#and the ever-useful right-click menu

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

Ι saw your response to the ask about how you write your plots and just wanted to ask what program you use to write (and keep track of things) because seriously the fact that you are managing to keep track of 10??? plots is so impressive (and your writing is a gift!!!)

i switched to obsidian sometime after i finished cyanide! it has a lot of interesting stuff but quite frankly i only use it like a regular notepad just one that lets me open tabs and create folders. the only downside to leaving google docs is that i can no longer write on the go on my phone (google drive), but like- i hardly did that anyway. if i do come up w smth i just put it in the notes app n then transcribe it

i'm a pretty fast typer so that's never been an issue hahaha the perks of being able to type blind is that i can just look at the notes and type as i read LMAO

anyway yeah! obsidian has graphs and stuff, but like i said, i don't really use them? it's all notes and text. so if you're a bit wrong in the head like me you could just make do with google docs (or whatever else you use) and a notepad opened to the side tbh it's pretty much what i do

wrangling the 10+ simultaneous plotlines is more my brain knowing no peace than it is obsidian honestly even though it likely would be so much easier if i sucked it up and learned how the graphs work hahah;,,

[moonstruckme]

remus one shot where he can’t stop blushing around the reader because he has a huge crush on her and sirius and james are like dude please ask her out already?? 🙈

cw: the trials and tribulations of a restaurant job, semi-confident reader (or at least she can withstand Sirius' flirting, which I couldn't), James and Sirius' shameless wingmanning

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The cafe is crammed. You’ve almost tripped over two kids already whose parents let them run loose, you did let a glass slip from your tray when a customer stuck his leg out into the walkway without looking, and you’ve quickly reached the conclusion that today was definitely the wrong day to break in your new work shoes. You’re on your last straw at only ten in the morning, but your pasted-on smile becomes twice as genuine when you see a table of your favorite regulars. 

“Hi,” you say warmly, clicking your pen and readying it above your pad. “How are we doing today?” 

You’re greeted with two dazzling grins from one side of the booth and a shyer smile from the other. 

“Y/n,” says Sirius, in his suave, flirtatious way (you’ve learned not to take it personally), “you’re looking stunning.” 

You know your hair is suffering from the weather outside and there’s orange juice down the front of your apron, but you smile at him anyway. “Thank you, so are you.” 

“How’s your morning going?” James asks. These boys are never ones to skip over pleasantries to get to their meal, and while with other tables you might try to hurry them along, you never mind in this case. Today especially, you welcome the break. 

“Oh, it’s going,” you try to joke, looking pointedly down at your orange juice stain. “Could be worse.” 

He makes a face. “Yikes.” 

“It’s fine,” you say breezily. “What can I get you?” 

You look to James, because really he’s the only one you ever need to ask. The other two are fairly consistent, but James seems inclined to try something new every time he comes in. 

He doesn’t disappoint now, locking eyes with you seriously over the top of his menu. “How is your butterfly lemonade? No—actually, what is your butterfly lemonade?”

“It’s…” You bite your lip, thinking. Sirius snickers, and when you look he seems to be sharing in some joke with Remus’, whose cheeks have gone a tad pink. “I’m not sure, honestly, but it’s sweet. I think you’d like it.” 

“That, then.” James slaps down his menu decisively. 

“Right.” You write it down. “And then, a caramel latte and a tea?” You look to Sirius and Remus for confirmation. 

The former shoots you a grin you take as a yes, while the latter nods and says quietly, “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” You soften your smile for Remus. You adore all of these boys, but you have a bit of a tender spot for him. Remus is by far the quietest of his friends, though really just as friendly when he does talk. It’s terribly endearing. 

You click your pen again. “Okay, back soon!” 

The boys’ table remains a bright spot in your morning for as long as they’re there. Their antics you’re rather used to—the flirting, and the pranks, and the teasing way both James and Sirius poke at Remus while his blush worsens and worsens—but it surprises a laugh out of you when you joke that you’ll have to spit in Remus’ food if he orders the brioche (which infamously holds up the kitchen every time) and Sirius snorts doubt he’d mind before yelping and jumping in his seat. By the time you’re bringing them their ticket, the cafe has reached its late morning lull and your day is remarkably brighter than it started off. 

You seem to be interrupting some sort of debate when you approach their table, Remus leaning forward to whisper across the booth before he catches sight of you and sits back. The tops of his cheekbones are tinged pink. Sirius, on the other hand, is grinning wickedly, whereas James looks mostly exasperated. 

“Thank you,” James says kindly, taking the ticket from you. Remus starts rifling through his pockets for cash, but Sirius only looks at you as though sizing you up. 

“Y/n,” he starts to say, ignoring how Remus’ eyes narrow in his direction, “are you seeing anyone at the moment?” 

You feel your eyebrows lift. “Not currently, no.” 

“But why not?” He affects a look of puzzled contemplation, propping his chin on his hand. “You’re a pretty girl. Are you not looking to date?” 

You shrug, fighting the urge to cross your arms defensively. It’s not that you’ve never gotten these sorts of personal questions from customers before, but you weren’t expecting them from this table; you thought you knew better than to take Sirius’ flirting seriously. “Nothing has come up lately, I guess.” 

“Do you fancy men?”

“Sirius,” Remus hisses. “Leave her alone.” 

“What?” Sirius spreads his hands, guileless. “None of us would care if you didn’t, lovely—well, some might care, but no one would hold it against you—” He yelps for the second time today, this time shooting a glare at his friend across the booth. “Anyway, you don’t have to say if you aren’t comfortable.” 

You’re laughing a bit now, half nervously. “No, that’s okay. I do, yeah.” 

“Interesting.” James sets down the ticket. It seems you have his full attention now. “And what do you think of our Remus?” 

Remus makes a horrified sputtering sound, and you turn to find him looking at James in betrayal. He’s pink to the tips of his ears. 

You can’t help a small smile as you catch on. “I think he seems very sweet.” 

“Mm, well spotted.” James nods, tenting his hands like a man at a business meeting. 

“Yes, very good taste,” Sirius agrees. 

“He’s a dateable bloke, no?” James asks you. He jolts in his seat a little, but doesn’t yelp like Sirius had. Remus appears caught between wanting to hide his face in his hands and wanting to burn his friends to cinders with his gaze. He’ll be lucky, you think amusedly, if he doesn’t burn himself up first. The hue of his blush is only getting deeper. 

“He is,” you agree. You look at Remus again. This time, he meets your eyes, his look softening. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says miserably. 

Your grin spreads. “No, don’t be.” 

“So would you like to date him?” James furthers. 

Remus does put his head in his hands now, letting out a muffled groan. “James.” 

“What? Clearly you aren’t going to do it yourself, and I am sick of trying to eat my breakfast whilst you moon over—” He jumps in his seat again, and goes quiet, reaching down to rub at his leg. You tuck your lips in to hide a smile. 

“I’m just going to take this,” you say, reaching for the customer copy of their receipt. You bend over, scrawling your number down on the signature line. “And if anyone has more questions for me later, they can give me a ring. Okay?” 

You look at Remus. He looks nauseous and stop-sign red, but he manages to give you a small smile. “Alright,” he says, tentatively.

“Perfect. Bye, boys.” You shoot them a wave as you go to your next table. You hope Remus sees how your smile is really only for him.

[wendichester]

୧ ‧₊˚ extra sugar,

summary. sam's on a hunt and lucky for you, the diner you work at is his next stop.

pairing. sam winchester x waitress!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 694

notes / warnings. obnoxious flirting, sam being a shy cutie-patootie

You spot him the second he walks in.

Too tall, too broad, too scruffy academic to be from around here. Shoulders like a linebacker, but the way he tucks into the booth and opens a book before the menu even gets touched? Definitely not a regular.

He looks like he came out of a travel blog for sexy wanderers with mysterious pasts and tragic playlists.

You grab your notepad and saunter over, already crafting your opener, shooing your colleague away before she even dreams of it.

You’ve got your friendly flirt voice loaded and ready—part of the job, mostly. Tips don’t flirt themselves. But this guy? You’re not even pretending it’s just for the cash.

"Hey there, stranger," you chirp, hip popped just slightly. "Diner special today is meatloaf, but I can ask the kitchen to burn it if you’re going for the full small-town experience."

He looks up, startled. And god, those eyes. Hazelly, wide, and very much Not Ready For Eye Contact. He blinks, twice, before managing a polite, “Uh, I—I think I’ll skip the meatloaf.”

You grin. “Brave. What can I get you then?”

He clears his throat and fumbles to close the thick hardcover in front of him. You catch a glimpse of the title—some obscure folklore text that definitely has nothing to do with your specials board.

“Just coffee, please. Black.”

You write it down dramatically, tongue clicking. “How mysterious. Sitting alone with a big book. Drinking coffee like you’ve seen some things.”

His mouth quirks—half smirk, half nervous tic. “Maybe I have.”

Oh, that’s interesting.

You lean a little closer, just enough to make his ears pink. “Well. If you ever feel like unloading your tragic past, I’ve got refills and a good listening face.”

He huffs something close to a laugh. His fingers drum against the table, restless. “You always this charming, or am I just lucky?”

You pretend to think about it. “Both. Definitely both.”

You walk off, a little extra sway in your step, fully aware of his eyes trailing after you. The counter girl gives you a look when you pass.

“What?” you shrug. “He’s cute. And weird. My type.”

You bring the coffee, and he’s already back to his book, posture a little stiff like he’s trying to shake you off—mentally, not literally. But when you set the mug down with a wink, he thanks you so softly it makes your breath stutter.

You catch him glancing at the window. Then at the door. Then down at his book again. There’s tension in his shoulders, under the sweet-boy exterior. You’re good at reading people. He’s definitely hiding something.

But you let it go.

Because right now, you’re just a girl with a notepad. And he’s just a guy trying to mind his own business. Maybe save the world a little on the side.

You don’t ask questions.

You just keep refilling his mug.

You keep smiling, letting the air between you crackle just a bit more each time you say his name (he told you, eventually—Sam, shy and slow, like he wasn’t used to sharing it).

By the time he slides his check across the table, the sun’s dipped low outside. You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when he walks over to pay, hesitating like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how.

You help him out.

“Leaving already?” you say, all mock disappointment. “Was just about to ask you to marry me.”

That finally earns you a real laugh. Soft, rough-edged. The kind that makes you want to make him do it again. And again.

He sets down the cash—plus a tip that is very, very nice—and when he hands you the receipt, there’s something scribbled on the back.

A number.

You look up, surprised. He’s already halfway to the door.

But then he pauses. Looks back over his shoulder.

“I’ll be in town a couple more days,” he says, casual. Like he didn’t just hand you exactly what you were fishing for.

You tuck the number into your apron pocket, grinning. And then he’s gone. Back to his hunt. Back to whatever monster he’s chasing in the dark.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[soltwent]

I LOATHE YOU

SUMMARY : fbi agent! vi ; fbi agent! reader. 15k word count one-shot! (sorry if you dislike longer fan-fiction) ; the secrets of highland parks are kept under lock and key, never to be whispered beyond its borders. “whatever happens in highland parks, stays in highland parks.” — you’re a registered, licensed FBI agent who's made a name for herself in the world of crime-solving. working alongside a team of sharp-minded professionals, apart of what's become New Jersey's go-to crew for getting things done. their reputation? polished, and trusted. then, there’s vi west: your work partner, equally sharp but just a step ahead in some ways. almost too close for comfort. who would've thought work partners could be this competitive? the irony? they’re unstoppable together, but neither is quite the same without the other.

WARNINGS : eventual smut. modern fbi! au. inaccurate descriptions of the profession! i’m not a professional. this is for fun. work rivals (one sided beef) to lovers. SORRY I YAP. female reader with female anatomy. y/n is sort of used. “thorne” is your last name. vi’s last name is “west”. you refer to her by her last name mostly. reader is sorta mean. reader is an overachiever and insecure. vi and powder aren’t related. tons of banter. bottom! reader & top! vi. spitting. a bit of sexual praise. fingering r! rec. pussy eating r! rec. crime scenes mentioned.

A/N : also i’m not that great at writing and my english isn’t spectacular, so i apologize for any confusion! this was previously started as a fic with OCS. if you see the name 'audrey', ignore it! This isn't my best work ever (i was sick writing it), but it's something.

MINORS + MEN DO NOT INTERACT.

"Great," you muttered, rolling your eyes at the red light like it had personally offended you. One hand gripped the leather steering wheel, while the other balanced a bagel slathered in thick cream cheese and peppered with everything seasoning. You took a bite, savoring the soft, fresh bread—a far cry from the jaw-breaking bagels they served at the headquarters.

No need to spend the rest of your shift nursing a sore jaw, right?

South Jersey always gave you this weird ghost-town vibe. It was like all the real Jersey energy got stuck up North, and down here? It was all tumbleweeds and out-of-towners. And the drivers? Somehow even worse.

"Dude, go!" you groaned, smacking the horn with your free hand.

The truck in front jolted to life at the sound of your obnoxious horn, hesitating like it couldn't decide if it actually wanted to move. But you were late for work, and patience wasn't exactly on the menu today. The light had barely turned green when the Ford finally screeched forward, turning right without so much as a flick of its blinker.

Not even surprised.

Okay, maybe calling this place a 'ghost town' was a bit dramatic, but it wasn't exactly buzzing with life either. A population of five thousand? It wasn't tiny, but small enough that you pretty much knew everyone, or at least recognized their faces.

You rip off another chunk of your breakfast, chewing thoughtfully as you kept her eyes on the road ahead.

The headquarters sat smack in the middle of town, like the town's claim to fame. Not that it had much else going for it, anyway. The place was known for one thing and one thing only: a team of agents who dealt with crime and shady stuff, navigating the waters of illegal activities with professional ease.

And you were one of them. FBI agent—living the dream. Except for mornings like this, you weren’t so sure. Some days you questioned all of it. Why didn't you go for Wall Street like every other uptight, middle-aged guy who loves his over priced suits and has a receding hairline? But, of course, you were not a man. And would never be a man. So, that was that, unfortunately.

Other days though? Absolutely loved it. The thrill, the purpose. It kept you going.

You slammed your car door shut, the headlights flickering as if saying goodbye. Your boots clicked on the pavement as you tossed her brown paper bag with trash into a nearby bin, finishing off the last bite of the bagel while juggling your bag and keys in one hand.

(Y/N) Thorne. Not exactly the name that struck fear into anyone's heart. You were, after all, everything someone would want in a woman: totally normal. And boring as hell.

"G'morning," you called out, voice rippling through the main office full of her co-workers as you scanned your ID and pressed the door open with your forearm. Inside, it was warmer — nothing fancy, just your typical government building. Functional, plain, and definitely not the kind of place that got decorated for Thanksgiving.

November in Jersey wasn't exactly charming. Sure, it had its cozy moments but it was mostly cold, wet, and kinda depressing. You shrugged off her trench coat, and tossed your bag onto the desk, just as Jayce swiveled around in his stool, that annoying smirk plastered across his face.

"Wow. You're late," he teased, his eyes darting to the clock behind her.

"Like, late-late. Late as hell."

You then shot him a look, knowing full well that you was over half an hour late. Unlike everyone else who was seated and working as usual.

"You think I don't know that? I got caught up in traffic," you say, the lie slipping out as easily as it always did on mornings like these. The truth? There was almost never traffic in Highland Parks. Maybe during the holidays or when something big was going on, but never on a random weekday morning.

You started unloading your personal bag, pulling out the essentials: a still-steaming insulated cup of coffee, pens, some files you’d taken come to look over, and your planner. Everything else was digital of course, but you liked having these things on hand. It just made you feel more grounded.

Jayce raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying her excuse. "Traffic? Don't tell me you're coming down with schizophrenia, (Y/N)."

You then rolled your eyes, brows pinching together. "You don't 'come down' with schizophrenia, Jayce. It's not a cold that comes and goes." You didn't bother looking up at him, already used to the back-and-forth banter. They both were close enough for this to be just another day in the office.

"That still doesn't explain whatever you've got smeared around your mouth," Jayce quipped, pointing at you like he'd just caught you in some criminal act.

You halted, then swiped at your lips, just now realizing the cream cheese from the bagel you were eating earlier had betrayed you. "Shut up."

Jayce spun back around to his dual monitors, both lit up with the usual chaos. One screen was a mess of opened unnamed files, highlighted sections jumping out at him like some kind of fucking neon nightmare. The other? A classified CIA document he probably shouldn't have access to but, hey, Jayce was Jayce. A pain in the ass sure, but damn good at what he did, and you could respect that at least.

You plopped into your chair and rolled it forward, the familiar hum of the workspace coming to life. Resting your head in your hand, and letting out a sigh that felt as if it had been building up for days on end. Sleeping through your alarm again. It was becoming a pattern, and you was starting to seriously think about just camping out here at headquarters.

At least then you wouldn't have to rush to work every other week because of your growing habits.

You glanced around the room. Everyone else was locked in, focused on their screens, their tasks. A hushed few conversations floated in the background — just the usual work chatter between people you’d known for years now. They were solid. Resilient. You felt lucky to be surrounded by a team you could count on, even on days like this where your brain felt like it was running dry.

You wiped away the last remnants of cream cheese from your lips, still mildly annoyed that Jayce had been the only one to point it out. Not that you wanted everyone in the office to make a big deal out of it, but seriously, not one person gave you a heads-up?

Jesus Christ. It was way too early to care about that kind of stuff, especially right now.

Outside, the sky hung heavy with thick clouds, the kind that obviously promised rainfall later — great just what you needed. You moved your hand over the cursor, pulling up the files for the marriage fraud case you’d been slogging through. It was equally as exciting as watching paint dry on a fence. But a job's a job, and no one ever said working for the government was supposed to be fun.

Your eyes scanned the screen, index finger clicking away as you moved through the organized files. Your routine, monotonous. It was keeping your hands busy, at least. If nothing else, the day had nowhere to go but up from here.

"The money transferred to the spouse was unlabeled, and we're talking a decent amount. Anywhere from a grand up to five grand. Normally, separate bank accounts wouldn't draw too much attention, but in this case it's a red flag." You say, half to yourself as you rummaged through the stuffed file drawer. One folder was delicately tucked under your chin, held in place as you flipped through files with your manicured fingers. Brows furrowed in concentration as you searched for a similar case.

Tax fraud cases were like the PP&J to your workload, with a few shady marriage fraud scenarios thrown in to mix things up. Sometimes the scandalous ones were entertaining enough to break the pattern, but this one? Torture.

Jayce stood nearby, leaning back against the spruce-wood counter, which was digging into his lower back. He took a slow sip of his iced oat-milk latte, listening to you work and ramble through your day's work. It had been a quiet morning, with nothing dramatic or exciting happening, which should've been a good thing.

Still, it left you with that uneasy feeling — like the calm before a storm.

You were never relaxed for this long. Clocked in for almost three hours and had surprisingly plowed through a solid amount of work, even with a fried brain that was practically begging for a nap. That was another thing you found weird. You were usually a mess by now, half-distracted or complaining about some new crisis.

The files slapped onto the counter with a loud thud as you set them aside, hands brushing together like you were dusting off the whole ordeal. Jayce’s eyes flicked to your bare hands: no ring, no sign of marriage or any serious relationship. You were always all work, never any talk about a significant other or anything personal.

You slowly sighed pushed your hair back from your face, shutting the file cabinet with a firm click and locking it for good measure. Sliding your personal key into your pocket, ready to move on from whatever boring task awaited you next.

"This Wren Staples woman is kind of smart. I mean," Jayce held up a hand before you could even start to question his logic, giving you that familiar look. "I'm not saying it's right, but if someone offered me five grand a month to stay silent and just show up to some fancy business dinners? You wouldn't have to ask me twice."

He paused, waiting for a reaction, but you just stared at him, face scrunched up like you couldn't decide if you was more irritated or confused. Clearly not amused. Jayce let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like this conversation was nothing but a lost cause. Adjusting his belt, he gave it one last go, this time sounding more defeated than the first time.

"Forget it." He waved it off dismissively, taking a long sip of his drink while you mentally rubbed a hand down your face in pure frustration.

"Yeah, I will forget it," you say dryly. "Because if anyone heard you say that, you'd be stuck at the front desk while a janitor took your place. Or," you added, picking up your files, "you'd just be fired."

Jayce smirked, a dimple creasing his cheek. "You're obsessed with the idea of me getting fired, but who else would have your back when West over here starts breathing down your neck?"

At the mention of West, your mood took a nose-dive. Violet West — the co-worker from the literal pits of hell. If you had to sum her up in three words it, was be easy: haughty, a know-it-all, and self-indulgent.

You’d like to say you didn't hate West, but that would be a lie. And sure, lying wasn't illegal, but pretending to tolerate Violet felt criminal. The woman was all sharp words, choppy hair, and superiority complex wrapped in a suit.

"Yeah, you mean 'she-who-must-not-be-named'?" you mutter as you both walked down the dim hallways, the usual morning light blocked out by the overcast skies. Jayce snorted.

"What? Is she a forbidden topic now, Ms. Thorne?" Jayce raised an eyebrow, teasing as they headed back to the main room. You shot him a long side-glance, silently telling him to knock it off as they neared West's usual... territory.

You scanned your ID at the door, unlocking it with a beep and pushing it open for the both of them. Your expression blank, and voice deadpan.

“Just very, very taboo.”

You rip a piece of tape off the roll with your teeth, holding it between yours lips for a moment before carefully sticking it onto the document you were patching up. The team had already gone through a ridiculous amount of ink today, and printing another copy of this page would be a waste. A little tape, and it was good as new. Well, good enough. No one would notice unless they were trying to be a detective about it.

Smoothing the tape down with the pad of your thumb, you stood up and pushed your chair back with a small scrape. So far, this week wasn't too bad. It was only Tuesday, but still better than the disaster that was yesterday. Not that it mattered much — work was work, and that was that.

"Lunch started ten minutes ago, (Y/N)."

You turned to see Mel, stirring honey into her ginger tea, the spoon gently clinking against the glass. The smell hit you, and seconds in you were already fighting the urge to grimace. Tea wasn't your thing. It always left this weird aftertaste, like lukewarm juice that had been forgotten in a car on a hot day. Gross, but you get it.

Mel wasn't bad, though. Laid-back, easy to deal with, which was more than you could say about most people at the HQ. In your mind, everyone had something annoying about them, and you weren’t shy about digging for it. Nobody's perfect, why pretend?

You laid your stack of papers down, giving Mel a tight, thin-lined smile with a small shrug. "Who else is gonna organize our cases by date, importance, and agent?"

"You do know there are six other people working in this office, right?" Mel raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by your martyr complex.

You knew you were not technically responsible for everything. You weren’t dense. But every time someone else tried to handle the file-work, things ended up in a chaotic mess, and that drove you crazy. You’d rather just do it on your own, your way, even if it meant taking on more. Loosening your tie, slipping a finger into the knot and giving it a tug as you got back to sorting through the paperwork.

Policy guides? Tossed onto the pile on her left. Investigation files? Those got dropped into a drawer with a firm hip-check to shut it. Personnel records? Neatly tucked into a black folder. You had a system, and it worked.

"Exactly," the words came out as a drawl, not really in the mood for chit-chat as you worked through the stack. You still needed to collect some files, but that could wait until later, maybe even tomorrow. The week had been more relaxed since most of the tasks were in-office, which was honestly a relief. The days when public affairs or training sessions were on the agenda? Those were the ones that pushed you to the edge of madness.

As you started to walk away, Mel called after you, "Tell Jayce his phone's rung fifteen times in the past twenty minutes!"

Of course it had. Jayce avoided work calls like the plague.

You shut the door behind you and slipped a hand into your right pocket, pulling out your cellphone. It was mostly your work phone — you kept your personal life strictly separate. The idea of mixing the two was a disaster waiting to happen. Scrolling through your contacts, you found the number you were searching for, and tapped it. You needed to update the attorney general. Your boots clicked softly against the floor while stroding down the hallway, phone pressed to your ear.

It rang a couple of times before a voice answered. "FBI Legal Division."

You inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly to gather your thoughts before responding. Tone direct, professional. "Thorne, (Y/N), speaking. Just calling to update you. We've covered all files and documents this past week. Fingerprinting is being handled by Shimes, and the lab services are currently in progress. Everything else looks good for now. If anything changes, I'll let you know as soon as possible."

