscent for the majority of the movie, working behind the scenes.

We spend the majority of the movie holding our breath, knowing that eventually Miles will have to meet him, we'll have to meet him, and it leaves the viewer even more excited - or anxious - for Miguel.

When we meet Hobie - it's as Spider-Punk

Just the same as Miguel, we're given a HUGE dose of Hobie before he even hits the screen.

Hobie is the talk of the town. Miles has an imagined problem with him - so we have a problem with him: We don't know who he is!

ATSV sets us up for Hobie. We know we'll meet him, but unlike Miguel - as so very in character for Hobie - we don't know where, or when, or how.

Even after his first appearance - he kicks it up a notch.

And although he could've remained masked for the entirety of his intro, instead - the animators choose to have fun with it.

They highlight the fact. Hobie outright taunts the viewer; He KNOWS you want to see his face. Sure, he'll demask himself - but he doesn't give you the satisfaction.

But Hobies face is an intentional mystery. He wants to keep you guessing, revealing in the anticipation.

He's already told you his name - but it's his character design that we're left dying for.

I know as soon as they got in the elevator I was like 👀 - he not gonna keep that mask on right. cause I know he fine

I find it so funny that the two characters that are thirsted after on the highest level are the only ones that reveal their faces in later scenes.

Like even when they walk into Miguels lair

Like bro what the fuck are you posing for? Dramatic effect 😐

It goes to show that writers genuinely know who will be fan-favorites.

The ATSV design and animation team made a ridiculous amount of content for Hobie - going so far as to design his house, and make detailed imagery of his world.

They knew it'd never be included in ATSV. But they didn't care.

They made it anyway cause they knew people would want more of him. They knew that either in BTSV - or a solo entry of his own - people would really like Hobie, and really want to know more about him.

The knew that people would go NUTS over Miguel's redesign - because it's such a stark difference and upgrade from his teaser seen in ITSV.

In the beginning of ATSV, the design changes aren't that apparent. But as ATSV goes on, and we see Miguel's behavior, we immediately understand why they chose to make Miguel SO MUCH LARGER than what they were planning in ITSV.

They knew that you'd hear Oscar Issac's voice and it'd be a wrap. The way he looks is just ICING on the cake. They don't need to show you Miguel right away, they're going to make you thirst the whole movie before you actually get to see him.

They knew you'd see Hobie kick through that force field and be shook over him.

Gwen and Pavitr yell out 'Hobie!' when he arrives - because that's what we're all screaming in our heads.

'Oh shit - he's HERE.'

His face reveal is just the final nail in the coffin of 'yeah, im down bad for this dude. it's a wrap.'

I just LOVE IT i LOVE IT it SO CLEVER

the writers being like 'nah make them thirsty hoes wait'. Im watching Mumbattan fall apart in front of my very eyes and I'm still like... 'So about that Hobie bloke.... what's his deal'

We are all so predictable. They're laughing at us. They made Miguel dummy thicc because they knew. They just knew.

[poisonlove]

Beauty and the Beast | w.a

Pairing: wednesday addams x reader

Words: 15k

Warning: reader unsure about her appearance

I felt lonely, so lonely.

But I couldn't risk anyone being scared by my appearance, I couldn't risk receiving mockery and laughter for what I hide beneath the mask. I had to protect myself and others from the horrible monster that I am.

Not even Eugenie, one of my few friends, knew my true face, and I don't think he'll find out anytime soon. Enid tried a couple of times, but after my umpteenth No she gave up, which I'm grateful for.

Why did it have to happen to me? Why do I have to feel scrutinized because of the mask I wear? Damn it, there are vampires, mermaids, and even people without mouths, and yet I'm the only strange one in Nevermore?

"Y/n, have you heard that a new student has arrived?" Eugenie smiles with all thirty-two teeth as he walks beside me, his eyes gleaming with happiness at the news. "Is it really important?" I ask timidly, biting my lower lip amused by his reaction.

"An extra girl is always welcome," he sighs dreamily. "Maybe she'll even like bees, don't you think?" He asks hopefully.

I tilt my head to the side and watch Eugenie smile widely, hope in his eyes. "I…" I start, feeling a  pressure in my chest from his enthusiasm, "I guess so?" I say, chuckling timidly, not wanting to spoil my friend's good mood.

"I mean, I adore you, really," Eugenie says, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "but having one more girl in our group would be cool!" He says, analyzing me carefully.

"It's just the two of us… We're not even a trio, and you're talking about a group?" I roll my eyes at his comment, and Eugenie gives me a friendly elbow on the side.

"There's no use rolling your eyes, you know I can see you, right? I mean… besides your mouth, and the other thing that can be seen under the mask," he says sing-song, looking at my mask reluctantly.

"And anyway! We're three!" The boy pouts adorably.

"Really?" I ask in surprise, and Eugenie nods. "Enid," he says, smiling in love at the mention of the blonde werewolf.

I open my mouth ready to retort, but I just ended up sighing loudly.

"Y/n," I turn towards the sound of the voice and see Enid gesturing for me to come closer to her. I raise an eyebrow with confusion and look at Eugenie shrugging indifferently. "Go on, I'll go check on my bees," he says, giving me a pat on the shoulder and walking towards his target, humming a tune.

I approach Enid, who smiles excitedly. "Hi Enid, everything okay?" I ask with a small smile on my lips.

"Y/n! I finally found you!" Enid exclaims, "I have some great news to tell you. You see, the new student is named Wednesday Addams and she'll be my new roommate!"

I feel a knot in my stomach at the thought of facing a new acquaintance, but I try to remain calm. "Wednesday Addams?" I repeat, trying to hide the anxiety that begins to creep up inside me.

"Exactly!" Enid confirms enthusiastically, "It would be fantastic if you two could become friends. I know you're a bit reserved, but I'm sure you'll get along well together!" The blonde smiled widely, her blue eyes looking at me attentively.

