#Add a Signature To Your Files

[hafwen]

Trying to add my signature to my medical file and these questions are uhhh interesting to say the least

They really want to know what's near your office and your perfume opinions.

Oh and where you were when you heard about 9/11 (WTF???)

[reiding-writing]

A small little thought for the second part of 404 if you plan to write one: enemy!reader slowly getting better, but she just freezes out Spencer completely. Doesn't look at him, doesn't acknowledge him, if he interrupts her when she talks she won't even reply and will just continue to expound on her point, if Hotch pairs them up to search a house she'll act like she's alone.

And Spencer is losing his mind trying to catch her attention.

GHOST PROTOCOL. /spencer reid/

you arrive back at the bau after a four month mental health leave and you’re so happy to regain a sense of normalcy. who are you kidding? what do you know about normal?

late s1 enemy!reader 2.4k angst series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | this kinda super sucks i’m so sorry

It’s almost too quiet when you walk in.

The bullpen hums with the low murmur of keyboards and rustling files, but the moment the elevator door shuts shut behind you, there's a pause.

Heads turn. First Morgan, then JJ, then Elle, and it only takes seconds for the rest of the team to clock your presence.

They weren’t expecting you this early.

You weren’t expecting to feel so... exposed.

You shift your satchel higher on your shoulder and cross the floor like you’ve done a hundred times before, but the air is different now. Denser. It clings to you like damp fog, and no matter how straight you hold yourself, it’s impossible to ignore the weight of their stares.

JJ’s the first to approach. She’s always been soft with you, always the peacemaker.

“Hey,” she says, smiling like she means it, though her voice is tentative. “You're back,”

You nod. “I’m back,”

Morgan is next, grinning with that signature confidence, but even he seems slightly hesitant. “Four months off and you didn’t bring us back a tan?” he teases, then adds, “Seriously. It’s good to see you,”

You smile, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. “Good to see you too,”

Elle comes over, a little more cautious, her arms folded across her chest, but there's warmth in her eyes. “Glad you're okay. We missed you,”

“Missed you too,” you say, and it’s mostly true.

Hotch lingers back, as always, but offers you a curt nod and something close to approval. Gideon gives you a slow, assessing look, like he’s trying to read your entire psychological profile just from the way you’re standing. You hold your gaze steady. He nods.

Then Spencer speaks.

“Didn’t think you’d come back this soon,”

He doesn’t say it cruelly—at least, you don’t think he does—but the words hit just the same. There’s a trace of disbelief in his tone, maybe even accusation, like you’ve made the wrong choice, like you’re not ready.

Your smile falters by half a degree.

You don't look at him.

JJ nudges you lightly. “Conference room? Hotch wants to go over a new case,”

You nod and move to follow her without a word.

—

You take your usual seat at the long table, fifth from the left. JJ beside you, Elle at the end. Hotch stands at the front, clicker in hand, while Morgan leans against the far wall. Gideon’s pacing slowly behind Hotch like a restless shadow. And Spencer—Reid—sits across from you.

You don’t look at him. You haven’t since you arrived. You can feel his eyes on you, though. Flicking up from his notes, down again. Like he’s trying to measure your silence.

Hotch clicks the projector on. A slideshow blinks to life, casting pale light across the room. The first photo is of a crime scene—suburban house, blood on the bannisters. The usual.

“This is Amanda Chilton,” Hotch begins, and the case unfolds in neat, clinical detail. You take notes. You listen. You nod at the right times. You ask intelligent questions.

And you ignore Spencer.

It starts small.

He interrupts once, cutting across you mid-sentence as you’re pointing out a pattern in the killer’s behaviour—something about escalation, proximity to schools.

“Actually,” he says, “the research shows it’s more likely they’re targeting public parks. There’s a spike in activity—”

You don’t even pause.

You keep speaking, as though he hasn’t said a word.

Elle shifts in her chair. JJ casts a glance between you both.

Spencer stops talking.

You finish your point. Hotch nods, scribbling something on the file.

You don’t look at him. You keep your gaze forward, focused on the evidence board.

—

It’s not deliberate—not at first.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It’s just easier this way. Cleaner. Safer. You’ve done the work—hours and hours of therapy, of breaking down the walls your mind built during those sleepless weeks in the hospital bed. You’ve trained yourself to breathe again, to walk again, to talk about it without shaking.

But you haven’t trained yourself to talk to him.

So you don’t.

“Don’t placate situations that don’t serve you.” Your therapist had said. And you planned to follow that advice to a T.

In the break room, when he reaches for the coffee pot the same time you do, you let him pour and walk away.

In the hallway, when he brushes past with a stack of books, you pivot on your heel like he’s invisible.

During case discussions, you listen to everyone—Gideon’s theories, Morgan’s gut instincts, JJ’s observations—but when Spencer speaks, your eyes glaze over, your attention shifts. You don’t laugh at his jokes. You don’t doubt his statistics. You don’t argue with him.

You just pretend he isn’t there.

The team notices. Of course they do.

Morgan starts watching your interactions—or lack thereof—with quiet curiosity. He doesn’t say anything, not at first, but you can feel his eyes on the space between you and Reid whenever you’re in the same room. Elle occasionally tries to pull you into group banter, looping Spencer into a joke or observation, as if by accident, as if you won’t notice the trap. You do. You never bite.

JJ is subtler. She doesn’t push, but the crease between her brows deepens every time you sidestep a question or excuse yourself from a group conversation the moment Spencer joins it. She’s protective, loyal. She wants to help. But she doesn’t know how.

Gideon says nothing. But you know that look—quietly measuring, mentally cataloguing, as if you’re another profile to study.

Hotch keeps his cards close, but he’s not oblivious. He sees more than he says. You suspect, if this goes on too long, he’ll force your hand. But for now, he lets the silence fester. Maybe he thinks you’ll break first.

You won’t.

Spencer doesn’t understand at first. Not really.

He notices, of course. How could he not? You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You never sit within arm’s reach if you can help it, and when you do, you angle your body away like he’s radioactive.

The first few days, he thinks maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Raw. Like maybe the sight of him is tangled too tightly in the memories you’re trying to forget. And that makes sense, he tells himself. So he gives you space.

But the weeks go by.

And the space stays.

And then it expands.

He hears you laugh with Morgan in the corridor. Sees you and JJ huddled over a file, your head resting lightly against her shoulder. He walks into the break room once and finds you and Elle finishing each other’s sentences about something mundane, and your face is brighter than he’s seen it in months.

You’re fine—with everyone except him.

And that’s when the guilt sets in.

He replays everything from that day. That case. That argument. The exact moment he goaded you, and you goaded back, and everything spiralled. The confidence with which you’d stormed off, trying to prove you could handle it alone. The exact second he realised something was wrong.

The way his stomach dropped when he saw your picture.

The hours of searching.

The silence.

The hospital.

He apologised, of course he did. Not right away—he couldn’t get near you. And when he could, you barely spoke. The first time he tried, you blinked past him like he was a stranger. The second time, you just said, “Not now.”

He thought you needed time. And he gave it.

But the apology is still there, hanging in the air like unfinished static, and it never gets heard. Or maybe it did. Maybe you just didn’t care.

—

“You got a minute?” Spencer’s standing awkwardly against Morgan’s desk, bouncing slightly on his heels.

Morgan leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Sure. What’s up?”

Spencer hesitates. Looks at the floor. Then back up. “Is she ever going to talk to me again?”

Morgan blinks. “You mean—”

“Yes. Her.”

Morgan sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Reid…”

“I get that she went through something horrible,” Spencer says quickly, defensively, “but she can’t just act like I don’t exist. I tried to say sorry.”

Morgan stares at him for a moment, then closes the file in front of him. “Look, man. I don’t think this is about forgiveness. I think it’s about control.”

Spencer frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She lost control, Reid. Of everything. Her job, her safety, her trust in us, probably even in herself. And now? The one thing she can control is who gets access to her. And you’re off the list.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Morgan agrees. “But neither was what happened to her.”

—

You don’t expect to be paired with him again.

You’ve managed to avoid it for weeks. Hotch has rotated partners carefully—perhaps unconsciously, perhaps not—but you’ve never had to be alone with Reid. Not since you came back.

Until today.

Hotch is standing at the board, gesturing to a street map. “We’ve got two locations to clear. Elle and Morgan, you take the warehouse on Twelfth. You two”—he nods at you, then at Reid—“check the victim’s apartment. Uniforms have already cleared for threats.”

You stiffen.

Your jaw clenches, just once.

You wait, thinking maybe someone will offer to switch. Maybe Morgan will say something. Maybe Reid will protest.

No one does.

You nod once. “Understood.”

Reid’s quiet as you both walk out to the car.

—

The flat is a single-bedroom unit in a crumbling Victorian conversion. You sweep through the entryway quickly, methodically, gloves on, eyes sharp. There’s a faint smell of mildew and old coffee.

Reid walks behind you, hovering.

“You want the bedroom or the kitchen?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

You’re already walking towards the bedroom.

He exhales through his nose. “Right. Bedroom then.”

The silence grows louder with every passing minute.

You move like a shadow—quiet, efficient, detached. You examine photographs on the walls, note the postmark on the pile of unopened mail. You scribble observations in your notepad, noting anything relevant for the report.

Reid trails behind, trying not to fidget.

“So,” he says, awkwardly, “I read a study this morning. About trauma memory encoding. How the brain sometimes—”

“Don’t.”

You don’t even look up.

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t do this,” you say, still facing the wall, still writing. “Just collect your data and be quiet.”

His brow furrows. “I’m just trying to make small talk. Be normal,”

“You don’t know how to be normal.”

The words slice through the room like a scalpel.

He steps back. “Okay. That’s not fair.”

You put your notepad down and finally turn to him. “You know what’s not fair? You getting to pretend we’re fine because you’re over it.”

His hands curl into fists. “I’m not over it.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I blamed myself for weeks. I thought you were dead.”

You shrug. “You should’ve thought of that before you egged me on. Before you treated me like a liability who needed to prove something.”

His voice rises. “You wanted to prove something!”

“I had to!” you snap.

Silence.

Your chest rises and falls sharply.

Spencer’s jaw tightens. “I get you blame me for what happened, but I apologised. What else do you want me to do?”

You stare at him.

And then, with no fanfare, no crescendo—just absolute, grounded loathing—you reply:

“How about you shut the fuck up and leave me alone?”

There’s no heat in your tone.

No trembling rage. No wounded tremor.

Just a calm, clean hatred. A scalpel—not a hammer.

Spencer flinches. He actually flinches.

The air is still.

The apartment feels too small, too quiet.

You turn back to the window, adjusting a photo frame.

“That clear enough for you? Or should I write it down?” you add.

Spencer doesn’t answer.

He leaves the room a moment later.

—

Neither of you speak the rest of the day.

You file your report. You finish the case. You act like a professional.

The team is quieter than usual that night in the hotel bar. JJ watches you like she wants to ask something but doesn’t. Elle starts a sentence, then aborts halfway through. Morgan gives Spencer a look that says What happened?—but gets no answer.

Gideon says nothing. But when you pass him in the hallway, he gives you a long, unreadable look. You don’t break stride.

Spencer doesn’t come down to dinner.

The next morning, he’s already seated at the conference table when you arrive. He doesn’t look at you.

You don’t look at him either.

The line has been drawn.

No more arguments. No more banter. No more sharp-edged flirtation disguised as rivalry.

No more anything.

You took everything that used to exist between you—every ounce of tension, every barbed word, every stolen glance—and you burned it to the ground.

And for the first time since the day you came back, he finally understands.

You don’t just ignore him.

You hate him.

Pure unadulterated loathing.

[logansdoll]

I have so many ideas but I'm not a talented writer so here's one

-your logans wife pre striker you get taken by striker after logan gets shot as a way to kinda get back at him. Logan always had visions of a woman that he doesn't remember glimpses of domestic bliss. When striker attacks (in x2) striker name drops or says smth like "your wife has been waiting" as a way to antagonize logan.

Also, a cute detail to add if a fic takes place before he loses his memory would be the reader to call him james

I really love how your reader in has a plant mutation. Everything you write is just so good

I hope I wasn't to detailed feel free to take bits and pieces.

contingency

running through the base at Alkali Lake, Logan stumbles across a top secret room... only to find his whole entire world inside.

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place during X2, has some elements from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, reader has been through some shit, Logan is so relieved, you don't really need to squint to see the angst, i'm iffy on how this turned out, etc.

'Think, dammit! What the hell was he talking about?'

With a roar of frustration, Logan unsheathed his claws, sprinting around the bend and slicing right through the stomach of a nearby soldier, waiting until the man fell with a disgusting plop before continuing on his way.

Why couldn't he just remember?

He knew that, for whatever reason, his memories had been tampered with, and that he couldn't recall anything about his life before the claws.

But ever since his run-in with Stryker back at the mansion, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something especially important.

Something crucial.

"Wolverine..." Stryker grinned, eyes widening stepping forward out of the shadows. "I must admit, you are the last person I'd expect to find here."

Logan's claws revealed themselves with their signature shink, his brows furrowing as he warily stalked closer.

"How long has it been? Fifteen years?"

Stryker let out a small chuckle, but Logan was having a hard time finding what was so funny.

In fact, he was having a hard time with everything about this man—confused as to why he seemed so familiar.

"(y/n) says hello," Stryker goaded, adjusting his glasses. "Or, at least... I believe she would... If I'm being honest, she's feeling a little under the weather at the moment."

A sadistic smirk settled on his lips, his eyes glinting with sick satisfaction.

"But then again... there's seldom a time where she isn't feeling under the weather these days..."

"DAMMIT!" Logan barked, slamming his fist into a wall.

Not knowing was tearing him apart.

Who was (y/n)?

What were you to him?

And how the hell did he end up on the complete opposite side of the compound?

All questions that he furiously wanted to be answered.

Though, somehow—through his fit of blind frustration—he managed to stumble across a door, which had printed in big, bold, yellow letters:

CAUTION: KEEP OUT. HYDROSTASIS IN PROCESS.

"Hydrostasis?" Logan cocked a brow.

He didn't know why, but whatever was housed inside seemed to be pulling him in, silently urging him to open the door and investigate.

'Fuck it.'

Using one claw, he stabbed the retina scanner, the thick lock clicking with a satisfying beep.

He pushed past the door with ease, entering a seemingly large, dark, and oddly cold room, a lamp on one of the workbenches the only thing illuminating the space.

Cautiously, he approached it, sniffing and snapping his head around to make sure he was alone.

Yet he knew he wasn't.

He'd caught whiff of a faint scent emanating from somewhere further into the room, but it was so familiar, it seemed almost instinct to pay it no mind.

For some reason, he knew it wasn't hostile—and if anything, it calmed him, soothing his spiked nerves.

Reaching the table, he found that right next to the lamp laid a file labeled EXPERIMENT 25-8: CLASSIFIED.

He snatched it up with lightening speed, quickly skimming over the latest entry.

EXPERIMENT 25-8 a.k.a Weapon X Contingency

Name: (y/n) (l/n) Age: Unknown Sex: Female Height: X" X Weight: X Rank: Class 5 Report: 25-8 reviles authority. But her connection to Weapon X and general strength makes her a perfect candidate for Project Contingency. Her mutation and overall will to live have rejected all known forms of mind control. Will be kept in hydrostasis until new methods found. Conclusion: Further research required. Could possibly be the only creature known to man that can stop the Wolverine besides the Wolverine himself.

"(y/n)..." Logan tested out the name, confused as to why it sounded so natural.

So home-like.

Looking away from the pages, he glanced down at the table, catching sight of a large switch not too far away.

Without hesitation, he flicked it, the lights in the room suddenly cutting on, along with the lights to your chamber.

And there you were right before him—unconscious and floating in vibrant blue water.

Looking upon you, it felt like he was suddenly hit by a freight train, years of love, care, and warmth flooding his mind.

"James!" you squealed, unable to dim your smile as he hoisted you over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he smirked, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. "You know what you did..."

"No..."

"C'mere. I need a taste tester," you smiled, cupping your hand under your fork as you held up a chunk of steak.

He grinned, placing down his newspaper and taking a bite, groaning at the good taste as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Well?" you asked, nervous.

"Baby..." he paused for dramatic effect, wanting to see you squirm. "This is the best damn steak I've ever eaten."

"You ass!" you scoffed, playfully slapping him in the shoulder as he laughed, rocking you back and forth.

"I can't..."

"I love you, y'know that?" he asked, holding you close as you both relaxed in the bathtub. "I feel like I don't tell ya enough."

"You tell me every day, baby," you smiled, looking up at him as you rested your back against his chest.

"Well, then," he smirked, his hand rising from the water, holding a beautiful diamond engagement ring. "You alright with me tellin' ya a little bit more?"

Your eyes went as wide as saucers, and you gasped so loud the neighbors (which were three miles away) would certainly hear.

"YES!" you squealed, scrambling to turn around and give him a kiss, the water sloshing around violently.

"Careful, hon! You're gonna knock me out the tub!" he chuckled, steadying you as your lips began peppering kisses all over his face.