You kept it short and to the point, just the way it needed to be.

A satisfied hum came through the line. "Great work, I'll review the details and let you know if I need anything else."

You thanked your attorney, lowering the phone as you pushed open the doors to the lounge. You had about twenty minutes to eat which was more than enough, though the thought of food didn't exactly thrill you. When your mind was full of work, your stomach didn't have room to complain. Sliding your cellular device into your pocket, you noticed a few co-workers giving you a glance.

"Where've you been?" Powder asked, nosy as ever. Powder Shimes was hunched over, chewing on what looked like the remains of a sad, microwaved breakfast burrito —probably from hours ago— and washing it down with a can of Dr. Pepper that looked far too room temperature. Was that ketchup on her burrito?

Ekko tilted his head, giving her a once-over. "Probably the HQ. She looks pretty pissed."

You rolled your eyes and yanked open the lounge fridge. Taking your time to riffle through the bagged lunches, each marked with large initials to avoid any office food theft drama. You grabbed your pre-prepped Caesar salad —the one you didn't have time for the day before— and a small bottle of water.

"Where's Jayce?" you asked, settling into a chair a seat away from the two of them. You ignored their commentary about your supposed "pissed off" look. It wasn't like you were mad, but your resting face had always given off those vibes. "Matter of fact, where's everyone at?"

Powder and Ekko were always together, so their presence wasn't exactly surprising. Mel was eating at her desk while taking phone calls. Jayce was MIA for reasons unknown, even though he was usually first to hog the entire couch in the break lounge. Caitlyn popped in sometimes after training, but you hadn't really expected to see her today.

You popped the lid off the salad and grabbed a plastic fork from the tin holder nearby. As for West? Well, she wasn't here either, which was a relief. Lunch without Violet West around was a small victory in itself. It wasn't like seeing her would brighten your day. If anything, the distance was a blessing.

You stabbed at the Caesar salad, spearing a few leaves and bringing them to your mouth. A quiet lunch was all you really needed right now.

"Caitlyn went to grab some stuff from Home Depot. Something about the sink breaking. Something with the piping. I don't know," Ekko shrugged, digging into his half-full peanut butter cup ice cream with a plastic spoon. Meanwhile, Powder took another horrific bite of her ketchup-slathered burrito, opening yet another packet of ketchup like it was a delicacy.

You uncomfortably clenched your jaw, doing your absolute best to ignore Powder’s obnoxious eating habits. She gulped down her food with an unnecessary loud sigh and crushed her soda can with a loud crack. "Like Ekko said, Cait’s at the store. Jayce? Off doing whatever, said he'd be back after lunch. Vi?" Powder raised her hands once mentioning the girl in mock surrender, a crumpled napkin in her palm. "No idea where she is, and honestly? Don't care."

You picked at the chicken in the Caesar salad, chewing slowly. You really needed to up your protein intake, especially with how grueling training days had been. But Caesar salads? The only kind you could enjoy without wanting to throw the bowl out the window. "So, it's just you two?"

"Yup," Ekko confirmed, licking his spoon clean.

Spectacular. Stuck with these two for the next fifteen minutes. Not that long, but in moments like this, you found herself wondering how they were the same people she did real-world investigations with. Ekko, a grown man, devouring ice cream like a five-year-old, and Powder, well.

"That's disgusting, Shimes," you deadpanned, eyeing the ungodly amount of ketchup Powder was consuming. Ekko barely stifled a laugh, grinning against his spoon. You rubbed your temples, trying to ease the headache that had started creeping in. Who knew the break room could actually make things worse?

Powder scoffed, leaning back in her chair, her work jacket tossed aside. Now just in a wrinkled button-down, she looked far too comfortable for someone whose eating habits were under fire.

"Like I care. That was delicious. I'd give it like an eight out of ten— only because it was kinda cold in the center."

That earned a grimace from you. You did not need to know how cold her burrito was or how much she enjoyed it in great detail. As much as Jayce could be a pain, you’d trade this scenery for his company any day. At least Jayce wasn't… this.

Just as you were starting to imagine a more peaceful lunch break, a gruff female voice broke through your thoughts. "Thanks for saving me a seat."

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor made you freeze. Ekko shot you a knowing look, and Powder’s shitty grin only widened.

"Surprise guest!" Powder announced with a clap, running a hand through her hair like she was prepping a show.

Surprise guest? More like surprise loss of appetite. Because who else would be sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder, than Violet West herself. No invitation, no polite "is this seat taken?" just West, plopping down like she owned the place.

Your fork hovered above your salad, chewing coming to an abrupt stop. You stared down at the greens, the moment of peace you had been savoring now utterly ruined.

You've got to be kidding me.

Three shots rang out. You adjusted your earplugs with one hand and tightened your grip on the Glock 19M with the other. The gloves were pulled snug over your hands, and you squeezed the gun a little harder than usual. You didn't bother with safety glasses during training. What was the point? You didn't wear them on the job.

Agents like you often practiced shooting all kinds of targets — stationary, moving, from cover to cover, on the move. The whole deal. Training days like these were crucial for staying sharp, and even though they ran these drills once a week, you always tried to push yourself, especially with your Glock. The gun had a way of making your skin crawl every time you fired it, but you had to be good with it. You hadn't had to use it much in the field, thankfully, but when you did, it never felt great.

"Not bad, Thorne," Caitlyn muttered as she patted your wrist, adjusting it slightly and motioning for you to fix your posture. You hadn't even realized you were holding the gun so close to your body until she gave that look. A lump of saliva slid down your throat and you nodded. Caitlyn was a solid instructor. She didn't sugarcoat anything, if you were doing something wrong, she told you straight up, step by step, how to fix it.

You deeply appreciated that.

The days rotated every week. Monday meant outdoor training, Tuesday indoor, then back outdoors on Wednesday, and so on from there. Weeks of drills. Not your personal favorite, but it was part of the job, and you had to be ready to reach for your waist when things went sideways.

You bit your cheek, thinking about how unpredictable this town was. The citizens too. Not that you were any better — you weren't exactly a poster child for predictability yourself. You let out a breath, firmly holding the handle of the Glock as if it could settle your nerves.

Caitlyn handed you a pair of safety glasses, breaking your focus. "You need to wear these. None of that 'I'm too good for this' nonsense. If you lose an eye because you're being stubborn, you're not touching a firearm again. Take them."

Irritable but not wrong. You weren’t offended. Rumor had it someone lost an eye once because they ignored safety, though that was before her time here at the HQ.

"Thanks," you say, slowly taking the glasses from her hand. She stomped off, her heavy boots thudding against the ground as her vest shifted with each step. You put on the glasses and popped your knuckles, already feeling that strain in your hands that would stick until the end of the month.

Nearby, Powder was lounging with her legs spread, while Jayce gnawed on a marshmallow-studded protein bar. Powder’s face was slick with sweat as she gulped water, some strands of her azure hair sticking to her forehead. Ekko was swapping out his gun, peeling off his thick vector gloves.

You placed your weapon down and rolled your tense shoulders, feeling a knot in your neck release. The relief was short-lived, though, she glanced over at Caitlyn, who was now standing in front of West. Another knot formed in your gut, this one a mix of annoyance and envy. You clenched her jaw unconsciously.

Of course, Caitlyn was probably praising the hell out of West. She was the best with the weapons out of everyone, aside from Caitlyn herself. Powder was more into forensic work, Ekko handled lab services, and Jayce was a crime-solving machine, and you?

Just... good. At a little bit of everything. You were organized, which was great, but that was also Mel’s job. A deep inhale filled your lungs, and you sighed heavily. You were useful — a great help, a mix of skills, but nothing extraordinary.

Ekko’s voice snapped you back to reality. "Dude, instead of choking back a hundred protein bars, try starting with eggs in the morning. Those are food, but God damn."

He was talking to Jayce, who was hunched over, elbows on his knees. You resisted the urge to critique his posture. You didn't, but that was primarily because it would make you a hypocrite. Caitlyn had just corrected yours. You slipped off your own gloves, then decided to stand and stretch your legs, feeling more awake on your feet.

"Eggs are nasty as hell," Jayce waved Ekko off, and he shrugged, half agreeing as he lazily sipped his water.

"Cottage cheese? Tofu? Greek yogurt?" Ekko continued, trying to offer solid protein options, but Jayce’s chewing slowed at his suggestions. Even though Ekko’s advice came from someone who clearly knew what he was talking about, Jayce’s eyes narrowed, his tanned skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

A firm smack on your back snapped you upright before you could even think about it, body reacting on instinct. Caitlyn’s voice echoed in your mind, reminding you about your posture, and for a split second, you wondered if you'd hunched over under the weight of your responsibilities again. But when you turned to see who had hit you, it wasn't Caitlyn and her sharp, fine eyebrows. Instead, you were met by a different pair — thick and scarred along the edges.

West.

Your stomach dropped. Caitlyn, you respected. Caitlyn had the right to correct your posture, whether in training or in office. Violet, on the other hand, had not. Jayce could get away with being a little touchy sometimes, and Mel, if it was educational, but Violet? No. Never.

"You aren't a Pilates teacher," you say in a calm, yet perfectly passive-aggressive tone. Your brows furrowed as you tried to smooth out the back of the suit jacket you had on, trying to ease any trace of Violet’s unwanted touch. In another timeframe, you might've smacked her hand away, but today you settled for being politely firm.

Violet, of course, gave you another pat, this one being more condescending than the first. "Another profession? I'd be making bank. Every housewife would be in my classes," she replied, her voice smug and dripping with fake charm.

Your skin prickled with irritation, patience running thin by the second. You would've given everything for earplugs at the moment. The sound of Violet’s voice was enough to make your head throb. Meanwhile, Jayce, ever the opportunist, chose this exact moment to stay silent, focusing more on his marshmallow protein bar than on you, who was clearly about to bite down hard enough to crack a molar.

"You'd be making below minimum wage. No one would willingly attend those classes," you dragged out, voice flat and uninterested, though the tension in your jaw spoke volumes. Violet didn't have to do much to get under your skin, and honestly, she didn't even have to try. She was the walking embodiment of something that made your veins itch.

"Realistically, that is."

Violet studied your face, noticing the way your expression had tightened, a visible vein of pure irritation. It wasn't like you abhorrd Violet — if you did, you would've moved locations a long time ago. But there was a fine line between tolerance and whatever the hell this was. Tolerable, in your world, meant zero contact. Silence. Absolute distance. And right now, West was far too close for comfort.

"Realistically, a business run by someone confident in their growth is more likely to succeed than someone who's just a follower."

Violet’s smug response hit you like a match to gasoline. You could feel the heat of your frustration under your skin, a familiar sensation that always seemed to bubble up during your rare, but tense interactions. Most days, you two kept your distance, sticking to cold, judgmental glances. But on days like this, when they were forced into the same space, it was inevitable snarky exchanges, backhanded compliments, and that thick, suffocating air of competition.

You bit back the flood of insults threatening to slip out. Pressing your chapped lips together, irritated by the dry, rough feeling but too focused on the current situation to care. "You can't speak from experience," you finally muttered, knowing full well that it was a weak retort. You weren’t in the mood to come up with anything smart. Keeping it safe was the safest bet for your sanity right now.

Violet, naturally, didn't miss a beat. "I'll have that privilege one day." she flicked her ID badge with a cocky flourish, the engraved letters of her last name catching in the light. Her face was twisted into a self-satisfied smirk, the kind that made you want to roll her eyes so hard they'd get stuck.

There was nothing motivating about Violet’s arrogance. Only aggravating.

You cleared your throat, forcing a thin smile.

"Fun talking to you, as always," you said, determined to get the last word in, as usual. Your exchanges were like a never-ending thumb war, both of you pushing for dominance without truly getting anywhere. Two years of this, and absolutely nothing had changed.

Violet smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm flattered, but I can't help wondering if you're considering stand up comedy for those with lobotomies." She punctuated the remark with a firm hand on your shoulder.

Your stomach churned at the touch, and you shrugged off Violet’s hand like it was a spider crawling on you. Resisting the urge to vomit right then and there, you reached down for your Glock, thumb brushing over the magazine release as it could somehow end this insufferable conversation.

You needed to reload, which at least gave you a reason to focus on something else.

"Be my guest," you said flatly, eyes fixated on the gun, not on the smug asshole hovering over you.

Her lips quirked again in amusement, but she stayed quiet, watching as you methodically reloaded the 19M, clicking the slide back in place with more force than necessary. You were hyper-focused now, anything to block out Violet’s presence.

You slipped the gloves back on, fastening the Velcro tightly, mentally preparing yourself to get back to training.

"Training's over for the day, you know," Violet said, casually reminding you. She was annoyingly familiar with your habits on the range, probably because she always kept an eye on you, just waiting to see if you messed up.

You didn't bother looking up. "I'm aware everyone else is gone. I prefer extra training."

"You hate training," Violet replied, her tone laced with smug knowingness. She clearly enjoyed pushing your buttons, and right now, you kinda wound tighter than the Velcro on your gloves.

"Like you'd know know." you simply say, cocking your head to crack your neck.

Your raised the Glock and fired at the nearest dummy, ending the conversation with a bang.

The sweet relief of coffee never failed to satisfy Violet, even on days when everything else seemed to fall apart. She let her calloused fingers linger on the coffee maker as it hummed, her other hand twiddling a packet of sweetener absentmindedly. With nothing pressing on her mind or plate today, she pulled the pitcher from the machine and dragged her New York embroidered mug forward. The coffee poured steadily, just below the rim, and she tore the sweetener packet, dumping it in with practiced precision.

But before she could savor a sip, her forearm nudged open the lounge door, and—splash. Hot coffee cascaded over her freshly pressed suit, drenching her work pants and top in a scalding, sticky mess.

What—the fuck?

Violet's eyes slowly drifted down to the damage, the burning liquid stinging her skin beneath the fabric.

Her grip tightened on the mug as she looked up, fury already simmering behind her eyes.

And there, frozen in shock with wide eyes, was none other than you. Of course. Violet could see the words forming in your head before they even left your mouth; you never missing an opportunity to make things worse.

"Watch where you're going next time," you grumbled, tone dismissive, like the whole thing was somehow Violet’s fault. You had also whispered something under your breath, and it couldn't have been good. The coffee dripped silently between them, pooling on the floor and marking its territory on Violet’s ruined clothes. She had managed to get through the rain this morning without so much as a spot, but your clumsiness had managed to wreck her in mere seconds.

Violets’s scarred upper lip twitched in irritation. Was she being blamed? Really? "What are you in hurry for, the last few munchkins in the fridge? You don't exactly look busy, Thorne.”

Your eyebrows drew down slowly, eyes narrowing in offended disbelief. Violet might've found it amusing to mess with you in any other circumstance, but right now? Right now, it really irked her. She was being blamed for this, and she wasn't going to let it slide.

"If you've got time to throw insults, why don't you go and do Mel’s job again? After all, you went to school for years to play assistant at headquarters, right?" Violet’s words were sharp, deliberately cutting. It was a bitchy move, but she was indeed not in the mood.

You’d had been riding her nerves all week.

Monday, you’d shredded Violet’s files by "mistake," chalking it up to be tired. Tuesday, you’d nearly wrecked her Glock 17M and tried to convince Caitlyn it was just a mix-up. Wednesday, there were dirty looks and backhanded compliments in the middle of a meeting. And yesterday? You’d almost derailed an entire investigation with your impatience.

Two years of this, and it was finally pushing Violet to her limit. It wasn't just competitive banter anymore — it was real animosity. Violet had always tried to keep things light, a little teasing here and there, but you? You downright hated her or something, and it was getting mutual.

You, ever so unfazed, didn't even glance at the mess you’d made. "Who pissed in your coffee this morning?" you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And don't worry about how I handle my tasks around here. Why don't you go cozy up to Caitlyn while I keep things easy and simple for you? Sound good?"

Violet clenched her jaw, her fingers tight around the now empty mug. This woman...

"You've got a lot of nerve," Violet snapped, her voice low but sharp, each word deliberate. "I don't have an issue with you, but for some reason, you're always trying to get on my bad side. I try to be halfway decent with you, but you always find a way to ruin that too." Violet stepped closer, exaggerating her words, hoping it would hit you harder. For someone who walks in heeled boots everyday, the shorter woman still hadn't quite figured out how to own them.

Before you could fire back, Violet cut you off.

"And if you want to accuse me of cozying up to Caitlyn, then take a good look at yourself, Thorne. Your surname fits you precisely. You're like a thorn to someone's side."

You let out a sharp huff, clearly caught off guard by Violet's sudden willingness to stand her ground. You weren’t used to being confronted, especially by someone you considered to be an annoyance. Violet could see the gears turning, the effort you put into keeping your voice steady as she shot back.

"At least I have a good relationship with everyone. You pick and choose who you talk to. You're not down to earth, (Y/N). You're just a shitty person."

You felt your blood simmering, but you kept your expression neutral, even as the insult landed. By habit loosening your tie, fingers trembling just slightly with adrenaline, and tossed your now-empty mug into the trash bin by the door without a second thought.

The satisfying crack of glass echoed through the room, but she didn't care.

Not about the mug, not about your words. Not now.

She brushed past you, not sparing a second glance as she headed toward the restroom. The coffee was already soaking into her clothes, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She peeled off her ruined pullover as she walked, letting it fall down her arms before she entered the bathroom, where she was greeted by her reflection.

Violet stared at herself for a moment, hair falling messily over one eye. It had grown longer than she liked, brushing just past her nose slightly. She pushed it away impatiently and leaned over the counter, scrubbing at her button-down with frustration. It was practically see through at the stain.

"Come on," she muttered through gritted teeth, working at the larger stains with more force than necessary. The top had cost her over fifty bucks, and the thought of it being ruined because of your clumsiness made her blood boil. If it had been some cheap shirt, she wouldn't have lost her cool like that, but it wasn't.

"Fucking come out, Jesus." Violet’s voice cracked slightly as she scrubbed harder, knowing full well she was only making it worse. But she couldn't walk back into the HQ with this mess on her. Not after what had just happened. She wasn't about to give you the satisfaction of seeing her like this.

As the stains slowly faded, her mind raced. Were you insecure? Violet didn't know, and frankly, she didn't care. The woman was a confusing mess of contradictions, and Violet had no desire to decipher her. All she knew was that you got under her skin, and made her head throb with frustration. An impatient groan escaped her lips as she managed to get some of the deeper stains out, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Violet stared at the shirt, feeling like the whole situation was ridiculous. And yet, here she was, scrubbing out coffee stains and stewing over someone who should've been nothing more than an office inconvenience.

The urge to tell you off bubbled up again, but Violet bit it back. Sure, she was pissed, but wasn't trying to escalate this any further. She had done the right thing by standing up for herself, like anyone else would. There was no point in pushing things to the point of no return, where they might both end up fired and jobless.

She slung her ruined pullover over her shoulder and walked out of the women's restroom, her steps heavier with the weight of her lingering frustration.

She wasn't about to let it go, not completely, but she wasn't going to make it worse either.

If nothing else, she thought, I'm not worse than her. That was for sure. Violet had rattled her pride a little with the teasing, but it wasn't like she'd gone overboard. In fact, if you had any sense of humor, they could've had some fun with the back-and-forth. But no, the hostility from you felt different, like it was more personal. You ribbed Ekko and Powder too at times, but with Violet, it felt deeper, like there was something else fueling it.

As she exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping, she made her way down the hallways of the HQ, her mind still buzzing with the aftershocks of their argument.

"That was my favorite shirt," she muttered under her breath, glancing down at the faint coffee stains that still clung to the fabric.

You grimace, hesitating before fully letting your eyes take in the crime scene photos clipped to the case folder in front of you. One side is filled with notes detailing the body discovered, the evidence collected by officers and K-9 units, while the other holds the photographs. It’s never easy looking at the dead, but this case in particular —one involving children and animals— settles like a weight in your stomach.

Just suck it up and focus.

Jayce is out today, which means his ridiculous pile of files is now your responsibility. For someone who jokes around constantly and eats while reviewing these kind of things, he’s got a stomach of fucking steel. You, on the other hand, find yourself letting out a quiet, uneasy strings of grunts as you shuffle a set of dated photos into an envelope hastily. You barely register your own signature as you scrawl it across the front before tossing it into the small brown box beside you leveled on Jayce’s chair.

The barely touched coffee on your desk doesn’t help your mood. Mel had been nice enough to bring drinks from the local coffee shop for everyone, but yours? It tasted watered down, and the undissolved brown sugar left a grainy texture that made it hard to enjoy. You had set it aside, already planning to let it get cold so you could toss it out without feeling guilty.

Bad coffee is worse than no coffee. You’d rather suffer through exhaustion than force yourself to drink something made by a barista who clearly didn’t know a basic coffee rule: to stir the damn sugar while it’s hot.

You bite the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply, forcing yourself back into work mode.

Outside, thunder grumbles in the distance, and the printers rattle beside you, filling the silence of an otherwise empty space. The office is quieter than usual, the seat next to you noticeably unoccupied. Rainy Novembers are typical in Highland Parks, but in all honesty you don’t have much of an opinion on the weather. You spend most of your time indoors anyway.

Working.

Your stomach interrupts your train of thought, rumbling loudly in protest. You unconsciously glance at the digital clock near Jayce’s empty desk, its red numbers flickering back at you. Lunch passed a while ago. Not that it mattered. After spending hours handling Jayce’s case files, your appetite had somewhat disappeared. Your meal, along with your Diet Coke, was probably still sitting untouched in the lounge fridge.

Powder and Ekko are out training one-on-one with Caitlyn. Not your business, but you’re curious anyway. You always are. Why didn’t you ever get one-on-one training? Everyone else did.

Are you lacking something?

You chew on your thumbnail, the thought making an unwelcome home in your head. This always happened.

A sudden tap on the top of your head yanks you from your inner turmoil. You glance over your shoulder, expecting Viktor, the guy who fixes the printers and every other broken thing in HQ. Jayce is good friends with him, so, you are as well in that case. But instead, it’s Mel. Your shoulders loosen slightly. You’ve been tense all week.

“Not exactly the best way to get my attention, Mel,” you say, stacking some of the finished files on your desk, head still heavy with lingering doubt.

“Lighten up a bit. You’re such a pessimist,” Mel hums, dropping the stack of documents onto your desk. “You should go eat. I saw you skipped lunch. Plus, Jayce can finish the rest tomorrow. You’ve done more than enough.”

You exhale, considering her words. Why didn’t you just work a role like Mel? She had a clear job, an essential purpose. Meanwhile, you felt like you spent most of your time quietly filling in the gaps — like a seat filler, temporary, replaceable. All that school for what?

A stubborn voice in your head protests the comment about your pessimism, but your hunger wins out. You push back your chair and stand, rolling your shoulders to shake off the stiffness.

“You can take the file box then. I’ll be back.” Grabbing your ID lanyard, you stride out of the office, making your way through the mostly empty space.

The walk down the same hallway you’d been pacing for two years somehow felt longer every day. Realistically, nothing had changed. It was the same damn stretch of floor, the same fluorescent lights buzzing above. But lately, the need to move your feet, to just get to where you were going, had started to feel like a chore.

You had three keys to this building: one for the main office where the bulk of the work happened, another for the lounge, and the third just to get into the damn building in the first place. Underwhelming. Your pay was the same as Jayce’s, even Ekko’s. You were making more than both Powder and Mel combined.

So why did it still feel like you were scraping for something?

You pushed open the lounge door with your elbow, only to immediately regret it.

Violet.

A grumble of annoyance rumbled in the back of your throat as she turned her head to glance over her shoulder at you. Her cool, ashy-blue eyes flicked to you for only a moment, but it was enough to make your skin prickle uncomfortably.

It felt like every time a coworker looked at you, it was out of pity, not respect. As if all the work you put in was just something to be tolerated, not acknowledged. The thought made your heeled boots feel loose, like you were one wrong step away from rolling your ankle under the weight of Violet’s occasional, unimpressed glances.

Why was she even here?

Yes, this was the employee lounge, but she never lingered here long. And yet, here she was. You weren’t even sure if she had food, and she definitely wasn’t making coffee.

You ignored her gaze, forcing yourself toward the fridge. Your hands were already clammy before you saw her, but now they were straight up sweaty. The cool air from the fridge was a small relief as you reached for your neatly labeled chicken and lettuce wrap, along with your untouched sealed Diet Coke.