I try to mask my discomfort in front of Enid's enthusiasm, but inside, I feel a growing sense of unease. It's not fear, it's just a deep reluctance to interact with new people, especially when I have to hide my true identity behind a mask.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" I ask uncertainly, the memory of Yoko staring at me strangely still vivid in my mind, sending shivers down my spine. I look at Enid curiously, seeking reassurance.

"With Yoko, it was just a small mishap," Enid replies, laughing nervously, able to read what I was thinking during my silence. "It's not your fault if you're so different."

"Right," I mumble to myself, still troubled by the memory of the episode with Yoko.

"I think it'll be different," continues Enid, placing her hand on my arm and starting to walk towards our dorms, "Wednesday has a… special character. You might like her," she adds with a broad smile.

"Are you telling me she's strange?" I ask, feeling offended by her description. Enid looks at me sideways, trying to reassure me.

"No, I didn't mean that," Enid clarifies, "just that she's also shy, and I think you two could get along," she concludes, smiling happily.

"But do we have to go now?" I ask with a worried tone, feeling the need to mentally prepare for the impending meeting. "Of course! I talked about you when she arrived, I think she's writing now," Enid babbles thoughtfully.

"She's writing?" I ask incredulously, a small smile threatening to spread across my lips. The thought of someone actually writing seems surreal to me.

"You see? You haven't even met yet and you already have something in common," Enid says, smiling kindly and looking at me with eyes overflowing with happiness.

As we head towards Ophelia Hall, nervousness grows inside me and my hands start to sweat. My heart beats faster and faster as the moment of meeting Wednesday approaches. I don't know what to expect, and the uncertainty makes me even more agitated.

Enid opens the door and my eyes immediately fall on the room divided in half by a black ribbon, separating two opposite worlds. Enid's side, bright and colorful, contrasts sharply with the darkness of the opposite side.

"The room is… Different," I say timidly, blinking in disbelief.

"Yeah, I was mad the first time too," Enid says with a reluctant sigh, evidently annoyed by the division of the room.

"Wednesday! I want to introduce you to someone," Enid announces, turning her gaze to her roommate on the other side of the ribbon.

Wednesday, focused on the typewriter, emits a small grunt before turning towards us with a rigid and impenetrable posture.

Her dark hair is braided into two impeccable braids that fall on her shoulders with precision and order. Her face is pale, almost ethereal, but her eyes are intense, deep, and penetrating. Her posture is rigid, but she exudes a silent confidence, as if she is aware of her inner power. The air around her seems filled with mystery and fascination, and even though her gaze is cold and distant, there is something about her that attracts and fascinates. It's as if she's enveloped in an aura of darkness, yet at the same time of strength and determination.

Her black eyes scan my figure, and I feel the warmth rising to my cheeks with embarrassment. Thank goodness Wednesday can't see it. I breathe deeply, relieved.

"What is she?" Wednesday asks with sharp curiosity, analyzing me with her gaze.

"Wednesday! You need to be more polite," Enid scolds her, but Wednesday ignores her with indifference.

My heart begins to beat faster as Wednesday approaches me, nervousness growing with each step she takes. Her presence, even silent, seems to envelop me in an atmosphere of mystery and tension, making me feel as if I'm under her scrutinizing gaze.

"You're not a vampire, a werewolf… not even a mermaid…" she mutters softly, her eyes scrutinizing mine intensely.

Her gaze is piercing, full of determination and fascination. "What are you?" she repeats, her voice neutral but curiosity palpable in the air.

I feel cornered, a knot forming in my throat, tightening.

Spontaneously, Wednesday reaches out and places her hands on my face, the tips of her fingers delicately touching my mask.

"Don't," I say in a low but sharp voice, trying to dissuade her.

Wednesday tilts her head slightly, ignoring my request, and brushes her fingers against the mask, exploring its texture with curiosity. Her hand wraps around my mask, and the contact sends shivers down my spine.

My breath becomes irregular as Wednesday continues to examine my mask with care, as if she wants to unveil the secret hidden beneath it. The touch of her fingers on my skin makes me feel vulnerable, exposed to her penetrating gaze.

"Please, stop," I whisper again, trying to control the agitation in my voice.

Wednesday doesn't seem at all disturbed by my request, continuing to explore the mask with an almost scientific curiosity. Her impassive face betrays no emotion, but I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I feel increasingly exposed in front of her.

"Wednesday, stop," says Enid firmly but gently, approaching us. "Y/n has her reasons for wearing that mask, and it's not right for you to force her to reveal it if she doesn't want to."

Wednesday turns to Enid, her cold and distant gaze piercing through her. "I'm not forcing anything," she replies calmly, "I'm just trying to understand."

Enid stands between me and Wednesday, shielding me with her body. "I understand, Wednesday, but there are better ways to get the answers you seek," she retorts, trying to defuse the situation.

I feel relieved by Enid's support, but at the same time anxious about how the situation will unfold.

After a moment of tense silence, Wednesday turns her back and walks away, heading towards the desk with measured steps. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I sink into a nearby chair.

"What an embarrassing moment," I say with a nervous smile, trying to break the ice.

Enid approaches and places a hand on my shoulder with an expression of solidarity. "Don't worry, Y/n. Wednesday can be a bit… intense at times," she comments with a half-smile.

"You said it," I reply with a small smile, grateful for Enid's support.

On the other side of the room, the incessant ticking of Wednesday's typewriter continues unabated, creating a constant background to our conversation. Her silent presence seems to have added a new dimension to the room, making it even more charged with mystery and tension.

"What do you say we go for a walk outside?" Enid suggests, trying to distract my mind from tumultuous thoughts.

"That sounds like a good idea," I respond with a grateful smile, happy to escape from that tense atmosphere. We rise and leave the room, leaving behind the constant ticking of Wednesday's typewriter.

She seems like an interesting girl I thought to myself

but she really doesn't give up

(…)

Weeks have passed since that first tense encounter with Wednesday, yet her obsession with uncovering what lay beneath my mask showed no signs of abating. Occasionally, during classes or in moments of break, I catch her staring at me with her piercing gaze, as if she wanted to pierce through the fabric of my mask and read my deepest thoughts.