"She can't..."

"James," you started, timidly, tracing mindless shapes in his chest as you both laid in bed. "That man you told me about... Stryker... he came by the house today."

Logan tensed at the name, his grip around you tightening.

"He didn't do anything, did he?" he asked, tone rising.

"No," you shook your head. "But he asked for you. Said it was important that you come and talk to him."

He sighed, taking your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles.

"I'll go over tomorrow. Straighten everything out," he assured.

"I don't think you should," you quickly denied, nervous. "This man... I don't trust him... He gives me a bad feeling, y'know?"

He cracked a small smile, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I promise you, he can't do nothin' to me that hasn't already been done."

"RAAAAH!" Logan roared, blindly slashing at the table and all nearby equipment.

How could he have ever forgotten you?

Fury consumed his being in every sense of the word, the anger swelling inside him in a way he had never felt before.

Sparks flew as Logan destroyed any and everything in his path, teetering on the edge between rage and regret.

He could remember so clearly now.

You were his world—his reason for drawing breath, his reason for existing.

No matter how bad things got—angry, frustrating, or lonely—you were there.

You were his escape, his safety, his peace.

Comparing his life from before to the current, he couldn't fathom how he'd survived so long without being in your presence.

Through his slicing, he managed to cut something important, a loud warning siren blaring before all the water began draining from your pod, rapidly pouring onto the floor.

With a loud hiss, the door opened, sending you falling out the chamber.

Logan rushed over faster than he'd ever done anything, catching you in his arms and cradling you bridal style.

He looked upon you as if you were a ghost, a figment of his imagination.

After years and years of separation, he was finally allowed a chance to see your face, now able to recall all its fine details with perfect accuracy.

The softness of your cheeks.

The kindness of your eyes.

The plumpness of your lips.

Suddenly, you let out a loud cough, spitting up some water as your eyes snapped open, frantically looking around.

Logan couldn't find the words.

The love of his life was sitting in his arms and after fifteen years... and he had no idea what to say to her.

"James?" you asked, weakly, disbelieving of the sight before you.

That's right!

James!

His name was James!

"Yeah, baby..." he nodded, bitter-sweetly, getting a bit choked up. "It's me—"

You threw your arms around his neck without a second thought, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as tears began pouring down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with cries of relief.

"I thought you weren't coming!" you sobbed.

Your throat felt swollen as you stuttered, scrambling to say all the things you've been wanting to for so long.

"Oh, God, I love you, Jimmy! I love you so much! Please don't leave me again!"

"I'm so sorry, baby! I'm so, so sorry!" he sputtered, his hand finding home in your hair as he rocked you back and forth, stray tears escaping his eyes. "I shoulda been here! I shoulda protected you!"

He buried his face in your hair, peppering the side of your head with kisses.

"I love you so much, honey... I'm right here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms, panic and fear spiking up his spine.

"(n/n)?!" he pulled back, frantically scanning over you to see what was wrong."(y/n)?!"

Quickly, he pressed his ear against your chest, thanking whatever god in heaven that your heart was beating.

'It might be a side effect of the chamber... or maybe she's tired...'

Without warning, the entire compound began to shake, a familiar blue devil popping up next to him out of nowhere.

"Zere you are!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly grabbing onto his friend. "Vee must go! Zee place is goink to flood!"

In an instant, the three were back with the others, the mysterious woman in Logan's arms posing a question to everyone.

"Logan?" Ororo raised a brow, confused, as they began running toward the exit.

"Who the hell is that?" Scott asked, much blunter than Storm intended.

Logan looked down at your peacefully sleeping face, brushing a stray strand of hair out your face.

"She's my wife..."

bonus !!

"SHE'S YOUR WHAT?"

[freaktoru]

summary: choi jong-in x fem!reader - what happens when you mix business with pleasure? warnings: dirty talk, pnv, unprotected sex, fingering, dubcon kinda, praise kink, reader is oblivious. authors note: this man is criminally underrated. we need more of him. let this fic be a pivotal moment for us all. ty for reading, likes and reblogs always appreciated <3

choi jong-in was a very successful man.

everyone knew this. he was one of south korea's most powerful s-rank hunters, and the guild master of south korea's most powerful guild, the hunters guild. don't be mistaken though, being known as ‘the ultimate hunter’ was no easy task. choi jong-in was under contstant pressure of having to keep up his public appearances on behalf of his entire guild, and balance the enormous workload of being the top guild master in the country. there was no denying it—he was indeed successful but he was also very busy. so that's why he hired you. as his personal assistant, having you around was most helpful to him. within a few days of your hire, you managed to cut his own workload in half and thanks to you, he was able to take the smoke breaks he so desperately needed during his work day and he was finally able to get home at a reasonable hour of the night. it was safe to say that you were his salvation.

you stood in front of his office door, wearing your regular office uniform, holding a thick stack of papers. jong-in had given you a specific dress code to follow when he hired you—composed of a white blouse, black stiletto heels and a dark red pencil skirt. you weren't sure why he picked the colour red for you, but you thought better than to question it. he was paying you twice as much as any other personal assistant positions did so it was important you did everything in your power to keep it. the door finally swung open, revealing his tall frame. not only was he successful, but he was also very attractive, his aura alone was enough to turn heads anytime he stepped foot outside. you knew this well, having been on the receiving end of it many times. he was dressed in his usual red suit and rectangular glasses, his fingers covered in his signature gold rings. his lips were curled up in a crooked smirk and he was watching, no—studying you.

"m-mr. choi you wanted to see me?" you stuttered out the question nervously. you weren't sure why he wanted to see you, but whatever the reason, you had a bad feeling about it.

"ah yes. come in please" he replied, stepping aside to make room for you. you walked inside his office which you spent most of your time in, sorting and filing papers, cleaning his desk and doing work on your laptop from the sleek black couch that stood across the room, perpendicular to his desk.

"i-i also brought the reports you requested on sung jinwoo, i completed them early" you managed to say, trying to keep yourself calm and collected.

"mmm, ever so diligent. good girl" he hummed approvingly, the praise sending a positive rush of blood to your cheeks. you handed him the papers, his fingers ghosting over your skin ever so lightly as he took them from you. “please, take a seat” he said, his hand motioning towards the couch. you complied, placing your hands on your knees to stop your legs from bouncing nervously. he sat himself down in an armchair across from you, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning his chin into his folded hands.

"you look nervous" he chuckled lightly, his eyes still fixed on you. you blushed, averting your eyes from his piercing gaze. "i'm just worried that you're not satisfied with my work sir" you admitted, looking down at your hands. it was true—despite his occasional praises and wide smiles, he was a perfectionist, he liked things done a certain way and he certainly made sure his employees knew that.

"you know," he started, leaning back in his arm chair, crossing his ankle over his leg "i've never kept an assistant for longer than two months at a time" he finished, smiling. a few moments later he added, "do you know why that is?"

"i-i'm not sure. how come?" you replied slowly, unsure of what was coming for you next. he was full of surprises— never quite saying what he meant, often leaving you with more questions than answers.

"because if there's one thing i despise, it's people who work less efficiently than me" he replied casually, observing you, waiting to see how you'll react. there it was again—his puzzling demeanor that never failed to keep you on your toes.

"i-i'm sorry, i'll do my best to get things done faster and—"

"ah ah, i didn't say that about you did i?" he clicked his tongue, cutting off your restless rambling. you felt your mouth zip shut, resolving to let him finish before you made any further assumptions.

"as i was going to say, you're different" he stated simply. you waited for him to elaborate because this could have meant anything, good or bad. "you're so good you know? perfect really. in all your time here you've made maybe one or two mistakes, all within your first week of work" he continued, "and that's exactly what i like about you" he finished carefully. he held your gaze, watching you fidget nervously. his words sent a warm rush of pleasure through your body, which settled low in your core. a semblance of hope returned to you—maybe you were going to keep your job after all.

before you had a chance to thank him for his praise, he asked, "tell me y/n, do you like working for me?" shifting the conversation. your eyes widened at the question. choi jong-in was a very generous employer to say the least. not only did he pay you more than any other job you’ve had, but he frequently bought you lunches without even asking, brought you coffee in the morning, and praised you like you’ve never been praised before. yes, generous he was.

“of course, you’re very kind and i’m treated better here than any other job i've had in the past so, thank you" you replied softly, hoping that he intended to keep you employed. he stood up from his armchair abruptly, and plopped himself down right beside you on the couch. you shifted nervously, waiting for his next move.

“you’re a sweet girl aren’t you?” he asked, his velvety voice alone enough to have you pressing your thighs together. and what a sweet girl you were. always so attentive and eager to please. you had everything done on time if not early, always complying with all of his requests and doing your best to make yourself useful to him. you blamed it all on his commanding presence but deep down you knew that there was more to it. you craved his attention, wanting nothing more than to hear sweet praises dripping from his lips when you did something right.

“i try my best” you replied, your voice shallow and breathless. when did it get so hot in here?

“you know what i’d like to know?” he asked, but before he let you answer, he continued, “i'd like to know what sweet girls like you look like when they come undone” he whispered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. the air was thick with tension and somehow his lips found themselves mere inches from yours—you hadn’t even noticed how close he was to you until now. you felt heat pool in your lower stomach which you quickly noticed took form in the slick that coated your panties.

"s-sir" you uttered, no longer worried about your employment, your thoughts now clouded with excitement and lust. you hadn't realized how badly you actually wanted him until now. all those stolen glances in his office, the praises, the lunches, it wasn't just because he was being nice.

and that's when you felt the tension snap. his lips quickly met yours, kissing you with a hunger you somehow knew only you could have cured. you eagerly kissed back, allowing his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth. how you'd go back to being boss and assistant after this? you didn't know. but in this moment nothing mattered but the feel of his soft, warm lips on yours. he tasted faintly of mint and cigarettes—as expected from a chainsmoker like himself.

jong-in broke the kiss momentarily. he stood, taking his blazer off and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing his expensive golden watch. this man really did love luxury. the sight had you practically drooling. you unbuttoned a few buttons of your blouse in a pathetic attempt to escape the heat but you had a feeling this stifling heat would remain as long as a choi jong-in— a fire mage type hunter, was in your presence. you gasped when he lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his torso as if on instinct. he walked you over to his desk, placing you down rather gently so you were sat on display for him, instantly squeezing your thighs together at the realization of how you looked, embarrassed to be in such a position in front of your boss. "ah ah, don't shy away from me" he cooed, gently tapping your thigh with two fingers, making you open your legs reluctantly.

and before you knew it, his lips were back on yours, claiming your mouth as his. you felt his fingers travel up and down your thigh, eventually reaching your soaked panties. "oh? if i had known you were this much of a slut i would have done this a lot earlier" he teased, pushing your panties aside and coating his slender fingers in your slick. "s-sir—ah" you moaned right before he pushed two ringed fingers inside of you while continuing to rub your sensitive clit with the pad of his thumb. you whimpered at the feeling, throwing your head back in pleasure, letting him play with you however he pleased.

he was pushing you close to the edge. you felt the buildup in your core waiting, begging to be released. "please, sir—ah, i'm going to cum" you whined, relishing in the pleasure he was giving you with just two of his fingers. "mmm, no you won't. not like this" he practically purred, a smirk of satisfaction plastered on his face. he pulled his fingers out of you right before you could finish, leaving you high and dry. "why not?" you asked while exhaling shaky breaths. you couldn't believe that choi jong-in, your boss, had you all worked up from just his fingers. "you'll see" he replied simply, once again leaving you questioning his true intentions.

he put one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder, slowly pushing your back down on the desk and leaning over you. that's when you understood exactly what he meant. you gasped as he started placing soft, wet kisses down your neck, and unbuttoning your blouse to reach your chest. you closed your eyes shut, letting out soft mewls of pleasure as he wrapped his lips around your left nipple, licking it, sucking it, and kissing the soft skin around it. you felt an overwhelming need for him, from the teasing and edging earlier to this. you were unable to contain it any longer. "please sir, i need more" you keened, hoping he understood what 'more' meant. "more what? use your words sweetness" he murmured against your skin. "i need you inside me, please sir" you managed to utter, your cheeks flushing pink.

he removed his mouth from your tits, lifting his head to look at you through half lidded eyes. he chuckled, and without another word, he wrapped his strong arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him, where he stood at the edge of the desk. he lifted your skirt, bunching it up around your waist so he had better access. you propped yourself up on your elbows, wanting to admire him a little more. you felt another wave of pleasurable heat wash through you, settling in your already soaked panties at the mere sight of him unbuckling his belt. his eyes lingered on you, studying your reactions to his every move. he let the belt drop to the floor, moving to unbuckle his pants. your eyes widened at the sight of his hardened cock, wondering how all of that was going to fit.

"are you ready baby?" he asked softly, hovering over you and slowly prodding your dripping entrance with his cock. you whimpered, bucking your hips impatiently. "so impatient" he muttered, slowly sliding his cock into your hole, filling every inch of you. "nngh sir—" you moaned, arching your back off the desk, trying to adjust to his girth. but he didn't move, and he wouldn't move until he heard his name roll off your tongue. "sir is used for business. does this—" he thrusted into you once making you gasp with pleasure, "feel like business to you?" he asked, smiling coyly. "n-no" you stammered. "what's my name?" he demanded, standing still, his cock buried deep inside you while he waited for his answer. "mr. choi" you replied, hoping that was what he wanted to hear. spoiler alert, it wasn't. "wrong." he thrusted into you again, making you suck in a sharp breath. "jong-in" you mewled at the pleasurable sensation of his dick hitting your sweet spot.

and that was what made him snap. the swore that the sound of his name on your lips was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. he pulled out slightly before slamming into you, making you cry out. he began pounding into you, one hand gripped your waist so hard you felt bruises forming and the other closed around your neck, choking you lightly. the feeling of the cold metal of his rings was a divine contrast for your burning skin. "fuck sweetness— you feel so good" he rasped, quickening his pace. his hair was messy, and his glasses had slid down his nose— the sight was purely erotic. you felt a flame ignite between your thighs, feeling yourself approaching your climax yet again, hoping that he would let you finish this time. "jong-in" you moaned breathlessly, unable to formulate a full sentence. "i know baby—fuck i'm gonna cum" he groaned, feeling his dick twitching with need inside of you. "ah—" you cried out, body going still as you finally felt the sweet release you were waiting so patiently for. jong-in followed, eyes shut and head hanging low, breathing heavy breaths while he finished inside of you.

as you came down from your high, your mind had started to clear and it finally dawned on you. oh my god. you had just fucked your boss, who was also the guild master of the most well known guild in the country. oh fuck. jong-in finally pulled out, buckling himself back up. he looked over at you, admiring the sight of you laying on his desk all fucked out—a sight he’d been waiting too long to produce. you sat up, looking up at him. he lifted a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb lightly over its soft flesh. “good girl, you did so well for me” he praised, his words enough to make you melt. you really did have a thing for praise. “thank you” you mumbled shyly, unsure of how things would be after this. nothing could be the same after sex this good. he tapped your cheek lightly before dropping his hand back to his side, walking across his office to his private bathroom. he spent a few minutes in there and stepped out, holding a wet, warm towel which he used to clean you up.

the stark contrast between how rough he’d been during the sex and how gently he was cleaning you up made your head spin. would he fire you now? was it good enough for him? was he going to do it again? “stop thinking so much” he muttered, pulling you back from your thoughts. “huh?” you asked, worried that you were speaking out loud the whole time. “you have that frown on your face. i’ve noticed you frown that way when you’re overthinking something” he explained. wow, he really was attentive. “sorry” you mumbled in response, still worried about your future at the guild and your future with him.

he finished cleaning you up and you slid off the desk, shocked to find that your heels had stayed on during this whole process. your feet hurt, so you opted to take them off, your height shortening by about 4 inches. he seemed even taller now. jong-in wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and leaned down. he kissed you softly, gently, reassuring you with just his lips. he pulled away, smiling, and said “now sweetness, tell me about those reports you brought in”. looks like you were keeping the job after all.

© @blessedmisery 2025.

[g0dlyunsub]

it takes two.

spencer deals with a lot on the field, but nothing can prepare him for when he’s stuck inside a locker with you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: 18+ due to sexual themes but no smut, slight claustrophobia triggers

word count :: 2.2k

author’s note :: inspired by a scene from s9e23, i'm imagining spencer in a fitted collared shirt and tie, reader wears a skirt

accompanying song :: stuck between by dutch criminal record

“nothing’s showing up on vicap. i’ve cross-checked records against everything you’ve mentioned, sir, but there’s literally nothing. zilch,” you hear garcia let out an exasperated groan as she ferociously taps at her keyboard. 

you watch as hotch kneads the skin between his brows with growing impatience while morgan starts to pace around the room. you’re not doing any better yourself, your stressed-out fingers threatening to tug at the strands of hair neatly holding your ponytail together. 

it’s too frustrating. the leads are clearly there, but your team is lacking the final puzzle piece to complete the profile, to confirm that it’s someone in the department that’s deliberately injecting themselves into the investigation.