It had been this way ever since the coffee incident. Ever since you’d —“accidentally”— ruined an entire month’s worth of her research.

West had actually stopped making jokes around you.

At first, that satisfied you. But now? Now, it made your gut feel like a crumpled-up sticky note.

Had you actually liked the attention? No. Absolutely not. Jayce spoke to you every day, cracked his ridiculous jokes around you, so it wasn’t that. And it wasn’t about communication. You and Violet didn’t even work in the same department. You weren’t exactly friends, either. Strictly coworkers. Two people who knew just enough about each other’s flaws to be annoying and pick at them.

So why was she bothering you so much?

Your flimsy fingers tightened around your wrap as Violet finally looked away. But she didn’t move. Didn’t eat. Didn’t make coffee. Just existed. Silently.

Judgment was awful, but silent judgment? That was even worse.

“Can you quit watching me like that?” you snapped before you could stop yourself, your voice sharp with the bitterness that always seemed to linger between you two. “It’s weird. And aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Violet barely reacted, she just blinked at you, unimpressed.

“Lunch ended three hours ago,” you added, “unless you’re digging for Caitlyn’s crumbs.”

Your jaw clenched as you unwrapped your lunch, your teeth sinking slightly into your torn up bottom lip. Uncalled for. You knew that. And Violet knew exactly how to weaponize the moment.

“Thanks for the reminder, Thorne,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something biting. “But I actually don’t have to make that effort. Cait pays attention to me without me having to act like some crazy addict who thrives off her validation.”

Your fingers stilled.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t said worse to her before. The difference? Violet never hid behind her words. She always said them looking you dead in the eye, unwavering, direct.

The comment shouldn’t have hit a soft spot, but it did.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to play it off, pretending it didn’t get under your skin.

“You know me so well,” you muttered with a strained chuckle, though your jaw ached with the effort of keeping it together.

Because deep down, you knew exactly where your problem with Violet had started.

It wasn’t out of nowhere.

You’d been intimidated by her from the moment she got the job —without even needing an interview. She made more than you right off the bat. Caitlyn warmed up to her almost immediately. It wasn’t like Violet had ever rubbed it in your face, but envy was something you never handled well.

Do this better. Do that better. Finish this. Try harder. Ask to do more.

Violet ran a hand down the front of her work suit to smooth out the cotton. Ever since the coffee incident, she’d switched to wearing black button-downs under her blazers, likely to avoid another purposeful coffee disaster.

“You don’t exactly make it hard to read you,” she mused, her voice irritatingly casual. “Especially when you have a vein bulging from your forehead every time you see me.”

Your first instinct was to snap back. Who wouldn’t be irritated when you think everyone is your friend? But you knew better. And honestly? You didn’t have the energy for another round of verbal sparring this week either.

Jayce was out. Your workload was heavier than usual. You hadn’t had coffee, and you hadn’t eaten all day.

So, instead of feeding into it, you focused on your food. You took a bite from the edge of your wrap, careful not to let the contents spill from the sides. It hurt to open your mouth too wide. Your lips had been painfully chapped for a month now. February was creeping closer, and with it came dry skin, exhaustion, and the growing desire to sleep at your desk instead of work.

Your bottom lip had split more times than you could count in the past week, but you hadn’t done much to fix it either. No time for chapstick when you could barely keep up with everything else.

Violet had noticed.

You always got like this in the winter; pushier, more irritable. You weren’t as unbearable when the weather warmed up, but your attitude toward her never thawed either. You were always on edge around her, always competing, always watching.

She had caught you staring the day Caitlyn pulled her aside to discuss a raise, the same day you had taken on extra side gigs and hadn’t gotten so much as a mention. She had seen you fist your hair at your desk after downing your fifth cup of coffee. She had been on the receiving end of your little retaliations, the way you’d ruin her things in ways so small they could almost be called accidents.

Violet had always noticed.

“A chicken wrap with a side of blood,” she mused lightly, resting her hip against the counter.

Your chewing slowed for a beat before resuming, brows furrowing just slightly. You still curled and coated your lashes every morning for work with an older tube of mascara you couldn’t seem to let go, still maintained some things about yourself, but you weren’t oblivious. You knew you looked rough lately.

“You seriously need chapstick,” Violet continued, eyeing your lips with something between amusement and concern. “That’s gotta hurt.”

It was the first semi-joke she’d made around you since November. It wasn’t even really a joke, but it was… easier to hear than the usual biting remarks.

You swallowed your food and huffed. “My lips are none of your business, nor your concern. I’m applying chapstick just fine. It’s allergies.”

Wrong.

Allergies were the least of your problems. You had been biting your lips raw and were probably vitamin deficient in more ways than one. Even Jayce had commented on it the other day, asking if you were cosplaying as a grumpy vampire or some other nonsense.

Violet scoffed. “Are you looking to eat your lunch or the skin off your lips?” She rubbed her own lips absently, likely remembering the thin scar that stretched across her upper lip from training. “You’re running on nothing but caffeine. Have you forgotten what real food tastes like?”

You scowled, cutting her off before she could continue. “Why are you in here?”

Violet blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the abrupt change in conversation.

“I mean, I could be just as annoying, but I’m not in the mood, West.”

She raised an eyebrow, then shook her head with a small smirk, arms crossing over her chest. Your eyes hesitated for just a second, catching the way the layers of her uniform —button-down and blazer— did nothing to hide the toned muscle beneath them.

What kind of moron actually wore both their blazer inside HQ?

“Why?” she taunted. “Because you’re finally getting a taste of your own medicine? Or because Jayce isn’t here today to defend you?”

Your jaw clenched.

“Are you fucking serious?” you huffed, your voice laced with disbelief. “You think Jayce not being here affects how I feel?”

The defensiveness in your tone was embarrassingly obvious, and Violet knew it. Her lips quirked upward, her smirk deepening.

“Well,” she dragged the word out in fake thought, pursing her lips in a way that made your eye twitch. “Can you blame me? Your only real friend isn’t here, and now you’re just moping around HQ. Moping around with your head down, and your ass up.”

“Do not say that,” you snapped, your irritation spiking.

Violet grinned like she had just won a prize. “Really? You draw the line at a simile?”

Your brows furrowed. “A what? That’s a metaphor, you slow beet.”

Violet should have been offended. I mean, you had just called her slow, but instead, she froze for half a second, her expression shifting to something almost amused.

“…Did you just call me a beet?”

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “A beet-root. For a choppy haircut, you’d think you’d at least change the color to redeem yourself. You look like a damn beet.”

Audrey’s lips twisted into a half-smirk, half-grin.

“Wow, (Y/N),” she murmured. “Did you just make a joke?”

Your stomach dropped.

Your pride plummeted.

She thought you were joking. Violet—Violet fucking West—thought you had joked with her?

The realization made your grip tighten around your soda can, your lips pressing inward as if disgusted by yourself. You wanted to grab the words back, throw them out, insist that you meant that as an insult, not a joke.

But you couldn’t.

And that grin on her face? That damn grin? (that damn grin...😼)

It made you want to rip your hair out.

“Never-fucking-mind.”

Violet undid the cuffs of her button-down, rolling up the sleeves until the fabric no longer restricted her movements. Tattoo work peeking out. The uniform was fine. Professional, sleek, practical, but nobody actually liked wearing it. Not in the HQ.

Across the office, Jayce’s voice rang out, louder than necessary, pulling her attention. She glanced up briefly, watching as he bantered with one of the techs. Jayce was easy to get along with. Smart, good with computers, and a complete slacker when given the chance. She had no issue with him personally. When the two of them worked together, they wasted time more often than not, but when Jayce worked with you? Somehow, he managed to joke around and get things done. Maybe that’s why Caitlyn didn’t mind having his desk right next to yours.

Violet exhaled in amusement but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t in the office much, her job kept her busy elsewhere. Restocking gear, replenishing ammunition, training the interns who wanted to join the department someday. It was a privilege, but it was also pretty exhausting. Still, she knew she was the favorite around here, and that privilege came with its own set of complications.

Caitlyn had once commented on it —on you and her— during a routine weapons inventory.

“Everything good between you and Thorne? You don’t seem close, but your work styles mesh well. You’re both dedicated.”

The statement had been so off-base she almost laughed. Close? Not even remotely. But that wasn’t on Violet.

You had been different lately. More distant.

No spilled espressos on her desk, no mysteriously shredded files, no petty, one-sided beef getting in the way of the workday. Odd.

Then again, you had been odd lately in general.

The banter had lessened. Sure, a few snide remarks here and there, but the tantrums, as Violet fondly called them, had also significantly decreased. She wasn’t sure if she found that concerning or relieving.

Casually, her gaze drifted across the office until it landed on you.

You sat with your legs crossed, the tip of your heeled boot absently twisting under your desk. Your trench coat hung over the back of your chair as it normally did. You only wore it when the building’s heater was busted or if you had gotten caught in the rain.

Pencil skirt. Off-white ironed button-down. Navy tie. Black pantyhose.

Mel didn’t always bother with the extra layers or formalities, but you did.

Violet huffed at the realization. You had fashion preferences, apparently.

Funny. And a little uncanny, imagining you caring about anything other than being annoyed, irritated, or outright pissed. That’s all you were to her: a tightly wound ball of something pent up and ready to just snap.

Though… she did sort of pity you at times. Emphasis on 'at times'.

You turned in your chair, handing Jayce a stack of printed files, speaking lowly to him before refocusing on your own work.

Violet continued watching, still as an observer. Bored. You, Jayce, Mel, and Viktor held the office together while she spent most of her time outside of it. She only came in once a week, just enough to notice that, despite all your efforts, you were stretching yourself too thin.

You made things harder for yourself. She knew that.

Her gaze dropped, almost unconsciously, to your legs.

She blinked.

Weird.

She had never really looked at you before, not past all the other stuff; the petty rivalry, the constant need to one-up her, the way you made every little thing a competition.

It wasn’t exactly easy to look beyond that.

And yet, she hesitated before glancing back, this time without moving her head, just her eyes.

You weren’t… unattractive.

Her fingers tensed slightly against the armrest of her chair before she shifted, leaning into her palm instead.

You had good facial symmetry. Nice skin — tired, sure, but even Jayce had made jokes about you cosplaying a grumpy vampire lately. It was funny, but to you? You were furious, but hey, you started to apply chapstick more often throughout shifts. Your makeup was always neatly applied, and your uniform fit well—not too tight, not too loose.

You also cared about appearances. Not just your own, but others’.

Violet silently grinned at the memory of your voice echoing through the office just a few weeks ago:

“So unprofessional. It’s embarrassing. Don’t wear a badge and walk around in saggy pants. You went to university for what? To not know how to measure your own waist? Gosh.”

You’d aimed it at Jayce after he had opted for a more relaxed fit, but your commentary extended to everyone who slacked off in dress code.

Violet exhaled slowly.

Then, unfortunately, you caught her staring.

Her body tensed as your gaze flickered to hers, and she immediately cleared her throat, shifting to cover her mouth like she had just zoned out. Definitely not like she had just been looking at you for longer than necessary. Longest than she had ever looked at you, really.

You furrowed your brows, shook your head slightly, then returned to work.

Violet sighed, pressing further into her palm.

Her eyes shifted to Mel as she strode across the office, posture perfect, heels clicking at a steady pace, files balanced in one arm. A sweetheart. Objectively, Mel was a beautiful woman, but Violet didn’t know her too well. Certainly not as well as she knew you.

When Mel passed, she caught sight of you again, now looking down at paperwork with those stupid reading glasses perched on your nose. Looking like you were gonna pop a blood vessel.

They looked ridiculous on you, far too big for your face, because Jayce had so helpfully gotten you the wrong size.

“Didn’t know they’d be big on you, man. Relax, relax.”

Indeed, you did not relax. You had thrown a fit.

It was… kinda cute.

Violet blinked, her lips parting slightly.

What? No.

She must be losing her mind. She straightened in her chair, biting the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t blind, she could admit when someone looked good — but this was you.

You, of all people. The epitome of stress and irritation in her damned life. So what if you were pretty? Every woman was pretty in their own way. It didn’t mean anything.

Violet forced her gaze away, focusing on the stack of paperwork she had been handed—a rare task for her, but one she had to do nonetheless. Maybe she was just stressed. Maybe her cycle was about to start. Definitely not you.

Another week passed. Your workload was heavier than usual, keeping you out of Jayce’s business, out of Mel’s, even out of Viktor’s. Caitlyn had given you a detailed to-do list. You. Not Jayce, not Ekko, not West. Agent Thorne.

You had come into work on Thursday morning already exhausted, having snoozed through all three of your alarms. You almost knew this week was going to end badly. Your track record with jinxing yourself was near flawless. But for once, it didn’t.

Your hands hovered over the case file on your desk. A fresh case. Not one of Jayce’s hand-me-downs, not something already combed through a dozen times. The seal along the side was still intact, a loud, physical reminder that no one had read this yet. Your heartbeat thrummed against your ribs.

Your fingers tensed as you looked up, scanning the office. Everyone was busy.

Was this actually meant for you?

The doubt crept in before you could stop it. Was it bad that you questioned this? That you questioned being given your own case? Mel's voice echoed in the back of your mind — “You’re too hard on yourself. Just take the opportunity.” You wanted this. You had been waiting for this. Caitlyn was trusting you with the first glance, the first look, the first opinions, the first impression.

You exhaled, shaking off the nerves as you sat down. The file was thin, because you were the one who would be passing it around, not the one receiving it after five other agents had already picked it apart.

“Soft tacos,” Jayce whistled in pure delight, stretching his legs out under his desk.

You didn’t even have to look up to know he was grinning like a damn idiot. No one but Jayce would be eating soft tacos at eight in the morning. And not even the good kind, these weren’t the ones he brought back after holidays at his mom’s house. These were microwaved, doused in sour cream, and inhaled like he was running late to something.

Jayce plopped into his chair beside you, lifting the taco to his mouth, but he barely got a bite in before his body jerked forward, his eyes going wide.

You turned, brows pulling together. “Jayce, it’s a Dollar General taco. You—”

“No way! You got a case?”

Jayce cut you off, speaking through the mouthful of scalding hot taco, eyes glued to the file in your hands. You grimaced at the sight. He hadn’t even swallowed before rushing the words out. But then, you realized that’s why he had burned himself. He had been so excited to say something that he hadn’t waited for his food to cool.

Pride? Your heart picked up slightly at the thought. Jayce, your desk partner, your closest ally in this damn office, looked genuinely excited.

“Oh, yeah. I— I think I did?” you said, unsure. “I mean, Caitlyn could’ve meant to leave this on your desk for all I know.”

Jayce raised his brows, leaning back in his chair. His taco hovered in his left hand, airing out now that he’d learned his lesson. “Mel was right. You are a pessimist.”

“What?” You put the file down carefully. “It’s not pessimism. It’s called being realistic.”

“That sounds boring as hell,” Jayce mused, clearly amused. He was a realist too, but unlike you, he had an open mind when it came to cases. You treated every file like it was life or death, like one wrong note would collapse the entire operation.

“Whoever highlighted the third section word for word is an absolute idiot. No one is reading that. It doesn’t support the evidence or the tax fraud either.” You had once scoffed, tearing open a fresh pack of sticky notes.

Or: “Let me guess. Whoever started this case let an intern do the honors. Jesus. What is happening.”

“I’d rather be boring than wrong,” you countered, turning back toward your desk, firing up your computer. You draped your coat over your lap for warmth. Your office chair was always too cold in the mornings.

“You’re often both of those things.”

“Sorry—? Oh. It’s just you.”

Your voice flatlined the second you spotted Violet standing behind Jayce. Your face dropped, irritation slipping in as she leaned against the back of your chair, one hand perched on her hip.

Jayce twisted around, his face lighting up at the sight of her. “West! Cool to see you, as always. Even if Cait put us on opposite ends of the HQ.”

You blinked in confusion as the two of them exchanged a ridiculously complicated handshake, your stomach twisting slightly.

Of course Violet was buttering up Jayce. He was your closest friend in HQ, and yet here they were, shaking hands like they had some kind of inside joke you weren’t a part of. Not even you had a handshake with Jayce.

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet brushed it off. “I’ll talk her into putting me right between you and grumpy over here.” She nodded toward you.

“You wish,” you scoffed, clicking through your unread emails. The blue light from your screen reflected on your face, making your eyes narrow slightly as you read. Your legs pressed together under your coat, absorbing what little warmth you could get.

Violet teasing you in front of Jayce wasn’t new. Not even close. But something else was.

This wasn’t the first time you had caught her looking at you differently.

It wasn’t just the usual watching to make fun of you anymore.

It had happened in the lounge, on the training field, even when she thought you hadn’t noticed. She was good at eye contact —everyone knew this— but lately? Lately, she had been slipping.

Apparently, you had also grown an extra pair of eyes on your uniform. Violet had been staring at you more than usual.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Unfortunately, Jayce kept talking.

“Thorne got her first case,” he grinned, pointing at you with his thumb. You felt your fingers tighten around the mouse. Jayce. Seriously? Why was he telling her of all people?

Violet tilted her head, attention shifting fully to you. “Cool. I can give her a few tips and tricks, as someone who’s gone through a dozen or so.”

The last thing you needed was Violet West handing you advice. If she did, she’d rub it in your face for weeks. She’d take credit for half the investigation. She’d never shut up about it.

You snapped your gaze up, meeting hers.

“I’m good,” you said, your voice flat. “I don’t need your help.”

You barely moved, but there was a twitch, something small, something almost unnoticeable. Violet’s eyes flickered from yours, down to your tie. Your fingers moved automatically, adjusting it. She reached for her own and tugged it into place like she was mirroring you.

Was she taunting you?

“My desk has enough room for two,” Violet said, pivoting on her heel. As she turned, you caught a glimpse of that Roman numeral tattoo under her left eye, barely concealed beneath a thin layer of lazily blended concealer. It didn’t concern you. Why would it? Who the hell got a tattoo on their face?

So unprofessional.

“Yeah, I bet it does. Call a therapist.” You muttered the words just loud enough to be caught in the silence of the HQ. Violet didn’t miss a beat, letting out a laugh that shook her shoulders slightly. Your eyes flickered to the way her body moved with it, a ripple of motion.

“Not what I meant, but alright, Thorne.”

Jayce, still chewing, raised a brow and looked between you and the door as Violet exited, then turned back to you.

“Is there something going on, or…?”

“Always,” you said, voice rough but not nearly as irritated as it should have been. That realization bothered you. Normally, you’d be clenching your fists, itching with irritation, but the usual sneer wasn’t there. Jayce definitely noticed, blinking at your quick response.

“…Ooookay then.” He dragged the word out but shrugged, returning to his disgusting breakfast taco.

Still nasty.

Never in your life had you thought you’d enjoy working on a murder case. It sounded strange from an outside perspective, but getting your first solo case had been something you had wanted —had waited for— for three years. And it was worth it. You had spent overtime in the office, completely immersed.

Highlighting sections, sticking tabs on documents, writing down key notes. By the time you finished, two markers had dried out, and a busted pen had leaked ink all over your palm from how hard you had pressed it against the paper. But it was done. You finally dropped the completed file on Caitlyn’s desk before clocking out.

Walking outside alone, the night air was cold, biting at the skin of your legs despite the sheer pantyhose you had layered under your knee-high boots. Practical, comfortable. You weren’t a fan of showing too much calf, it just felt better this way.

By the time Monday rolled around, you were dead on your feet. No one enjoyed a Monday morning, especially not in early March when climate change was kicking everyone’s ass. Walking into the HQ, the air inside was warmer than the entrance, and shrugging off your trench coat felt like a small relief.

“Finishing an entire case file in a day. That’s impressive.”

You almost jumped out of your boots.

Some idiot had breathed down your neck, not literally, but close enough. You whipped around, half-asleep daze completely shattered.

West.

Again.

You exhaled sharply, so close to snapping. “Can you not go around scaring people half to death for once?”

Violet didn’t even look sorry. She stood there, perfectly smug, like she had just told the funniest joke of the century. You wet your lips, easing the sting from the cold. Your jaw tensed before you finally said what had been lingering in your mind for the past two weeks.

“Are you okay?”

Violet tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah, I’m all good. Perfect, actually. Woke up today, had breakfast for once. It was delicious. Had a cup of coffee, and—”

“I don’t care about your damn coffee,” you cut in, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Or how perfect and sparkly with unicorns your morning has been, West. You know what I’m asking. Don’t act dense.”

You weren’t the only one who had noticed.

The way you two spoke had changed. The fights were less. The banter was different. You had stopped arguing over stupid things; eye contact, for example. It had stopped feeling taunting and started feeling like…

Like something else.

Something you hated.

You scolded yourself for it, constantly. In meetings, when Caitlyn said something that involved Violet, your eyes automatically found her. You expected her to look back.

It made you uncomfortable.

And now, here she was, grinning like this wasn’t a big deal at all. “I think unicorns are pretty cool, though. Can’t lie.”

You inhaled sharply.

“This isn’t about unicorns—! You’re actually going to give me a headache.”

You dragged a hand down your face, exasperated. Violet laughed, the sound light and unbothered, as she toyed with her lanyard. Her ID badge swayed slightly, catching the overhead lighting.

You hated that grin.

Mostly because you had no idea what it meant anymore.

The air felt different. It wasn’t just the stares that carried a new weight — it was the shift in body language, the subtle shifts that were hard to ignore. Your temper had settled, your instinctive irritation toward Violet dulled. Her jokes still grated on your nerves, but the feeling in your chest wasn’t heavy anymore.

Humiliating. That’s what it was.

Not liking Violet was what kept you going. As terrible as it was to admit, hating her pushed you, forced you to be better, to work harder, to be faster than her. But now? Now, that loathing had soured into something sickly, something different. Interest. God, even thinking that word made you feel ridiculous.

You shouldn’t be this hung up on whatever unspoken thing was happening. It was probably a joke. Another way for her to get under your skin. Or maybe she was just bored, looking for entertainment at your expense. You needed to cut this off, now, before it spiraled into something even worse.

You turned, walked back to your desk, and dropped your bag beside your chair with a sigh that rattled through your chest. You weren’t stupid. You were looking for something, some kind of reassurance, confirmation that Violet wasn’t thinking the same things you were. But it wasn’t there. She was still watching. And when she got up, taking something of Caitlyn’s to the lounge, your body moved before your brain caught up.

Jayce didn’t even bother questioning it. You’d been making excuses to leave all week. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you inhaled deeply and stepped out, boots clicking steadily against the floor. You swiped your ID at the lounge door, pushing it open, already knowing exactly who you’d find.

Violet did a double take.

She hadn’t expected you to follow. A conversation in the office? That was normal. You coming to her without Jayce nowhere nearby? Not so much.

“Had a feeling you’d follow me here,” she lied.

“Sure you did,” you deadpanned, dropping your ID onto the counter and leaning against it. Violet eyes flickered, hesitated. She was staring again, and you noticed. You both noticed.

This wasn’t the usual hostile tension between you two. It wasn’t irritation or resentment. It was something else, something you didn’t want to name. Something that made your skin burn.

“This needs to stop,” you cut in before she could say anything.

Violet's brows knit together, feigning confusion. But you knew she understood.

“Never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, Thorne.” Her voice was slow, calculated. “You started this. All of it, I mean... picking fights, sabotaging me, making this job feel like a competition.”

You didn’t have an ego. That’s what you told yourself. But your pride? It had always been fed by approval. A nod from Caitlyn, praise from the department, respect from your coworkers.

But none of that ever filled the hole, did it?

You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight, irritation slipping into your tone. A familiar reaction. One Violet was used to by now.

It shouldn’t be her attention that made your chest tighten. It shouldn’t be her opinions that made your skin tickle. And yet, here you were. A few days ago, you had actually questioned whether thinner tights would make your legs stand out more. Whether a thicker lash would make your eyes more striking during those lingering glances. Whether she had noticed the slightly darker tie you had worn that day.

She had noticed all of it.

Violet’s gruff voice cut through your thoughts. “Do you hate me?”

Your breath caught. You stiffened. Yes. Yes.

But your lips pressed together.

“No,” you managed.

“No?” Violet repeated.

“Yes, I do,” you corrected, but your voice wobbled. It sounded weak, like even you didn’t believe it. Violet head tilted slightly, her maroon hair slipping over her face the way it always did.