Wednesday doesn't give up easily. She made various attempts: sending anonymous messages, appearing out of nowhere at the most unexpected times, sending Things, and even trying to remove my mask with a sudden gesture. Her questions become more frequent and casual, as if she wanted to uncover my secret through the most mundane conversation.

Flashback

During a break between classes, while I was sitting alone in a corner of the cafeteria, I felt a presence approaching. I looked up and saw Wednesday with her mysterious and aloof demeanor.

"May I sit here?" she asked calmly, indicating the seat across from me.

"Of course, go ahead," I replied, surprised by her sudden company.

Wednesday sat down with a fluid and silent movement, and for a moment we simply looked at each other, without saying a word. Then, without a smile or a greeting nod, she said, "How are you?"

"Quite well, thank you," I replied, trying to hide my surprise at finding her there.

That brief conversation remained imprinted in my mind for days, like an unsolved riddle. Yet, despite her seemingly insatiable interest in my mask, Wednesday did not seem at all frightened or disgusted by me. She was just… curious.

Flashback end

But then, without any warning, Wednesday stops altogether circling around me. She no longer approaches me with her questions or scrutinizing looks. I was left to wonder:

was I boring? Rude? Was I just being paranoid?

"It seems like she's gotten tired of you," Enid jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe she's finally realized that beneath that mask, it's just you, and nothing so terrifying."

Enid's joke made me smile, but it didn't completely dissipate the tension that had built up inside me. I was nervous about the various conjectures swirling in my head, and I literally asked myself too many questions that had no answer.

"Thank goodness you found something to laugh about," I remarked, trying to conceal my mood.

Enid looked at me with a sympathetic expression. "You know, Y/n, I think you're reading too much into things. Maybe Wednesday has just found something else to focus on, or maybe she's decided she doesn't want to make you uncomfortable."

I wanted to believe Enid's words, but doubt continued to nag at me. "Maybe you're right," I replied, trying to convince myself.

"I promise that if there's anything to worry about, I'll let you know," Enid said sincerely, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I felt somewhat relieved by her promise, but I knew that until I had answers to my questions, my mind would continue to race incessantly. It was frustrating not knowing what was going through Wednesday's mind, but I had to find a way to stop tormenting myself with suppositions and hypotheses.

That afternoon, I found myself in Enid's room, determined to clear things up with Wednesday. The tension in the air was palpable as I tried to gather the courage to confront the situation.

"Wednesday, can I talk to you?" I asked, trying to stay calm despite my pounding heart.

The girl looked up from the book she was reading and glanced at me with detachment. "Sure," she replied simply, showing no sign of interest. Her eyes returned to the pages of the book she was reading.

"Why aren't you talking to me anymore?" I asked, feeling my voice tremble slightly with emotion.

Wednesday didn't even look up from her book. "I can't be friends with a girl who doesn't show her face," she said coldly, as if it were obvious.

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut. "You can't really think like that," I replied, trying to control my growing frustration. "I'm not just my mask, Wednesday. There's much more beneath it."

Wednesday remained impassive, and her indifference deeply hurt me. "You don't even listen to me," I whispered, feeling my heart breaking.

The girl didn't respond, continuing to read as if I were invisible. Frustration and anger welled up inside me, but in the end, I gave up.

With a sigh, I realized I had to accept the situation for what it was. "Maybe you're right," I admitted softly. "But you can't judge without knowing the truth." Wednesday looked up from her book, looking at me with a certain curiosity. "And what would the truth be?" she asked, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"The truth… I'm afraid," I replied, feeling a lump in my throat as my hands trembled slightly. With determination, I placed them on the mask, ready to reveal what I had hidden for so long.

Damn feelings I developed for you, persistent Goth I thought bitterly.

Wednesday watched carefully, her black eyes scrutinizing my face with intense curiosity. My heart pounded in my chest, silently praying that she would accept what she was about to see.

With a deep breath, I slowly removed the mask, revealing my true face. Behind it, a hideous scar extended from my eyebrow to my cheek, thankfully sparing my eye. It was a wound I had carried for years, a witness to a painful past that I had never shared with anyone.

Wednesday remained still, her eyes fixed on my scar. Her expression was inscrutable, but I could see surprise in her eyes.

The scar was large and deep, and I couldn't help but feel vulnerable as Wednesday examined it. But there was no more room to hide the truth, and I had to accept her judgment, whatever it may be.

Wednesday closed the book and approached me slowly, her gaze still fixed on the scar adorning my face. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and shyness, as if she were unsure of what to do or say.

"Can I touch it?" she asked in a barely audible voice, and I nodded weakly, feeling my cheeks flush at her question.

With cautious movements, Wednesday came even closer, her fingers delicately touching my scarred skin. A shiver ran down my spine at the contact, but it wasn't disgust or fear. It was a feeling of calm and acceptance, as if that gesture meant something deeper than just physical contact.

I looked at her face as she examined the scar. Her eyes were full of empathy and understanding, and I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. It was as if I had finally found someone who truly understood me, without judging or condemning.

It was hard to believe that all this had happened because I had fallen in love with her. But now, looking at her up close like this, I realized that maybe it was worth risking my heart for someone who made me feel so alive and accepted.

"How did you get it?" Wednesday asked timidly, slightly clenching her jaw as she continued to observe the scar on my face.

My voice trembled slightly. "It was done by my father," I confessed, feeling the lump in my throat tighten. "He was drunk and one night he lost control."

My voice broke slightly as I remembered those painful moments, the fear and despair I had felt. But I knew I had to share the truth with Wednesday, even if it hurt to revisit those memories.

Wednesday gently caressed my cheek, the touch of her fingers on my scarred skin sending a slight shiver down my spine. "Why did you keep it hidden?" she asked with curiosity, her gaze still full of compassion.

"It's horrible…" I replied softly, feeling the weight of my words. "When everyone looked at me strangely or laughed, I decided to cover it up."