“your answer is probably written down on paper. ugh, i hate when bad guys try to act all smart,” garcia fumes, and sulks as she gives an apologetic wave from her side of the screen. hotch nods, relays a thank you, and cuts the call before rounding the whole team together.

“think about it, those two are the perfect scapegoats. all of these agents have everything to lose, so why not just blame them? they’ve been in and out of cells already, and it makes perfect sense to craft a narrative that’ll point fingers at them,” morgan starts, making small gestures as he speaks with his signature cadence, topped with a honeyed rasp.

“and they’ve got all the authority to influence the public’s opinion,” jj nods in agreement.

“we need to try to get those two to talk again, but we also have to take extra precautions. jj and prentiss, go interview them one more time to see if they’ll spill any names. morgan, i need you to work with garcia to look for other possible leads. reid and l/n, go to the records room to review the files of the agents working with us. dave and i will try to hold down the fort,” hotch instructs, nodding at each of you as he rolls out the orders. 

“and try not to draw suspicion. if all else fails, say that you need to run to the bathroom,” rossi adds with a wink. it always amazes you how calm the italian agent is during such high-pressure situations, a trait you’ve grown to immensely appreciate.

“shall we?” you say as you nudge spencer, and he hums back in response. you bid a wish of good luck to emily and jj and traverse the hallway to the records room with the doctor, your heels clacking beside the cushioned steps of his slightly worn converses. 

after looking left and right to make sure no one’s around, spencer opens the door. you silence the sounds of your heels as you follow inside, and let the bolt of the lock plunge into the frame by slowly closing the door. 

“alright, you take the left, i’ll take the right,” you whisper, and spencer gives you a thumbs up. 

the two of you work silently and as fast as possible, sifting through the piles of records that lie on the tables and beside the cabinets. you feel your heart jump into a cartwheel every time a sheet of paper slips out of the manila folders, the sounds of rustling and creasing setting you on edge. 

“i found mcgregor and drew, but i don’t think it’s either of them,” spencer declares with a voice that isn’t supposed to sound loud at all, but it feels hundreds of decibels higher than the bare whisper you spoke with earlier. 

“okay, i found weaver and lee, but they don’t fit the profile either. let’s continue looking for the other two,” you call back. 

spencer walks over to you and kneels beside your left to help you with your search. once you spread the folders on the floor, you spot one of the two remaining files, and spencer soon finds the other. you’re about to turn through the sheets in the folder when the doorknob starts to shake, startling the both of you.

“shit. spence,” you blurt as spencer takes his file in one hand and grabs yours with the other, and shoves them into an open drawer. after he slides the compartment back with his careful and nimble fingers, you grab his arm and squeeze into a spare locker. you barely manage to seal the opening shut in time.

you could say that it was quick thinking that saved your and spencer’s cover, since the door jiggles and thrusts open a mere second later.

you never would’ve imagined that the day would come when you would draw air directly from spencer’s breaths, let alone enclose yourself in the same room as him. 

and yet here you are, perched on top of spencer’s knee, the scratchy fabric of his trousers resting under the hollow space of your pencil skirt and between your legs. his other leg presses against your side of the wall with an uncomfortable bend, while his chin sits an atom’s width from your forehead.

it’s a nonnegotiable consequence that comes with his tall figure, the way his clothed knee has to rub against your inner thighs under the draped fabric.

one of your hands lies awkwardly on his chest while the other is on his thigh, right above the knee that’s using you for leverage. your attention immediately shifts to your left when you see the rays of the intruder’s flashlight scope through the room. 

you stop mid-exhale when the light pours through the gaps of the locker, casting shadows on spencer’s face and your body. he looks stressed, anxiously wetting his lips with closed eyes, face turned away from you.

and he looks overwhelmed. rapid bursts of inhales and exhales fire from his body, likely due to the collar of his shirt being bound tightly around his neck with the tie. with shaking fingers, you slowly reach for his tie, waiting for approval to loosen it. 

you feel his forehead bury into the cave of your shoulder, and he whispers his desperate ask into your ear: “please.”

despite the lack of light around you, you’re able to locate the small end of his satin tie, and you tug lightly. the knot unfurls as you pull, and spencer lets out a small sigh of relief before breathing a low thank you in your ear.

as this happens, you hear the intruder surf through the piles of papers, unlocking drawers and lifting boxes left and right. hurry, hurry, hurry, you pray desperately in your head. beads of sweat start to form at your temple and threaten to fall down to your exposed neck, which happens to be situated directly in spencer’s line of sight.

“come on,” you hear the guest in the room complain, angrily flipping through papers and slamming the cabinets. you think it’s finally time for him to leave when you hear the high-pitched ring of his phone. 

but your eyes widen when instead of heading to the door, he makes strides towards the locker right across from yours, and leans his back against it before holding the phone up to his ear. holy shit.

“jensen speaking,” he says with a gruff voice, and plays with the button of his flashlight so it turns on and off spontaneously. as the light flickers, it dimly shines the space inside your locker. 

spencer turns his head to meet your eyes, a panicked expression covering his face. you’re about to mouth a small sorry for the helpless situation you’ve dragged him into, but just as you’re about to do so, spencer’s trousers slide against your legs, creating friction so unbearable that you let out a squeak. 

you freeze, looking up to see spencer’s eyes flash warningly. he instantly clasps your mouth with his hands to cover any further sound from escaping your lips, but with no form of support to maintain his position, he starts to slip, and his shirt lightly skids against the locker’s slippery walls. this is somehow even worse for you, because spencer’s knee starts to dig further up your legs and into your cotton underwear, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

luckily for the both of you, jensen seems to be distracted by whatever words are being spewed from the other end of his phone call to pay any mind to your suppressed yelps. 

“i think their agents might be on to us,” he scowls, and you watch from the corner of your eye as he tosses the last of his files into a box and opens the adjacent locker to ram it inside.  

“yeah, i’ll try to stall them for as long as i can. they don’t know what they’re getting themselves into.” 

jensen curses and promptly ends the call, returning his phone into the pocket of his shirt. he finally walks to the door, sighing as he twists the knob and steps out. the two of you lie in wait for an additional three minutes before trying anything. 

“i think we’re good,” spencer huffs, finally opening the locker door with a thud as the sounds of steel clashing against steel echo throughout the air. 

“yeah,” you nod, taking a breath to collect yourself as you step out. you watch as spencer runs a hand through his hair and moves his fingers down to adjust his tie. 

he returns the stare, his adam’s apple bobbing when he eyes your wrinkled shirt and scrunched up pencil skirt – which looks more like a mini-skirt with how it sits right below your hips.

“i um, i need some air. how about you?” spencer asks at last, clearing his throat. you bite your lip when he starts to brush the dust off his thighs and knees, the moments of earlier flooding into the back of your mind like the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“yeah, i could use some fresh air too,” you respond breathily, averting your eyes and focusing instead on smoothing out your shirt and retying your loosened ponytail. when you’re done, you turn around and stagger to the door, not looking twice to see if spencer’s following you. an intense flush spreads across your cheeks, and your only viable path of escape is to the bathroom.

“you, um, missed a spot,” you hear from behind, and you follow spencer’s gaze to see that he’s referring to the back of your skirt.

“oh,” you say as embarrassment swamps you, and you hurriedly pat at the fabric. “does that look better?”

“it’s still folded there. if you want, i can- may i?” 

the question tumbles from his pretty lips and messes with your head. his hand hovers right around your waist, the same way yours lingered on his tie as you waited for his consent. and his softening eyes. his slightly smoldering gaze looks so innocent and alluring at the same time, your heart starts to feel heavy with the weight of desire. 

note to self: never wear a pencil skirt again.

“please,” you utter like a silent prayer, and mentally prepare yourself to endure the test of his fingers against your skin.

as soon as he receives your word, his hand lightly brushes against your thigh and trails down your skin. he takes the hem of your skirt and pulls down, giving several tugs before releasing the stretched garment. 

he clears his throat when you don’t move even after he’s retracted his hand.

“all good now.” 

spencer’s words drown out your thoughts and snap you back to reality. he’s already standing by the door, holding it open for you with a patient smile.

“thanks,” you say as you walk out and rub your hands together, nervous for what you’re about to say next. “spencer, um, i’m so sorry about that whole ordeal, it was really unprofessional of me to drag you in there, i wasn’t thinking when i-”

“you did the right thing,” spencer interrupts your ramble with the shake of his head, and his flawless smile pulls at your heartstrings.

“i would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn't. that door’s the only way in and out if you don’t count the windows,” he continues, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks you to the elevator.

“oh,” you shyly murmur back, your cheeks flushing with a shade of bright pink as his words pour over you like warm water. he would’ve pushed you in there if you hadn’t?

“yeah, but how about we try a bigger locker next time?” spencer almost reads your mind as he half-mindedly jokes, causing you to drop your jaw in shock. he doesn’t acknowledge your reaction, however, because he starts to dial rossi’s number on his cell.

“by the way, the uh, new look suits you. the grey skirt and all,” spencer says with a lopsided smile before he raises a hand to excuse himself and call rossi. you’re saved the embarrassment of responding when rossi accepts the call, but your palms are already profusely sweating at his compliment.

note to self: maybe wear the pencil skirt again.

[orellazalonia]

Unexpected Outlook

Summary: The Avengers launch a mission to raid a known base of the organization you now work with and discuss over what they found.

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: A little shorter since it’s Father’s Day, but I also wanted to add more weight to the previous chapter and progress the story.

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

Preparations moved fast. Too fast, maybe.

Steve didn’t like that they were running with incomplete information, but the longer they waited, the deeper this organization could dig itself into global systems. And the more time you had to assist them, whether willingly or not.

Still, it didn’t sit right. None of it did.

Bruce pulled the files. Natasha studied known locations. Sam monitored chatter. Bucky cleaned his weapons with a look in his eyes like he wanted answers he didn’t have the right to ask.

Yet no one brought up your name again. At least, not directly. But it hovered beneath everything.

The way Bucky checked each plan twice. The way Natasha’s jaw twitched when she reviewed footage. Even the way Steve hesitated before calling it an official mission.

The woman Bucky liked didn’t voice objections anymore. She simply kept a kind, quiet distance, like someone watching friends argue over a lost cause.

And within a week, the op was set.

Steve gave the greenlight with his jaw tight and eyes harder than usual. The mission was clear: infiltrate a suspected communications hub. A nondescript, rural compound masked as a grain storage facility. Satellite data showed encrypted signals routing through it over the last month, signals that matched ones the Avengers used internally.

Which meant either someone was watching. Or someone had been taught how.

They went in with a small team. Just Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky. No need for Hulk or Thor; this wasn’t a battering ram job. It was a retrieval and disrupt operation. Quiet and clean.

Or so they thought.

The quinjet landed half a mile out, under cover of dense fog rolling over the hills. The forest beyond the compound was eerily still like it had been holding its breath since before dawn.

“They want us to find this,” Natasha muttered, brushing a branch aside as they crept through the trees.

Steve didn’t argue. His shield was strapped to his arm, but he hadn’t raised it once.

They reached the clearing. The compound was just as expected. Gray concrete, flat roof, minimal security fencing, and a gravel path leading to two entrances. No guards. No movement. Even the air felt… hollow.

Sam scanned the building with a handheld sensor. “No heat signatures. Not even a rat.”

“Too clean,” Bucky said, voice low.

They breached the back door.

Inside, it was dark but not ruined. Every surface was wiped. Consoles powered down. Not destroyed, removed. Carefully like a move-out rather than an attack. Upon investigating further, files had been cleared, drawers emptied, and chairs pushed in with bland desks.

Whoever had been here knew exactly when to leave.

Steve turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

“This was active,” He said. “Days ago.”

“Hours, maybe,” Natasha said, crouching beside a desk. She tapped the edge, there was a faint spot where something electronic had been sitting. Someone had worked here… and then vanished.

Sam stepped into the central control room. There was only one thing left behind: a monitor left switched on, flickering a soft blue light in the dimness.

A single message scrolled across the screen.

Too late, Captain.

That was it. There wasn’t any long monologues. No other mocking comments. Not even a signature or sign-off present. Just a cold fact. Steve stared at it like he could will it to change. Bucky stood a step behind him, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“I don’t like this,” Sam muttered.

Natasha approached a wall panel and pried it open effortlessly. Inside, wires had been sliced. Intentionally. However, there were no explosives. No traps could be seen anywhere either. It was all just… closure.

“They stripped this place surgically,” She said. “No fingerprints, no traces. It’s like they wanted us to know they were here… but not who they are.”

Steve closed the monitor with a clenched jaw. “This wasn’t a base. It was a decoy.”

“No,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was soft but steady. “It was a base. It just outlived its usefulness.”

They all turned toward him. He looked at the empty room, the missing equipment, and the quiet hallways. Then, to the message. And for a moment, something shifted in his eyes. Guilt, maybe or something deeper.

“They planned for this,” He murmured. “Someone told them exactly how we’d come.”

No one responded, but no one needed to. Because they were all thinking it.

-

The debrief room was thick with a heavy silence, the kind that pressed down harder than shouting. Ghost-blue blueprints and photos of the abandoned compound still flickered on the monitors, reminders of how quickly their plan had unraveled. Notes about the missing equipment and the chilling message on the screen scrolled slowly, marking everything they should have anticipated.

Steve hadn’t sat once since they returned. He stood rigid at the head of the table, hands braced on his hips, and a deep furrow like it was etched there permanently. Sam had stopped pacing but his leg bounced nervously, jaw clenched tight. Natasha’s fingers tapped against her thigh in a rhythm so steady it barely seemed voluntary.

Only Bucky remained perfectly still, arms crossed, and eyes locked on the screen across the room. He said very little since they’d left the empty compound since that message haunted him.

Too late, Captain.

The words weren’t just text; they carried a weight, a deliberate coldness that dug into Bucky’s mind. Whoever had left it knew him. Not just the soldier, but his moves, his instincts. And worse, their enemy had used the knowledge you once held to outmaneuver them.

The memory played on loop in his mind. Not just the words but the feel of them. The calculation in them. Whoever was behind that terminal… knew him. Not just facts. His patterns.

And maybe worse than that, they’d used your knowledge to do it. They probably used you to do it.

The door hissed open.

She stepped in with her usual soft elegance, cradling a fresh cup of tea between her hands like she had no idea anything had gone wrong. Dressed casual, warm, and comfortable. Like she belonged. Like she didn’t feel the same tension that pulled everyone else taut. The one you used to be jealous of had sat out for the mission after all.

“Oh,” She said lightly. “You’re all back already.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was gently surprised, as if she’d simply walked into a meeting that ended early. Steve didn’t answer right away. Neither did the others.

She blinked, smile sweet and expectant, like someone unaware they were intruding. “Was it a short mission?”

“We were too late,” Steve said flatly, straightening.

Her brows lifted, and she crossed to the table, setting the tea down. “Really? That’s unfortunate. I thought it was just one of those cleanup things. You all make those look so easy.”

Sam looked over, jaw tight. “They cleaned up, alright. Took every last trace of themselves. Left us a polite message, too.”

“They knew how we’d approach,” Natasha added with her arms crossed now. “Like they knew our pattern. Our flow. They stripped the place within hours of our arrival window.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a fingernail against the ceramic. “That’s strange. Maybe they had inside intel?”

“No,” Steve spoke, narrowing his eyes. “Not unless someone studied us long before they left.”

“Oh.” She blinked, tilting her head. “So… do you think your old administrator friend told them?”

Bucky stiffened.

Natasha’s voice was sharper now, eyes narrowing. “She’s not our anything.”

That seemed to amuse her. She let out a light laugh, the kind meant to dissolve tension, not that anyone was asking for it. “Well, you’re not wrong,” She smiled. “ She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she?”

Bruce, who had been mostly quiet, looked up sharply. “She worked here for over two years.”

She didn’t seem phased. There was no malice on her face actually. Just soft confidence.

“I guess I didn’t think she’d be important,” She sighed simply. “Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

Sam stood, voice tight. “She did. Straight into the hands of the people trying to tear us apart.”

Her smile faltered just a touch. “I didn’t mean—look, I’m sure she was… sweet. I just don’t see how it helps to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be here. Don’t you think she made her choice?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t know that yet.”

“I mean, sure,” She said gently, “But if she’s really that dangerous, wouldn’t you have noticed before she left? You didn’t even realize she was gone until weeks later, right?”

Bucky shifted slightly. The burn in his chest deepened. Not from her words exactly, but from how true they rang.

They hadn’t noticed. They hadn’t looked.

The woman moved closer to Bucky, noticing his subtle distress as she rested her hand lightly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I just worry about you,” She confessed softly, smiling up at him. “You’re all stretched so thin already. I’d hate to see you waste energy chasing ghosts.”

Her hand lingered. But Bucky’s jaw clenched, and for once, he didn’t lean into her touch.

“She’s not a ghost,” He muttered. “She’s a mirror. Of everything we missed.”

Her expression flickered for barely a moment. Then the sweet smile returned.