How was she not dying in a suit like that every day?

“Yes, no, yes, no,” she mused, her tone deliberately teasing. “You’re stuttering.”

Your legs pressed together instinctively, your pencil skirt suddenly feeling too much, too tight, too revealing.

You were a pain in the ass. That was the best way to describe you. Someone who knew exactly what to say, what to do, to get a reaction out of you.

Violet was someone who never needed approval, who carried herself like she owned the room. And now, that smugness was focused entirely on you.

The room felt hot. You reached for your collar, but before your fingers could slip beneath the fabric, Violet voice stopped you.

“You don’t have to wear that tie if you have to keep loosening it.” Her voice was softer now, but still edged with something knowing. “But again, you have tons of bad habits. Can’t expect you to just stop.”

Your fingers froze around the fabric.

Then, she stepped forward.

Her presence was impossible to ignore. Broader frame, heavier stance, rougher edges. Her hands slid into her pockets, the motion easy, casual, like she wasn’t closing the space between you two on purpose.

She was.

You were still against the counter, meaning she had the height advantage now. Even though the difference wasn’t that much, standing above you like this, she felt taller.

Her fingers hesitated before brushing against the smooth white collar of your shirt. Your breath hitched. Your skin burned.

Your eyes flickered, searching for an escape — except you didn’t want to escape. Her thumb traced up and down along your pulse, slow and deliberate. Your stomach curled.

Then, she nudged your chin up. The silence was unbearable.

“Violet,” you breathed.

Her hand faltered.

Three years of strict last-name basis, and now you had just said it.

No one called ever really called her Violet. No one. It was always something shorter, sharper, less personal.

You sounded good saying it.

“Violet? So intimate,” she taunted, her fingers tapping against your cheek. It wasn’t meant to piss you off. But you wanted to piss her off.

Your fingers shot out, grabbing the tie between them, yanking her closer. Embarrassingly, your noses bumped. But that didn’t stop you. One hand fisted around the tie, the other gripping her bicep, steady, grounding. You felt the way her muscles tensed beneath your palm, felt the pause as her breath hitched.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your lips caught hers, firm, certain, and when she didn’t pull away —when she didn’t resist— you took.

You finally felt the scar along her upper lip, traced the curve of it with your own mouth, tasted the hesitation that melted into something hotter, something heavier. Mapping her out.

Violet didn’t know what to do with her hands at first. They hovered at your back, hesitant, but her eyes were barely cracked open, watching, waiting. Either you could stop here, or you could throw everything out the window.

Then you bit her fuller bottom lip, tugging and letting it ripple into place.

Violet groaned.

And suddenly, the second option sounded so much more appealing.

Violet hadn’t expected this ever.

You had always been untouchable. Not in the literal sense, but in every way that mattered. Unreachable, impenetrable, untamed in your own rigid way. You did what you needed to do: woke up, worked, excelled, then left the HQ like none of it ever touched you.

But this?

Violet barely had time to register it before her hands moved, gripping your hips, pulling at your pencil skirt with little care, silently begging, urging for things to move further.

Your knees buckled as Violet backed you against the edge of a table, the cool marble pressing into the backs of your thighs as she settled between them, crowding you and consuming every ounce of space.

Her fingers looped through the knot of your tie —that stupid, fidgeted-with-like-a-necklace tie— and with a single sharp tug, it came loose. Slipping down. Forgotten.

Then, her hand cupped the back of your neck, pressing her lips against yours with something so deep, so thick with years of this, years of tension, of misplaced resentment, of fuck, how did we get here.

And yet, neither of you wanted to stop.

Violet's fingers traced from the back of your neck to the front of your throat, just barely gripping. It was already hard to breathe, but the idea of that, of her taking it just a little further? It had your stomach twisting.

Kissing the woman you had despised for years was going to be hilarious to explain.

But later.

Not now.

“Is the door—locked?” you barley managed out, your glossed lips brushing against hers, voice raw, uneven. Violet shook her head, hummed, lips curling against yours.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, Her hands moving. She slid one down to your thigh, gripping and propping it around her waist.

Then her mouth descended.

Hot, wet kisses trailed down the slope of your throat, her tongue flicking out just slightly, savoring the mix of sweat and whatever faint perfume lingered on your skin.

Your pulse pounded beneath her lips, and Violet felt something deep in her tighten at the sound of your breath hitching, the way your body gave just slightly, as if caught between pure instinct and resistance.

Her palm landed against the underside of your thigh, firm, not particularly harsh, but a deliberate smack.

A sharp, raspy gasp broke from your lips, your body twitching against hers, bottom lip swollen from the way you had abused it between sloppy, desperate kisses.

Violet’s eyes flickered, catching the way you tensed, how your cheeks were burning, how your hands trembled against her chest.

Everything needed to come off.

Her fingers dragged up your thigh. Rubbing in slow, lazy circles before moving up, slipping beneath the first few buttons of your work blouse.

One by one with one hand.

Meticulously.

You slowly sucked in a breath, your own hands fisting the fabric of her blazer.

Violet let go of you entirely, her fingers deftly working the rest of your buttons open, sliding the blouse off your shoulders before carelessly tossing it onto the chair beside the table. Her gaze swept over you, dark and unreadable, before she bit her bottom lip, teeth smoothing over it as she exhaled through her nose.

She didn't know what was better: finally having you, the woman who had spent years making her job hell, unraveling beneath her touch, or the sheer fact that you looked this damn good doing it.

Her hand moved instinctively, fingers splaying across the lace covering your chest, feeling the warmth of your skin through the fabric. She pressed a kiss between the valley of your breasts, slowly before trailing up, tongue flicking over your collarbones.

The sounds leaving your lips sent something sharp through her, something she had never allowed herself to acknowledge before now. Your legs tensed around her hips, a burning heat building between them. Your pussy was drenched.

Then, she moved. Rolling her hips forward, pressing herself against you, the friction earning a shaky grunt from your throat.

You felt good.

Her hand traced down your spine, unhooking your bra with ease. The straps loosened, fabric slipping from your body, and Violet took a step back to let her eyes drag over you.

She dampened her lips. "I'm so lucky to see you like this. You're so gorgeous.”

Her voice was lower now, rougher, hands returning to you. Thumbs circling your nipples, before sliding down to your waist.

She sat you up, lips grazing your jaw, before murmuring, "What happened to that mouth of yours?"

Her fingers flicked over your erect breasts, and your breath hitched, body arching slightly before you could stop yourself. The sound you made earned a knowing chuckle from her, and before you could snap at her for it, she was moving again, pressing you back against the table.

Her hands slid down your thighs, rolling your skirt up at an agonizing pace.

Violet huffed, giving your knee a light tap.

"Is the pantyhose really necessary?"

You exhaled sharply. "Yes, It is."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something amused behind it, something fond — before her fingers traced slow circles over the thin, black fabric covering you.

And then, without hesitation, she hooked her fingers through the material and tore it.

A sharp gasp left your lips. "Vi! Those were expen—"

She silenced you with another sharp tug, the ruined fabric giving way enough to give her the space she wanted. She could have pulled them down, but this was much better.

The sight of you like this, obedient beneath her, legs trembling slightly, breath uneven.

She wanted to ruin you further.

Jesus.

Her hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting and adjusting them until they rested over her shoulders.

Your breathing hitched, erratic. You knew what was coming, felt it before it even happened, but when her lips finally met your pussy; wet and painfully slow. You gasped, your spine curving inward, nails curling into the marble beneath you.

A broken sound left you, high and breathless. "That’s so good."

Violet huffed a quiet laugh against you. "I haven't even started yet."

She hooked your panties aside, her mouth pressing against you fully, tongue dragging slow, then flicking, savoring, sucking on your swelled clit. She worked like she had time, like this was something to be unraveled piece by piece, something she could take apart and put back together again.

Your clammy hands flew to grip the edge of the table, your body shifting under her touch, her mouth sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through you.

"Fuhh—ck, Vi." Your voice cracked.

That only spurred her on, hands gripping your thighs tighter, nails pressing into your skin as she curved her tongue, shifting her movements, searching, memorizing what made you fall apart.

She had spent years watching you, knowing exactly how to get under your skin. It was fun to put it to use.

Violet’s mouth worked you over with hungry desperation, her tongue sucking every inch of skin she could reach. Your folds, pulsing clit, labia — every so often, she flicked her gaze upward, watching you writhe against the table. Back arching, lips parting in helpless, breathless sounds.

If she had known this was the key to shutting you up, to finally silencing that sharp mouth of yours, she would have done this sooner.

Her lips curled against you, satisfaction lacing her voice as she murmured, “Good girl. How’s this? Yeah? So good?”

Her breath was hot and damp against your skin, sending a shudder through your sopping core.

Your only response was a whimper, your hand sliding up to your chest; grasping at yourself, desperate for anything to ground you. But the moment you tried to regain control, Violet sucked on your clit once more with enough force to break it.

Your spine arched off the table. Another sharp, wrecked gasp slipped past your lips. Violet’s grip tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer, forcing your legs to stay apart as she devoured you like you were her last damn meal.

The pleasure was too much —too sharp, too overwhelming— but stopping now wasn’t an option.

“So—” your voice trembled, barely coherent, “so, so good, Violet.”

Your hips rocked against her mouth, helpless against the way she was working you over, keeping you open, keeping you hers.

This was insane.

Doing this in the employee lounge? Absolutely wrong.

“Keep your legs around my shoulders,” Violet ordered, voice rough, edged with something close to command. “If you move, I’m stopping.”

Your breath hitched. Before you could protest, she lifted her hand to her lips, sucking two fingers between them, coating them with her own spit. Saliva moved down the digits in thick beads.

Then, she thrusted them inside of you. Wet enough to take them in one go.

Your body jolted, your nails scraping against the table as the pressure spread you open, slick and hot and perfect. You were definitely breaking a nail today.

Violet whistled lowly, amused, before curling them just right—

“My—God!”

The sound ripped out of you raw and shameless.

Violet hummed, the vibration shattering against you, her fingers sinking deeper, curling again, chasing that sound like it was her new favorite thing in the world.

The sound of your squelching pussy that sucked her in and tightened when she moved even just a second too quickly. She loved it.

“You’re a mess, baby.”

Violet’s voice was thick with amusement, her palm coming down to deliver a second sharp smack against your reddened thigh. Before you could react, she spit. A slow gesture. Watching as it mixed with the release already dripping down your swollen, aching core.

Her right hand never stopped, fingers still working in and out of you, dragging along every sensitive spot. Rough, but slow. Just enough to make sure you felt everything — every curl, every drag, every time she pulled out just to push deeper. Your insides protested, torn between needing a break and wanting more.

She smirked, tilting her head. “Look at you.”

She blew a soft stream of air over your glistening cunt, watching the way your body twitched in response.

Your head was somewhere else. Your hips moved on their own, helpless to the sensation coursing through you. Strings of moans and profanity fell from your lips, your body tightening around her fingers, pulsing — begging without words.

“Vi,” you whimpered. Your lashes damp with unshed tears.

She hummed in response, but didn’t let up, her fingers keeping that same relentless, torturous pace. A shaky moan ripped from your throat, your thighs trembling over her shoulders.

“I think—I think I’m going to come.”

Violet’s ashy eyes flicked up to you at your words, dark and heated, before her lips curled.

“Yeah?”

She then went faster.

Your gasp turned into a cry, body jolting at the sharp, intense pleasure flooding your sensitive nerves. There was no way no one had heard you two—not when you were here, back arched, lips parted, begging for her, falling apart because of her.

“No—! I—Vi! I can’t—!”

Your legs snapped shut around her head as your body tensed, spine bowing as the orgasm hit you. Ripping through your system, spilling over Violet’s fingers and dripping onto the marble beneath you.

Your breathing came in heavy. Overstimulation setting in as your body shuddered through the aftershocks.

Violet finally pulled her fingers from you, gaze flickering between your spent, trembling form and the slick coating her hand. Then, without hesitation, she brought her fingers to her lips and gave them a slow and greedy suck.

Your back falls flat on the cool marble.

Vi had won, again.

[cuzxai]

firstly im absolutely obsessed with your writing rn

if you can maybe on where spencer is off on a case and tells reader to be good but he catches her in the act (maybe with a vibrator) and he punishes her with edging or overstim?

feel free to ignore this if you dont feel like writing it regardless have a great day/night xx

consequences - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: first request, hope you likey

You knew the moment his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The tone was different— short, clipped. The kind they used when something couldn’t wait. Spencer rolled over and checked it with a sleepy groan, rubbing the heel of his hand into one eye.

“Hotch,” he mumbled. His fingers moved across the screen, then he sighed. That was all it took. You were awake now too. He looked over at you, already apologetic. “They need us in Virginia. Four-day consult.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You were used to it. This wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. But that didn’t mean it ever got easier. You’d just gotten used to adjusting the shape of missing him.

“When do you leave?” you asked, voice still rough from sleep.

“An hour.”

You nodded, blinking up at him. The room was still dim, washed in that early blue light that made everything soft but his features had already started to steel with focus. He was sliding out of bed, grabbing his go-bag from the closet. Efficient. Distant, in that way he got when the case was already unfolding in his head. You watched him pack. Watched him tuck his badge into one pocket, a fresh stack of books into another. Watched the little rituals of departure that had started to sting less over time but never stopped completely.

He came back over when he was done, still in his socks,and leaned over to kiss your forehead. You caught his hand in yours before he could move away. “Be safe.”

“I will,” he promised. “And I’ll text you when we land.”

You nodded. He leaned closer again, brushing your nose with his and letting your hands settle on his chest. You knew he wanted to say more. You felt it in the pause. Instead he just kissed you, warm and lingering then pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Be good for me, okay?”

You smiled faintly. “Always.” The door clicked shut behind him a few minutes later. And then the apartment was quiet. You tried to keep yourself busy that first day. Made a list of errands. Washed the sheets, even though they didn’t really need it. Wore one of his sweatshirts that swallowed you whole and curled up on the couch with a book you weren’t really reading.

You checked your phone too often. Not because he didn’t message— he did. Regularly. Brief updates, a photo of a diner menu he thought was funny, a note about the hotel being gross. But none of it really felt like him. Not the version of him you missed. The one whose fingers threaded through your hair when he passed behind you, who always curled around you like a warm, steady anchor in the middle of the night. By the second day, you were counting the hours.

You weren’t sleeping well. The bed felt too big without his weight on one side. You found yourself reaching for him in the middle of the night, half-asleep, only to be met with cold sheets and nothing else.

You missed his voice. Not through the phone but close—near your ear, low and soft and teasing. You missed the warmth of his hand on the back of your neck when he told you things he didn’t say out loud in front of others. You missed the way he looked at you when you were beneath him, his every nerve tuned to your pleasure. By day three, the ache had settled in. Low. Constant. Not just physical—it was emotional too. A kind of restless wanting that curled beneath your skin like heat. It wasn’t just that you missed being touched. You missed being his. You curled tighter under the blankets that night and tried to will yourself to sleep. Tomorrow, you reminded yourself.

He’ll be home tomorrow. Just one more night is all you had to wait. But you couldn’t. You didn’t mean to give in. Not at first. You’d tried to be good. Really, you had. Spencer had only asked one thing before he left and you’d promised him— half-asleep, half-joking but still—you said you’d behave. But something about tonight felt different.

The air was heavier or maybe that was just you. You hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day, skipping from one task to another like your own skin was too tight. No book could hold your attention, no amount of cleaning or music could chase away the dull, steady ache building low in your belly.

It wasn’t just the physical need—it was the absence of him. The lack of his touch, his voice, his quiet presence in the corner of the room. You missed the safety of him. The way he could look at you and make your whole body respond like it had been rewired just for him. You’d gone to bed early just to escape the feeling. Curled up in one of his T-shirts again, still a little damp from the dryer and buried your face in his pillow. It helped. A little. But the ache was still there.

It throbbed between your thighs like a pulse, constant and maddening. You shifted, trying to find a comfortable position but the soft brush of fabric only made things worse. Your breath caught. Your thighs pressed tighter. And still nothing eased it. You bit your lip and rolled onto your back. The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of the city filtering through the blinds. For a while, you stared at the ceiling. Then you turned your head to the empty space beside you on the bed. Your hand drifted into your bedside table before you could think better of it.

You found it easily—the small, familiar shape of the vibrator you kept there. Just in case. Not for when Spencer was away but for when he was gone for the long ones. The ones that hurt. But this hurt too, didn’t it? You hesitated, fingers curling around it.

Spencer wouldn’t want you to suffer. He wasn’t cruel. He was gentle. Attentive. He cared about your pleasure—his own pleasure was practically tethered to yours. He got off when you did but it was never about denial for denial’s sake. Still— he’d told you to be good. You swallowed. You turned the toy on, just the lowest setting and slid it between your thighs.

You hissed at the contact—so sharp, so sudden after all that buildup. You’d soaked through your underwear without even realizing it. The vibration was almost too much right away but your body reacted like it had been waiting for this exact moment, already half-undone. You pushed your panties aside and let the toy rest directly against your clit, your hips lifting instinctively. You barely had to move. The pleasure struck you so fast and so deep you gasped, one hand fisting in the sheets. In your mind, it wasn’t your hand. It was his. The toy became his fingers, slow and clever and patient. His mouth, warm and insistent. You imagined him on his knees at the foot of the bed, one hand pressed to your stomach to keep you still, his voice low and pleased. “That’s it. Just like that, baby. Let me hear you.”

A quiet moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it. You bit down on your fist and forced your eyes shut. You didn’t want to hold back. You were already close—too close. The edge was coming fast, your thighs trembling around the toy as your hips rocked harder, chasing it. You needed this. Just this. Just once. The muscles in your stomach started to tighten. You pressed the vibrator harder, arching your back, mouth falling open as your breath hitched. The front door opened. A soft click. Your body froze.

No no no no no. You scrambled to shut off the toy but your hands were shaking and the sound it made as you fumbled with it—that was what gave you away. The telltale, traitorous hum. Still half on. Still slick in your hand.

“Baby?”

His voice. You whipped your head toward the door in horror, breath caught in your throat. Footsteps. You didn’t even have time to throw the toy or bury it in the sheets before the bedroom door creaked open. Spencer stood in the doorway, travel-worn and windblown. His waves were a little messy, jacket still on. But his eyes moved fast. First to you. Then to your hand. Then to the vibrator. Then back up to your face. Silence.

The only sound was your own ragged breathing, the soft whirring of the toy still pulsing faintly in your palm. Spencer arched an eyebrow, and his voice came low. Unmistakably calm. Quiet.

“Did I not tell you to be good?”

Your lips parted but nothing came out. Your heart was still slamming against your ribs, face burning hot as the vibrator finally stilled in your hand. Spencer stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. You sat up, pulling your knees toward your chest. Your way of trying to hide the evidence even though it was too late.

“I—” you started but his eyes flicked down to your thighs.

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at you. Like he was studying you. You couldn’t read his expression. It was neutral, quiet, unreadable but there was something simmering under the surface. Something restrained. Spencer shrugged off his jacket and set it neatly on the back of the chair. He didn’t say a word.

“I didn’t think you’d be back tonight,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly, toeing off his shoes. “Clearly.” There was no anger. No raised voice. Just that maddening calm, the kind that made your stomach twist. He stepped closer. You clenched your thighs. You were so suddenly aware of how soaked you still were, how sensitive. You could still feel the phantom vibrations ghosting along your clit. And his eyes caught every detail.

“You said you’d be good,” he murmured, stopping at the edge of the bed. “I believed you.”

“I tried,” you said, your voice a little desperate now. “I did.”

“Tried?” he repeated, arching a brow. “That what this is?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The silence that followed was heavy. Just when you thought he might scold you, he hummed thoughtfully and reached for you. You blinked. His hands closed around your ankles and gently tugged. You didn’t resist— couldn’t really and let him pull you toward the edge of the bed until your legs dangled over, spread just enough for him to settle between them. He sank to his knees. Your breath hitched.

“I should be mad,” he said while tilting his head, hands stroking slowly up your calves. “I told you not to touch yourself, baby. And you promised.”

You nodded, throat tight. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just leaned in and kissed your inner thigh. It was soft, open-mouthed, dragging his lips over the heated skin until your body shivered. His hands held you firm by the hips, not hurting, but inescapable. Your thighs threatened to close but he nudged them apart again without a word.

“You wanted to come so bad you couldn’t wait for me?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

A small, quiet laugh left him. Not cruel but just amused. Dark. “I see.” And then without another word he leaned in and licked you. You gasped, fingers clenching in the sheets. His tongue was slow, teasing, not rough or punishing, just deliberate. Focused. Like he had all the time in the world and every intention of taking it. Your hips arched into his mouth and he let you move, his arms looping under your thighs to hold you steady. His tongue circled your clit then dragged down to your entrance, tasting you with reverent hunger.

You whimpered. He hummed low in his throat and the vibration made your whole body jolt. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped from your lips, hands flying to his hair and fingers curling in his curls. He let you pull—encouraged it even but stayed in full control. His pace was agonizing. Every time you started to climb, his tongue slowed. Every time your hips bucked, he held you down. His lips sealed over you and sucked softly, pulling a sharp cry from your throat but he didn’t relent. Not enough. Just enough to keep you at the edge.

“Spence,” you whimpered, breathless. “I’m close—please—”

He didn’t answer. Just kept going. Unbothered, relentless. Like this was his reward, not yours. Like your begging didn’t faze him in the slightest. You were trembling now, thighs shaking, the pressure building to the point of pain. You were so close, could feel the heat coiling tight, ready to snap. And then he pulled away. Your entire body seized with a choked cry. You reached for him on instinct, hips chasing the loss, legs trembling.

“No—no, please—”

Spencer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood slowly, his eyes dark and steady as he looked down at you.

“Not yet,” he said calmly. “You don’t get to come just because you want to.”

You blinked up at him, breathless, panting. Your skin was flushed and soaked and aching. He leaned down, brushing a kiss over your cheek, lips just barely brushing your ear.

“You wanted to be bad,” he whispered. “Now you get to wait.”

Your thighs were damp and twitching, your chest heaving with shallow breaths and your clit throbbed with the cruel absence of his mouth. You’d been so close. So close you could taste it and now every nerve in your body was screaming from the denial. Spencer stood over you, his hair falling into his face as he looked down at you. His eyes were unreadable but you could see it in the slight twitch of his jaw. He liked seeing you like this. Flushed. Trembling. Wrecked.

“Still worked up?” he asked softly, brushing his fingertips along your inner thigh. You whimpered and nodded.“Hm.” He let that hum sit in the air as he slipped one hand between your legs again, fingers grazing through the mess he’d left behind. You gasped at just the lightest touch and your hips jerked up, desperate.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Made a mess all over yourself, baby.”

You moaned when he circled your entrance, teasing, not even pushing in.

“Did you think I’d come home and find you sweet and innocent? Tucked in, still aching for me like a good girl?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the sheets. “I—I missed you.”

“I know you missed me,” he said, dragging one finger up your slit, slick and slow. “But I told you to wait. I told you to behave. And instead…” He slid one finger inside you. Your back arched immediately, a helpless cry tearing from your throat. He didn’t give you time to recover. His finger curled inside you, slow and sure, dragging against that spot that made you clench hard around him. You cried out again, hips bucking but he stayed steady— another finger joining the first with no warning.

“Spence—oh my God—” His free hand pressed to your stomach, holding you down firmly.

“That’s better,” he said, voice low. “You’re quiet when you take my fingers. Focused. Needy.”

He started to move them, slow at first. Measured. The stretch was perfect—his fingers always knew exactly where to press, when to curl, how deep to slide. You were already soaked for him and the wet sounds between your legs only made it worse. Made it filthier. Made you needier. You moaned again, louder and he picked up the pace just slightly. Every thrust of his hand drove you closer to the edge, your thighs shaking, toes curling.

“God, please. I’m so close—”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

He twisted his fingers inside you and you sobbed at the pressure. Your walls were fluttering around him already, your whole body wound tight like a thread about to snap. You reached down and grabbed his wrist, not to stop him but to hold on. Anchor yourself to something. Spencer leaned over you slightly, voice right against your cheek.

“You want something more?”

You nodded frantically.

“I don’t think you do,” he said, curling his fingers again. “You’re dripping all over my hand just from this.”