Wednesday's finger brushed against the scar on my eyebrow and a shiver ran down my spine. It was as if that simple gesture was breaking down the barriers I had built around me for years.

"It makes you strong," said Wednesday, tilting her head to the side as she looked at me intently. "And you're… Beautiful all the same."

Her words struck me deeply, and I felt my cheeks blush slightly at her unexpected compliment. It was hard to believe that someone could find beauty in that ugly scar, but with Wednesday beside me, I began to see myself with different eyes.

"Thank you," I replied sincerely, my heart filled with gratitude for her kindness. It was a moment of intimacy and sharing that I would never forget.

"Does Enid know?" Wednesday asked with curiosity, and I shook my head.

"No," I replied, feeling a shiver of nervousness run through my body.

"Are you afraid of her reaction?" she asked timidly, and I nodded slowly.

"If she says something, I'll kill her," said Wednesday with a serious tone, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling for the first time confident and beautiful for myself.

And beautiful for Wednesday.

[miyaur]

🪷 anon here

requesting a bsd Fukuzawa x fem!Reader married hcs🥹🥹

Sfw and Nsfw if it's fine with you🫶🫶

⟢ 𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ft. fukuzawa

・sypnosis. how did you get together with him? and what's life after marriage?

・notes. gasp emoji a bsd post from me?!?! also hihhihi bro!!! more than willing to make sfw/nsfw hcs!!! honestly it's lowkey hard for me to do sfw hcs by themselves LMFAO, anyways

・warnings. nsfw toward the end, nickname daddy/sir used, breeding kink

𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀, what he is like in marriage?

・oddly peaceful, honestly thinking about his title annd stuff he'd be busy and stuff, and wouldn't be all that available, to your (and my) surprise, he's always there when you need it the most. probably would try his best to keep you away from his job though, it doesn't sound all that pleasing. only few people probably know about you too, like ranpo and just maybee yosano, just maybe.

・this man treats you like absolute royalty, anything, and everything about you is his favorite, most of the time is willing to try out whatever you find interest in, doesn't really like pda btw, much prefers to keep most things romantic in private, just between both of you. would probably adopt a cat with you if you want, but if you don't, that's alright too, anything you're okay with, he is too, most of the time at least. likes to feed stray animals near your shared house honestly, love all of them and probably gives some names based off what breed they are.

・oh but if you do happen to also work at the agency, he won't show much affection, because pda is not really his thing, never has been, prefers those little moments between you and him only, to be only with you and him, why does he have to share lol. plus is scared if any enemies had realized you were his weakness, being his spouse and all, that wouldn't be good at all, so he prefers to keep your relationship on the low, for your sake.

・but he does give affectionate glances, every once in a while, after all you are still his, and he's yours. next question: does he mention anything about kids? no lmao, you probably have to ask about the topic if you want him to think about it, just think. but another reason he would bring it up, is if like some lost kid just happen to be there, right beside the overly crowded place, tear stained face, every now and then glancing to the left or right, and parents probably abandoned the poor child. and you both decide to take the kid in, for a bit, 'till she finds a home, or if he tries to ask at least once about kids, but don't depend on it, even if he's good with the kid, he doesn't really bring it up. but honestly, maybe you both could adopt the little girl instead of bringing her to the adoption center, honestly, it'd be months after taking her in, that was when you both thought when should we be putting her in for adoption, or will we? you've both grown fond of her, even so by giving her a name, that you both decided on, well might as well just become her parents, officially, right?

・overall topnotch cutie as a husband, #keepbeingbbg

𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀, what if he did want a kid tho haha thatd be crazy...... (yes he does)

・daddy kink, like his appearance and demeanor screams it. like he can be all vanilla and stuff, that's his usual stuff, but if you ask him to be rough, bro will go down on you. not into bdsm, he doesn't wanna hurt you at all, but if you want it.... okay....

・breeding kink, too i guess. he likes slow and sensual way more though, seeing you with his seed all up in there he just feels like ":D". that's it, but he just wants to kiss you gently, and praise your beautiful skin and everything, loves everything like that. only goes rough without your kind of request if he's been pretty stressed that though. that's where the breeding kink goes hard, like absolutey, call him sir or daddy and he'll give you as many kids as you want :)

・medium-ish sex drive though, becomes high if stressed, is what i'm thinking, probably pretty big too, girthy asf too probably. can go for ages, and ages, and ages, and ages. probably the time to lick all his cum out your hole, sometimes wants you to masturbate in front of him

・probably while he's fucking you, rough or vanilla he's gonna start asking about what the kid's name should be, also would whisper immaculate amount of praise, like almost too much, but it balances out with how good he treats your body, and the marks upon your neck and collarbone afterwards. honestly doesn't care that much for other stuff during sex, finds the moments between you both alone is more attractive than anything else. loves making you happy more than anything. praise galore btw did i mention that yet, also loves kissing you everywhere

・also likes it when you cockwarm him while he does work, and he whispers into your ear about how he's almost done, the pile of work says otherwise though. super affectionate while watching you lowkey squirm on his cock. probably caresses his hand over your belly bulge from time to time ・super vanilla, or absolute fucking rough, no in between, that's it have a good night

[getonite]

(𝟎.𝟗𝐊+) 𝐌𝐒𝐆: (OH) I DON'T GET IT, YOUR THE ONLY THING THAT I LOVE

ayanokoji kiyotaka/fem,reader ; no prns r stated, however, through desc it feels like it was meant for fem readers, kissing, cringe confession, 'ask what it means + realization' trope, reader finessing a kiss from him, + me heavily projecting my aroaceness on him.

despite his percieved outward appearance and demeanor, ayanokoji's mind is quite different. he has some semblance of the ability to feel, though he can't outwardly express it. he doesn't and has never craved human warmth or affection since his infancy.

its unnecessary, there's simply no place for it in his life. though, there are times where he wishes he could feel what others do, where he could smile like others do.