“Well, if you have to go after her,” She brushed her hand away, her expression turning more solemn. A hint of pity evident, “I hope you’re prepared for what you find. Sometimes people change… and not always in ways you can fix. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She reached for her tea again, her fingers wrapping around the cup like it was an anchor.

“And if you do decide to keep going after her, well.” She gave a gentle little laugh, looking around with open, innocent eyes. “I hope it goes well. I really mean that. And if you need my help at all… just let me know. I’m always happy to support the team.”

The door hissed softly behind her as she walked out, quiet heels tapping against the floor in steady, graceful rhythm.

The rest of the team stood in silence for a few long seconds, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.

Steve broke it first.

“We move forward. We stop that organization before it spreads deeper.”

“And if she’s helping them willingly?” Sam asked, his voice low.

Steve hesitated.

So, Bucky answered instead.

“Then we stop her, too.”

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[ladybugtrait]

(preview) ✨ Mabel Pines – Gravity Falls | The Sims 4 ✨ cc list + cc folder

Bring some glitter, color, and chaotic charm to your Sims 4 game with Mabel Pines from Gravity Falls! 🎨🌈 This custom-made sim captures Mabel's unique style, bubbly personality, and iconic looks straight from the show.

Included in the download: 🧶 Custom hair & outfit inspired by Mabel’s signature colorful sweaters 💖 Fully styled sim – ready to play or add to your town 🎨 Free CC list + Tray files included for easy installation

📌 Requirements: Some CC and packs might be needed for her to appear exactly as shown (list included in the download folder).

📥 Available for patrons!

Let your Sims world get a little weirder—in the best way possible—with Mabel Pines! 💫

All credits to the creators!

Mabel sim download or at my shop

@magic-bot , @obscurus-sims , @northernsiberiawinds , @sims3melancholic , @daylifesims , @enriques4 , @jius-sims , @twisted-cat

[filmbyjy]

i had this amazing idea of dancer niki x dancer reader who are rivals (constantly competing against who’s better) but are forced to be dance partners 🎀

one more dance

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

SUMMARY: ni-ki never liked to duo with someone else. he liked the peace being a solo dancer. after all, he was the ace of the dance club. that is until you joined. rivals in the club and the dance floor. what will happen when the teacher decides to place you two as dance partners for the next competition?

WARNINGS: you and ni-ki are menaces to each other for the first part. a decent amount of angst but don't worry there is a happy ending bc i like happy endings.

WORD COUNT: 3.4K words

a/n: finally this is out of the inbox!! let's go more riki content 🗣️🗣️oh and if you wanted to know the inspiration that i had for the choreo that is here. this is the inspiration

"ew, why do you even like ni-ki? he's just a stuck-up two-faced dude that thinks he's the best at dancing." - you

"her? you like her dancing skills? that's crazy. she's the most annoying bitch around. always thinking she can dance soooo well when she clearly can't." - ni-ki

these were just of the few words that both you and ni-ki would threw at each other when asked by someone else. you dislike ni-ki. well, that's an understatement. one could say you despise him. to you, ni-ki was like a chess piece waiting to be kicked out of their golden spot.

he needed to be humbled.

was what you always thought. he thought that he had every right to be able to do whatever he wanted. just because he was the top dancer in the club. not only that, he was also popular which made it annoying during practice. there were constantly a lot of girls barging in and asking ni-ki for his number and or signature.

that stupid smirk of his every time. it was always plastered in your head and you hated it.

"alright, everyone. so we actually have been invited to another dance competition. they really loved jay and jake's duo dance." the choreographer says. everyone continues to listen in

"which means, they want us to form another duo to send to the competition." he adds. there were whispers among the club.

"i was thinking that maybe we can have a boy and girl duo? some sort like a romantic dance? doesn't have to be tango or salsa. definitely could be something more lively as our club is known for more hiphop and rough dance steps."

everyone looks around and mumbles. the choreographer sighs. "okay, i was thinking that maybe (name) and ni-ki could pair up? after all, you two are our best dancers in the club."

this gets the whole room talking more. clearly this was something huge. everyone knew you and ni-ki hated each other. you had folded your arms.

"no offence, sir but i do not want to work with someone like him." you say. ni-ki rolls his eyes.

"well, who said i wanted to work with you? you're clearly horrible at dancing. after all, you'd ruin the whole dance routine." ni-ki retaliates back.

"you fucking ass-"

the choreographer interrupts you, "unfortunately for you two, i have already submitted your names. this is the final decision. it's not a yes or no."

you groaned out loud. "Mr.Han-"

"i'm sorry (name), riki. you two just have to figure things out. who knows, working together might fix this...tension? you guys are having."

"tension? Mr.Han, i'll have you know that me and ni-ki are not-"

"i want you two to go practice, i have chosen a song already. just need you two to choreograph to it. it can have a separate dance but there has to be a part in the choreo where you two come together and dance as a couple." he points his finger at you and ni-ki. "understand?"

"understand." both you and ni-ki say in defeat.

"i'll send ni-ki the audio file and then you two can work on it."

the both of you grumbled and huffed whilst walking out of the first dance studio. you had walked towards the middle of the practice room while ni-ki sorted out the music. once he was done, he clicks play so that the both of you could dissect the music. the both of you had turned to each other when you realised that it was a sexy rnb vibe.

"what the fuck." you had groaned. "don't tell me you're gonna have to grind on me or something."

"ew. i don't even want to touch you so no grinding on each other. stop being a pervert and think of a different dance step." ni-ki rolls his eyes.

"i wasn't being a pervert, asshole."

"well, why is grinding the first dance step you thought of?"

"because it just so happens so many couple dancers grind on each other!"

"pervert." ni-ki shields his body. you had rolled your eyes at him.

"just choose which timing you wanna take and create a choreo first. then maybe we can be civil and review it together." you had explained. ni-ki folds his arms.

"you're the one who isn't civil. always taking every opportunity to bite back and say something after me. one might think you're obsessed with me." ni-ki says.

you had clenched your fist and just bit back your tongue. if you were to say anything, it would only prove that ni-ki was right. you were not about to let him win that argument. he just wanted to make you mad.

the both of you had settled down to listen to the song once again. after about 5 minutes, ni-ki was quick to stand up and create a small part of the choreo. you were even shocked as to how he managed to think of something in just 5 minutes. you had watched how he went to polish the step to make it clearer.

"play the song again. i'm trying to see if it fits the choreo well." ni-ki says. it was clear he was focused and wasn't playing around.

you had stood up to play the song again. ni-ki gets into position. he retries the dance sequence he had created. he tilts his head when he realises that it needs to be tweaked a little.

"we need something that is smooth for this part of the song. do you have any dance steps that you can think of when you hear this small part?" ni-ki turns to you.

"which part?" ni-ki goes over and replays the part. "could you keep replaying it while i think? maybe my body could flow with it." ni-ki hums.

for once, you feel like you two were working together. no one was shouting. he was cooperating with you. guess, the both of you realised that this competition was quite important. your body had moved a little to part of the song as you had figured out how to continue with ni-ki's dance choreo.

"maybe a quick flowy thrust? you know the one you did it that dance choreo with the other boys? jungwon made it really smooth once, i was impressed."

for a second, ni-ki was flabbergasted that you had watched his choreo with the other boys but then you mentioned jungwon and praising him. he scowls.

"what? jungwon caught your eye or something?"

"well, yeah. he did really well on that part." you say. ni-ki grumbles and says something under his breath. however, you didn't catch it. "what?"

"nothing. just continue thinking of other dance steps for the rest of the song."

and that you did. for the past 2 hours, both you and ni-ki had been finishing up the choreo. you knew the both of you had to show it to Mr.Han by Friday for him to approve. it was only Wednesday but the pressure was still on the both of you to complete it quickly and polish the steps.

By 6pm, you had fallen onto the ground panting. ni-ki goes over to pour a cup of isotonic drink for you and him. he shoves the cup towards you, you had taken it and a small smirk appears on your face. ni-ki rolls his eyes.

"from one dancer to another, we both know we need this. we have tomorrow to polish the whole routine. we can't mess this up and we need the dance to be approved by Mr.Han."

"i know. i do think Mr.Han will point out we need to be more touchy since this song is sensual."

ni-ki scoffs. "we'll just change it then. for now, both of us aren't exactly comfortable with touching each other." you nod in agreement. ni-ki stands up.

"we have finished about 45 seconds of the choreo. we still have about 15 more. we can complete the rest tomorrow." you had hummed.

"i'll be staying for a bit to practice some other dance routine. if you're busy, you can go."

ni-ki nods. he doesn't press further as to what other dance routine you were doing. he grabs his bottle and leaves the studio. you had changed the music once he left and started practicing.

as time flies by, you were now a month away from the competition. you had worked with ni-ki for about 3 months. you had realised that something was definitely different. you see, after Mr.Han evaluated the choreography twice, the dance was a lot more touchier. as much as you and ni-ki didn't want to admit, something has definitely changed.

days leading up to the present days, with each touch in the dance steps you realised that ni-ki's eyes had been lingering on you. you didn't want to believe it at first but you couldn't deny whenever you'd catch him. there was a specific move where ni-ki would have to tilt your head up and lean in close to your lips.

you did have hold in your breath whenever you were practicing because you were feeling flustered.

"good job but you still need to work on your chemistry." Mr.Han mentions. "you guys have 1 more month to fully commit to the dance. I can tell that you're both still hesitant. dancing means you just have to let whatever issue you two had, go. i want you two to go practice it more. go ahead and show the whole club when you're ready."

with your head down, you had walked towards the other studio. the door shuts and you had sighed out loud. ni-ki breaks his silence.

"we both have goals. we're just going to have to suck up and do well. both you and i know, we love being in first place. if we have to pretend like we're in love then so be it." ni-ki says. he stares right at you. your stomach churns, he looked kinda hot.

"fine. we'll pretend to be in love for the sake of 1st place." you declared. ni-ki steps closer and you could feel the cold plastered brick wall against your back.

"from today till the competition, we're a couple." he says as he stares at your face.

"fake couple, right." you asked in a small tone. ni-ki laughs.

"yeah. unless you want it to be real."

you had shoved him away from you and he barely moves. "as if." he smirks at your words.

and yes, a fake couple did you two become. ni-ki would invite you to some cafe to properly get the romantic vibes before practicing. in 2 weeks time, you and ni-ki were getting more comfortable. everyone in the dance crew could see it. no more yelling, just talking normally. one could say, you might actually warm up to the idea of having a sane conversation with him.

"ni-ki, we need to get outfits for the competition-" you paused in your step. the words die in your throat as you watched the scene in front of you. ni-ki was happily chatting with a girl and laughing along with her. he hands her his number willingly and she smiles.

you had almost gone up to them but why would you? it's not like you and ni-ki were dating. it was just a bonding session to get you two to be a better pair in the choreo. you had just gone back to the studio to practice and forget about what happened. halfway through you practicing, you had heard the door open but you didn't care.

"(name)." ni-ki calls out but you had blatantly ignored him. "(name)?" he sighs and grabs your shoulders before spinning you around to look at him.

"get your hands off me." you say. ni-ki puts his hands up and surrenders.

"what's gotten into you? i thought we were chill already." he says. you had rolled your eyes.

"well, i just remembered that you're still an asshole so yeah. we are not chill."

"what the fuck? i didn't even do or say anything to offend you these past few months. why are you projecting your stress or anger towards me."

"you are the cause of my stress and anger. i can't wait to get this competition done and over with because i can't stand you!" you had raised your voice. the room fell silent. you could feel your throat getting tighter as you held back the urge to breakdown in front of him.

"(name)..." ni-ki softly says. this was the first time he has ever used that kind of tone. he was being gentle. too gentle to you. you had clenched your fist.

"you can go practice. i'm going home. go buy your competition outfit by yourself. i'll figure something out on my own from my closet." you had picked up your bag and left quickly.

days pass since you left abruptly, you didn't attend any of the practices. you had just been practicing on your own at home. your room wasn't big, you had to just make do with the space and shift around furniture just to dance. ni-ki tried to text you multiple times but they were left unanswered.

the coach could see something had happened. he approaches ni-ki to question him and ni-ki explains what had happened a couple days back. Mr.Han hums.

"she likes you." he states. ni-ki stares at his coach like he was crazy.

"what? why would she like me?"

"what happened that day before you came into the studio to practice with (name)?"

"well, some girl came up to me and she was really funny so i gave her my number. when i walked into the practice room, (name) was practicing herself."

Mr.Han nods, "you see, sometimes you don't always know who could be around the corner or passing by. there is a chance that (name) could've passed by and saw what had happened. you smiling at some other girl. if she likes you, she'd probably feel like shit. she'll get mad, she'll feel like crying."

"and knowing (name), she's never the type of person to let anyone see her cry. she keeps her worries and troubles to herself. she most definitely will hide away her sorrows." Mr.Han continues.

"do you know where she lives?"

never in your whole life have you cried this much. you cried for a while when you didn't give your very best in competitions but it was only for 2 hours. after that, you'd motivate yourself to do better because you knew you were a great dancer. however, this? crying over your feelings for ni-ki? that's crazy.

you spent 4 straight days crying like a maniac. at first, when you came back from storming out the studio. you were confused as to why tears were even dripping down your face. it was stupid. then came the denial stage.

you didn't have feelings for ni-ki. you were crazy. you were lonely. you never been in a relationship before which is why you were jealous of him. yes, you were jealous that he could easily make any girl fall to their feet for him.

you made up every single possible reason other than acknowledging the most obvious one. after two days of being in denial, you came into terms that you did in fact have feelings for him. here you were on the fifth day, sitting on the couch and eating ice cream to make yourself feel better. you had heard the doorbell ringing but you didn't move. maybe if you just sat there watching some cartoon, the person at the door will just go away.

unfortunately, they didn't. they rang the doorbell once more and even knocked on the door. you had groaned. placing the ice cream into the freezer quickly before opening the front door. there stood the guy that you had been crying for.

"hey." he says. you wanted to slammed the door shut in his face. you didn't want to see him. you felt self-conscious all of a sudden. would he mind that you were wearing a hello-kitty pyjama pants? was your hair a mess?

"what are you doing here?" you say. it may have came off a bit defensive and cold. ni-ki's eyes widened slightly.

"umm, just to check up on you. you haven't come down to the studio in like 5 working days. we also have a competition in 1 week so like i kinda need my partner to work with me for the choreo." he explains.

you had rolled your eyes. "you can practice on your own." the memory still fresh of ni-ki smiling with that girl. "maybe you could ask some other girl to be your partner."

ni-ki's heart skips a beat. something churns his stomach as he hears the venomous underlying tone in your voice. you were definitely jealous.

"look-"

"once this competition is over, you and i don't have to cross paths anymore." this gets ni-ki intrigued. he tilts his head.

"what do you mean by that."

"i'm going to quit the crew."

ni-ki's heart drops. "quit the crew? but why? yes, we both hated each other but we're okay now."

"i want to further my studies. i want to do well and exceed in a job that i love."

"but don't you love dancing?"

"it's just a hobby and i've spent so much of my parent's money on this crew. it's time that i earned my own money and give it back to them."

"(name), are you doing this because you don't want to see me?"

"no." ni-ki sighs.

"then why? like you said, you spent so much money and time on dance. what's stopping you from continue it further. you can become a coach. earn money and teach kids."

"i just don't want to do this anymore." you had looked away. ni-ki cups your face gently.

"(name) even though we barely really got to know each other. one thing i know about you is that you really love dancing. hell, even if i did say that you were a horrible dancer. you weren't. you're just as passionate as me in dancing. this is your calling. you can't just decide to give up on it."

"you have friends here. everyone loves you. the coaches love you. i love you..." he admits. your breath hitches.

"you gave your number to someone else. you smiled and laughed with her. you like her."

"i may have gave that girl my number and laughed along with her but nothing could compare to the partner that i've worked with for months. I got to know you, I got to realise that you weren't so bad. I learnt to acknowledge that you were an amazing dancer. most importantly, i got to realise that maybe we didn't hate each other."

"maybe i just had feelings for you. that i was in denial."

you had reached up to touch ni-ki's hand that was still on your cheek.

"let me make it up to you. show you that my feelings are genuine for you."

you had nodded. ni-ki leans down slightly and gives you a short but reassuring kiss. he pulls back.

"wanna go practice our choreo?" he asks.

"sure." was all you said.

EPILOGUE

both you and ni-ki had showed up the makeup room holding hands. everyone was in shock. though they knew something was definitely up with the both of you, they didn't want to assume things. both you and ni-ki had also some sort hid the relationship for a bit.

"dude, you serious about this?" jake says. ni-ki laughs.

"yeah, me and (name) have been dating for like a week now. we just kept it lowkey for a little."

"shit. enemies to lovers really is a good trope." jake says. jay smacks his back.