“I want you,” you gasped, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “Please—I want you—”

“You have me.”

“No. I want you—your cock. Spence please—”

He stilled his hand. Just for a second.“What was that?”

You whimpered. You were squirming under him, so close it hurt. “I need you inside me. Please, Spence. I’ll be good—please.”

He smiled. There it was. That edge of satisfaction that came when he knew you were saying exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You’re not gonna come on my fingers,” he murmured. You whimpered again but he didn’t budge. Instead, he slipped his fingers out slowly and brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean like he had all the time in the world. Then he leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was hungry and deep. Making you taste yourself. Your arousal. When he pulled away, he looked you straight in the eye.

“Roll over,” he said, voice calm and final.

You rolled over so fast your limbs tangled in the sheets. Spencer didn’t laugh but you heard it in his breath. Felt it in the way his hands slid up your hips, grounding you in place. The air was thick and hot around you. Your skin flushed, your thighs still trembling from his fingers. You hadn’t come. But you would. You had to. You heard him move behind you— clothes shifting, belt unbuckling. It felt like forever. The drag of anticipation. The sound of him unzipping. The quiet rustle as he pushed his pants down. Then the weight of him settled behind you, pressing close.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing your hair away from your neck. “Lying so still for me now.” You whimpered when you felt his cock nudge between your thighs—thick and hard, sliding through your wetness, unhurried. He didn’t push in. Not yet.

“I haven’t even touched you properly,” he said softly, almost like he was marveling at it. “One taste, a few fingers and you’re already this desperate?”

“Spence…”

“Shh.” His hand slid up your back. Then back down, tracing your spine like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You’ll come when I say,” he whispered, lining himself up at your entrance. And then he pushed in. You moaned loud and broken, your body stretching around him with aching pressure. He went in all the way on the first stroke, bottoming out with a low groan that buzzed straight through your skin.

“God, baby…” He stayed still for a moment, letting you feel every inch. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, and he hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You couldn’t speak. You were too full, too overwhelmed, too wrecked by everything that came before. Your body shook beneath him, already aching for more. He pulled back. Then thrust in hard. You cried out so loud it echoed in the room and he did it again, slow, then rough, setting a rhythm that made your knees buckle beneath you. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Didn’t give you a second to breathe. Just kept fucking into you with firm, deliberate strokes, the slap of skin against skin growing louder, wetter, filthier. His hand curled around your throat, holding you there and he pulled you up to bring his mouth to your ear.

“Feel that?”

You moaned, nodding frantically.

“That’s what you needed, isn’t it? Not your little toy. This.”

“Yes—yes.”

He grunted softly, his rhythm shifting—slower now, deeper, dragging each thrust until you sobbed. You bit your lip, whimpering, your body already on fire. You could feel it building, hot and coiled and devastating, your orgasm crawling closer with every thrust.

“Please—please—”

His hand slid down your front and found your clit, rubbing in tight, precise circles. You moaned. Your body jerked so hard he had to press a hand to your lower back to keep you from collapsing completely.

“I said not yet.”

You sobbed, every muscle trembling. He kept going. Fucking you deep and slow, pushing you to that edge and keeping you there, his fingers unrelenting on your clit.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Spence! God—please—”

“Say it.”

“I need it. Need to come—please, I can’t wait.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Come for me.”And you shattered. It hit like a wave—violent and hot and all-consuming. Your body clenched around him, trembling uncontrollably as he held you down and fucked you through it, slow and steady, never letting up. Your scream broke into gasps, sobs, your voice cracking with the force of it. You were gone. Lost. Floating. He didn’t stop until your body sagged in his arms, boneless and twitching.

Only then did he ease out of you carefully. You felt the loss instantly. It was empty and aching—but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Just whimpered as he kissed your back and rubbed slow circles into your hip. He was still hard. Still very much not finished. But he didn’t say anything about that yet. Instead he leaned close, voice a whisper against your ear. “That’s one.”

Your body was limp. Still trembling. Still twitching. The sheets were tangled around your legs, your cheek pressed into the mattress, slick and flushed and boneless from the orgasm he let you have. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, heart still racing, your thighs weak and slick between them. You couldn’t think. Could barely feel. Just the thrum of pleasure lingering in your bones, the warm heaviness of being used and wanted. But Spencer wasn’t done.

You felt him behind you—still hard, still pressed against your backside, still calm as ever. You tried to speak, to catch your breath but then you felt his hand curl around your hip again.

“Don’t tense,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your spine. “You can take more.”

Your heart skipped.

“Spence, I dunno if I can…”

“You will,” he said, shifting your hips slightly. “You’re still dripping for me.”

You didn’t have time to protest—before he slid back inside you. Your whole body jolted. It wasn’t pain, not really. But it was sharp—intense. A shock of sensation that made your legs flinch and your voice catch in your throat. He groaned softly above you.

“Still so tight,” he breathed. “Still clenching like you want more.”

You moaned, helpless. You were clenching—your body reacting on instinct, even as your brain begged for a break. He didn’t give you one. His pace was slow at first, dragging every inch of him along your still-sensitive walls. You whimpered, every nerve on fire again, every brush of friction setting off sparks.

“Can’t,” you gasped, barely audible. “It’s too much—”

“Yes you can,” he said, thrusting deeper. “Thought you wanted it?”

His hand slid between your legs again. Two fingers found your clit, swollen and soaked and rubbed in tight, steady circles. You cried out. Your whole body arched off the bed as he thrust deep and circled that overstimulated bundle of nerves, giving you no relief. His touch wasn’t fast—it was precise, measured, maddening. Designed to drag every last ounce of pleasure out of you whether you could take it or not.

“Spence—Spence, please—”

“You’re taking it,” he said, panting now. “You’re gonna come again. Right on my cock.”

You couldn’t breathe. He fucked you deeper, faster, pressing harder on your clit, every stroke knocking the breath from your lungs. You were so sensitive but your body betrayed you anyway. You felt it building again, that second high climbing fast, burning hot behind your ribs.

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice shaking now. “Tell me it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” you choked. “All yours Spence, I’m gonna come. Please—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. His cock hit just right, his fingers unrelenting.

“Do it.”

And then you broke again. It hit even harder this time—sharper, deeper. Your vision blurred, your hands clawing at the sheets as your whole body convulsed around him. You screamed his name as your orgasm crashed through you, raw and overwhelming, your cunt clenching so tight around him it dragged a groan from his throat.

He fucked you through it—still deep, still steady—his breathing ragged now, hand braced on your lower back to keep you down as you writhed under him.

You felt him twitch inside you. And then he finally pulled out with a sharp gasp. You barely registered the sound of him stroking himself behind you—just the wet, fast rhythm of his hand and the broken curse that spilled from his mouth as he came. Hot, thick spurts across your lower back, warm and messy, his breath stuttering above you. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just lay there, boneless and wrecked, soaked and shaking, your chest pressed to the bed as Spencer caught his breath behind you.

His hand ran down your spine again. Gentle. Soft. “You did so good,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “So fucking good for me.”

[churipu]

CALLING THEM "BRO" ₊˚⊹

featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, toji fushiguro x reader

warnings. none

note. yes, bro

GOJO SATORU. thought he had misheard you the first time, but when you did it again, he was pretty offended — would start to wonder what he did wrong for a while, and thought that maybe you had a little slip up. but when you didn't stop for the next few times, he gets so annoyed, because who do you think you are to call him "bro"?

"bro, look at that cake, it's so cute." you tell him nonchalantly, pointing at the display window of a small dessert bar you both were passing by.

"what?" he asks, wondering if he had heard right.

"bro, what?"

"baby, who are you calling bro?" gojo grunts out, stepping away from you — and when you disregarded his question by using another "bro", gojo just drops everything and gets so pissy.

"bro. of course i'm talking to you?" you answered him innocently, still eyeing the cake.

"baby, is this your way of asking me for a break up? because i'm not going to accept that, and we're not going to break up," he whines, pulling you into his embrace, "stop calling me bro, what happened to calling me "baby", or "handsome", or "toru"?" he buries his head into your shoulder.

"i'm kidding, 'toru." you brushed his hair.

"i don't like that, don't ever call me bro again." he murmurs, kissing your cheek, nipping on the flesh lightly.

NANAMI KENTO. nanami is a calm man — he says nothing the first time he heard the word "bro" escape your mouth. squeezing your hand lightly, he figured that you might have just had a mix up with your other slangs.

"what do you want to eat for dinner, bro?" you ask the male who was standing in line beside you; as you both wait for people in front of you to order their food.

nanami stares you down, blinking his eyes slowly before looking towards the menu, "everything looks delicious, what are you having, darling?"

one darling. was almost the end game for you — but you're a strong-willed person, and you were not backing down unless nanami had given out a strong reaction to the word "bro".

"i was thinking the . . . gyūdon, looks delicious, bro."

nanami spared another look at you, "is there a reason why you're calling me 'bro', bro." he said, arching a brow.

now it was your turn to blink at him, not expecting him to be up into the game with you — laughing lightly, you squeezed his hand tightly, "i was trying to get a reaction out of you, kento."

"i prefer the term 'honey' or 'sweetheart', but bro works too, i suppose." he smiles lightly, pulling you close to him as the both of you got closer to the cashier.

if it makes you happy; he'd even let you call him bro.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. this guy. immediately hates the sound of "bro" rolling over your tongue instead of the word "baby" like the usual. he will be silent — and will stare at you from across the room, beside you, wherever he currently is to make sure his ear was not deceiving him at the moment.

"hey, bro. do you think you could pass the comic book to me?" toji's eyes immediately darts to you, arching his brow and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"what did you just say?" he asks slowly, sitting straight up.

"pass the comic book to me?" you replied, "bro. just pass me the damn comic book."

he grabs your chin, tilting your head towards him, "say that again?" he asks, his eyes blinking slowly — maintaining a deep gaze with your e/c eyes.

"baby, can you pass me the comic book?" you finally dropped the act, your cheeks hurting from trying to suppress a smile from appearing (which you were failing at), "please?"

toji lets go of your chin and grabbed the comic book, "don't ever call me that again, y'hear me?" he rolled his eyes, sloppily kissing your lips as he passes the comic book to your grasp.

"depends on my mood."

"you're insufferable." toji clicked his tongue with a small smile.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[seulgisqt]

𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 — ona batlle

ona batlle x barça!reader

(a/n: I don’t know what this is but I enjoyed writing it ijbol, a lot of dialogue and very much written from ona’s perspective (no use of ‘I’ though dw), wanted to expand but I felt that it was gonna be long winded yk, but I hope you enjoy this short read ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎)

word count: 1104

genre: fluff

summary: she came back to Barcelona for football, but staying for her neighbour doesn’t seem like a bad idea either.

Ona placed the last box on the floor with a satisfied sigh, hands on her hips as she surveyed her new apartment. The place smelled like fresh paint and new beginnings, as the sunlight poured through the wide balcony doors, illuminating the scattered boxes that still needed unpacking. It was nothing fancy, just a cosy space close to the training grounds, but hers nonetheless.

Finally, back in Barcelona.

Finally, home.

She had barely taken a sip of water when she heard movement outside. A key turning in a lock. The soft shuffle of footsteps. Curious, Ona set down her bottle and stepped towards the door, peeking into the hallway just as her new neighbour came into view.

That was when she saw you.

A familiar face, too familiar. She played against you plenty of times, but never together. You had been with Barça for years, a key piece in their midfield, known for your precision and cool-headed control of the game. Ona had always admired you from a distance, but you had never been the type to indulge in small talk or casual friendships.

Still, you were standing right there, juggling two grocery bags in one hand and your keys in the other.

Ona took the opening.

“Hey, neighbour.”

Your head tilted ever so slightly, and your piercing gaze swept over Ona, lingering momentarily on her features, her hair was dishevelled, with a pink flush across her cheeks. Ona felt a flutter of apprehension, preparing for the customary polite but detached reply that often accompanied such encounters.

But then—

“You finally made it,” you said, your voice low and steady, holding an unexpected warmth.

Ona blinked in surprise, her heart quickening. “You knew I was moving in?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

“It’s been a rumour in the locker room for weeks.”

That made Ona laugh. “Guess I can’t surprise anyone then.”

You didn't laugh, but there was a small shift in your expression–just the tiniest quirk of your lips. Despite yourself, you were amused. Turning back to your door, you unlock it smoothly. Ona expected that to be the end of the conversation, but just as you pushed the door open, you hesitated.

Then, without looking up, you asked, “Have you eaten?”

Ona tilted her head. “Not since this morning.”

You exhaled through your nose, almost like you had expected that answer. “There’s a great tapas place down the street.” A brief pause. “If you want, I can show you.”

Ona raised an eyebrow, intrigue sparking in her gaze. “Like a welcome dinner?”

“Something akin to that,” you replied, a subtle smile teasing at the corners of your lips as you propped the door open with your foot, allowing the cool breeze to flutter in.

The invitation caught her off guard, but Ona's adventurous spirit wouldn’t let her decline. “Just give me five minutes,” she said, a playful grin spreading across her face. You nodded in agreement, feeling her eyes linger on you as you slipped into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself nestled at a small corner table in a bustling, dimly lit restaurant, only a stroll from your building. The ambience was infused with a gentle warmth and laughter that wrapped around you like a welcoming embrace, hinting at the delightful familiarity of the place. It was clear this gem was a beloved haunt among locals, its charm radiating from the rustic decor and the savoury aromas wafting from the kitchen, promising a cosy evening ahead.

“You come here a lot?” Ona asked, eyeing the menu.

You leaned back in your chair, fiddling with your fork. “It’s quiet. Good food.” Keeping it short and sweet.

Ona smirked. “You don’t like noise?”

“I like peace,” you corrected, taking a sip of water.

The brunette regarded you for a moment, a spark of curiosity flickering in her eyes. You stood there, composed and unshakeable, radiating the same cool confidence that you exuded on the pitch. There was an undeniable allure in your serene demeanour that made it difficult for her to look away.

“So,” Ona began, her voice laced with playful intrigue, “what’s with the sudden friendliness towards the new neighbour? I thought you had a reputation for being the chilly one.”

A wry smile graced your lips as you shot her a flat glance. “I’m not cold.”

She lifted an eyebrow, leaning in with a teasing smirk, her chin cradled in her hand. “You might want to reconsider that. People do call you cold, you know.”

You let out a soft huff, a dismissive shake of your head. “People talk too much.”

Ona leaned back slightly, her smile widening. “But here you are. With me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘cold.’”

“You’re persistent.” You exhaled through your nose.

Almost a laugh—but not quite, the defender thought.

“You’ll get used to it.” Ons shrugged, eyes gleaming.

The waiter arrived before you could respond, setting down plates of patatas bravas, croquetas, and pan con tomate. Ona reached for a croqueta first, humming in approval as she took a bite.

“You were right,” she said, mouth still half-full. “This place is good.”

You gave her a knowing look. “Told you.”

The conversation flowed much easier as the evening went on. You didn’t say much, but when you did, your words were deliberate and thoughtful. Ona found herself drawn to it—the way you listened, to the rare flickers of amusement in your dark eyes when she said something particularly ridiculous.

By the time you two left the restaurant, the city fell into its nighttime rhythm. The streets were quieter, lights casting a golden glow against the pavement.

The silence was comfortable as you both walked back towards your apartment building. Ona peeked at you, hands tucked in her pockets. “You know, I think I’m going to like it here.”

You glanced at her briefly before looking ahead again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ona nodded, smiling.

You hesitated before responding, but in that fleeting moment, Ona noticed a shift in your gaze. There was a newfound warmth, a subtle softness that enveloped your expression like a gentle breeze. It was almost imperceptible, yet it carried an unspoken understanding that caught her off guard.

“You’re not so bad, Batlle.” You murmured.

Ona chuckled. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

You shook your head, but this time, there was no mistaking the quiet smile that tugged your lips.

Maybe moving back to Barcelona wasn’t about coming home.

Maybe, just maybe, it was about finding something new.

Or someone.

[sakumz]

lemon meringue tart with vanilla latte for nagumo? 🙏🏻🙏🏻

a/n : this feels long...

____________________________________________

[ n. yoichi x reader ]

____________________________________________

if looks could kill, you were sure he'd disintegrate ? yk like dust in the wind...

you rub your temples hard as you let out an angry sigh. you were tasked to take out the all too annoyingly popular, definitely not handsome black haired assassin, nagumo yoichi. you were tasked by someone mysterious, said you'd get a big bonus out of it. you could retire once the job is done! the only catch is that you'd have to kill him quietly so as to not get suspicious from his other connections. you'd die immediately if they found out anyways.

it's been months since the assignment. your plan to take the daylights out of him was to befriend, get into order and then kill. it isn't hard was it?

wrong! it was so very wrong. sure you've heard of this method being a big big flop from your co workers. yotsumura's late wife married to kill him, only to die instead but this method was meant to break your opponent's mentality too, isn't it? you don't just hurt them physically but mentally too and again if you planned well maybe you could easily get away from it. who would blame you if you went on a date and the tsunami came and drowned your date, nagumo? or if a hit and run thing happened to him...

snapping out of your thoughts, you shake your head and hide your face behind the menu, you were holding. nagumo lets out a hearty laugh at your antics.

" congratulations on becoming an order member! " he cheers, raising his glass of whiskey to you before downing it straight.

" thanks, " you reply monotonously, pushing the glass he offered you earlier away.

" well, I'm glad we can work more often than ever together! we can make use of the expenses they give when you go on missions and spend on dates, isn't that lovely? " his annoying voice blabbers on and on, you can't help but grab and break the bottle of whiskey on the counter. raising the shard end to his face as he lets out another hearty chuckle, putting his hands up in defense.

" this is a funny joke, " he laughs, your face contouring into anger as an irk mark makes its presence known.

" shut your trap. " you push the broken bottle closer to his face.

" ahem I mean, sure I'd love to go on dates with you, I'm kinda tired right now, so I'll take my leave first... and I'll do something to make up for the broken bottle, " you laugh it off, he shakes his head as he smiles and bid you farewell.

you nearly blew your cover with how annoying he pisses you off!

nagumo taps his finger on the bar, reminiscing how'd you look in that dress earlier on. his mind goes back to what shishiba told him the other day. rumours about an assassin coming to kill him. he scoffs, maybe the rumours were true and he's figure out who that person is. as much as he loves pissing you off, he hates the thought of dying right now. he's busy with the order on its own and to add on with helping sakamoto with his bounty problem and the whole x ordeal, he doesn't have time for you. he laughs bitterly at himself, maybe the god of death really hates him so much.

out on a mission with nagumo, shishiba and osaragi, you weren't expecting to get attack this quickly on the boat.

" move! " you hear shishiba calls, pushing you down with his body on top of yours.

chorus of gun shots following as osaragi swings her weapon but to no avail fails to hit anyone. you click your tongue in annoyance, pushing the blonde off and eyeing at the culprit. nagumo just so happens to stand in front of your field of vision. moving to grab the nearest object, a chair, you swing hard to throw at the culprit. the chair flew past nagumo's head with a gush of wind blowing at him from the momentum of the swing. the culprit falls after and peace was back.

" what a hit, " you hear shishiba says, followed by small applause from osaragi.

" you nearly killed me! " nagumo scolds, grabbing your hand as you slap his hand away.

" I saved you, you mean. " you smile with triumph.

" you heard her, " shishiba pats nagumo's shoulder.

that was the start of your falling plan. nagumo definitely caught on to your mission. he refused to join any missions with you on board after. he knows he can kill you but he hates that his heart beats against his chest, the moment you bat an eye at him. every meeting, why does he feel hot when you open your mouth to speak or when your gaze lingers a little longer on him. why does he feel like killing the person who makes contact with you? or when you flash a smile at them? why do you still scowl at him when you catch his gaze? you were supposed to kill him but after that day, you never stand anywhere closer to him.

" y/n. " he calls all cooly as he approached you in the room, you just coloured in blood with the dead bodies around you, he stands behind you. he knows he shouldn't have followed you on this mission, it was assigned by the order and it was pretty easy, killing a group of wanted criminals or something.

turning around swiftly, you pushed him down, pointing the nuzzle of the gun to his head. what a sight, he thinks. your cold glare as you grip his button up shirt, pulling him slightly off the ground.

" what did you do? " you spat as he feigns innocence.

" I don't know? you tell me, " he beams.

" you killed everyone in that organisation including the person who made that request! " you shout, hitting him with your gun. his face turns from the impact, followed by a chorus of laughter.

" there's more to this story, isn't there? " hearing his words, you put your gun down, standing up as you watch him sit himself up properly.

" that person who placed the request, did offer quite a bountiful amount of money but that organisation was planning on using you from the moment they got that request. did you think I'd die an easy death from your hands? you could've died from me too, you know? " you couldn't believe your ears, was what he's saying, true? the organisation you grow your assassination self in, using you? you dirtied your hands for them and the mysterious person, who was it actually? you were paid to do your job so you didn't question anything.

" who's the mysterious person who set that request then? " you didn't mean for your words to quiver. pushing his hair back, he eyes you up and down, closing his eyes and flashing his all to familiar smile.

" your big brother, of course. "

" you're lying, " you shoot your gun at his legs, he quickly stands up, dodging the bullets till you run out.

" he's dead, I saw him die! " you run at him, throwing your gun and pulling a punch towards the man as he easily catches your fist.

" well the organisation was using you, he helped fund it, you know. " you forcefully pull your hand away from his. maybe you don't know anything, blinded by money and the hollowness of losing your family from an early age, killing was everything you know.

" I... " you feel your tears fall, rubbing your hands in your eyes in hopes to stop the tears. he quickly pulls you in for a hug.

" you're free now, " hearing his words, you couldn't help but cry even harder. he opened your eyes, why did it take so long to realize you were being used by the organisation? sure they paid you for doing your job but every mission was meant to lead you to your death one tiny step at a time. it's just... maybe the doors to death, slammed shut at your face?

" but I'm alone again, " you whisper softly, pushing him away with trembling hands.

" no you're not, " he brings your hands to his lips, kissing them and then your lips.

" you have me. " he smiles cheekily, making you blush.

-----

bakery event | orders

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 5: Friday Night In✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I love this story so so much, and this chapter was the best to write 🥹 Joel is so soft for reader 😭 I can’t wait to bring you more of their slow burn journey 🩷

Chapter Summary: It’s just a misty November Friday night in, but Joel’s spending it with you as a movie night.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 5.3k

Chapter Tags: Soft! Joel, protective! Joel, a little angst, lots of fluff and yearning, slow burn, Joel and reader have a movie night, lots of feelings, dual POVs, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is in his late 40’s)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

 It’s just a casual Friday evening in Austin, one where you’re curled up on the couch and Joel’s on the opposite one adjacent to you. It’s become kind of a normal thing, maybe even something you’re comfortable with. Except this time you’re not reading a book, and he doesn’t have a newspaper or his phone in front of him. This time, the flat screen tv is flickering to life in front of you while the fire crackles and pops in the living room. This time, it’s a movie night. Something that he suggested to you first.

   “Why don’t you pick something out? Whatever you like.” He pushes the sleek black remote toward you on the coffee table, and you reach out and take it carefully.

   You slowly thumb through the movie channels, taking your time to read over and assess each title that comes up on the glow of the screen. Some are brand new, ones you’ve never heard of, but a lot of them are movies you’ve seen once upon a time ago. 

   You’ve been wondering what kinds of movies Joel’s into. He’s not usually the type to sit down and watch something. Not that you’ve seen, anyway. Sure, you’ve seen him click through the news a few times, maybe to see the weather report, but you’ve never seen him really sit down to indulge in any sort of show or movie. You wonder if he’s ever been into that. 

   You love movies. Movie nights used to be your favorite thing in the world. It used to be your safe place amongst the chaos at home. A place where you could hide and disappear into the screen for a few hours to escape the noise. You wonder if Joel ever does that when his job gets rough. He needs his own escapes too from the horrors he sees from his line of work. You wonder what brings Joel Miller peace. You have a feeling it used to be his guitar. The one he never plays anymore…

   Going back up the list, you pause when you see Gone with the Wind. That was always one of your favorites. One you’d keep going back to. You’d play it so many times that the DVD player eventually quit reading the scratched-up disk. It’s been such a long time since you got to watch it. So, so long.

   “You wanna watch that one?” Joel asks from the other leather couch. 