though no one has ever prompted him to start that journey. not kushida, not horikita, not even karuizawa. he wonders if he'll forever remain behind the doors of those polished white walls. that is until he feels the warmth of your hand on his arm.

those dehumanizing walls of class where he was observed like a lab rat remain fresh in his head.

reminders that his father would do anything to get his most successful product back in his grasp.

though when you give him that sweet dimpled smile he pushes it to the back of his head. never forgetting, though still on the forefront of his mind.

when you stand on the tips of your toes to reach his height, releasing him that cute little giggle. he can't help but give in . . . just a little. after all, how could he stand on his word when the person he's against is too pretty.

despite how intelligent he is, he can't seem to pick up that he feels diffrent towards you.

the reality of differential feelings towards others was a bit foreign. even when he stepped into the social atmosphere of high school, his view didn't quite change. no matter the girl, no matter the boy, he felt the same.

until you whispered the nickname you made up for him. “kiyoookoji!” in your cute tone, you dragged out the beginning of his name, to end it with the end of his last name. he finds it a bit cute? that you've crafted a nickname for him.

one only you are allowed to use.

nothing changed until you ( forcibly ), dragged him to your dorm and happily explained the anime he had missed out on during his previous 16 years.

kiyotaka ayanokoji hadn't quite realized how he felt, despite the way he leaned in closer to hear you better. despite when his eyes immediately snap to your form. despite the wave of warmth he felt when you hugged his arm, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you look up at him with those pretty doe eyes.

“kiyoooo-o!” you smile and drag his name out per usual. your body is tilted towards his as you lean on the rail of the cruise balcony.

it was another island exam, not very surprising.

though the luxury, the beautiful seas, and the atmosphere is something you could never get over. “hm?”

“whatcha thinkin’ bout?” you smirk and lean in, “im guessing that's your thinking face considering ive never seen you frown like that . . . or ever” normally, people would smile at your teasing, though in his mind he wants to, his lips don't move.

“can i ask you something?”

“course, what is it?”

“. . . i think im feeling something, towards someone.”

“oh?” intrigue fills you, “do tell.”

“. . . something about them is different. i feel different when im near them, like im letting my guard down instinctually. i want them.”

you hum, a finger playfully tapping against your chin. “diffrent? how?”

“like . . . i feel warm around them. they grab my attention whenever they walk in. and i like listening to them. no matter how ridiculous it sounds. i just think it's—i feel different around them. and i don't know if i want it to stop . . . i think i do?”

ayanokoji's eyes drift to you. his eyebrow raises slightly. “what?”

“kiyo,” you smile, “you've developed a crush. normal people get that all the time.”

“huh,” he mumbles.

“care to tell me who's caught your eye? i wanna know what your type is,” you tease and lean towards him.

ayanokoji feels a sense of amusement at your actions. he takes a breath before looking at you, his eyes locked on yours. “your smart, i think you already know the answer to that question,” he whispers.

your lips twitch into a smile, “cute.”

you hum and stand up straight, taking steps to be right in front of him. “would you care to test my theory?” you smirk, mischief in those pretty eyes he loves to drown in.

“and how would we do that?”

“kiss,” you whisper and stand on the tips of your toes, your lips hovering over his. you feel his breath against your lips and you lock eyes with him once more. “care to tr—”

before you can finish your words, his hand finds purchase on your hip and he presses his lips to yours. his eyes flutter closed as he takes in the feeling he gets from you. your voice, your smile, your touches.

after a moment he breaks away, his hand lingering on your hip. his eyes open and looks into your eyes, not uttering a word.

. . .

“wellllll, was i right?”

he presses his lips to yours once again, holding you a bit closer this time. you chuckle and cup the side of his face. you break away, only for him to lean in for another.

“hey you,” you whisper, causing him to pause, “that's a lot of kissing for someone who isn't my boyfriend.”

ayanokoji's lips twitch at your words, “then would you date me?”

a hum leaves your lips. your eyes travel to his, your thumb running along his bottom lip. a smile grows on your face. “since you asked so nicely, yes.”

[mistydeyes]

little moments and little voices

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: Despite the long hours and constant threat of death, the 141 always has something to return to. Even when they're away, they love the moments you share with them and your children.

pairing: 141 x fem!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: none :)

a/n: i redid my little headers for each section so hope you enjoy!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

“C’mon babies let’s call daddy,” you said as you gathered your three little children. “Mum we’re not babies anymore,” the eldest spoke up as your youngest climbed in your lap. “Alright my mature adults, let’s call your father,” you said in a fake stern voice. Your children laughed as they got settled. “You sound like daddy,” your son giggled as he sat down. "Okay is everyone ready?" you asked and they all nodded in agreement. You grabbed the laptop and pulled up Skype and they all giggled as it rang.

After two rings, John's face lit up the screen. "Well hello there," he said as he sat back and your children rushed to wave hi. "We all miss you, sweetie!" you exclaimed and blew him a kiss. "I miss you all too," he replied as he held a hand up to the screen. "Daddy guess what?" your middle said as she climbed onto your lap to see her dad better. "What, pumpkin?" he replied happily. "I lost a tooth," she exclaimed and showed her dad the empty gap in her front smile. "She's been showing everyone, sweetheart," you laughed as you placed your face back in the frame. You continued to have your other two children provide their updates, your eldest had gotten the best marks at school and your youngest recently learned how to tie their shoes. You could see your husband smile at them proudly as he praised all of their achievements. Eventually, you saw the time and knew it was time for bed. "Kiddies I think it's time we head up to bed, yeah?" you asked and you were immediately met with groans. "Don't act like that for your mother," Price scolded and the whining stopped. "Maybe if you ask nicely, Daddy can read us all a bedtime story," you smiled and they begged your laughing husband.