"okay, enough. they need to get ready for the competition." he tells jake. jay turns to look at both you and ni-ki. "make sure to win 1st place for us. i think our two best dancers need to prove their amazing chemistry."

with that, both you and ni-ki made sure to do well. everyone did truly love it. the tension, the eye contact. most importantly the kiss that you two shared at the end. everyone cheered and applauded the both of you. the crowd went wild.

just like that, 1st place was acquired. currently, that trophy sat on the shelf of your home.

yours and ni-ki's home.

taglist[perm]: @ja4hyvn @ahnneyong @milklix @kar0ki @sugarsunoo @http-gyu @simpforniki @vatterie @victoriazynui @myu3ki @jhopesucker @dimplewonie @chwlogy @ilovewonyo @xiaoderrrr @uwuheeseungie @miercerise @liikno @hxney-luga @tiktaktiki @ajayke-reads @yizhoutv @s00buwu @ilovehanni1 @starrpt2 @mystarryseas @Moonliaworld @in-somnias-world @luvyev @engeneeee-168 @babyy-bambii @kimipxl @namau @gxwesn @kristynaaah @jiiyen @nshmrarki @addictedtohobi @starvyeol1512 @alexisdalmatian

(want to be added into the taglist? just send an ask or fill up this short form here!)

[grizzlart]

Free-To-Use Wolf Base!

WAH THIS WAS SO MUCH WORK BUT IT'S READY!

I put together this pic to showcase some of the different features available. Most of them are quite subtle, so you'll have to see for yourself!

The file currently includes a summer and winter coat base, four ear variants, four snout variants, and a variety of facial expression options. All head features are available on the headshot as well as the fullbody, and all features are compatible with both the summer and winter bases, so you can mix and match!

There's also two sets of text boxes, two palette options, and some public domain photograph backgrounds to pick from.

I'd like to expand it further in future, but I'll be taking a breather first. It's been a lot of work making this! Worth it though, I think. ^^

Rules of use

This base is free to use for any non-commercial purposes which don’t involve the use of generative AI. You may not use this base for profit, advertisement, or commissions without my clear, written permission. You may not use any generative AI tools at all in relation to this base. Doing either of these is a violation of my legal ownership of this work.

If you want to share the base, you can – however, you must do so by sharing a link to this tumblr post. You may not post a link to the file directly, or reupload it to share online under any circumstances.

You must keep my signature clearly visible. By alpha locking the layer, you can recolour it dark or light to be visible on your background of choice. It can be in any location and colour, as long as it is visible and the text is legible without effort. You may not claim the base as your own, but any designs made with it are entirely yours of course!

If you post work using this base anywhere online (including on discord or art apps), you must include a link to my tumblr account as credit for the base – preferably a link to this post specifically.

You may modify the base to your heart’s content, as long as generative AI is not used at any point in the process and my signature is unaltered and visible.

I am willing to add extra features to the base in exchange for a fee. I am planning to make expansions to it on my own time as well, but these will specifically be realistic features and I’m not sure on a timeframe. You may not make requests for free additions. If you want a fantastical feature added, or want an addition made sooner, get in touch and we can work out a price! Features added in this way will be made available for everyone unless otherwise agreed.

Anyone is free to use this base. If you are blocked by my tumblr account, you are allowed to log out or visit the site on a private browser to access the base. However, note that I am openly and passionately supportive of endogenic plurality and all kinds of endo systems and if you have a DNI rule regarding pro-endos or endogenic systems, you will be violating that DNI by interacting with me or my work. You may want to consider blocking me if so.

Support and tips

If you want to support my work (and help motivate me to keep working on this base and create more in the future), there’s two ways I absolutely appreciate!

The first is simply to spread the word! I made this base as a free resource, in the hopes that fellow artists, therians, alterhumans and furries would enjoy it and find it useful. Reblogs are vastly appreciated!

If you wish to provide some kind of financial support, I do accept tips – but not in the conventional way! I ask that, instead of sending money to me, you make a donation to the Endangered Wolf Center on my behalf. Red wolves and Mexican wolves are both critically endangered, and with the current political climate of the US, supporting conservation efforts to preserve and save these unique keystone species is more important than ever. If you do decide to donate, I would love if you told me!

Extra info

More info, including photo sources, can be found in the text doc included in the zip file! I also included a bit of basic advice for using the base, so give it a read over if you're unsure about anything. If you're still stuck, you can message me!

File download here!

[suzukiblu]

So like, I don’t actually remember where I first saw the concept of soulmates getting access to each other’s superpowers but I very much needed to write something about it. Especially because that thought gave me some thoughts about how certain characters' origins/powers have gotten retconned, and welllll . . . We'll just call this WIP behind the cut here "soulmate superpowers".

The real problem with the marked increase in the global population of superpowered individuals both on Earth and in reality in general is what happens when they meet their soulmates. And the problem also depends, depending on the kind of soulmate. With romantic and platonic soulmates, the problem only happens on and off, which is much more manageable. 

Familial soulmates, though . . . for those the problem isn’t just “sometimes”, and therefore isn’t quite as “manageable”. 

Cadmus didn’t really tell Experiment Thirteen much about how soulmates worked, though, so when the full Kryptonian powerset only kicked in after the Kid met the real, original Superman for the first time . . . 

Well. He hadn’t known that was something he maybe should’ve thought a little more about, at the time.

.

.

.

“Wait up,” Serling Roquette says, staring down blankly at her tablet. She’s sixteen and crazy-weird and brand-new to Cadmus and showed up in wild clothes to apparently run the genetics department now that they’re under new management. Or something like that, Superboy guesses. He only signed on about five minutes before Roquette did, but she asked for a DNA sample to compare to his previous on-file samples and, like, cross-reference with them or whatever, he doesn’t know, he kinda stopped understanding what she was talking about by that point. “You’re supposed to have Kryptonian DNA in your setup?” 

“. . . uh,” Superboy says, because what kind of question is that? “Yeah? Like, no shit, doc, I didn’t get heat vision and ice breath from the human half.” 

Admittedly he is terrible with both of them, but he does have them. He just kinda avoids using them, is all. He fucks enough shit up with his TTK as it is; he doesn’t need to add frost damage and burny melty destruction on top of that. 

He’s thought about asking Superman for tips on ‘em a couple times, but he always feels real stupid when he does. Like, what kind of an even-only-half Kryptonian is he, if he can’t figure that shit out on his own? Superman did. And hell, even that asshole Henshaw did, and that prick isn’t even actually Kryptonian, he just– 

“This is human DNA, youngblood,” Roquette says, looking up at him. “Like, literally all human DNA. Real heavily augmented human DNA, we're talking ultra-crush gravity here, but like–you know, like somebody tried to forge the artist’s signature, but they didn’t actually think to use the right pen?” 

“What?” Superboy says blankly. 

“Do people not actually ever look at your DNA?” Roquette says. “Is that not a thing? You’re a clone, how are people not ever actually looking at your DNA?” 

“People look at it all the time,” Superboy says, still thrown off by what it sounds like she’s saying. That’s–he’s not–what is she saying? 

“Are they, like, mad stupid, then?” Roquette asks skeptically, wrinkling her nose and raising an eyebrow. “It’s literally the wrong pen. It’s the wrong ink. It’s not even a pen!” 

“I have literally no idea what you’re sayin’, Doc,” Superboy says, staring blankly at her. 

“I’m saying you’re about as Kryptonian as a human can get, which is literally zero point zero percent,” Roquette replies frankly, half-waving her tablet at him. “Whoever built you–” 

“Mostly Dabney Donovan, unfortunately,” Superboy says. 

“–okay, well, is Dabney Donovan as much of a lying shithead as I’ve always heard?” Roquette asks, waving her tablet at him again. “Because the data supports him being a lying shithead. He twisted your genes through a Kryptonian-shaped mold, maybe, but they’re still human genes. Fully and totally and like, seriously, does no one ever look at your DNA?” 

“I’m just human?” Superboy says blankly. “I–no I’m not! I have Kryptonian powers!” 

“Yeah, about that,” Roquette says. “No you don’t.” 

“What?” he says. She flips her tablet to face him; stabs a brightly-manicured nail emphatically at a bunch of figures and graphs he can’t understand at all. 

“You don’t have a single superpower except for tactile telekinesis,” she replies, frank and matter-of-fact. “None nada nothing and zip zilch zero. Genetically speaking, you are a highly-specialized highly-flexible telekinetic, but that’s it. That’s all you got in the playbook, youngblood."

Superboy stares at her. She keeps holding her tablet up like he’s gonna just suddenly magically understand what all the figures and graphs on it mean. 

“What?” he repeats, and feels like a fucking idiot about it. 

“When did you get the Kryptonian powers?” Roquette asks. “Like, did you come straight out the cloning solution with those, or . . . ?” 

“I didn’t get any yellow sun in development,” Superboy says, feeling–disconnected, sort of, and a little numb. What does–that doesn’t–he’s Superman’s clone. Like, only halfway, but– 

If he’s not Superman’s clone . . . is he just made out of that piece of shit Westfield, if . . . ? 

“Okay,” Roquette says. “So did you get the powers soon as you hit daylight, then?” 

“No,” he says. “I didn’t–not until–” 

When did they start kicking in? It took a few weeks or so, he knows. Maybe . . . maybe a little bit longer? It was– 

“Did it happen before you met Big Blue, or after?” Roquette asks real pointedly, and Superboy thinks he stops thinking, maybe. Just–everything in his head disappears all at once, and his mind goes totally blank, and . . . and he . . . 

“I’m not–I–” he tries to say, and doesn’t even know what he is trying to say. 

“Yeah,” Roquette says. “Like I said. You don’t have Kryptonian powers. You’ve got your soulmate’s powers.” 

Superboy stares at her for one more second, then bolts out of the lab without another word.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° consumed with what's just transpired

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — part 4 to my series: The Garden of You ( masterlist )

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — all characters are 18+ (prob like 22-25ish), Reo is a pro soccer player, business woman! reader, enemies to lovers, workplace banter, nepo baby! reo lowkey, explicit themes mentioned (nothing described though), she falls first, he falls harder

♡ synopsis — reo mikage has never had anything outside of soccer that he couldn't buy, and he hasn't really wanted to. until he meets you.

── .❀ the kiddie like play has people watching

The worst thing about working at Mikage Corporation wasn't the suffocating suits or the 6 a.m. calls. 

It wasn’t the boardroom full of overpaid executives or the exhausting scramble to appear competent in a room full of sharks.

No.

It was Reo Mikage.

Golden boy. 

Soccer star. 

Heir to the empire.

And your new direct counterpart.

You weren’t just some intern fumbling files—no, you’d climbed here on merit. 

Worked your way through the ranks with sleepless nights and smart decisions. 

And then Reo walked in—straight from the field, sun-kissed and smug, all dazzling smile and signature violet hair—and decided he was going to “help out” around the company. 

His father’s idea, apparently. A grooming period before he eventually took over the Mikage legacy.

He wasn’t even in a tie. Just sauntered into your meeting, three buttons undone, skin still glowing from training, and plopped down beside you like he owned the seat.

“Didn’t know this was bring-your-prodigal-son-to-work day,” you had muttered under your breath.

He smirked. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart.”

You should’ve known right then that this was war.

Meetings were the worst.

You swore he lived to disagree with you. 

No matter what you said—numbers, projections, marketing ideas—Reo would have something to add. Something better. 

And the worst part? Sometimes, it actually was.

But it didn’t make you like him more. In fact, it made you want to throw your pen across the table.

Today was no different.

“This entire campaign is built around data that’s nearly six months old,” you snapped, flipping the file shut. “It’s irrelevant now.”

Reo leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “And yet, it’s outperforming every other campaign in its bracket. Weird how that works.”

You could feel your pulse in your jaw. Across the table, three other executives stayed deathly silent, watching the two of you go at it for the fourth time this week.

“I’m saying we can do better.”

“And I’m saying we are doing better. Just not your version of it.” The man that you swore was the human embodiment of a fly kicked his feet up on the table, leaning back. 

You shot him a glare sharp enough to kill a man.

He smiled like it tasted sweet.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” you hissed as the meeting ended, gathering your things.

“Doing what?” He followed you out of the room like a damn shadow.

“Undermining me. You only argue to get under my skin.”

He raised a brow. “Maybe I just like the way you look when you're mad.”

You whirled around. “Do you even care about this company?”

His mouth opened, but the hallway was too quiet, too narrow, too full of something that wasn’t hate. 

And Reo? He suddenly wasn’t smirking anymore.

“I care,” he said, softer than expected. “Just not the way you think.”

The breaking point came one Friday night.

You were both stuck working late—again—finalizing investor materials. 

It was nearly 11 p.m., the office long since emptied, and you were dangerously close to chucking the company laptop out the window.

“You can’t just rewrite my entire proposal, Mikage!”

He stood up. “And you can’t keep acting like you’re the only one who gives a crap how our stocks look!”

“You think you’re the only one under pressure? You think just because you play soccer and have a trust fund that this—this company—is yours to coast through?!”

You were close now. Too close.

And Reo wasn’t laughing anymore.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, voice low. “The company, the name. But I’m here. I show up. And maybe I didn’t come in the same way you did, but I’m not trying to take it from you.”

You stared at him, breath caught.

And then something snapped.

Your mouth opened—maybe to yell, maybe to push back—but instead, Reo kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative.

It was a mess of pent-up frustration and late nights, of power plays and quickened pulses and too many stolen glances across boardroom tables. 

You grabbed his tie—not out of affection, but because you needed something to hold on to.

And Reo? He held you like he'd been dying to.

The days after were a blur of confusion and avoidance.

You didn’t know what to say, and Reo—he didn’t know how to stop wanting to do it again.

What scared him most wasn’t that he liked you.

It was that he didn’t know when he started.

All he knew was that now, he noticed everything.

The way your nose scrunched when you disagreed with a figure. 

The coffee order you always messed up. 

The tired look in your eyes when no one else noticed how hard you worked.

He noticed the way his chest hurt when he made you laugh.

He noticed the way your chair creaked just before you spoke up in meetings.

He noticed you, and he couldn’t un-notice it anymore.

Then one night, it boiled over again.

You were in the elevator, alone together.

“You’ve been weird,” you said, not even looking at him.

“Says the girl who kissed me.”

Your head snapped toward him. “You kissed me.” You shoved your finger into his chest.

Reo ran a hand through his hair—God, why did he do that so much? It made him look almost nervous. Vulnerable.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t care if this is stupid. Or if we fight again tomorrow. But I’ve never wanted something I can’t just buy before.”

He paused.

“And I want you.”

You blinked, finger falling from his chest as you took a step away from him.

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days.

“When I saw you sit across from me… it made me want to earn something for the first time in my life. On my own.”

Yes, he had soccer. Yes, he had built himself up from nobody to a world renowned player, but that wasn’t enough.

You win with a team in soccer, for once in his life, Reo wanted to win something by himself.

Silence stretched between you like an exhale.

And you took one step closer.

“You’re still annoying,” you muttered.

He grinned. “You love it.”

You kissed him this time.

It didn’t feel like tension anymore. 

It felt like fire. 

Like you were both finally letting go of the control and diving into the burn.

Later, as you lay tangled together on the couch in the Mikage penthouse—documents scattered, wine forgotten, Reo’s head on your shoulder—he whispered, almost without thinking:

“You remind me of sunflowers.”

You snorted. “What?”

“Always facing the light. Wanting to go up. Even when you hate everything around you.”

You turned to him, eyes searching. “You’ve got a weird way of complimenting someone.”

He smirked, lazy and soft. “And I adore you.”

And for the first time in years, Reo Mikage felt like this—this messy, brilliant, chaotic you—was something he could never put a price on.

And he didn’t want to.

first post back and i don't think this is my best work but oh well!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyoo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[pretzel-box]

woe, Reverse AU angst be upon ye (not necessarily a request, just a thought i had, but if anything strikes feel free to go ham :3 i also like to think about this with the og universe because i love feeling emotional pain 🧘🏾)

but instead of the reader having a classified file for themselves (& having it for sale), there are videotapes (or maybe different colored pendrives? CDs work too, i guess!!) scattered across the abandoned offices, and at first Sebastian isn't sure what to do with them, but then he meets p.ai.nter and they recognize those immediately, questioning why Sebastian is carrying that stuff with him in a concerned tone, and Sebastian just stares at the computer like, "??? okay, what's up with it?"

p.ai.nter is hesitant to show him what those hide at first, but eventually agrees to let him watch, then warns him that he is not going to like any second of it

Sebastian gets comfortable in front of the screen but is only greeted with an extremely heartbreaking scene– it's (now an experiment) reader visibly shaking as they stare in horror at their new body, unable to speak in any way while sobbing and whimpering, hugging themselves (or maybe their tail? guess it depends on the way readers want to look) and wondering what they had done to deserve this outcome, to be stripped of their humanity

now i personally like to think that the reader struggling to speak is something that comes with their body being altered, like everything is big so they're not used to any of it so really all they can do is cry and struggle to say a coherent sentence because it sounds like a garbled mess, but that is also me wanting to add salt to the wound because this is supposed to be sad ooooo ⚡⚡

anyway, at the end of it all (cause there was more than one video, a whole documentary on reader and the experiments done on them), Sebastian is left feeling too many emotions and he doesn't even know when he started crying but he is (since the reader he knows now is different from the one he just saw in the videos but deep down it hurts so much because that is the same person in different years of their life) and p.ai.nter isn't sure how to comfort him so they keep apologizing till Sebastian finally chooses to leave

next time he stops by reader's shop he can't even bring himself to stare at them properly because he's afraid he'll start bawling his eyes out, meanwhile, reader is just staring at him like ":3? no snarky comments or banter today wow what happened to him" unaware that he has seen The Horrors

that's all thanks for coming to my tedtalk

Authors Note: This is inspired by this request but not 1:1 written like it. This is pure angst and some gore. READ AT OWN RISK.