   You tap your thumb against the edge of the remote, nervously looking at him as if he’ll walk right out of the room if you say yes. It’s a romantic movie. Joel won’t want to watch that, would he?

   “Yes, if that’s okay with you. You can tell me if you don’t want to.” You flick your eyes back to him, watching as he leans back against the leather, one leg thrown over his knee, big arms crossed over his chest, pulling at the red flannel he has on. But he’s not frowning, he’s smiling. 

   “Sweetheart, I told you I’d let you pick. We can watch whatever you want. If you wanna watch Gone with the Wind, then that’s what we’ll watch. I meant it when I said whatever you want.” His kind brown eyes say the same. Whatever you want.

   You pull the wool blanket over your lap and click on the title, hovering over the play button as Rhett and Scarlett appear on the main menu. You glance back over to Joel and ask him once more, “You sure?”

   “Positive,” he answers automatically.

   “Okay then, Gone with the Wind it is.” As you tap on the start button, the movie comes to life instantly, playing back that old theme song that’s been ingrained in your brain all these years. A little spark of joy ignites in your mind. It’s like you’re back in your old bedroom, having a movie night with just yourself. Except now you have Joel.

   “Ya know, this isn’t my first time watchin’ this.”

   Your head snaps in his direction at his response. “You’ve watched this before?”

   “Once or twice,” he chuckles.

   “Twice?” you gawk, mouth open as if he just said pink was his favorite color.

   “What?” he laughs. “A guy can’t watch romance movies?”

   “Oh, no. Of course they can. I just didn’t pin you as a romantic movie type.”

   He shrugs and smiles. “Well, guess there’s still some things you don’t know about me, sweetheart.”

   “Guess you’re right.” Your eyes fall back on the colorful screen as the opening scene takes place. But you can’t quite shake what he just said. 

   After a few minutes of silence, except for the crackle of the fireplace and the voices on the screen, you say something a bit out of character. “I’d like to know.”

   “Hmm?” 

   You clear your throat and faintly turn your head toward him, afraid if you look him dead in the eyes you’ll chicken out. “I umm… I’d like to get to know you more, I mean.”

   He gives you an easy smile, one that tugs at the corners of his lips and makes his eyes sparkle. It makes your heart stop for a second. “That can be arranged, angel.”

   Angel. There’s that nickname again. One that sends your heart soaring out the window. 

   You turn back to the tv and readjust your position, pulling your knees against your chest and biting down on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay. God, you hope you’re not blushing. You’re definitely blushing. 

   You’re not just falling for Joel Miller. You’re crashing and colliding into the unknown. Forget airbags, they’d be no use to you now. He’s… perfect. 

   As Scarlett flashes across the screen, Joel scoots to the edge of the couch, grabbing your attention. “You want some popcorn?”

   “Only if you put extra butter on it for me.” 

   He chuckles a breathy laugh and shakes his head. “How’d I know you were gonna ask for that?”

   Shrugging your shoulders innocently, a shy smile curls across your lips. “Guess you just read me well.”

   He ticks his jaw and stares at you a second, a look like he is reading you. You don’t know why, but it makes butterflies flit through the pit of your stomach. “That I do. And ‘course, extra buttery popcorn comin’ right up for you, sweetheart. Let me go get it started.” He exits the room, taking his woodsy scent with him. 

   You fiddle with your bottom lip, focusing back on the colorful scenes on the screen, but all you’re really thinking about is how Joel is in the other room, making popcorn for the two of you. Going as far as getting you extra butter. But he’s always like that. Always going that extra mile to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of. 

   He’s an acts of service kind of man. You see that now. Not just with you but with everyone. Even with all the girls he’s saved or his daughter or just someone he cares about. And that in itself tells you enough. He’s kind and caring, more so than you ever expected him to be. And somehow, he still surprises you every day.

   He slips back into the living room, two full glasses of water in hand, and then he’s setting one down on the coffee table in front of you. “Here ya go, sweetheart. Figured you’d need some water.”

   You reach out to take a swig and give him a smile after you swallow. “Like I said. Always think of everything, don’t you?” He only chuckles and takes a sip from his own glass, and then he’s sitting against the back of the couch, just waiting for the popcorn to be done cooking.

   A moment of silence slips across the room, only the low murmurs of voices floating through the speakers. You have this inkling in your chest to tell him something personal, something from your childhood. So, you do. “I used to love Friday nights. I’d always run home after school to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And then I’d stay up way too late watching old black and white romance movies. Sometimes I’d stay up the entire night and then pass out for half the day Saturday.”

   He rakes a hand over his dark scruff, eyes falling back on you as he chuckles. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer, huh? Sarah used to beg me to buy her the DVDs.”

   “Well, she’s got good taste.”

   He stretches his arms behind his head, adjusting his position on the leather. One leg crossed over the other, completely at ease in his own house. “Wasn’t half bad a show, actually.”

   “It was the best,” you confirm.

   He takes a good look at you, stretching his smile wider as one of his hands laces through his tousled locks. “So, you really like movies then?”

   “Mmm. I guess you could call it a safe haven. At least, it was for me.” You pause for a minute, watch his eyebrows knit as he registers the pain behind your eyes. “Mom and dad used to fight a lot. Sometimes all day long. So I kinda fell into a habit of locking myself in the bedroom with the tv turned up loud enough where I couldn’t hear them. It was either that or stay at a friend’s house.”

   He watches you carefully, his jaw twitching while he thinks before he speaks. “M’sorry ‘bout your parents, sweetheart.”

   You brush it off like it’s nothing. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

   “I’m also sorry for how you lost them,” he says slowly, like he’s watching you walk across a frozen lake that might open up and swallow you whole.

   Your eyes drop to the leather couch, fingers flexing around the warm wool blanket. If you don’t hold on to something, you might just fall through that icy lake that’s now cracking beneath you. “I lost them way before they died. Like I said, I’m used to being alone. Or I was…” You fight to hold in the tears. Instead of letting them go, you swallow them down and act like they were never there in the first place.

   Joel’s soft drawl makes you pull your eyes back up to him. And when you look into those caramel pools, you feel a sob get lodged in your throat. “Doesn’t add up to much, but you’ve got me now. Ya know, if you need me. You’re not alone anymore,” he murmurs quietly. You fear you’ll always need him now.

   You force out a smile, giving him the best one you can conjure up when you feel like you’re in pieces. “And that means the world to me, Joel.” He smiles in response and lets his gaze shift back to the movie that’s playing across the flat screen.

   Your imagination starts to tick in your mind, thoughts of Joel’s family suddenly flashing like a scene through the wires in your brain. Are his parents still around?

   Darting your tongue across your bottom lip, you look back over his way and ask what’s on your mind. “Do you still see your parents?”

   His fingers flex around the leather as he cautiously looks up at you. “My dad moved up to Colorado to start a tree farm a few years ago. I see him when I can, but it’s not often. Not like when he used to live here. He calls a lot, so we do talk frequently. But it’s been a few months since I’ve seen him. And my mom…” He pauses for a beat, and you don’t miss that sparkle of a held back tear shimmer in his eye against the muted lighting. “She… she died of cancer right before Sarah was born.”

   The room is suddenly heavier as you digest the information, letting it hit you right in the heart where it hurts most. “Joel… I’m so sorry. That must’ve been an awful thing to go through.” 

   He nods slowly with heavy eyes. “It was. I really could’ve used her help with Sarah ‘cause her… Well, Sarah’s mom walked out on us about a month after Sarah was born.”

   Your eyes blow wide, and there’s nothing you can say to take that kind of pain away. You’re stunned in place. How could anyone ever leave him? 

   Shifting in your seat, you give him your most sincere, apologetic look you can muster up. “Oh, that’s… Joel. I don’t even know what to say.”

   He gives you a sad smile and shakes his head like he’s fine, but he’s not fine. You can see it deep in his brown eyes. “S’okay. You don’t gotta say anything. Happened a long time ago. And she never wanted to be a mother, so I should’ve known she’d do that. Still hurt like hell, but I was more torn apart for Sarah ‘cause she never got to have a mother, and she deserved one. She deserved a good mother.”

   And Joel deserved someone that loved him right…

   You pause and then whisper across the room, “If it’s any consolation, I think she has the best dad.”

   “Best dad, huh?” he chuckles out with his head cocked in question. The little sparkle in his brown eyes makes your heart stop for a beat. 

   You nod in agreement. “The very best. Even though I haven’t met Sarah, I know you love her very much. And from what you tell me, I know she loves you more than life itself.” 

   A warm smile cracks over his lips. “She is my world, and I do love her more than anything. Guess she’s kinda kept me in one piece all these years. Her and Tommy...”

   “She’s lucky then. Not everyone gets a loving father or just family in general.” Your eyes fall to the ground, locking on a tiny scratch that could have easily been missed by the naked eye. You just stare until your mind blurs together, until you forget exactly how badly your heart still hurts from your childhood. 

   Joel’s low timbre shakes you from past memories. Memories you don’t want to relive. “Sweetheart, I—” The faint beeping from the microwave interrupts his sentence, and you don’t dare let him finish. 

   “The popcorn’s done,” you breathe out, finally having the nerve to look up into those concerned pools of honey.

   “Right…” He looks at you for a beat like he wants to say something else, but he leaves it alone, and then he pushes himself up with a grunt. “Be right back.” He disappears into the other room, leaving you alone with the flickering tv screen and the lit sandalwood candle in the middle of the coffee table. 

   You get lost in the scene, silently laughing at all the men trying to win Scarlett’s affection. You feel a little lighter, a little less sad than you were mere seconds ago. The cozy wool blanket seems to help ease it away.

   It doesn’t take long to see Joel’s large figure reemerge in the living room. Butter and salt permeate through the air, feeding your hunger for a delicious movie snack. His large hand brushes past your knees and then he sets the bucket of fresh popcorn right in front of the coffee table for you. “Here ya go, sweetheart. Extra butter, jus’ like you like it.”

   You flash a smile his way. “Thanks, Joel.” He gives you a nod as he falls back into the leather of the couch, getting comfortable with a glass of iced water and the comfort of the television.

   Falling into a comfortable silence, you can’t help but keep a smile on your face as the movie plays on. This is actually the most relaxed since you’ve been here. It feels like a normal Friday night. No kidnappings, no auctions, no fears of being taken at any second. It’s just still and peaceful and warm. Like Joel’s big chocolate eyes. 

   As the movie goes on, you sneak a peek over at Joel, watching as he enjoys the film. His knees are spread wide, one hand perched on his thigh, the other resting comfortably on his cheek. He’s got a soft smile curved on his mouth, his eyes almost starry-like as pictures flick across the gold flecks in his eyes. He looks… happy, relaxed, like he’s enjoying this. 

   You get lost in the way his easy laugh floats across the room, get a bit dizzy as he laces his fingers through his salt-and-pepper locks. You’d like to do that one day, maybe. Run your fingers through his curls, let them sink and tangle around the dark strands. You’d like to try your luck when you’re brave enough. You guess you haven’t noticed before, or maybe you were too traumatized by fear. But right now, under the soft lighting of the living room, you realize he’s so beautiful. Inside and out. He’s perfect. 

   Joel breaks his contact from the tv and looks over in your direction. Like a mouse caught in a trap, you’ve just been caught red handed gawking at the very essence of him. Your cheeks flush red from being caught. Snapping your eyes right back to the television, you pretend you weren’t just caught in the spotlight. But there he is out of the corner of your eye chuckling under his breath. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing to be found out.

   A few moments later, the urge for more salty goodness draws you to the popcorn bucket. You reach over, eyes still on the lit-up screen, and just as you slip your hand into the bucket, your fingers meet the back of a strong, calloused hand. Gasping, you snatch your arm back and break the connection of warm skin on skin. “Sorry,” you say hurriedly, apologizing for the meet of hands. 

   He lets out a soft chuckle and reels his hand back, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “S’alright. I don’t bite,” he smirks. And just by the flash of that mischievous smirk, your cheeks are painted crimson once again. 

   You fall back into a comfortable silence, but you can’t seem to stop thinking about how warm his hand was. Calloused and rough, but it felt… good. You secretly hope your hands meet again. Maybe you’d let yours linger a little longer this time. 

   The deep sound of Joel clearing his throat makes you turn toward him. “Ya know, if you wanted to, we could make movie night a weekly thing.”

   A hopeful smile stretches over your mouth. “You’d want to do that?” 

   He shrugs and grins. “Why not? I like movies and popcorn. And besides, I’m in good company.”

   He’s in good company. He likes watching movies with you. He likes spending time with you. Wait. He likes spending time with you?

   You let the thought churn in your head, letting it spin a few times to realize this is all real. You want to have movie nights with him. You want to spend more time with him. Maybe… maybe you like him too. “Okay. I’d like that a lot,” you smile just as you take a sip of cold water from your glass.

   “Friday nights work for you?” he asks. “Or would another night be better?”

   “Fridays are perfect.”

   “Looks like it’s settled then,” he smiles, crossing his arms behind his head, comfortably glancing over at you.  “I’ll write it on the calendar. Mark it in ink.”

   Mark it in ink. Permanent ink.

   Joel leans into the plush of the leather, legs spread comfortably, his palm gliding down the scruff of his beard. The tv flickers in the near distance, the fire crackling softly as warmth radiates through the open room. 

   When’s the last time he really sat down to watch a movie? Maybe when Sarah was back home. 

   His eyes trail over to you, not being able to help himself. His breath nearly catches when he sees the smile painted on your pretty mouth. Eyes wide and full of light as you watch the television with your soft blanket thrown across your lap. He’s never seen you look so… alive. 

   That’s it. That’s the word. You look so full of life, which makes a soft smile spread over his mouth, filling him with a warm fuzzy feeling buzzing in the base of his chest. 

   He loves to see it. Eyes sparkling like Christmas lights, hope saturated in your soft glow, hair thrown carefree across your shoulders. You. The perfect reflection of a bottle of hope.

   He’s so soft. Soft like melted marshmallows overflowing in a cup of hot chocolate. And that little flutter he gets in his chest every single time he sees a faint hint of a smile meet your lips makes him lose his balance, makes his axis tilt just a little off center. 

   He’s just so fucking soft... for you.

   Sighing, he lets his fingers drag slowly over his mouth as he watches you instead of the movie. Watching every turn of your head, every curl of your lips, every single fucking thing you do. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you. You’re just so… breathtaking. Not just that. He thinks you’re the most beautiful angel he’s ever seen.

   So fucking beautiful…

   He groans to himself, lets his head fall back so he can close his eyes and clear his racing mind. And through the thick fog, he finds his way back to you and your twinkling eyes. Finds the peace he needs to know you’re safe, you’re healing, and you’re going to be just fine one of these days. 

   For now, you’re safe and comfortable in the comfort of his space. One day you may drift away, might spread your gorgeous wings and fly far, far away. But deep down, he hopes you’ll stay. 

   Please, stay…

   “Joel?” you call, your head turning to look over at him while the movie runs.

   “Hmm?” he hums out, eyes looking into your sparkling ones.

   “Thank you for watching Gone with the Wind with me.” The softest of smiles curls over your pretty lips, making his heart skip a beat.

   He smiles over at you and falls a little more. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” 

   He loves watching movies with you.

   The end credits of the movie start rolling just as the clock strikes one in the morning. He rubs the backs of his hands over his eyes, fighting off a yawn as a wave of tiredness crashes against his body. Leaning forward, he pulls himself up and glances your way. “Sweetheart, that was—” He stops himself the second he sees you passed out, blanket up under your chin, soft breathing leaving your pretty lips. 

   A gentle smile spreads across his lips as if he’s seeing you in a new light. You’re so relaxed, so peaceful. No nightmares, no thrashing in your sleep. Just at ease. A calm serenity that surrounds you like a soft cloud. 

   Even though you look comfortable with your fingers curled around the wool blanket and your head pressed against the leather cushion, he really doesn’t want to leave you on the couch. You’d be more comfortable up in your own bed, tucked into your warm sheets. 

   He slowly makes his way over to you and crouches down to where he’s eye level with you, gently brushing his palm against your shoulder. “Sweetheart?” he asks quietly, hating to wake you up from a deep sleep.

   “Hmm?” you groan out, curling yourself into a ball as you tuck the blanket into the crook of your neck, too tired to open your eyes all the way. 

   “You fell asleep,” he says, voice low so he doesn’t disturb your peace.

   “What? No,” you shake your head, eyes still half closed, denying that you fell asleep. ”I saw the whole thing.”

   He chuckles and cards a hand through his tousled locks while he tries not to think about how adorable you’re being right now. “Afraid you fell asleep somewhere in the last half,” he says, remembering how you kept dozing off little by little as the clock got closer to midnight. 

   “I was still watching,” you pout with a puffy lip as you let out another tired yawn, stretching your arms like a napping cat.

   Christ. You’re adorable.

   “Oh, still watching, hm? Then how come your eyes were closed?” he chuckles softly.

   You grab for the remote but miss it by mere inches. “Just turn it back on. I’ll watch what I missed.”

   He clicks his tongue and grins from ear to ear. “Nuh-uh. It’s late. There’s always tomorrow.”

   “But I’m not tired,” you whine out, pouting your lips as your eyelids flutter closed. 

   Such a sleepy girl. 

   “Oh, yes you are,” he laughs, his voice bouncing off the walls as it ricochets and floats right back to him, making another giant grin curl over his mouth. 

   When did you become so… cute? Yeah, that’s what you are. Cute. Playful. Adorable. 

   “But I…” You try to protest, but he stops you before you can finish.

   “C’mon, sleepyhead. Let’s get you up to bed.” He scoops you up in his arms safely, holding you carefully so he doesn’t shatter or break you. He would never do that. Won’t even register the thought in his mind. You’re fragile, delicate like a flower, but he’ll always be so careful with you. Just like this. Right in his arms. As long as you’ll let him. 

   You don’t try to push away from him, you just let yourself fall into warmth. You just sink against his broad chest, let your dainty fingers curl into the cotton of his flannel, your face nuzzling snuggly into the crook of his neck. There’s no hesitation, no ounce of fear. Maybe you’re too tired to process his arms around you, hugging you like a thick jacket against his body. Or maybe it's because you’re starting to trust him, starting to see he really doesn’t want to hurt you. But maybe it’s because you just feel safe like this. Tucked against the body of a man that risked his life to save yours. Or maybe it’s because you don’t want him to let you go just yet. No. Maybe you’ll stay just like this. Your face tucked away into the collar of his flannel shirts that smell like him, pinewood scent surrounding you and covering you like a thick blanket you just don’t want to let go of. 

   So you stay. For now, you latch on like a magnet and let yourself drift to sleep. Because this feels good. This feels right. And in the thick haze, you let him hold you. Just this one time. Just for the moment. Because he feels like he was made to hold you just like this. 

   Joel tiptoes up the winding steps, careful not to jostle you awake, afraid he’ll disturb this guarded moment. Scared he’ll rustle you away from the peaceful slumber you’re in. 

   Carefully stepping down the dark hallway, he quietly opens your bedroom door and carries you to your comfy bed. With his arms folded like wings around you, he holds you close to his chest, guarding you with his life to make sure you feel safe. No more monsters to steal your soul. No more grabbing hands that lash and bite at you with razor-sharp fangs. No more slipping into darkness while they take what isn’t theirs. No more taking advantage of the delicate flower who lost all her vivid petals. Petals you’re slowly growing back.

   He takes one hand and pulls back the purple comforter, untangling your silky sheets while he keeps one flexed arm around you. When he makes enough space for you to slip in, he gently nudges your shoulder to let you know you’re back in your room, and you have to let go. 

   He doesn’t want to let you go. Not just yet, but he can’t be selfish. Can’t keep you to himself. 

   Your slow breaths blow against his neck, fingers lock tighter around his favorite flannel. It’s like you don’t want to let go either.

   “Gotta let go, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear, careful again not to disturb you. But you don’t jar awake, only fold tighter into the crook of his neck till your light breaths kiss the shell of his ear. 

   He sighs and carefully untangles you from his arms, gently laying you down into the safety of your bed. He chuckles quietly to himself when your hand still doesn’t register to let go. So slowly, unwantedly, he delicately pries your fingers from his shirt and places your hand softly on the bed. He already misses the warmth of your palm, misses the way you oh so carelessly just folded your weight into him. 

   He thinks he likes that. Holding you in his arms where you’re safe, where you’d be out of reach from anyone that wanted to hurt you. He thinks he could hold you forever just like that. If you were ever his, he would until you told him to stop.

   God. How could anyone have hurt you? You’re so… precious. Just like a gemstone. So delicate and rare and special. So just like the most unique diamond in the world, he’ll make sure you stay safe. 

   He lingers on the edge of the bed, carefully tucking the blanket up over your shoulders, making sure you’re warm and comfortable. He watches you turn ever so slightly his way, but your eyelids don’t flutter open. You just hum softly and fall back into whatever peaceful dream you’re having. 

   Without thinking, he gently grazes the tips of his fingers against a lock of your hair, feeling how soft and velvet-like it feels against the pad of his thumb. He ever so slowly slips the lock of hair behind your ear, letting the back of his knuckles graze your cheek as he takes in the faint blush of your skin.  

   “You’re so beautiful…” he silently whispers, the words floating effortlessly off the tip of his tongue as he stares in awe at the stunning angel that’s safe in his presence. 

   He stays like that another few seconds, until he finally pushes himself off the bed and makes his way to the door, his eyes on you the entire time he moves.

   Beautiful… you’re so fucking beautiful. 

   He said he’d never fall for one of the women he saved. That was never his intention, but what’s this? Sweeping back a piece of your hair, lingering his fingers on your smooth skin, telling himself how stunning he thinks you are, praying you won’t get out of bounds of him. 

   It’s like a slow burn candle, flame flickering in and out against the wind rushing in from the crack in the window. Wax slipping down the wick, the flame still burning bright while the air tries to blow it out till it’s nothing but smoke and memories. 

   That’s what this is. A slow burn of feelings that’s threatening to snap any day now. He’s getting attached, and he doesn’t know if he can stop them from growing into something he can’t control anymore.

   He should pull the reins back, stop whatever this is that’s starting to ignite between the two of you, but he can’t seem to blow out the flame. He can’t seem to stop wanting you…

   Maybe it’s the way you wear his flannels around the house, or maybe it’s the shy smiles and the way you nervously flutter your long eyelashes at him when you try to hide your gorgeous smile, maybe it’s even the way you make this house feel more like a home instead of an empty nest. You make him feel not so alone, and your company is something he doesn’t want to lose. 

   He doesn’t want to lose you… So maybe you’ll stay. He hopes you’ll stay. For as long as possible. Because if you choose to leave, which you probably will one day, he’ll surely lose a piece of himself the day you do.

   Stay. Please… just stay. 

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@valkyreally @northennlights

[castielscaplan]

Wands, Wizards, and Wi-Fi (Draco Malfoy)

Summary: you help Draco with Muggle Technology.

Warnings: an angry draco, but fluff.

WC: 500ish

@dawn-petrichor-world asked: I have a question. You know magic exists and one day you meet Draco Malfoy in a library struggling with a computer and secretly he tries to use his wand. Why will you do? Ignore him "destroying" public furniture or act like you didn't see his wand and try to help him. In my case, it depends, if he looks like a furious man I don't want to end up transforming into a frog 😭

A/N: we talked about this back in march of 2023!!!! i've had it saved in my drafts ever since!! lol

Read on Ao3!

--

The comforting aroma of old books filled the air as you roamed the shelves of the small, independent library tucked in a quiet corner of the city. It was a haven for you—a sanctuary where magic and reality seemed to blur. Of course, you knew real magic existed; you’d seen things you couldn’t explain, whispers of a world beyond the mundane. But you never expected to encounter it here.

At a corner table, a blonde man was glaring at a laptop with the kind of venom reserved for mortal enemies. His sharp cheekbones and tailored clothing made him stand out from the usual crowd of patrons. The tension in his jawline seemed to radiate frustration.

Curious, you wandered closer, pretending to browse the nearby books. That’s when you noticed the odd sight: his hand dipped into his jacket pocket, pulling out... a wand.

Your breath hitched. Was he really about to—?

He flicked the wand toward the laptop, muttering something under his breath. Nothing happened. The screen stubbornly remained blue, its spinning wheel mocking him.

Biting back a laugh, you stepped forward. "Need some help there?"