Eventually, he relented and your kids happily climbed down and raced upstairs. This was their favorite part of the night when John was away and were all dutifully ready to be tucked in. You followed with the laptop in hand and set it up so that all your children could see. "Alright, let's see what we have here," John chuckled, "I have a new one for you it's called '‎Goldilocks And The Three Bears'" your kids oooed in response as you sat next to your youngest bed. "I have a special guest," he continued and shifted the camera to the left, "Uncle Kyle is here and he'll be doing some of the voices." You waved as you saw the Sergeant appear on the screen. The kids screamed with happiness at the sight of their favorite uncle appearing. "Hi kids, I'm Goldilocks," he said in a high-pitched voice and you let out a small laugh. As soon as everyone settled, John prepared his best narrator voice and opened the book. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Goldilocks," he began. Before you knew it, he was reading the last few lines. By now, your children were fast asleep. The excitement from seeing their father and the laughter from Kyle's impressions had tuckered them out. You kissed them all gingerly before picking up your laptop and heading downstairs.

"Hi sweetheart," John said as you settled on the couch. "How are you doing?" you asked and his smile faltered a bit. "Tired, missing home," he replied and your heart ached slightly. "We miss you too, John," you whispered as you brought the device closer. "I'll be home soon, just have to tie up some loose ends," he noted. God you missed him. You knew what you had signed up for on your wedding day but these last few months had been hard. You sighed as he looked at your thoughtfully. "Want me to tell you a bedtime story?" he joked and that's how you fell asleep to your husband just talking.

soap

“Daddie daddie daddie!” is all the warning Johnny got before his two twins came running to him. “Slow down there, wee little ones,” he laughed as he went to pick them up in his arms. After four years, Johnny would never get tired of this. “Mammy did face paint with us,” his son said as Johnny examined his face. You had in fact painted their faces and they were excited to show their father. “Let’s get a proper look at both of you,” he said as he sat them both down on the kitchen counter. His kids smiled widely at him and he could see a collection of butterflies and bees on his son’s small face and hearts and flowers on his daughters.

“Where’s your mam now?” he asked as he lowered them off the counter. His daughter excitedly grabbed her dad’s hand and led him to the master bathroom. You stood there washing off your hands and brushes to see your tiny terrors dragging Johnny in. You smiled when you saw them tugging at your husband's arm. You put the brushes down as your twins jumped up and down in excitement. “Hi sweetheart, everything good at the brief?” you asked as you walked over and kissed his cheek. Your kids squealed in disgust and hid their eyes as he held your face gently. "All good, love," he replied, "now what's all this face paint business about?" You looked down to see your kids running around as if they were in a sugar rush. "Ah I had them lying around and they were getting antsy waiting for you," you said and gestured for the twins to settle down. As you continued to clean and chat with Johnny, your daughter had a brilliant idea.

"Mam, can you do some face paint on Daddie?" she asked sweetly and you looked over at Johnny who looked equally as excited. You sighed as you had just finished cleaning your brushes but you always folded for your children and your husband. "I guess I could," you said and the whole group cheered. You set up your station again and Johnny sat on the bathroom counter, leaning down so you could see his face. He squirmed a little under your grip and you ran your fingers over his stubble. "I could make something work," you said before pulling out the paints in your other hand and beginning your masterpiece. You made sure as you were painting to tell your kids not to ruin the surprise. Johnny held onto your waist as you painted. Your children moved around every so often to get a better angle of your work.

"And done," you said with a smile and he turned to look at himself in the mirror. "You've outdone yourself," he said as he examined the delicate brush strokes. "I wanna see!" your son called and Johnny hopped off the counter so they could get a better look. The twins gripped his cheeks and giggled at the splashes of yellow and blue and white. "It's a duck!" your daughter exclaimed. "It's a family of rubber ducks," you said as you bent down, "There's a daddie, a mammy, and two little ones following." They moved Johnny's face around to see the two parent ducks on one cheek and the two smaller ones on the other side. "That's us!" your daughter said as she touched the wet paint. She quickly rubbed it off on her dress and you sighed as you had just gotten them changed that morning. They ran to the playroom and before you could follow, Johnny held you back and kissed you. At first, you thought it was romantic but you soon realized he had brushed off the paint onto your face. "You're a bastard," you joked as you examined your face. "Ye but I'm yours," he said and you laughed as you went to follow your wild children.

gaz

"Shhh don't ruin the surprise," Kyle could hear you say as the door slowly cracked open. All morning, you and your daughter had worked on something special for him. According to your five-year-old, it was "Top Secret" and Kyle was happy to catch up on some shows while you and her worked in the living room. Your daughter jumped onto the bed as Kyle reached to pause his show and you joined soon after. "Okay it's time to close your eyes," she said and Kyle put his hands over his eyes. You smiled as you handed your daughter the masterpiece she had been working on. "You can open them now," she giggled and shoved the paper into his hands. "This is amazing Ivy," he said as you lay down next to them. "She made it all himself," you smiled as you turned to see the drawing.

Today was Kyle's last week before a long deployment and your daughter had wanted to give him something to have. All morning, she drew and colored a drawing of your family including your German Shepherd. The childish drawing had you and Kyle in front of your house and your daughter running around with your dog in a yard of green grass. Kyle kissed your head as your daughter described the scene and pointed out all the drawings. "...then we have mummy, she's wearing the green dress you got her," she said as she continued to point. "And who's that handsome guy?" Kyle said as he pointed to himself. Your son smiled up at you before replying. "That's you, Daddy," she said, "I wanted to draw your uniform but it was too hard so you're wearing a shirt and shorts." Kyle laughed as the drawing was surprisingly accurate, the clothes were things you wore daily and the house looked like the one you were sitting in.

"Well I'm sure my little artist is hungry," he said as he got up and placed your daughter on the ground. "Let's go out to eat today," he announced and your daughter jumped up and down. "I wanna pick out my outfit today," she triumphantly said before running off to her room. Kyle took this opportunity to grab you and hold you in his arms. "Thinking about another little one?" he joked and you laughed as you rolled over to face him. "Not when you're away," you exclaimed, "don't even get me started on the weird cravings Ives gave me." He kissed you gently and you knew you would revisit this as soon as he got back. "She doesn't want you to leave," you whispered after you sat in silence for a few moments. "I'm going to miss you too," he replied and held you closer into his chest. Parting was always such a bittersweet time for the family.