Tags: GORE, Angst, Reversed AU, mentions of syringes, drugs and operations.

Words: 2,7k

The sound of a click filled the room, followed by the small red light blinking on the video camera, indicating it was recording. Sebastian glanced at you with irritation as you held the camera—a little relic you'd scavenged from a deeper part of the facility—not too long ago. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of the leather jacket you had once sold him.

"And we are live!~ Say hello to the viewers, Seb!" you teased, shoving the camera playfully in his face. He immediately pushed it away with his hand, his scowl deepening.

"I get it, I get it," he grumbled, pointing at the camera with a mock glare. "You found a new toy. Now what? You planning to make a movie or something?"

You shot him a sharp look, the room growing colder as if you were subtly irritated by his comment. Sebastian could sense he'd hit a nerve, a rare feat considering your usual carefree attitude. But then, unexpectedly, you burst out laughing, clutching your stomach and flashing him the signature grin that always greeted him when he came to your shop.

"I’ve already starred in plenty,” you replied cryptically, your words hanging in the air with an eerie undertone. Sebastian opened his mouth to ask what you meant, but you cut him off with another sly comment. “Maybe you’re the next big star, Solace.”

After leaving your shop, Sebastian wandered through the halls of the Hadal Blackside facility, the encounter with you replaying in his mind. He’d grown to enjoy your company—your banter, your teasing, the way you challenged him. But today, something about your behavior felt off. Beneath the jokes and sarcasm, there was something else—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And that unsettled him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

How could he be in a relationship with someone so different, so complex? You were like a puzzle with missing pieces, a riddle that refused to be solved. The more he thought about it, the more it nagged at him. His legs carried him on autopilot through the winding corridors, his mind consumed by thoughts of you.

It wasn’t until he found himself in the office segment of the building that he realized he’d been walking without really paying attention. His hand hovered over the keycard reader, and it struck him that he hadn’t even looked for the blue plastic card he needed to get through the next door. The desk was a mess of papers, ink, and tapes.

His eyes fell on an old, unlabeled tape, the kind they'd used for surveillance back in the day. Scrawled on it in red ink was a series of numbers: *Z-13.* The sight of it piqued his curiosity, a nagging feeling that it was significant. Without thinking, he slipped it into his pocket. He’d find a way to watch it later.

Sebastian rummaged through countless drawers, lockers, and cabinets, searching for the keycard, but instead, he kept finding more of those mysterious tapes. Each one seemed older than the last, covered in dust and marked with strange codes.

His practical side told him he should probably look through all of them, not just the one he had picked up. So, he gathered them into a makeshift box he'd found lying around and continued his search for the keycard, all the while wondering what secrets these tapes might hold—and what they had to do with you. He know the Name Z-13 was related to you.

If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that you were full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe, these tapes would help him understand you a little better.

By pure coincidence, Sebastian ran into P.AI.nter a while later as he continued through the seemingly endless corridors of the facility, taking casual steps despite the weight of the wonky box filled with random tapes he was carrying. The AI's sketched face flickered to life, its eyes narrowing with a curious gaze. "Quite the haul today, Sebastian," it remarked, its voice tinged with artificial cheerfulness. "Planning to deliver all of that to our trusty shopkeeper?"

Sebastian grunted in response, setting the box down on the floor with a thud. He raised his hands above his head, stretching to relieve the ache that had settled in his shoulders from lugging the heavy box around. "Can you play them?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and exhaustion. It was a simple question, and he knew the answer even as he asked it—of course P.AI.nter could play a few tapes.

But as soon as the question left his lips, the room fell into an uneasy silence. P.AI.nter’s usual cheerful demeanor seemed to shift, its sketched form glitching for a moment as if processing something more than just data. The AI stared at Sebastian and the tapes, an uncharacteristic hesitation creeping into its expression.

"It's just a tape, Sebastian," P.AI.nter finally replied, its voice flat, devoid of its usual light-heartedness. There was something in the way it spoke—something guarded, almost cautious—that only fueled Sebastian's curiosity further. The AI’s reluctance was like gasoline on a fire.

“A tape I want to watch,” Sebastian shot back, his patience wearing thin. He was tired of the evasiveness, the constant roadblocks whenever he sought answers. He moved with purpose, selecting one of the tapes and sliding it into the nearest recorder, right next to P.AI.nter’s screen.

“I have to warn you, Sebastian,” P.AI.nter said, its tone shifting to something closer to pleading. The air between them grew heavy, the tension thickening as the tape began to whirl in the machine. Sebastian paused, the gravity of the AI's words weighing on him.

"You won’t like any second of it," P.AI.nter added, its voice barely more than a whisper. There was a finality in its tone, a sense of foreboding that hung in the air like a storm about to break. The familiar face of his AI friend got replaced by some white noise and then a black screen.

Sebastian’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the screen flicker to life, unsure of what he was about to see but certain of one thing: whatever was on these tapes, it was something the facility—and P.AI.nter—wanted to keep hidden.

“Hellooo! I'm one of the new researchers here at the Hadal Blackside. I'm recording Tape Nr. XXXX in Containment Cell XXXX. Wish me luck!”

Sebastian watched as a cheerful person appeared on the screen, holding a camera up to their face. Excitement radiated from their eyes, and despite the poor quality of the footage, their energy was infectious. Some of the information on the screen glitched out, redacting key details as if the tape had deliberately scrambled those moments, keeping certain things obscured.

The person on the screen shifted their stance, and the camera followed their movement. “This is a video for my friend who was super excited to hear about my job. I totally stole the camera for this, so shhh, we can't get caught,” they whispered conspiratorially, a playful grin spreading across their face. There was something unsettling about their carefree demeanor, yet Sebastian couldn't help but feel a small flicker of amusement. The tape felt like a low-quality YouTube vlog, reminiscent of simpler times, with this familiar-looking worker goofing off for the amusement of a friend.

“They told me this is super secret stuff,” the voice continued, the lens panning around the containment cell. “But I just have to show you this.”

The video abruptly cut to another segment, the view shifting to reveal a massive anglerfish-like entity lurking behind an enormous glass wall. The waters it swam in were inky black, like thick oil, giving the creature an unsettling and eerie aura as it moved in the dark liquid.

“Isn't it cool?” the person behind the camera asked with an almost childlike wonder, pressing their flat hand against the glass. “They’re hiding this here! They do some voodoo fish shit in this facility. Even the human centipede would turn pale in envy.”

Sebastian froze as he watched the footage. The creature behind the glass was terrifying—a monstrous anglerfish, its grotesque form barely discernible in the murky waters. It was an unsettling sight, made even more disturbing by the fact that this reckless researcher was standing mere inches from one of the most dangerous entities imaginable, their tone light and casual as if they were commenting on the weather.

A chill ran down Sebastian’s spine as he continued to watch the video, his breath caught in his throat. The footage shifted again, but the image of the monstrous fish remained burned into his mind. His gut twisted with unease. What was this person thinking, standing so close to something so deadly? And why did they seem so familiar?

As the old tape continued to play, the weight of the discovery settled on Sebastian’s shoulders like a heavy boulder. Whatever secrets were buried in these tapes, he was certain they weren’t meant to be uncovered—especially not by him. Yet here he was, staring at a reality that seemed more and more like a nightmare. The things he saw so far in the blackside were not as terrifying as this giant monster that rested behind that glass wall.

The tape ended abruptly, and for a moment, there was only silence. Sebastian’s hands trembled as he reached down to turn the cassette over, the worn edges rough against his fingertips. He knew there were at least four more tapes waiting in the box at his feet, each one a potential gateway to another nightmare. His breath caught in his throat, a cold sweat forming on his brow. Still, his curiosity and a gnawing need for answers compelled him to continue.

With a shaky breath, he pressed the tape back into the player, flipping it to the other side. The screen flickered to life again, this time showing a cold, sterile operating room. Several figures in hazmat suits moved with practiced precision, their faces obscured by masks and goggles. The room was pristine, a stark contrast to the horror Sebastian knew was about to unfold.

“This is Experiment Nr. XXXX,” a calm, clinical voice narrated. “And our newest trial patient, Z-13, who volunteered for their transformation.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as he recognized the person strapped to the operating chair—the same person from the earlier footage. They were bound tightly, their limbs secured as though they were a dangerous criminal. There was no mistaking the fear and confusion in their eyes, even through the drug-induced haze.

“Z-13 was administered XXXX, XXXX, and XXXX 20 minutes prior to the start of this procedure,” the voice continued with an unsettling detachment. “Their pupils are dilated, and the patient has entered a state of delirium, necessary for the next phase of the experiment.”

The camera zoomed in on the bound figure, their eyes bloodshot and unnaturally wide, darting around the room in a frantic, unfocused search for something familiar. Sebastian felt his stomach churn with a sickening realization—this was no volunteer. This was a person trapped, forced into an unimaginable horror. The idea of volunteering was just another lie, a thin veneer over a darker truth.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into his knees as he watched, his body tense with dread. He knew what was coming next, but the tape did not shy away from the gruesome details. The hours that followed were a blur of pain and suffering, each tape more harrowing than the last. Scenes of torn flesh and oily blood filled the screen, detached limbs falling to the sterile floor with sickening thuds. Each cut, each scream was more unbearable than the last. And those eyes—those haunted, slowly awakening eyes—followed Sebastian throughout each frame, pleading silently for mercy.

With each passing minute, it became painfully clear that the drugs were losing its effectiveness and the person that was tied to the chair gained the ability to feel every single thing that happened there. The delirium ended and the terror began.

The scream tore through the speakers with such intensity that Sebastian flinched. It wasn’t just a scream—it was a raw, visceral sound, a guttural cry filled with a mix of agony, fear, and desperation. It was a sound so primal that it clawed its way into his very bones, settling there with an uncomfortable weight. It was the worst thing he had heard in ages. Every nerve in his body screamed in empathy for the poor soul on the screen, the person whose existence had been reduced to nothing but a vessel for pain.

“Silence them,” a cold, emotionless voice commanded from off-screen.

Almost immediately, a set of cruel, metal clamps were forcefully shoved into the patient's mouth, prying it open with a brutality that made Sebastian wince. These were the kind of instruments used for people with severe jaw fractures, designed to immobilize and inflict pain to prevent further injury. But here, they were used as a tool of torture, a means to quiet the suffering that had become too loud for the facility’s sterile walls. The rough, unyielding metal dug into their flesh, tearing into the soft tissue of their mouth, blood trickling down their chin. The sight was gruesome, and Sebastian could feel his stomach twist with disgust.

The person’s screams were abruptly cut off, replaced by a wet, choking gurgle. They were left to suffer in silence, their jaw now clamped shut, the metal rods cruelly keeping it from moving even a fraction. Tears streamed down their face, their eyes wide with terror and pain, every muscle in their body taut with agony.

And just when Sebastian thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the camera shifted. The surgeon, clad in a sterile suit that seemed to mock the very concept of humanity, moved over the patient's eyes. Those eyes—once filled with life, now wide with shock, pain, and a frantic, animalistic fear—darted around in sheer terror. They were crying frantically, tears mingling with the blood on their face.

“We will now begin our final part,” the disembodied voice continued with a chilling detachment. “Removal of the natural human eyes to replace them with XXXX using XXXX and XXXX. The expected results will lead to an ability to see underwater.”

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as he watched a gloved hand reach for a long, thin needle, the metal glinting ominously under the harsh, fluorescent lights. The needle was positioned directly over the patient's eye, the sharp tip hovering just above the delicate orb. Their wide, terrified gaze seemed to plead with the unseen surgeons, with the camera, with anyone who might be watching—to stop, to help, to do something.

But there was no help. There was no mercy.

The screen flickered for a moment, and then, mercifully, the tape cut to black. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sound the low hum of the equipment around him. Sebastian sat frozen, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with the horrific images he had just witnessed. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, the tension radiating through his entire body.

He was left alone in the darkness, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. The horror of what he had seen, of what had been done to someone who had likely never asked for any of this, crashed over him.

Then P.AI.nters face greeted him on the screen.

“They first drugged them, then they put in a row of ocean animal dna into their body.”

He was pointing out the steps that the surgeons did in the tape.

“They cut off their fingers, waiting for them to grow back. They took of the part from the knees to the feet…and then they noticed that it wasn't enough.”

Sebastian raised his hands, to put them over his ears.

“They lost both their healthy legs. Next was their ears, they cut it off. And then…they silenced them by closing their jaw.”

He could still hear P.AI.nter.

“And then they lost their eyes. The transformation from the human self to…the thing they are now…took 7 weeks. They attached and deattached plenty of stuff on them.”

For a moment he felt the urge to shut P.AI.nter off for good.

“Our shopkeeper went through much, don't you think?”

A loud sound filled the room and then there was darkness.

[mercillery]

REQUEST: Do you think you can do the request for the reader who was a villain in the entire superhero world who somehow gets transported into one piece world and meet yandere Shanks? I like to imagine the reader acting naturally mischievous, just like Jinx from Arcane, although she only did it for fun and to survive for some reason.

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: I really hope I did this right because I have NOT been on my A game lately 😭

Your arrival in the One Piece world is less of a graceful entrance and more of an explosion—literally.

One moment, you’re minding your own business, and the next, you’re plummeting from the sky like some demented shooting star, limbs flailing and curses flying. You crash into the middle of a bustling port town, sending crates, seagulls, and the occasional unlucky bystander scattering in all directions. The dust settles, and there you are, standing in a crater of your own making, grinning like you meant to do that all along.

Welcome to the Grand Line, where logic checks out and chaos clocks in.

The marines stare at you with the wide-eyed horror usually reserved for sea kings or Luffy’s buffet bill. Pirates gawk, unsure whether to laugh, run, or offer you a drink.

You give them your signature sharp, mischievous grin—one part charm, two parts “I’m going to ruin your day,” and an extra sprinkle of “just try me.” Confusion ripples through the crowd like a wave. You bask in it, your energy crackling and boundless, a living storm wrapped in human skin.

The local pirate crew, tough guys with a collective IQ rivaling a bag of rocks, size you up and make the classic mistake: they think you’re just some eccentric with a flair for drama.

That’s when you move. Before they can blink, you’ve turned their leader’s sword into a modern art installation, shoved two marines into a barrel labeled “Pickled Fish Heads,” and balanced a seagull on your shoulder for dramatic effect. Panic and hilarity ensue.

Word travels fast on the high seas, and it doesn’t take long for whispers of your chaos to reach ears in the highest (and lowest) places. The World Government adds your name to their ever-growing list of headaches, filed under “urgent” and “why do we even bother?” You’re not just a problem—you’re a full-scale diplomatic incident wrapped in a smirk and delivered with a bow. Basically, you’re a concern now.

But it’s not just the marines who take notice. Somewhere far off, a certain red-haired pirate lifts an eyebrow. “Looks like there’s a new wild card in the deck,” Shanks mutters, eyes glinting with that mix of amusement and intrigue. Congratulations, you’ve officially caught the attention of the world’s most unpredictable forces. This is where his obsession with you begins.

At first, Shanks is amused—entertained, even—by the novelty you bring to the seas. Honestly, who wouldn't be? The way you breeze through confrontations with the grace of a tornado and the subtlety of a sledgehammer piques his interest.

Watching you dismantle the strongest foes, evade the deadliest traps, and still manage to smile through it all is like watching a firework show that never ends—bright, unpredictable, and dangerously beautiful.

But Shanks isn’t some easily impressed fool. No, he’s smarter than that. He doesn’t just enjoy the show and move on. No, his amusement slowly morphs into something deeper. Something more…obsessive. You don’t just break rules—you make your own. And that, my friend, gets under his skin in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

It’s not just the chaos you bring to the table, but the fact that you seem to slip through danger with such ease. You take risks like you’re daring the world to stop you, and yet—you never get caught.

Shanks, being the perceptive captain he is, knows there’s something behind that. There’s a fire in you, sure, but there’s also something more—a certain… darkness? A guardedness that doesn’t show on the surface but flickers in your eyes every time someone gets too close.

Oh, he notices that. You laugh and joke with everyone around you, your antics a constant stream of unexpected, glorious chaos, but when it’s just you—when the spotlight’s not on you, when you're not performing for an audience—you’re different.

Your smile tightens, sharp as a blade, more of a dare than an invitation. It’s like a challenge in disguise, one that says, If you want something from me, you better be prepared for the cost. Shanks watches, fascinated, as you put on this show of being carefree and invincible, but underneath all the madness, you’re calculating. You’re always thinking, always a step ahead.