The man froze, his grey eyes snapping to yours. For a second, he looked almost panicked, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I don’t need help," he said stiffly, slipping the wand back into his pocket.

"Right," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Because magic definitely fixes laptops."

His face reddened slightly, though he attempted to cover it with a sneer. "What do you know about it?"

"More than you think," you replied, lowering your voice. "I’ve seen magic before. And I’m guessing you’re not from around here, are you?"

His demeanor shifted, suspicion mingling with curiosity. "Who are you?"

"Someone who knows how to make that," you pointed at the laptop, "stop spinning. Want me to show you?"

He hesitated, clearly weighing his options. Finally, with a huff, he pushed the laptop toward you. "Fine. But if you break it, you’re paying for it."

"Relax," you said, suppressing a grin. Sitting down, you navigated the menus with ease. "What are you even trying to do?"

"Research," he said vaguely, his fingers drumming against the table.

"For what?" you pressed.

He hesitated again before muttering, "Muggle technology. My father insists we need to... understand it."

You couldn’t hide your amusement. "So, Lucius Malfoy finally decided to catch up with the 21st century?"

His head snapped up. "You—how do you—?"

"Like I said," you replied, fixing the issue on his laptop with a few clicks, "I know more than you think."

For the first time, a small smile tugged at his lips. "Perhaps you’re not entirely insufferable."

"Gee, thanks," you shot back, pushing the laptop back toward him.

As he examined the now-functional screen, his expression softened ever so slightly. "You’re surprisingly useful for a... Muggle."

"Who said I was a Muggle?" you teased, standing up.

You left him sitting there, his wand forgotten for the moment, as he stared after you with a mixture of intrigue and newfound respect.

==

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[17020]

# I HEART PUBLIC RELATIONS

in order to your boost your popularity as a lifestyle influencer, your manager decides to partner up with anri teieri and jinpachi ego, for a pr stunt with a man from one of japan's most famous content houses: BLUE LOCK.

the rules are simple: choose a man, post three videos together a week, post an (undisclosed) ad weekly, and interact with each other on social media. ooh! don't forget! the more chemistry between you two, the better.

STARRING . . . yoichi isagi, meguru bachira, hyoma chigiri, rensuke kunigami. fem reader!

CANDIDATE 1 — YOICHI ISAGI

USER: ISAGIYO FOLLOWERS: 893k CATEGORY: LIFESTYLE/FITNESS

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

the day you met isagi at the house, you immediately clicked. there was something so comforting and inviting about him, you knew the chemistry was going to be natural. seeing as you were both lifestyle influencers, you settled on doing vlogs and 'what i do in a day' videos for both your profiles.

the first tiktok you ever filmed was inside the house, with isagi inviting you over to try out gigi hadid's famous vodka pasta. it was an absolute mess, as the flour spilled everywhere and isagi almost overcooked the pasta. not to mention, he suggested you take some shots of vodka every now and then to keep things fun. people already speculated that isagi had something going on with you since bachira accidentally revealed in his tiktok that "isagi's having a girl over, so we're stuck outside." the fans absolutely adored the two of you cooking, and how after each shot, isagi became more loose, letting out more jokes and feeling confident enough to compliment you on your cooking skills.

the second tiktok was outside in the streets, with you and isagi filming a review of a well-known puppy cafe. it was so adorable to see such a strong man be so delicate with puppies, and you weren't the only one melting over it. fans went absolutely insane, thanking you in the comments as it was your idea to take him there in the first place. the comments were also filled with people pointing out that, in the video, isagi was completely red from all the times you complimented him, calling him cute and adorable. you took pictures for yours and his socials, captioning the post as "puppies weren't the only adorable thing there :)". news outlets caught wind of this interaction, popularizing your 'situationship' even more.

the third tiktok of the week was a gym vlog. isagi was also a fitness influencer, posting gym videos and advice from time to time, so he and you did the trend where you try to lift the weight the other usually does in their routines. safe to say, you struggled with his weights for arms, and he struggled with yours for legs. after filming the tiktok for his account, you decided to stop by a famous cookie shop, buying the weekly menu and trying it in the car. fans loved the way in which you bonded over cookies while sitting inside his car, commenting on the fact that you shared an indirect kiss from biting the same cookie. the fans want you to date already!

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . BLOOM!

when isagi and you got reached out to by bloom, you were thinking of how to incorporate it into your content. it wasn't hard, since its greens, and you and isagi had gained a new hobby together: going on walks, so that people could take pictures of you two, laughing, being happy, and looking at each other with lovesick eyes. you settled on filming the preparation of the drinks, then going on a walk focusing on the glass bottles with green liquid in your hands. isagi was nice enough to tag the brand and use a hashtag. he had to rerecord some clips as the first time you tried the drink, you almost spit it out, and so did he. but hey! money is money, right? fans were not amused that you promoted bloom, but they quickly got over it because you're both hot, and make a great couple.

"Can't go on our weekly walks without our @.bloom ! #bloompartner"

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

in every video, isagi just couldn't get his eyes or hands off you. he always had his hand on your arm, your shoulder, holding your hand, or had his arm wrapped around your waist. fans began to make compilations of the times in which isagi truly got lost in your eyes, or was a blushing, stuttering mess. so much for a pr relationship, huh? you both ended up gaining around 20k followers from this stunt, and when isagi hit one million followers, he decided to celebrate for the camera with everyone, and then privately at his parents' house with you, confessing that to him, everything was absolutely real.

CANDIDATE 2 — MEGURU BACHIRA

USER: MEGUUURUUU FOLLOWERS: 579k CATEGORY: DANCE/ENTERTAINMENT

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

you met bachira at the house and knew he had to teach you how to dance and paint. bachira is a natural when it comes to all forms of art, so when you signed the contract, the first thing he suggested was that you go to his little studio for some dance lessons.

that was the first tiktok you made; bachira teaching you how to dance everything—from tyla's dances to jojo siwa's, you and bachira spent a good few hours dancing and making a few videos for his account, with yours posting the behind the scenes. fans loved how you tripped over bachira's feet once, and how he was eager to help you get every move right. the comments begged for more appearances from you in bachira's account, since the chemistry was off the charts.

the second tiktok was you and him at the house, sitting across from each other in the dining room, a canvas and paint in front of you. you decided to paint a portrait of each other, accompanied by some mocktails. you weren't sure if bachira was pretending to be bad at art or if he genuinely did not inherit his mother's talent (something he shared while painting), but he made you look like someone drew you from memory. you died laughing when he showed you the portrait, and he almost shook the whole house from his laughter when you showed him yours. the comments were filled with love for both of you, showing appreciation for the sweet comments that you threw towards one another while painting (because yes, you posted bits and pieces of the process, catching bachira call you beautiful on camera.)

the third tiktok, you filmed the disco dance in a parking lot, after leaving his studio. the way in which you looked at each other while swaying to the music was enough to have people's whole families in the comments gushing over how cute you looked. people focused on bachira, and how he always seemed to have the biggest smile on his face when you were with him. he posted pictures with you snuggling in his car on his story, captioning them "date with the cutest! :3", driving his fanbase insane (in a good way). he forced you to go a to a drive thru, a rose between his lips as he laid on the hood of his car as you ordered a water and a burger. poor worker, he deserved a raise after that.

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . BOSE!

bachira is known to partner up with technology brands as he is constantly dancing, so it was no surprise for him to partner up with bose. they sent him (and you) a pair of their wireless earbuds, which acted as the coolest accessory for him and you as you danced on the streets of tokyo. even better, he also got sent noise cancelling headphones, asking you to put them on and for him to say whatever sentence he felt like, and for you to guess what he said. he spent the entire video telling you how gorgeous you looked, and how he loves you! such a nice sponsorship, in fact, that the paparazzi caught him the next week using airpods. yikes! someone call crisis management.

Don't think she heard me telling her how beautiful she looks @.bose #teambose

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

bachira is a flirt, and the public knows that. what they didn't know, was that his flirtatious ways would absolutely multiply by a thousand when it came to you. even you were shocked, and people commented on your wide eyes and how red you were from bachira's compliments and nicknames for you. the dance videos had you and bachira so close to one another, people genuinely wondered if you guys would share a kiss at one point. bachira granted everyone's wish, sharing a tiktok of his face covered in lipstick stains, pecking your face so that you can match. he got around 20 million views from that video alone, and you both gained around 40k followers. who said this was all pretend? the next week, bachira was already asking you out on a date, no phones allowed, so that he alone can enjoy your presence.

CANDIDATE 3 — HYOMA CHIGIRI

USER: CHIGIRIHYOMA FOLLOWERS: 670k CATEGORY: BEAUTY/HAIRCARE

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

as soon as you stepped in the house you noticed how chigiri's hair almost blinded people from how shiny it was, so the first thing you bonded over was haircare. you both decided to have the next few tiktoks be centered around beauty, as both of you were interested in get ready with me's.

the first tiktok you recorded was a heatless curl tutorial, with you and chigiri trying out the famous satin curler sets everyone gushed about. your presence on chigiri's account was expected, as the week prior you 'unexpectedly' commented on his video on how he should definitely do your hair. he replied to your comment with his video, with you and him preparing your hair, and then posting a second part where you showed the results. fans were shocked from this video, as they deemed this as a 'i never expected them to collab' type thing, but they didn't complain! they liked how you gushed over chigiri's hair, with him carefully helping you do yours.

the second tiktok was a get ready with me with new, viral products… except chigiri was doing your makeup! from skincare prep to setting spray, chigiri delicately applied new makeup on your face, commenting on the fact that you look incredible with and without it. you and chigiri were honest about everything, what you liked and didn't, and in his words, "mikayla nogueira has nothing on us, so trust when we tell you something's good." the fans went insane over chigiri's commentary, and you even got a response video from her. the beef with her made your accounts more known and had people praising you and chigiri for your honesty. you didn't need ardell wispies to prove a point, because chigiri made the l'oreal telescopic lift look fantastic on you.

the final tiktok was you doing each other's nails. you acted as his nail artist, carefully filing and painting his nails. while you did his nails, you asked him questions, to which he happily answered. the comments died when you asked him if he was single, to which he replied "why? you wanna date me or something?", followed by a lighthearted laugh. you painted his nails a beautiful shade of baby pink, and chigiri thanked you for your hard work. for your account, he did your nails with design, and as determined as he looked, his french tips looked like a french disaster, with your fingers filled with polish, and him scurrying to use acetone to clean you up. good to know that chigiri didn't excel at something for once!

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . DYSON!

he brought you into his bathroom to film his hair routine with you, and once you stepped out of his shower, the styling tutorial began. he had been given the dyson airwrap, and he used you as his human model to try out a blowout. he sectioned your hair and dried it, leaving you with the softest, shiniest blowout of your life. you tried drying his hair, and certain parts had to be cut out since you accidentally had the dryer too close to his scalp, with him cursing from the shock. the fans knew that a sponsorship from dyson was bound to happen, and they were so happy that it did. they thought you were the prettiest model, and your video had so many views that dyson actually reposted your video on their other social medias.

Gifted by Dyson, thank you so much. You made me and Yn's hair look absolutely fantastic. @.dyson #dysonpartner

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

chigiri was extremely attentive to detail and was very delicate when it came to you, and that excited fans. never in their lives had they seen chigiri so concentrated on someone else, and that meant that you were special. you became such an iconic duo in the beauty industry that you and him began to be invited to launch parties and events, going together as a couple. fans were totally in love with your vibes, as you both looked like models straight out of the runway. chigiri was attached to you after the stunt, unable to get you off his mind. after gaining more than 30k followers, chigiri asked you to sleep over at the house, having a nice, romantic movie night with face masks.

CANDIDATE 4 — RENSUKE KUNIGAMI

USER: KUNIGAMIREN FOLLOWERS: 740k CATEGORY: FITNESS

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

the first time you saw kunigami you knew you fucked up because this is a gymrat. his tiktok was filled with gym videos, routines, protein smoothies tutorials, and more. you prayed to every god and deity out there to help you out. luckily for you, kunigami was open to adapt to your lifestyle content, which would open doors for him, essentially finding a new audience.

the first tiktok you recorded was a staged first meeting. you recorded yourself at the gym doing lateral pulldowns, only to be approached by a big, muscular ginger. he asked if he could help you correct your form, to which you agreed. giggles were exchanged, and people could feel the tension through the screen. the comments went crazy telling you that yes, that was the rensuke kunigami, and you need to see him again. on kunigami's tiktok, you made a cameo as he filmed his workout vlog, showing bits and pieces of you as he explained how he stopped his pull ups to help you out. the fans begged him to return to the gym to find you again, because according to them, you were definitely worth meeting.

the second tiktok was both of you trying out the rock's leg day routine. to say both of you were absolutely dead was an understatement, with both of you sweating like crazy and then stopping by some store to try out some smoothies. you were dead tired, and kunigami offered to give you a piggyback ride to the smoothie place. after trying to deny, he insisted that he could carry two of you at once, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you bridal style instead. that made for some cute pictures from fans who were on the scene, which later went viral on social media. he took a picture of you with your smoothie, posting it to his story with the caption "look who i found". safe to say that his fans went crazy.

the last tiktok was something nobody saw coming, as you signed both you and kunigami up for zumba lessons. after the experience of the rock's workout (which was unsurprisingly suggested by kunigami), he then suggested you both do something more to your liking. then, you proceeded to not tell him what you signed him up for until he arrived at the gym, with you dragging his ass to a zumba lesson. he was so stiff at first, but quickly got the hang of it. he seemed to have caught the attention of the women in there, with them swarming him with comments about them having daughters around his age. he denied, saying that he already has someone he can dance with, turning to you with a smile. of course, you got that all on video, posting it on both your accounts. even youtube channels covered this fiasco, with you and kunigami reigning on the youtube thumbnails. "RENSUKE KUNIGAMI DATING YN LN CONFIRMED? *not clickbait*"

(UN)DISCLOSED AD . . . ALO!

alo reached out to you and kunigami for a nice photoshoot for their latest drop, and even sent you some pr packages for you to unpack. you and kunigami proceeded to go workout, but not just anywhere… alo flew you to their williamsburg sanctuary! some nice yoga classes for you and kunigami awaited, as well as some nice hotels and champagne. you, of course, enjoyed your trip to brooklyn with kunigami, posting pictures of you two on your stories, wearing matching sets from the brand. thankfully, kunigami does like to disclose his ads, even thanking the brand for flying you out. the comments freaked out over you two, deeming you tiktok's gym couple goals.

#AD | Thank you to @.aloyoga for flying us out to try the Power Class at the Alo Sanctuary. Truly enjoyed my time sweating with @.yn #alopartner

THE VIEWS SKYROCKETED! BECAUSE . . .

because there was so much tension between the two of you it was actually insane. people were commenting on the fact that you and kunigami were basically eye-fucking each other in every video because of how into each other you were. and it was true, kunigami couldn't stop staring at you, and you couldn't keep your eyes off him. the way in which kunigami helped you work out in your tiktoks made him known as husband material, which you agreed with. after the stunt, both of you gained around 40k followers, and to celebrate, kunigami offered to take you out to dinner, as well as a whole week doing things you like. you had to accommodate to his content for a pr stunt, so he stood outside of your door with a bouquet in hand, ready to spoil you.

tags: @kaiser1ns @o-sachi @kaiser-impact @empress-ruby @meowkages @plsmarrymehioriyo @vayahatesu @karasuglazer @megutime @celestair

[lucluvr]

good girls get exactly what they want

ft. zhongli, alhaitham, welt, and jing yuan

he thinks you’re the sweetest girl he’s ever had. a man of principle keeps his word: his good girl gets what they want!

afab chubby reader / heavy praise / teasing / fingering / oral (f!receiving) / a lot of sweet words / nipple play / use of “sweetheart, baby, honey, puppy, etc” reverse cowgirl / dumbification (if you squint) / very soft and sweet <3

want to view other menu items? <- click here!

zhongli:

humanity was an interesting concept to zhongli. being thousands of years old, living amongst the liyuen people under many aliases, zhongli has had lovers come and go. he loves passionately and deeply. when his tongue ribs circles over your clit, the pressure of his hands on your hips make you whine.

in his thousands of years of experience, zhongli realized each of his lovers found pleasure from different things, however, he’s never had a lover lose their mind so quickly. forked tongue licking up and down your slit as your slick coats his chin messily.

zhongli’s amber eyes gaze into yours as he restrains your wrists against your hips. whines and soft pants fall from your puffy lips (sometimes he bites when he’s excited)

“li! please sto-“ he lets go of one of your wrists as he slides his finger into your mouth. he slides it all the way to the back as your eyes roll back. the gagging sound has zhongli crawling back into the warmth of your cunt.

“shh, just enjoy it, darling.” he’s always put your pleasure before his. your hands wrap around his wrist, trying to pull his fingers out of your mouth, but he slides a finger inside of you and you’re gone.

a muffled whine comes from you and zhongli gazes up at you again. his lips suck on the puffy pearl between your labia. he watches as your eyes roll back again. he feels your thighs cover his ears and he takes this as a sign to. start savoring the taste of you. he hums against your clit, making your soft thighs shake around him. he removes his finger from your mouth, placing it on your hips. his thumb lovingly brushes against the chub of your stomach.

your hands cover your eyes, back arching into him. he feels your muscles contract— you’re close. he opens his eyes to find your hands again. he pins them to your sides as your twitch and convulse around his fingers and tongue. he can feel you holding back.

his fingers curl upwards, making you shoot upright, but he pushes you back down. tears prick at your eyes as you hiccup wetly, begging him to let you cum.

“please, lili!! need to cum…” your words turn into mumbles as your sweet release is so near. “been a good girl, please lili…” your sweet and whiny tone has him smiling and humming against your clit once more.

as your eyes roll back into your skull, white splotches stain your vision and before you know it he’s sent you over the edge. zhongli detaches himself from your cunt, a string of saliva following his lips.

his wet lips kiss your inner thighs, squishing the soft skin under his fingers.

“my good girl,” he says in his baritoned voice. his words send butterflies into your tummy. without any warning his lips secure themselves back onto your clit. you jolt, your legs pushing on zhongli’s shoulder, but he’s quick. he catches your ankle as tears prick at your pretty eyes.

he tuts, kissing your ankles. he trails his kisses up your calf, into the underside of your knees. he pushes your knees to your chest, having you hold them in place. you sniffle as his thick fingers come back to bully your clit.

“so pretty, baby. be good for me, yeah?” you shake your head and whimper.

“too sensitive, ‘li! no ‘mre…” a soft pout appears on your lips. he chuckles and kisses the tears away.

“my sweet girl, you can take it baby. be the good girl i know you are, okay?” his honey coated voice makes your head feel dizzy. he trails kisses down your soft tummy and thighs before finding his rightful spot again. his hands push up your knees again.

his tongue swirls your clit again and his fingers are back to being pushed into your cunt. he curls his fingers against that spongey spot, making you see stars.

zhongli’s dealt with his fair share of bratty lovers who fought tooth and nail about obedience, yet you? you’re his best girl, his sweetheart. no one has ever been as pliant and as sweet as you are to him. he thinks that all good girls should get to cum hundreds of times, and zhongli will do exactly that. he is a god and his word is final. so if he says his sweet baby gets to cum until he gets her brain all jelly— so be it <3

alhaitham:

alhaitham has never found much interest in relationships. he doesnt go out of his way to interact with others, he doesn’t care much for people anyway. he doesn’t need anyone anyway when he has a wife waiting for him at home. the one who makes him chai every morning, wrapping him aloo filled roti parcels for lunch, the one who massages his shoulders when they become far too sore.

he adores his wife and he’s very open about his gratitude for you. it’s become a routine at this point. anytime he is required to stay in the desert for an extended period of time, he demands you to be seated on his face whenever he comes back.

in the words of the acting grand sage, “it is the least i can do for you.” however you think that he does the absolute most. his hooked nose bumping against your clit makes you bite your thumb as you hover over his soft lips. alhaitham grumbles in annoyance. he kisses your shaky inner thighs softly,

“habibi, sit. it’s okay.” he tries to comfort the anxiety you get every time he does this. his thumbs rub comforting circles in your hips, urging you to sit on his face. his mouth waters at the sight if your clit peaking out from your puffy lips.

“dont wna hurt you, haitham.” your lips curl into a frown as you put your weight into your knees. he kisses your inner thigh, biting them gently. to tease you, he blows cool air onto your clit, making you whine. you press on his head, “stop!”

he shakes his head, “please, baby. let me do this for you…you’ve been so good for me, please?” his voice has a slight desperation to it. it’s as if he doesn’t get to taste you on his tongue in the next few seconds he will go insane.

he’s right though. you’ve been incredibly patient with him. you’ve been at his side while he adjusts to his new job, and casually overthrows the government. due to the whole fiasco, he hasn’t had the time or energy to do anything but kiss you. sure it made you a bit sad, but when he found out he gave you the night of your life. and now he’s lying under you practically begging to make you feel so good, who are you to decline?

“but kaveh…” you mutter into your palms. “what if he hears?” you ask him, voice wavering. he sighs as he rubs his nose into your thighs.

“to hell with him. this is my house. if he had a problem, he can move out.” he grumbles against your plump skin. he kisses the skin once more before turning to you. “come on habibti please?”

he scoots you closer to his lips. he leaves the softest kiss on your clit. “promise you won’t break me,” he kisses the swollen bud again. “i’ll make you feel so good, baby. ‘m so sorry. lemme make it up to my good girl, yeah?” he mumbles into your skin. you have half the mind to question if he’s even talking to you.

his tongue peaks out from his lips, gently licking the bud. he then takes a deep breath and goes for it. his free hand parts your lips, his tongue swirling around the bud, dragging down to your hole. he sees you clenching around nothing and he coos softly. he prods two fingers inside your hole. your whines and gasps urge alhaitham on. he curls his fingers so nicely, your body shivers. you grab onto his hair, tangling it between your fingers.

your cunt is so wet and so sensitive. having your husband between your thighs, making you see stars after weeks of needing him makes you cum so quick. you don’t even see it coming. alhaitham drinks down any slick that comes from you, lapping it up like a thirsty dog.

he gently lifts you up, laying you back down on the bed. he stands tall and proud above you, removing his fitted shirt. one of his hands intertwines with yours, making you smile. his hands travel up your body, squeezing your soft flesh under his big hands.

“my pretty wife. my girl,” his lips suck on the soft skin of your waist. he makes you giggle as he prods at your ticklish spots. your sweet laughter makes him smile. “i love your laugh. i love you,” he whispers against your lips before stealing a kiss from you. you happily wrap your legs around his hips and your arms slide up his broad shoulders.

with his free hand, alhaitham unbuckles his belt. he throws it somewhere and unzips his pants. he pulls his cock out from his briefs, rubbing the tip up and down your slit. he teases your clit, tapping the tip against the poor bud.

you whine against his lips and buck your hips against his. he chuckles sweetly. (a noise only you get to hear from the sage) he presses the tip against your hole, making you furrow your brows. it’s a bit of a stretch, alhaitham realizes as he watches your face.

he reaches down to rub your puffy clit again, helping you ease into his cock. he hears you whimper and whine below him and he smiles against your skin. his lips leave a trail of wet kisses and bits down your neck and chest. he kisses around the areola of your chest. he elicits more whines and needy pants from you.

alhaitham leans up, looking down at your body. he gently pins your wrists about your head. his eyes are as soft as cotton. the sweet smile on his lips, the adoration in his eyes and the thin viel of sweat lining his forehead and collarbone make your heart flutter.

he’s gorgeous, tall, smart, handsome. he is the perfect man. he leans back down, kissing you on your lips. he hands leave your wrists, finding a new home on your hips. his thumbs run over the fat of your stomach, making you whine against him.

he smiles, thumbs pressing into the skin. if he had to pick a physical trait of yours he loved the most, it would be that. he pulls away from your lips, kissing down your body. he pays extra attention to your chest and tummy.

in the meantime, he’s been pushing himself slowly into your sweet, warm cunt. he sighs aloud as he sinks himself in. he watches as you rock your hips, needing him. he completely pulls out and then thrusts right back into, making you yelp.

he flips over, pulling you onto his lap. he watches as you bounce on his cock, hand pressed to his chest. you gasp and moan shamelessly as you bounce on his cock. his hands grope your stomach and thighs, squishing the skin between his big hands. he coos out sweet words,

“fuck, you’re gorgeous, mahiya. keep going, baby.” he rubs your clit with his thumb, “use me, baby. do it,” and you do just that. your eyes fill with tears as you curl into alhaitham. you hide your face in his neck, shamelessly moaning. alhaitham feels your cunt clench around his cock.