Before you knew it, Ivy came storming back into your bedroom. "Look at me!" she said as she twirled around. You and Kyle propped up to see her in a similar green dress. "Oh Ives, I told you that you were going to wear that when we picked up Daddy from the airport," you scolded but Kyle placed a gentle hand on your waist. "It's a special occasion though!" she exclaimed and you just smiled at her early surprise. "I love it, sweetheart," Kyle replied as he helped you up. "I only think it's fair if Mum wears her green dress," he smiled and kissed you on the forehead. Despite having the surprise ruined, you enjoyed walking around the streets of your town with your daughter in matching dresses and your husband lovingly smiling at you.

ghost

Simon woke up to hear the soft taps on the piano and your soothing voice guiding your son. “Alright sweetheart let’s try that again,” he heard your voice instruct as he played the beginning notes to Heart and Soul. Simon lay in bed for a while as he listened to the peaceful melody. He had been gone for too long and your son had gotten even better since he was last home. You were now able to play duets with him and didn't have to direct him through the sheet music. He smiled softly as he got out of bed and made his way down the stairs. He made sure to walk gently as to not disturb his two musicians. As he descended, you joined in with the duet and began to play the other notes. “Heart and soul, I fell in love with you,” you began and Simon heard your son's little voice join in. Your voice was light and it filled the home with life. When you were first pregnant and he found out it was a boy, Simon feared he would turn out like him but after seven years all of his worries were quelled.

"...and stole a kiss from the night," you both finished as Simon entered the living room. After a few years, you knew when Simon was watching so it didn't surprise you to see him in the doorway. "When did you learn that?" he asked as your son ran up to hug him. He held him to his leg as he watched you turn from the piano slowly. By now, you were about 7 months along and were clearly showing. In just a few more weeks, you would be welcoming a little girl. "I taught him a few weeks ago, he's a fast learner," you proudly announced as you closed the piano lid. "I can play two songs now," your son boasted as Simon lifted him up and tussled his dark hair. "Better than I could ever do," he replied and he lowered your son and made his way over to you. "We might just have to get you lessons, Elliott," you said as your son joined you back on the piano bench. He beamed at you as you looked at Simon's mini-me. "And soon we'll have our own little orchestra," you continued and patted your growing belly, "she loves when Elliott plays, I imagine she's dancing in there." In the morning sunlight, you looked radiant and Simon kissed your forehead gently.

As you shared a brief moment together, your son insisted on playing a new piece you had just started to teach him. "I don't know El, you heard how bad I was singing last week," you joked as he looked at you with puppy eyes. Eventually, you relented and you motioned for Simon to watch. You cleared your throat as your son stretched his fingers and found the starting notes. Simon's ears were soon filled with the melody of Edith Piaf's La Vie en Rose. He smiled softly as you soon began to sing. "Des yeux qui font baisser les miens," you began in an attempt at emulating Piaf's elegant French accent, "Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche." He watched as Elliott's hands moved around the keys as you sang the romantic song. Despite not being as musically inclined, Simon recognized you were in the key of C, something you had taught him. He closed his eyes as you both continued to perform in sync, savoring the melody and your soft vocals. As soon as he finished with a few ending notes, Simon clapped softly. You and your son laughed as you bowed to your audience.

"It's still a work in progress," you laughed as scooted off the piano and joined next to Simon's side. As you enjoyed the soft moment with your head on his chest, Elliott posed a question. "What if we name the baby Rose," Elliott spoke up and you both thought for a moment. "But out of all the songs why Rose?" Simon asked as you looked at your son. "Mum's always so happy when she sings it, I think the baby would like it," he continued and Simon listened intently. You had been flipping through baby books for weeks and no one of them truly resonated. As you thought about the idea, you suddenly felt the baby kick and smiled. "I think little Rosie agrees," you said happily before sitting down. Simon joined on the other side of the piano and you three squished on the small bench. "Rose it is then," Simon said and enveloped you all in a hug. Before you could get up, your son had a brilliant idea. "Dad let me show you how to play 'Chopsticks'" he exclaimed and Simon knew he was trapped with his musicians.

[madwomansapologist]

gift exchange with baldur's gate 3 companions

Navigation | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: As the end of the year approaches, the group united by worms decides over starting a tradition: exchanging gifts!

warnings: i don't think there is any...? this can be seen as tavrem or just platonic. ASTARION FLIRTS. i use tav as a nickname for reader, so... i made the sortition on a site so this is really random. i swear. like y'all wont't believe me, but it's random. also, i love those weirdos. just thought i should said that. happy rest of 2023 for all of us!

After losing a bet, Gale was responsible for starting what soon will be a tradition among the almost honorable group.

Gale stood up from his place near the fire, an unopened package floating beside his body, making a little flourish. "When I found out who companion I would gift, an immense honor took over my chest. My virtuosic―"

"Chk," Lae'zel crossed her arms. The look on her face was clear: she was daring Gale to dare her. "Humanoid, use fewer words."

Gale breathe in, so close to losing it. One things is to be disrespected, an that he can bear, but to be interrupted? He prepared jokes, and it would even rhyme. Decided not to be the one that would ruin the night, he ignored her.

"To sum up," he smiled at Lae'zel. "What a honor to put a face to the name, Blade of Frontiers."

Wyll hugged Gale, patting his shoulder affectionately. "The honor is all mine to meet such a renowned wizarding prodig."

Gale handed over the package, and then sat back down by the fire. The wine goblet returned to the wizard's hand.

Wyll's smile gradually died. From the packaging, he took out a book. "General Theory of Contracts and Unilateral Acts?" He glared at Gale. "What should this mean?"

"I'm just helping my friend," Gale took a sip. "So in the future you won't sign any appealing contract."

Facing the book that soon will be burned, Wyll regret getting into debt with Tav just so he could buy the perfect gift.