It’s obvious you don’t trust anyone, not completely, and Shanks? Well, Shanks doesn’t push too hard. Not yet, anyway.

He’s intrigued, yes. But he’s not stupid. He knows better than to charge in like some lovesick fool. You? You’re unpredictable, like a live wire just waiting to snap. He doesn’t want to get too close too fast, doesn’t want to make you feel cornered or raise an eyebrow at him.

And besides, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Watching from a distance, observing your every move, figuring out what makes you tick. The dance between curiosity and caution. Where did you come from? Who are you, really? How do you work? What makes someone like you—so erratic, so full of life—tick? Is it just instinct? A desire to keep the chaos alive? Or is there more to you than meets the eye?

And so, he watches. He watches the way you challenge the strongest and most fearsome foes like it’s nothing more than a Tuesday morning. He watches the way you smile at danger, never afraid of it, never running from it—just wading through it like you were born for it.

And more than anything, he watches the way you handle yourself when the storm clears, when you’re alone in the aftermath of all your destruction. In short, his intrigue starts with hearing about you, then turns into obsession when he finally sees you in action. Shanks is no stranger to dangerous things. And you, my dear, are dangerous—albeit in the best way possible.

Eventually, after admiring you from the shadows for so long, he decides to approach you. He does it in the most Shanks-like way possible: a mix of casual charm and reckless abandon. He’s not one for grand entrances; no crashing through walls or dramatic monologues here. No, he’s more of a “show up when you least expect it, but somehow it feels like he’s been there all along” type.

Picture this: you’re lounging somewhere high up—because heights are fun and gravity is just a suggestion when you’re you. Maybe you’re perched on a crooked rooftop, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you tinker with a small gadget you found in some unsuspecting marine’s coat pocket. It’s a ticking contraption that probably shouldn’t be ticking, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it? The town below is bustling, oblivious to the chaos brewing in your hands. A seagull eyes you warily, as if it’s considering retirement if you stick around any longer.

That’s when he makes his move.

Shanks approaches you the way a cat would approach a bird—slow, steady, and with a smirk that suggests he already knows how this will end. He makes his presence known before he gets too close, humming some sea shanty that’s off-key enough to be endearing but not so bad that you’d throw your shoe at him.

He’s got his signature grin in place, the kind that says I’m here for a good time and maybe a headache or two. The townspeople below don’t even bat an eye; they’re too busy trying to remember if they left their windows locked the last time you strolled by.

Now, Shanks isn’t trying to startle you. He’s smarter than that—he’s seen what happens to those who catch you off guard. One minute, they’re standing proud, and the next, they’re tied up in some sort of human pretzel that makes them reconsider all their life choices.

No, he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever improvised booby trap you have up your sleeve today. So, once he’s within sight, he makes sure to announce himself, arms spread wide as if to say, Look! No hidden swords, no sudden moves. Just me and my questionable sense of judgment.

“Am I interrupting, or is this a bad time to mention that thing’s probably set to explode?” He quips, eyes twinkling with amusement. Of course, he’s not really worried—it’s Shanks. The man’s faced off against warlords and monsters that would send most pirates running home to their mothers, so a mischievous villain with a penchant for mayhem? That’s practically a vacation.

You arch a brow, glancing from him to the gadget that’s still ticking away. It’s almost funny—the most wanted man on the seas is standing there, grinning at you like he’s just wandered into a tavern and found the last seat at the bar.

Shanks knows he’s playing a risky game, approaching you unarmed and unafraid. But then again, that’s exactly the kind of gamble he loves. He’s betting that the spark of curiosity in your eyes will outweigh whatever impulse tells you to turn this meeting into a test of reflexes. And let’s be honest: he’s not wrong.

You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth quirking up just enough to let him know you’re intrigued—but not enough to let him off the hook. What’s his angle? Why is one of the most infamous pirates in the world standing here, acting like he’s just interrupted a casual hobby and not a potentially catastrophic experiment?

It’s not lost on you that most would run in the opposite direction at the mere sight of you tinkering with something potentially explosive. But this man? This ridiculous, audacious, red-haired captain? He’s leaning in, all while wearing that grin that’s one part roguish and two parts I’m absolutely going to regret this later. And somehow, that’s exactly what makes him fascinating.

At first, it’s almost funny. Because after that he’ll just start popping up out of nowhere, leaning casually against a market stall or sipping a drink at some rowdy tavern you’re sure he has no business being in.

He always wears that same knowing smile, as if the universe itself just happens to love playing matchmaker with you two. “Crazy running into you here,” he’ll say, voice laced with that lazy, deep amusement that makes you want to both smirk and roll your eyes. Crazy? Please. The only thing crazier is how often he’s finding you in the middle of your next big scheme.

But soon, the pattern becomes unmistakable. It doesn’t matter where you go—a sleepy fishing village where you may or may not have set a few docks on fire for fun, or a dense jungle where you’re sure no one could possibly find you while you scout for mischief—there he is.

Always at the perfect time, always with that lopsided grin and a sparkle in his eye that says he’s loving every second of it. It’s uncanny, really. The man’s supposed to be one of the most powerful pirates alive, yet here he is, spending an absurd amount of time just “accidentally” running into you.

And oh, how it gets under your skin. Because whether you’re raiding a marine base disguised as a disheveled merchant or setting up a prank involving way too much gunpowder and a seagull with questionable morals, there he is—unfazed and curious, with that maddening, calm presence of his.

He’s not just watching; he’s studying you, savoring every moment like you’re the best show on the high seas. Sure, anyone else would be calling for backup or running for cover, but not him. No, he’s the fool standing in the eye of the storm, watching with the kind of exhilarated wonder usually reserved for treasure hunts or legendary battles.

You, on the other hand, start to notice his little game. The “oincidences” pile up until they’re as obvious as a sea king at a beach party. You’re torn between annoyance and amusement. It’s flattering, in a way.

After all, it’s not every day that someone like Shanks, with all his charm and laid-back swagger, goes out of his way to stalk—sorry, coincidentally encounter—someone as unpredictable as you.

But it’s also infuriating. Who does he think he is, trying to turn the tables on you? You’re the master of chaos, the orchestrator of mayhem, and here he is, making you feel like you’re the one caught in some elaborate game.

Still, you try to outwit him. You switch up your routines, veer off into the most uncharted, unpredictable places, places so remote even the mapmakers just gave up and doodled sea monsters instead. You lay low, stir up trouble in places you’re sure won’t make it back to any pirate worth their salt. But somehow, some way, there he is.

Maybe he’s helping himself to an ale at the dingiest bar you could find, or maybe he’s leaning against a tree in the middle of nowhere, one hand on his sword and a smirk that practically screams, You didn’t really think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?

And if you try to push him away, that just won’t work. If anything, he’s more enchanted. Because to Shanks, every glitter bomb, every prank, every trick you pull is just another piece of the puzzle, another reason to be fascinated by you.

And somewhere between dodging your traps and trying not to laugh himself to death, he realizes he’s not just amused anymore—he’s head-over-heels, completely gone, the kind of infatuation that doesn’t end with simple fascination but with something much deeper. The man who could laugh off an admiral’s challenge now finds himself more captivated by you than any battle or bounty could ever make him.

Shanks’ affection sneaks in slowly, like a storm building on the horizon—quiet at first, but impossible to ignore once it hits. It starts as something harmless: an extra drink sent your way when you’re raising hell in a tavern, a knowing smirk as he casually keeps one hand on his sword when a fight breaks out.

But then it grows.

He starts hovering—not in an obvious, clingy way, but enough that it feels like he’s always a step behind you. Whether you’re flipping off marines or turning another pirate’s ship into a makeshift fireworks display, he’s there. Watching. Always watching.

And for someone who’s supposed to be laid-back, Shanks sure has a knack for snapping to attention whenever you’re around. His laugh gets a little tighter when someone brings up your antics, like he’s torn between pride and worry.

His crewmates don’t miss a thing, of course, but they keep their mouths shut. They know better than to tease their captain about the gleam in his eye whenever you come up in conversation—or the way his fingers tap restlessly on the table when he hasn’t “accidentally” bumped into you in a while.

It’s funny, really. Shanks is a Yonko, one of the most feared men in the world, and yet here he is, acting like a lovesick teenager. And the best part? He thinks he’s hiding it. He’s still doing his whole carefree routine, leaning against doorframes and cracking jokes like he doesn’t have an entire fleet of informants feeding him your every move.

But the shift is there, subtle but undeniable. His usual nonchalant swagger stiffens just a bit when another pirate crew gets too close to you, his grin falters for half a second when someone else makes you laugh, and his voice drops into something darker, something more dangerous, when he tells you, “Stay where I can see you.”

Oh, and let’s not forget the moment you decide to respond in the most you way possible. Because if Shanks is going to try to rein in your chaos, you’re going to remind him exactly who he’s dealing with.

Maybe you flash him your sharpest grin, the kind that screams I dare you. Or maybe you immediately do the opposite of what he asked, vanishing into the crowd like a puff of smoke just to see how fast he’ll find you again. (Spoiler alert: it’s fast. Too fast, honestly. How does he keep doing that?)

Or maybe you just pull one of your classic stunts—a grenade-like gadget tossed high into the air with a wild laugh, sending nearby pirates scrambling for cover while you pirouette out of harm’s way. The chaos doesn’t faze you; it’s your natural state.

Shanks, on the other hand? He doesn’t even flinch. He just stands there, arms crossed, watching you with that maddening mix of amusement and exasperation, like a parent watching their kid lick a lightning rod during a storm. Sure, he’s smiling, but there’s a tightness to it, a barely-contained edge that says, You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?

But that’s the thing about Shanks—he’s not angry. No, he’s enchanted. You’re a hurricane in human form, and he doesn’t want to tame you. He just wants to keep you safe. And that’s the part that messes him up the most: you don’t need him to protect you. You’ve been surviving on your own for years. You don’t need Shanks. But oh, does he need you.

And the more he watches you dance on the edge of chaos, the deeper he falls. He sees the way you laugh in the face of danger, the way you challenge anyone and everyone with that gleam in your eye, like you’ve got nothing to lose. But he also sees the cracks, the moments when your guard slips and the weight of your past sneaks through.

And those moments? They hit him harder than any punch ever could. Because for all your chaos, all your wild unpredictability, he knows there’s a part of you that’s still searching—for what, he’s not sure. Safety? Belonging? Something else entirely? Whatever it is, Shanks wants to be the one to give it to you.

But he’s careful. Oh, he’s so careful. He can’t let you see just how deep this obsession goes—not yet. He keeps his grin wide, his tone light, his demeanor easygoing. But every time you pull one of your stunts, every time you put yourself in danger just for the thrill of it, his heart clenches.

And when someone else gets too close, when they so much as look at you the wrong way, that laid-back facade cracks, just for a second. Because Shanks may be calm, may be collected, but when it comes to you? He’s a man on the edge. And you? You’re still playing your own game, dancing circles around everyone who tries to keep up.

Let’s skip to maybe a few months or so: It’s one of those rare, quiet moments—well, as quiet as things get with you around. Maybe you’re perched precariously on a ledge, fiddling with some contraption made from salvaged parts that you swiped from a marine ship, casually ignoring the fact that the thing looks like it’s one wrong wire away from detonating in your hands. Shanks is nearby, sitting cross-legged on a crate, his hat tipped back and his arms resting on his knees, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. And honestly, you are.

That’s when you drop it. Completely unprompted, of course, because why would you bother easing him into it? One second you’re talking about how annoying it is that the marines keep sticking Wanted posters of you up in towns you haven’t even been to yet, and the next, you’re casually saying, “Oh yeah, by the way, I’m not even from this world. So that’s a thing.”

Shanks pauses mid-drink, the rim of his mug hovering just shy of his lips as he blinks at you. For once, the ever-unflappable Red-Haired Yonko looks... well, flapped. He sets his beverage down slowly, his eyes narrowing in that curious, thoughtful way of his, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re messing with him or if you’ve finally gone completely off the deep end. (Let’s face it, it’s a toss-up.)

You, of course, are completely unbothered by his reaction. In fact, you’re barely paying attention to him at all, too busy tinkering with your little doomsday device—or whatever the hell that thing is.

You start explaining, your words coming out in bursts of chaotic energy as you wave your hands around (which, considering you’re holding wires and probably a live battery, is extremely concerning).

You tell him about your world—how it’s full of superheroes and villains, and how you were one of the latter. Not because you were evil or anything, but because it was fun. Survival was tough in a world like yours, so you made your own fun, pulled a few heists, caused a bit of mayhem, blew up a few buildings here and there (details, details).

You glance up at Shanks, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and add, “And then one day, BAM! Out of nowhere, I get spawn and fall from the sky and into this place. Like the universe itself went, ‘You know what? You’re too much for this world. Let’s try you somewhere else.’” You laugh, loud and unrestrained, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all.

Shanks, meanwhile, is still trying to process what you’ve just told him. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you—honestly, at this point, he’d believe just about anything when it comes to you—but it’s a lot to take in. Another world? With superheroes and villains? And you—you—were one of the villains? He can’t help but chuckle at that. Of course, you were. It explains so much.

Still, he has questions. So many questions. Like, how did you get here? Can you go back? Do you even want to go back? And, more importantly, what kind of idiot superheroes let you run wild long enough to wreak havoc in their world?

He doesn’t ask, though—not yet. Instead, he watches as you get bored of your gadget and toss it behind you with a shrug, causing a small explosion that sends a flock of seagulls squawking into the sky. You don’t even flinch, just lean back on your hands and grin like a kid who just got away with stealing cookies from the jar.

“That explains why no one’s ever heard of you,” Shanks finally says, his tone light but his eyes sharp, studying you. “Not that it matters. You’ve already made a name for yourself here.”

You smirk at him, that wild, mischievous grin that makes his chest tighten in a way he’s not ready to unpack. Of course, you’ve made a name for yourself here. You’re you. Doesn’t matter what world you’re in—you’re always going to be the storm that leaves chaos in its wake.

But what Shanks doesn’t say—what he won’t say, not yet—is that your revelation changes everything for him. Because now, it’s not just about keeping you safe from the marines or rival pirates. It’s not just about protecting you from the dangers of this world. It’s about keeping you here. In this world. With him. Because if you’re not from here, if you somehow came from somewhere else, then what’s to stop you from vanishing again?

The thought sends a spike of unease through him, but he buries it beneath his usual easy grin. He won’t let that happen. He can’t. You’ve turned his world upside down in the best possible way, and he’s not about to let you slip through his fingers.

If the universe went through the trouble of dropping you into his life, then damn it, he’s going to make sure you stay there. Even if it means playing along with your chaos and keeping his own obsession hidden behind that charming, carefree facade.

And so, life continues—a kaleidoscope of chaos, obsession, and unpredictable adventures that leave the Grand Line buzzing with your name. Shanks, ever the enigma, plays his role of charming pirate captain to perfection, but you know better by now.

The surface-level grin, the casual remarks, the way he always "just happens" to be in the same port town as you? Yeah, no one’s buying that anymore. The man is hooked, and not even the sea itself could untangle him from you.

But the question lingers—what next? You’ve already turned this world upside down, left a trail of havoc, and made a Yonko, one of the most powerful men alive, fall head-over-peg-legs obsessed with you.

And yet, your spirit is as untamed as ever. Shanks knows this, too. Oh, he’d love for you to stay, to have you as part of his crew or even just within reach, but you? You’re not the type to stick around for too long. You’re a storm, a burst of energy that refuses to be tied down by anything—not even the Red-Haired Pirate himself.

Still, Shanks can’t help but hope. He won’t say it outright, of course. Instead, he’ll do what he does best: adapt.

If you decide to wander, he’ll make sure to hear about your escapades—whether from his informants, his crew, or the occasional Wanted poster featuring your grinning face plastered in every marine office from here to the New World. And if he hears that you’re in trouble? Oh, he’ll be there. Not immediately, because that would be too obvious, but soon enough to lend a hand and maybe—just maybe—steal a bit more of your time.

And if you do decide to stay? If you decide that maybe, just maybe, the chaotic magnetism between the two of you is worth exploring? Well, Shanks isn’t going to complain. He’ll welcome you with open arms and maybe a locked door or two—just in case you try to bolt, ready to see where this wild ride takes the both of you.

But here’s the thing—this is your story. Whether you stick around, sail off on your own, or somehow find a way back to your world of superheroes, it’s all up to you.

Shanks knows this, even if he hates to admit it. He knows he can’t control you, and truthfully, he wouldn’t want to. That unbridled chaos is part of what drew him to you in the first place.

So maybe one day you’ll vanish, just as suddenly as you arrived, leaving behind a legend that grows wilder with every retelling. Or maybe you’ll stick around, redefining what it means to be a pirate in this world. Either way, one thing is certain: you’ve left a mark on this world—and on Shanks—that won’t be forgotten anytime soon.

And who knows? Maybe chaos itself has finally found a place it belongs. Or maybe it was never about belonging at all. Either way, the seas will never be the same. And neither will he.

[open-sketchbook]

Team Butterfly Forever! (WIP Web Novel)

Okay, now that I'm three chapters into writing it and I've got momentum behind me, I want to properly pitch my WIP writing project to people.