Wyll picked up the bag left on the log, and ignored Shadowheart's giggles.

"In this year full of surprises, good ones and horrible ones, but meeting this person..." Wyll breathed. "Gale, you worthless cunt. Astarion, I hope you like this."

Astarion took the gift with his fingertips, excited to have guessed who had drawn him. He told Karlach that Wyll was acting strange lately. He didn't thanked Wyll, that is something he'll only do if his gift is good.

When he touched what was inside the bag, he knew that the fabric was of quality. And upon seeing the details of the black ensemble, Astarion's smile became real.

"Oh, darling," he purred. "You spoil me."

With a smug smile and a hesitation to provoke his companions, Astarion continued.

"To show that I am capable of doing the right thing from time to time," Astarion licked his fangs. "I spent arduous weeks collecting what I would need for tonight's best gift."

Everyone booed him.

Rolling his eyes, Astarion took the chest from his tent. "I smell the scent of jealousy coming from all of you," said Astarion. He stopped talking, just to play with everyone's feelings. "That one is to my sweet leader."

You cheered as you stood up. If there's one thing no one can say about Astarion, it's that he doesn't have good taste. After all, there is a reason for why he chose to bite you.

"Thank you, darling," you mirrored the way he talks to you. "That won't make me mad, will it?"

"Oh, Tav, you know me" your nickname flowed from his lips like honey. "I only play with your feelings when we have privacy."

When he handed you the trunk, you even stumbled under its weight. You placed it on one of the fallen trees. Opening it, a smile appeared on your face.

Potions. Lots of potions. Of all kinds. Speed, invisibility, healing. Poisons, coatings. From the most basic to the rarest.

Looking at Astarion, you pouted. "Thank you," you whispered.

Excited, you runned to your tent to take the hidden gift. Something on you told you the problems you got yourself into just to able to get that would be worth it.

"Oh gods," Gale murmured. Sarcams dripped from his tongue. "What is that? Can anyone tell?"

"On my defense," you pointed at him. No words made to your brain, so you breathed in. "How else would I pack an trident?"

"Not like that," said Shadowheart.

You chose not to discuss with them only because you knew that just wrapping it with red silk and a pink knot was a bad idea, but it still hurted to know that it was the best you could do. How can wrapping things be so difficult? Why no one told you that it would be so difficult?

"The person I gonna gift deserve the whole world, and one day I will sure that they get's it," you started. Surprised that Lae'zel didn't stopped you already, you continued. "I really wasn't expecting to like that person, but she won my heart so easily."

"Heart," Lae'zel murmured. "Is it Karlach?"

Karlach jumped from her place. "IS IT ME?!"

You showed your tongue to Lae'zel, then turned to Karlach. "Yes, it is!"

In a matter of seconds you were too far from the ground. Only when your breathing had already become a problem did Karlach carefully place you on the ground again.

Karlach tore open the wrapping, the trident glinting in her hands. She was already thanking you so happily. The only reason why she didn't hugged you again was because she didn't want to hurt you.

"This pretty girl in your hands is Nyrulna," you started. "Because of an spell, it'll return to your hand when thrown. Plus, no one can force you to drop it. It also creates an explosion. But the best part is that I found a way to make it red!"

Wyll sighed, and threw his book on the fire.

"Hey!" Gale yelled.

After a little dance to celebrate, Karlach tried to control her beaming smile. She didn't knew most of her companions felt their hearts getting warmer, but if she did it would have just worried her.

Karlach held onto the box she protected with her life to ensure no one would tamper with the gift. "This person deserves a fucking break and I―"

"Shadowheart," you yelled. "Is it Shadowheart?"

"You're fucking right!" Karlach pointed at the cleric. "Is it you, my girl! You're the one that deserve a break!"

"Well," Shadowheart forced a little smile. "Thank you. I guess."

Karlach handed over the small package, and without delay she pulled Shadowheart into a hug. The brunette had no option but to accept it. Carefully, Shadowheart opened the package and found a book with leather cover.

She threw the package on the floor to open it. "What is it about?" Shadowheart asked, flipping through the book.

"It's a collection of erotic stories," said Karlach.

Halsin took a sip from his goblet. Finally someone with taste.

Shadowheart ignored whatever wit comment Astarion made and took a deep breath. "Of course it is."

Shadowheart wasn't recovered from her gift, but the tiredness that overtook her members was also caused by the irony of what was about to happen.

"Lady of Sorrow guides us," Shadowheart whispered to herself. Instead of trying to make people guess who she's about to gift, Shadowheart just threw the box onto Lae'zel's lap. "There is no reason for me to delay this torture even more."

"Chk. Oh. This seems like it's you fate to deal with me." Lae'zel opened the box with one of her daggers. "Let's see if I will thank you, follower of Shar."

Inside the box, Lae'zel found several instruments for improving weapons. How she hated liking the gift. Lae'zel would like to do like Wyll and burn everything just to embarrass Shadowheart, but she couldn't damage such well-made instruments.

"Well done, cleric," Lae'zel hissed.

Lae'zel knew that her gift was the best, but there was a possibility that she did not thought about: maybe she had got the gift she would like to receive. Either way, it would be worth it.

"I share the cleric's interest for no unecessary fuss," Lae'zel was quickly to say. "Bear, I hope you enjoy this."

She handed over the box and walked away before Halsin could think about hugging her. Halsin undid the knot that kept the box closed, and everyone gasped at the sight of his gift.

You looked at Lae'zel. "How did you... Did you keep it all this time? How did you preserve it?"

In the glass above Halsin's hands was Minthara's head.

"You truly are..." Halsin sighed. He didn't knew what to say. "Civilized."

Before Halsin could recover, Gale approached the druid.

Unable to say anything, Halsin handed him the package. Gale didn't care, he just wanted to know what he had won. His smile didn't last a lot.

"Boots, Halsin?" He yelled. "Very mature of you. Very mature."

Wyll laughed at last.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.