Team Butterfly Forever is a post-magical girl story. In 2004, a young girl named Eve got a magical necklace from a talking cat, transformed into the magnificent Butterfly Ward, met friends like her, fought evil, and defended San Francisco from the sinister Dark Queen. Evil defeated, city saved, happily ever after.

Now it's 2014, and Eve needs to get the Butterfly Knights back together. The only problem is, they're in absolutely no state; it turns out that having to fight evil when you're 14 makes for messed up 24 year olds. Eve will need every scrap of the power of love and (adult) friendship the save the world, and more importantly, save her friends. So cards on the table? This isn't actually Sailor Moon fanfiction, but it's not not Sailor Moon fanfiction. It is very much wearing its inspiration on its sleeve, and the serial numbers have been filed off primarily because I'm looking to do crimes with it.

I'll be up front; it starts in a pretty dark place. This is very much a story about growing up with trauma and what that does to you. But it's also a comedy, a story about healing, and in the finest tradition of magical girls, a story about pressing on anyway because your friends need you.

Also... every single character is queer. So there's that.

I'm currently writing it as fast as I can; there's no set update schedule, but I posted the first segment a month ago and I'm about 1/4th of the way through my projected length. The story has been fully planned ahead of time, so it won't get hung up on where to go next; I'm hoping to have it done around April, but if you start following now you'll be able to see it take shape and speculate along with other readers.

It is being posted on the Sufficient Velocity, an old-school, moderated forum for lovers of sci-fi, fanfic, and interactive fiction. It's a very queer friendly space, and I highly encourage you to check it out. It'll be exclusive there until I have a final print version; I want to add to this community I love instead of spreading this story out across many isolated spaces, and see discussion about it as it happens. You can also follow the story there to be alerted to updates, and there's tons of other fiction being written on the forum all the time!

If you want to see my other work, my forum signature has interactive and traditional fiction I've posted on the site going back to 2017, including first drafts of my previous novels Whispers from the Deep and Lieutenant Fusilier in the Farthest Reaches.

I hope you enjoy!

[tinydefector]

Hello tinydefector!!! I wanted to say that I admire your work, especially the book "Human's effects". So could you please add Skids and Rodimus to the continuation of the book, I would really like to see them. Thank you for your attention.

Chaos on board - Human effects

Rodimus

Human effects masterlist

Prev

Next

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: workplaces issues in space

__________

The Ambassador walks into the Ultra Magnus' office to see Megatron and Magnus both glaring at Rodimus and Daniel. "What have you two done this time? Did they go out asteroid surfing again? " They ask while making their way towards the table. As Megatron glared daggers across the table, Ultra Magnus heaved a long-suffering sigh at the newcomer's inquiry. "Worse than that, I'm afraid. It seems Rodimus and Daniel decided simulated space warfare was an... appropriate pastime." Magnus' field pulsed annoyance. 

Rodimus waved a dismissive hand, uncowed. "Aw, c'mon Mags! We were just having a little target practice in the hold, no harm done. How were we supposed to know the booster rockets were still online?"

Megatron growled deep in his intake. "You were supposed to conduct comprehensive safety checks on our cargo!." His field roiled with barely-leashed rage. 

Daniel scratched his head sheepishly. "He's, uh, not wrong. Things may have gotten a teensy bit out of hand" The ambassador pinched their brow ridge. "Let me guess. uncontrolled explosive devices in an enclosed space led to..."

"Minor structural damage and several singed circuits, yes," grated Magnus. 

A humourless smirk curled Megatron's dermas. "Appropriate punishment is in order, I believe." His tone left no doubt over the two delinquents. They were all just happy the third member of their party hadn't been present, less they all had to deal with Ratchet's wrath. 

Rodimus gulped. Daniel sank lower in his seat. The Ambassador groans in annoyance. "Daniel get back to the crew room. Your on restroom cleaning duties for the next Orn. And don't think complaining to David and Kyle is going to save you" they state. Daniel scurried from his seat, hands raised placatingly. "Yessir, right away sir! No complaining, got it." He backed towards the door, casting Rodimus an apologetic grimace. 

Rodimus merely flashed his signature cocky grin and finger-guns, to his friend. But Megatron's responding snarl and Magnus' deepening scowl boded ill for the speedster's fate. "Really, Rodimus, must you continue pursuing chaos and mayhem?" sighs their ambassador wearily. "One of these days your antics are going to get someone hurt, what were you thinking?"

"Are you questioning my leadership?" Rodimus shot back, before shrinking back into his seat as the other two mechs shoot him with a glare. Megatron loomed over the desk, a deep rumble echoes from his chassis as he does his best not to lose his temper at the prime. "Questioning implies there was leadership to begin with." He states it's not quite a sneer but his disappointment shows. 

Magnus nodded stiff agreement. "Reckless endangerment of crew and ship cannot be tolerated. You may be Co-captain of this vessel but the Ambassador and myself are responsible for the safety and security of all on board your vessel." Rodimus paled, grin faltering at the prospect of real punishment, Their optics held no mercy as sentencing began in earnest. Another incident to log in Rodimus' ever-growing file.

"Look Rodimus I don't really care what you do in your spare time but don't drag my crew into it. I'm responsible for each and every one of the humans on this ship. Do you realise how easily something could have gone wrong?" The Ambassador states while looking at the captain. Megatron growled irritably. "Spare us your coddling, Ambassador. Rodimus' 'antics' endanger us all. He's reckless, refuses to do his documentation, finds every opportunity to disappear from proper duties, Ultra Magnus and myself are the ones running the ship due to his inability to stick to a task."

Ultra Magnus nodded solemn agreement. "Recklessness cannot continue unpunished. I suggest confinement to quarters for the foreseeable future, with duties suspended."

But Rodimus' smile falls. "What! You can't just ground me. I'm not a fragging Sparkling! I said I was sorry, what more do you want?" He shouts out optics frantically looking between the three. Megatron's engine snarled. "Respect. Responsibility. Traits you've yet to demonstrate, Captain." He spat the title like an insult. 

"Enough!" The Liaison calls out loudly. "Rodimus you have been acting up recently, rather badly, why? It seems every time one of us turns our back you are sneaking off, tonight was my night off. I was having drinks with my crew and got called here because of this" they accuse, trying to find out what had Rodimus acting up. This wasn't  the first time either he had both Daniel and Traxies looped into his antics but so far been the most dangerous.

Rodimus shrank back slightly under the barrage, facade cracking. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Look, I know things have been... dicey lately. And yeah, maybe I've been pushing boundaries a bit more than usual? But I'm trying to enjoy myself, make others enjoy travelling with me. It's boring! I feel like I'm going nuts cooped up at a desk all cycle."

"So endangering lives is acceptable?" Megatron crossed his arms severely. 

“Have you any idea the amount of violations you have committed,  have you even read the list to your name?” Ultra Magnus grumbles, Rodimus looks at the table like a scolded child before the human sighs as they move closer. " Rodimus, can you actually read?" They ask, it was a slight hunch they had that he was acting up because of something with their reports and records. But he was showing signs similar to dyslexia and adhd. 

Rodimus stiffened. "What kind of insult is that?! Of course I can read - I'm the Prim- friggin' Captain, aren't I?!"

Megatron snorted slightly amused. "A fact that continues to astound and dismay in equal measure."

But the human ambassador remained focused on Rodimus. "Then perhaps the issue lies not in your duties, but how you process them. Reading reports and records can be tedious for some."

They pulled up a datapad, flipping through screens. "Let's test your comprehension. Can you summarise the contents of this supply requisition?"

Rodimus grimaces at the screen, he hates it. "Aw c'mon, do I have to? That stuff's so boring" 

Magnus rumbled a subtle warning but their ambassador kept Rodimus pinned with a stare. With a huff and whine from his engine, Rodimus gave in and began squinting at the pad. Silence fell as they watched him struggle to parse the words, tangling meanings and figures alike. 

"OK, so paperwork is hard for you, why haven't you brought this up to one of us?" They inquire this time not as annoyed. The move to sit down on the table near him. Rodimus shifted uncomfortable under the others' piercing stares. His plating flared in embarrassment as never before. "I didn't... it's not like..." He vented harshly, the truth forcing its way free at last. "Reading's always been hard, okay? The words jumble and my processors ache if I have to focus too long." 

He refused to meet their optics, ashamed to show such perceived weakness. "Why did you not come to us for aid?" Megatron asked, the anger in his voice had faded. "There is no shame in acknowledging limitations, Rodimus, but causing chaos over something that can simply be solved with changing who does the documentation."  

Rodimus' intake worked furiously. "Because... because I'm the Prime, the Captain! I'm supposed to have it all together, be the fearless leader. How can they follow me if they think I'm.. Everyone except me too know everything! I'm not Optimus. Im out here to not have to be in his shadow! ” he finally lets out before he sulks into his arms. 

The others go quiet as they watch the dishevelled speedster. 

"I'm willing to help you with taking inventory and trade bargains, but no more dragging Daniel or Traxies into your silly endeavours, understand?, are one of you able to help him with reports to cybertron and earth over different routes for trades and out travel logs" They inquire firstly to Rodimus and then to the other two mechs. 

He straightened with surprise. "You...you'd help me? Really?" His optics darted between the human and his Co-captain and enforcer. 

Magnus nodded. "Orders and logs require diligent documentation. Traversing trade routes necessitates mathematical prowess. I am equipped to handle them." 

Megatron gave the barest nod. "And I am...familiar with navigating bureaucracy. Of log reports and records" 

The meeting concludes after a while  the human stands there waiting for a moment. "Rodimus walk with me" they called out to the speedster waiting for him to begin walking beside them. Rodimus glanced up from shuffling pedes. "I...yeah. Yeah, okay." He nodded, falling into stride beside the human. His fields pulsed anxiety and gratitude in equal measure. 

Silence fell as they walked the halls, Rodimus casting furtive glances at them as they flick through the data padin hand. "You're not the first person I've worked with who has trouble reading or even understanding stuff" they remark as they begin heading to Swerve's. It takes Rodimus a little off guard that they were going to the bar. "Plus you owe me drinks after pulling me away from my night off" the human tease.

Rodimus perked up in surprise as they angled their path towards Swerve's bar. His cooling fans kicked on at the human's casual revelation and teasing quip. "Wait, seriously? There are others who struggle like me?" He asked slightly shocked. They hand the pad to Rodimus. “have a look at the screen and tell me if having a dark mood helps with being able to read stuff.” They tell him. He accepts the tablet as they walk into the bar. Optics flick to them watching like hawks as they find seats. 

“ it's easier to read some stuff still going to give My processors a short circuit tho” he grumbles slightly. They nod in understanding. “ we will working something out but that's for tomorrow” they hum as they both pull up to a table. Rodimus lifts them up to the bench where they fall into one of the human sided seats on the table. 

 "Look, about earlier - I really am sorry I dragged your crew into that mess. You deserve a break." Optics in the bar shoot to Rodimus and the Ambassador. All of them watched with vented breath after the earlier drinking session with the human's. Rodimus' plating twitched self-consciously under the weight of so many curious stares from within. But beside him, the human ambassador didn't seem fazed by the stares. 

Rodimus leaned in close. "Seems everyone's watching us. Primus, you'd think we spawned a sparkling the way they're gossiping!" He grumbles looking into the drink swerve slides in front of him before the mini bot disappears. The ambassador chuckled. "Don't mind them. Think everyone's letting the high grade and energex go to their head" the Ambassador states. "Plus my crew were here earlier having drinks and got a little out of hand, Nadia was talking about 'taking a mech for a ride' " they chuckled into their own drink.

Rodimus sputtered on his energon, cooling fans kicking into high gear at the risqué implications. His plating rippled in scandalised delight.  "Taking a mech for a ride, huh?!” His fans kicking on had made a few other mechs snicker from other tables. Across the bar, curious optics remained glued to their table, The speedster leaned on an elbow, optics filled with wonder.

"So which poor mech caught the little lady's optic?. " it was barely above a whisper. His engine rumbled warmly. “she had her eyes set on Swerve, I honestly think she was just trying to get free drinks" they call back in amusement.  But it makes Rodimus' processor go wild at the thought. The humans were just as interested in bedding a bot and the rest of the crew was with the humans. 

"Clever little thing, your Nadia! Far be it from me to judge creativity in scamming a drink or two." He mumbles, feeling the energex hitting him hard. He had suspected that Swerve must have given him a triple boost. 

So many of the other bots in the bar are still watching him and listening in on the conversation, eager to see if the rumours Kyle had spread earlier were true. "Oh Nadia is a very clever schemer. I'd say watch out for her and Millian they're thick as thieves kinda like you Daniel and Traxies. Just as much trouble makers" they chuckle as they finish their drink.

He cycled a gusty vent and pushed his empty cube away, coming to a reluctant conclusion. "As much as I'd love nothing more than to keep yakking all night, you should probably call it and get some recharge. You looked tired. I'm going to have one more round before I head to berth. Magnus is gonna have me on inventory or worse with him tomorrow," Rodimus shuddered theatrically at the thought.

 "But we should definitely do this again real soon. This was nice, and um thank you. For you know helping me" it's a rather shy reply which has them giving him a smile. "Enjoy your night captain, I'm most likely heading back to my room soon. Getting late and I plan on actually sleeping in my bed and not a desk tonight" they state while standing up. Joints popping slightly.

Once Rodimus had helped them to the ground they flahs him another smile “Good night Rodimus I'll see you tomorrow " they state as they make their way towards the door of the bar. He's sat there for a moment his spark fluttering as he watches them. before he gets a ping from swerve and other bots asking the gossip. He goes to get up and leave the bar before be can get bombarded with questions only to get cornered by Swerve. 

"A-hem! And just where do you think you're off to in such a hurry, Captain?" Swerve's cheery voice broke Rodimus from his musings as the gathered bots closed in, optics alight with curiosity and engex-loosened daring. A blush swiftly rose in Rodimus' plating, though he straightened with false bravado. "Just turning in for the night, mechs, as should you all” 

Catcalls and laughs erupted from the crowd. "Aw, no need to play coy, Roddy!" laughed Tailgate. "We all saw you chumming it up with the Ambassador - spill the goods!"

Rodimus cycled a sigh. They'd get it out of him one way or another. Best tell it himself and save some shred of dignity intact. "Alright alright, you buzzards! I'll tell you what really went down..." 

________

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@kgonbeiden

@murkyponds

@autobot79

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

@ladyofnegativity

@desertrosesmetaldune

@stellasfallow

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa

@shinseiokami

@tea-loving-frog

@aquaioart

@daniel-meyer-03

@pupap123

[arcanistsanctum]

CN Assets Directory Listing

Posting this to make it easier for others to navigate and identify specific categories of Myssal's Reverse:1999 Assets Repo. Expand to find more listed noteable asset folders from the repository and a tip at the end!

Note: THESE CONTAIN CN CONTENTS

Character Live2D Sprite Sheets .png of the sheets under textures folder of each character folder

Character Chibi/Battle and Suitcase Sprite Sheets .png of the sheets under textures folder of each character folder, includes enemies folders with '_s" are suitcase sprite sheets, while folders with '_z" are character ultimate sprite sheets

Character Story Sprite Sheets .png of the sheets under textures folder of each character folder, includes NPCs

Achievement Assets (BGs, frames, icons)

- Achievement Badge Icons

Battlepass Assets

Mane's Bulletin Rating Icons

Character Garment Backgrounds

Resonate Background Assets

Currency Item Assets

Anecdote CGs

Anecdote Assets

The Three Doors Assets

Arcanist Items

User Portraits

Psychube Icons

Psychube Suits

Psychube Effects

Card Attributes

Arcane Skill Cards

Character Handbook Gallery Icon

Character Initial Illustrations and Garment Splash Arts

Character Initial and Garment Roster Image Cards

- and another one - slightly wider cropped versions - even wider cropped versions

Character Chibi Icons

Character Room Icons

Character Expressions Sheet

Loading Screen Assets

Log In Background

Lobby Change Preview

Player Avatar Icons

Character Birthday Block Icons

Wilderness Island Icons

Wilderness Building Icons

Wilderness Pack Icons

Wilderness Pack Shop Banners

Wilderness Theme Illustrations

Wilderness Critters Cropped Icons

Wilderness Critters Full-Body Icons

Wilderness Assets

Character Items

Character Portrait Item Icons

Character Event Garment Item Icons

Material Icons

- and another one

Series of Dusk Assets

UTTU Cards

Character Signatures

Store Assets

All Story Backgrounds, Main and Event Story CGs

Summon Banner Assets

Cutscene Videos

These folders can be downloaded via download-directory, or simply add 'ss' before github.com of the directory/file (demo video) and click Download. Both methods will zip the file.

Credits to @anonymocha for finding the repository! And of course, shoutout to Myssal for sharing the repo!

And a healthy reminder to only save/use these assets for personal use (like journaling or scrapbooking or for your R1999-related video content creation), and DO NOT claim BLUEPOCH's intellectual property as your own!