“there you go, sweetie. use me, honey. come on,” his eyes watch your tits intensely. he leans up, his lips wrapping around the hardened buds.

“oh fuck, haitham! ‘m gna!” you grip onto his shoulders, vision spotting. he feels your cunt clench around him hard and smiles,

“my good girl. you can do it. come on, baby. cum on me, use me.” the coil in your stomach snaps the moment he calls you his good girl. you gasp and sink your nails into his shoulder. alhaitham hisses and rubs your clit a little faster. he pushes you over the edge and your cum hard.

your mouth is agape, but you can’t hear yourself moan. you collapse into alhaitham’s chest, face buried in his neck. with a few more thrusts, he too cums inside you with a deep groan.

he watches as you push yourself off of him and lay on your back beside him. he rolls onto his side, kissing your neck and cheeks. he gets up from your bed, making you look up at him puzzled. he sinks onto his knees as he parts your thighs.

“time to clean up, yeah?”

welt yang:

sitting in the same position for a multitude of hours at a time is a grueling task. you love welt dearly, but this is your least favorite request of his. you impatiently fidget with your fingers, knees starting to feel numb.

the older gentleman sits in front of you, sketching out every curve and dimple in your bare body. your cheeks flush deeply as you avoid eye contact with him. he puts his pencil down before calling out to you,

“darling, could you please put your hands down?” he asks you with the softest smile. the creases around his eyes are ever more evident. shyly, you nod your head. you reluctantly place your hands back in position before staring around the room. he lightly chuckles,

“and look at me as well? i cannot sketch your face if you do not look at me.” he is obviously teasing you, but it’s all lighthearted. your lips pout softly before staring up at him with furrowed brows.

“you can’t remember my face?” your voice comes out meeker than intended. he shakes his head, before beckoning you over. with pins and needles sticking into your limbs, you walk over to welt who coaxes you into his lap.

“of course i remember it. i just want to see it. can you do that for me? be my good girl?” he whispers those words into your ears before kissing your shoulder.

“is that a simple enough task for you, honey?” he jests, his grip on your hips tightening. he begins to run his hands up and down you body. he squeezes the fat between his fingers, his lips kissing down you chest and neck.

you sigh into his touch, finally able to feel some warmth. the ac makes your skin burst into goosebumps. welt smiles as he watches you melt into his touch.

“i prefer you like this actually. having you sitting on my lap instead of in the floor, it’s more my style.” him and his stupid puns. you giggle into his neck, the ends of his hair tickling you face. you twirl the ends with your fingers, smiling widely.

he swivels in his chair, turning towards the bed. he lifts you up, hands holding under your thighs. you yelp, arms coiling around his neck. he softly lays you down on the bed. cooing softly at you. laying on his soft, grey sheets makes your eyes flutter shut.

you paw at his shirt, pulling him closer. you lips graze his chin, leaving kisses down his jawline. he hums softly, adjusting his face to look at you, he kisses you soft lips, his mouth tasting like the orange candy he ate a few moments ago.

his hands run up and down your thighs, parting your legs. he grinds himself against your sticky cunt, brows furrowing in pleasure. his breathing becomes a little ragged. you tug at him again,

“welt please,” your whiny voice, accompanied with the way you run your fingers over his bulge has him keeling. he bends however you tell him to, do whatever you ask of him. he nods happily, pulling down the waistband of his sweats. he kneels between your legs as he runs a finger up and down you slit.

wet and sticky slick coats welt’s fingertips. you jerk your hips against his hand as the rough edges of his palm run over your clit. you whine into the pillow set beside you, fingers gripping onto the sheets.

he happily obliges to your silent wish and sinks his finger into your cunt. you happily moan for him, your walls fluttering around his finger. he groans as he watches his fingers sink into your heat.

he pistols his finger in and out of your cunt, curling it upwards once your slick gets onto his wedding ring. he sinks another finger into you, pulling a groan from you. it’s a bit of a stretch, but welt is a patient man.

“you’ve been such a good girl for me, honey. can you keep still for a bit here too? i’ll reward you, i promise, my little fawn.” your eyes flutter open to gaze at his handsome face. your pupils morph into hearts as you nod your head. he smiles fondly, patting your head with his free hand. “thank you, pup.” <3

jing yuan:

jing yuan’s back sticks to the headboard as his hears ring with the sound of your moans. he watches as you tits bounce in his face, pretty buds begging to be touched. his eyes rolls back ever so slightly when you circle your hips as you ride him. his hand grips your hip, the other attached to your ass.

he hums as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pussy clenching. his thumb rubs lazy circles over your clit. he listens to your whimpers and honey-glazed whines. you sing better than the birds that flock to him, you’re prettier than any person he’s ever seen, you’re so obedient.

being the luofu’s general, jing yuan has learned how to teach others. some people are driven by praise, other by rewards. his reward for you obedience is this: riding him until you’re satisfied. his hand gently cups your nape, bringing you closer to his face. the tip of his nose rubs against yours as he hears the squelches of your bodies.

he becomes astutely aware of how wet and warm you are. he’s very aware of the way your body reacts to his warm hands running up and down your sides. he chuckles at the goosebumps that break out on your skin as he whispers sweet praises in your ears. you curl into his body, shivering like a baby bird. he coos at your reactions,

“aren’t you so sweet, my angel?” he kisses up the side of your neck, nipping at your collarbone. “the sweetest little thing, huh?” his hands pull you impossibly closer to his body, his eyes now trained on where you two connect.

he notices the thick, sticky, white substance that rims the bade of his cock and smiles. “look at me, angel.” he says in that smooth voice of his. you’re too out of it to hear him. jing yuan tucks your hair behind your ears, kissing your wet cheeks.

“darling,” he nips at your ears. he watches the wheels turn in your head as you process his words. your bleary eyes look into his, unfocused and hazy. he grins cheshire, “enjoying yourself?” he asks small and simple questions. you nod your head slightly.

he decides to thrusts his hips up in an attempt to wake you up, and it does just that. he thrusts into your heat swiftly, watching your tits bounce. his pretty lips wrap around the under-stimulated buds, making you gasp.

“yuan,” you say meekly, pussy fluttering around him. he hums at you, his golden eyes looking up. he lets go of your breasts to coo at you once more.

“my precious girl, you’re doing so well.” he kisses your cheeks and lips before resting his back against the headboard once again. he allows you to use him however you please. you’ve been such a good girl, sitting by his feet at his desk and waiting for his attention.

“there ‘ya go, princess. you can do it, sweet girl.” jing yuan smiles <3

© ilyhaitanii - please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my content, and do not repost it to any other platforms.  

[jjeremysstash]

Fixing Windows 11 - A Masterpost

Windows 11 is absolute crap for a good bunch of stuff so yeah, have a masterpost with most of the things I've found around to fix it haha (they're not all here because I did stuff around and I don't remember what)

YES, I KNOW at this point Linux would be a better alternative, however some here can't use Linux due to some proprietary programs that are not on Linux. This Masterpost is for the people in the same situation as I, aka those who have to have Windows or they can't do their job.

I am currently unemployed and haven't worked enough for the government to help me. I have a ko-fi if ever you want to help.

Stopping W11 from making you create an account/setting up your computer without internet (with a way to create gpedit.msc if your version doesn't have it)

Fixing the Taskbar (in case you also don't like the grouped Battery/internet/sound or the way the windows look)(there's more to it, check the settings)

There is the chance that Windows can't update because of this, you just have to uninstall it and reinstall it afterwards. They also completely nuked the Windows 10 look in the 24H2 update, so use the "Windows 10 (Explorer Patcher)" option instead of the plain "Windows 10".

Removing the rounded windows (since ExplorerPatcher doesn't do it anymore on 24H2)

https://github.com/valinet/Win11DisableRoundedCorners

How to move the volume and luminosity pop ups (so you can finally see those sweet sweet subtitles)

In case ModernFlyouts doesn't automatically start up, possible solution

Fixing the Start Menu (ExplorerPatcher can do that too, btw)

How to show all options right away

A way to bring back the Calendar

https://github.com/matej137/OutlookRemover

MICROSOFT FULLY NUKED THE CALENDAR!!! Possible fix is to downgrade the app (which is fine if you don't use the Mail), but do use the OutlookRemover to stop the automatic installation of the new version.

https://github.com/matej137/OutlookRemover/issues/15

Your Bluetooth suddenly doesn't work???

It happens sometimes for no clear reasons so here are a few things you can do:

Check if the icon is in the Taskbar. If not, verify if it is available in the pop up menu (the one from the gear icon)

If it's not here, check your parameter to see if you have the option to turn it on.

If it's still not here, reboot your PC.

If it's STILL not working, update your Bluetooth driver. You can do so by looking for "driver" in the menu and opening the Device Manager, then right click on the right Bluetooth component and update its driver.

If Windows says that the driver is up to date, try checking out this helper: https://support.microsoft.com/en-us/windows/fix-bluetooth-problems-in-windows-723e092f-03fa-858b-5c80-131ec3fba75c

If really nothing help, download and install a recent Bluetooth Driver. Be careful of what you download and from where.

Someone who stumbled on this post fixed it by downloading the Bluetooth Driver 5.0.1.1500 from Softonic (https://www.softonic.nl/download/bluetooth-driver/windows).

How to remove Copilot if you have it (I don't, but it might be because I'm in Europe??)

Archive

Apparently Copilot is being forced on people so hummm

Other stuff not specifically related to the shit W11 did

Changing the size of the scroll bars

How to fully remove Cortana

Website with tools to fix W10 and W11

[angels-fantasy]

Sweet Confessions

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Description : After a night out with friends, Bakugou decides to tell you something while you two are eating sweet pastries.

Details : 1.8k words, friends to lovers, cussing, reader and bakugou are over 21! readers looks are not specified in any way, but she is a woman. small mention of alcohol.

this is my first fanfic ever, so please be kind! constructive criticism is welcome :)

When Bakugou received a text message from Kirishima inviting him out to eat with the bunch of other idiots, he immediately declined. Though this was nothing new, and it was something his red-haired friend was already expecting. Which is why he had Mina execute plan b.

Raccoon Eyes

Yo Bakugou! Come out with us tonight. You're always locked away in your apartment. Let loose a little!

Bakugou glared at his phone and typed out a message.

Hell no.

UGH BAKUGOU!! You're literally no fun. I can't believe you'd miss out on the opportunity to see this cutie -.-

A few seconds later, a picture was sent. When Bakugou opened it, he saw that it was a picture of you. He brought his phone closer to his face and looked it over carefully. He noticed you were dressed for the occasion, like everyone else in the background, and you were smiling widely at the camera. Mina probably told you to pose.

He must've been looking at your photo for too long because another text from Mina came in.

You drooling or what lover boy? Hurry up and get here so you can make a move already. We all know you like her 🙄.

Bakugou felt his face flush. It was true, he did have a crush on you. And though he never verbally admitted it to anyone, they all saw right through him. Except you, of course.

He clicked his tongue and typed up a quick response before beginning to get ready.

Shut up. I'll be there in 30.

"Woo! We got him!" Mina cheered, leaning across the table to high-five Kirishima.

You looked between them suspiciously, "What are you guys plotting?"

The pink woman had the audacity to look nervous. "Nothing! Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, okay."

As Mina and Kirishima kept whispering to each other, you squirmed in your seat. You knew the other pro heroes at the table fairly well, but not enough to just strike up a conversation like you would with Mina.

"Hey pretty, what do you look so nervous for?"

You turned to the left and were faced with a yellow haired man.

"Oh, hi Kaminari. I'm not nervous, just hungry. They're taking a little long to bring out the food. Don't you think?" You lied.

Thankfully he was kind of an airhead. "Oh yeah I know right! I'm starving. I'm gonna go ask how much longer!" He said and got up out of his seat, leaving you alone again.

You sighed and took a sip of your drink. Since Mina and Kirishima were too busy talking to each other, and you didn't want to bother talking to anyone else you decided to scroll mindlessly on your phone.

Some time later, the empty seat next to you was pulled out and sat in by Bakugou himself.

Your ears got hot at the sight of him. It wasn't the first time you'd met him, you two were good friends after all. But you never got used to how handsome he was. It was like he got better looking everyday. You began to wonder what he looks like under that button up-

"Hey nightlight, what're you staring at huh?" He asked, snapping you out of your trance.

"Shut up! I told you to stop calling me that." You said with false annoyance.

"It ain't my fault your quirk makes you a nightlight." He smirked. You scrunched your nose to hide your laugh, but unknowingly failed since Bakugou still saw it.

His nickname for you was completely harmless, and came from your quirk which allowed you to produce light from your hands. It wasn't anything comparable to a pro hero's quirk, but it did have its uses.

"Kacchan you made it!" Midoriya exclaimed with his big smile.

Bakugou clicked his tongue, "Shut it nerd, or else I'll leave. Give me a menu, yeah?"

Midoriya laughed off his words and passed him a menu, used to his harsh way of speaking.

Dinner went on without any problems, and the food was delicious. Everyone around the table cracked jokes, brought up old memories, and some people had even began drinking alcohol, including you.

Your drink wasn't very strong, but the few you had was enough to have you a little tipsy. Thankfully, you took an uber to the restaurant, so you didn't have to worry about driving.

During dinner, you and Bakugou engaged in a conversation. Mostly about his hero work and the villains he had caught recently.

Once everyone finally finished their food and drinks, they had all begun to leave. Slowly leaving one by one, some in pairs as well.

While you grabbed your stuff, you got on your phone to call for an uber but got interrupted by Bakugou talking to you.

"How you gettin' home nightlight? You better not even think about driving after drinking." He warned.

You brushed him off, "I'm taking an uber, don't worry!"

He grunted in agreement and was silent for a moment before saying, "I'll give you a ride home. C'mon."

"No it's okay! I can just take the uber home. Besides, didn't you drink too?"

"Hell no I didn't. It's not my thing. Just hurry up and accept my offer alright? This is the only time I'll be this nice."

You smiled at his words, knowing he was lying when he said this was the only time he'd be nice.

"Alright then, let's go!"

He smirked and held out a hand for you to hold, which you did while he walked you to his car. He made sure you didn't fall on the way there, and even opened the door for you.

"Wow what a gentleman you are. Do you open doors for all the ladies?" You teased.

"Nah, so consider it special treatment for you Nightlight."

You smiled shyly and wiggled your feet a bit after he shut your door and got into his own seat.

The ride to your house was quiet, except for the occasional small talk. But it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. It was a comforting feeling for the both of you.

When he pulled up to your place, you turned to him to say goodbye, but instead you said "Um, do you wanna come inside with me? I have some pastries I made earlier..."

He laughed lightly at your words, "Sure, but be ready for me to critique the hell out of those pastries."

You led him inside where you both took off your shoes and coats. You ushered him to sit on the couch and relax while you went to go prepare some drinks and the pastries for the two of you.

While you were gone for a few minutes, Bakugou couldn't help but think about how he was actually inside your house. It wasn't the first time he'd been there, but it was the first time he'd been there alone. Just you and him.

In the midst of his thinking, he felt his phone buzz and he looked at it to see a message from Kirishima.

Shitty Hair

I see you left with your little nightlight ;) Better make a move while you have the chance!!

Bakugou huffed and sent a middle finger emoji, then silenced his phone. He didn't need any distractions.

Finally, you came from the kitchen with a tray in your hands and placed it on the coffee table.

"Here they are! My babies. I hope they're still good, considering they're not as fresh as they were this morning." You said nervously while sitting down next to him.

Bakugou hummed and grabbed a pastry, biting into it. You watched silently as he chewed and swallowed it, anticipating his reaction.

He bit it again, "S' good."

You smiled, "I'm glad you like it. That means a lot coming from you, Bakugou. Your cooking is so good!"

He turned away with a red face, "Of course it is. I'm the best at everything. And why don't you call me Katsuki? We've known each other for years now."

"Oh, I didn't realize you felt that way. Sorry Baku-erm, Katsuki. I just thought you didn't want anyone to call you that, especially since Kirishima doesn't even call you that..."

"Tsk, I feel a lot of ways. You just don't know about it."

Your interest peaked at his words. "Oh yeah? Then would you do the honors by telling me how you feel Katsuki?" You teased.

Bakugou felt himself hesitate before speaking, which is something he never did. Gosh, he couldn't believe this is how he was going to confess to you.

"I like you, idiot."

Your smile fell and your expression formed into one of pure confusion. "What?"

Damn. Maybe that wasn't the right move.

He began to panic and sat up quickly, "Ugh, nothing. Forget about it-"

"No! I'm not forgetting about that." You said while grabbing his hand, pulling him back down onto the couch.

As he sat down next to you in silence, you kept his hand in yours. "You like me Katsuki?"

He huffed and turned away. "So what if I do? It doesn't matter-"

You grew frustrated at his words. "Of course it matters! Stop acting like this is nothing. I need you to talk to me seriously, because I don't want to get my hopes up..."

He looked back at you, only to see your eyes watering. "Hey wait-don't cry. Shit. I'm real fuckin' bad at this, ain't I?"

You laughed and sniffled, "Yeah, a little."

He sighed and squeezed your hand that was holding his.

"I uh, I do really like you. I have for a while. I just didn't wanna fuck up what we already had-" He was cut off by you throwing your arms around his neck tightly.

"You big dummy. I can't believe you thought you'd mess things up."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he still wrapped his arms around your waist. He stayed quiet to listen to what you had to say.

"I actually like you too, y'know. I have for a while now."

He smirked and hugged you tighter. "Thank god. I was almost afraid you'd run out on me."

You snorted and pulled away slowly. "No way in hell would I do that. I just didn't know how to tell you..."

He threw an arm around you and said, "Well I'm glad ya did. 'Cause you're my girl now."

"Don't I get any say in this?" You asked jokingly.

"Nah, you agreed when you said you liked me back."

Extra:

That night, Katsuki decided to sleepover at your place since you two had already made it official. You lent him some mens pajamas you had since you were sure they'd fit him, which he fussed about because he assumed they belonged to another man.

"No Katsuki, these are actually mine believe it or not."

"Tsk, good. If I ever find any other loser's shit in here I'll blow it up."

[id-element0]

The Permanent Fix For Counter Texture Glitch

A while ago I posted this tutorial for fixing the counter texture glitch. But it was not perfect and couldn't fix each and every cc counter out there.

I've finally found a fix for that too. Problem was corrupt TXTC resources that needed to be replaced. Now you can download every cc counter that comes in sims3pack and extract them into package and never have the annoying counter texture glitch ever again. Bad news is you have to do it all yourself. But don't worry! it's not that difficult and I've come with pictures.

What you'll need: s3pe, s3oc and texture tweaker 3 - and optionally Sims3Pack Multi Installer or s3ce. The download link for TT3 is in the 3rd post and there's a tutorial here. If you don't have them already, go download them. You can NOT use TSRW for this tutorial since TSRW itself is the problem. :)

First extract the package from the sims3pack using either Multi Installer/Extractor or s3ce. After you have your package file, open it up in s3pe. In my example, I'm using Gosik's New Vintage Kitchen Counter 1. Select the first OBJD resource in the resource list.

Also make sure you have Preview selected at the bottom of the program window in s3pe.

On the right side, you will see the preview of the resource in text. Scroll down until you see the InstanceName.

It's usually counterBaseModern but not always. This is the instance name of the object that this counter is cloned from. In modular objects like counters there are multiple objects. For counters, they are base, top and corner. Keep that in mind for now.

Take a note of or copy the instance name and open s3oc. First, Go to Settings -> Game Folders and make sure game folders are detected. If not, add them manually. You can also define your creator name under the Settings menu. Now, go to Tools -> Search.

Paste the instance name in the search bar; select Resource Name and hit Search.

You will have two results: counterBaseModern and CounterModernSuite. I suggest that you clone the suite because it's the modular object that contains all the parts of a counter: base, top and corner. If not, you have to clone every part individually which are counterBaseModern, counterTopModern and counterCornerModern.

Cloning the Suite makes the process a lot quicker so I'll continue from there. Click on the CounterModernSuite and hit Clone or Fix at the right side.

That will open the cloning interface. Make sure you UNCHECK the Renumber/rename internally. We do NOT want to renumber. Then hit Start.

It will ask where you want to save your new package and if you already have a creator name defined earlier it will add it to the package name. If not, it may or may not ask for your creator name. Honestly, I can't remember and I don't think it matters. Anyway, chose a folder - preferably a work folder you created earlier - and keep the name it suggests. It will inform you when it's done.

We cloned our package. Now we need to export the necessary TXTC resources from it. We need the Diffusemap TXTC resource for each part. Start another instance of s3pe and open the package file you've just created which should be something like this: creatorname_CounterModernSuite_someAlphaNumericals.

You'll notice that there are 6 TXTC resources in the resource list. Check the resource names and the Group IDs. You need the DiffuseMap for base, top and corner parts. Click on the resource, then right click and Export.

You can export them all at once or create a folder for each if you don't want to get confused. Notice that they all have different Group IDs and names. As we move to the next part keep that in mind.

After exporting, you can close this package. We'll go back to the package we want to fix, in this case, Gosik's New Vintage Kitchen Counter 1. Open the package again or switch to it if it's open in s3pe.

Select the first TXTC resource which is most likely is the DiffuseMap for the base part. Unfortunately, most cc doesn't have a _KEY resource so they don't have resource names. Group ID's come in handy here. For this counter suite Group IDs for parts are like this:

base -> 0x00045638; top -> 0x002794E0; corner -> 0x00D661FD3

But there are 2 TXTC resources for each Group ID. One of them is SpecMap which is not corrupted. The corrupted one will have a preview like this:

This is simply s3pe telling you it's having an 'Error reading the resource'. My interpretation: The resource is corrupted. So combine this with the right Group ID and right click on the resource and choose Replace. Do not use Import! You need to Replace the resource without changing its instance number. Choose the right resource you exported earlier. Again check the name and Group ID. it should be something like: S3_033A1435_00045638_A85033BB5A059932_counterBaseModernObjectRgbMask_Face_DiffuseMap%%+TXTC

This is for the base object. For top and corner parts, repeat the replacing step with the right resources.

After you replace all the corrupted resources, s3pe will no longer give an error reading those resources when you click on them. And neither will TT3. You will now save your package and close s3pe. A reminder: If the TXTC resources are not corrupted in CC package, skip all and continue as below.

After that you will open your package in TT3 and follow the tutorial here. But a brief rundown would be: select each 'Normal Object' one by one and switch to CASt presets tab after each selection. In this tab, all you have to do is uncheck and then recheck the box next to PatternA and hit Commit. Do it for every preset. Repeat it for every object in the package. Save. Close. Done. :)

For island counters, process is the same but with 4 parts. Base, EndW, EndE and Corner. Also this works for other modular objects like cabinets and sectional sofas.

One last clarification: If the object is cloned from another counter suite, the Group IDs that we used will be different. Also some CC will have Group IDs different from the main object it's cloned from. If that happens, you may need to have a leap of faith.

Usually the order from top to bottom is base, top, corner (counters) and base, endW, endE, corner (islands), starting with the first TXTC resource. So in theory, if you select the corrupt resources from top to bottom, you can replace with that order without the Group IDs.

That's it. I don't think anyone will bother with this. But If you have questions, ask away.

[jinx-s-things]

This and that

Anora Mikheeva x GN!Reader

Summary: some days are hard. Some gifts say more than they should. Ani’s not used to either.

Notes: this took a while even though it’s short because I felt burnt out and also I wanted to get Anora’s character right, I hope I did. (I think Anora would like pistachio)

Warnings: none

Ani slid into the booth like gravity was trying to kill her. Her bag hit the seat with a thud, her hoodie hung halfway off one shoulder, and without asking, she immediately stole a sip of your coffee.

On days off, this was the routine. No plans, no pressure. Just a quiet café or a diner that didn’t mind if you stayed too long, sharing space and wasting time together.

“Work was hell,” Ani muttered, snatching a napkin. “Some guy tried to pay me in crypto, and I had to fake-laugh through two hours of the worst dirty talk I’ve ever heard. I swear the air conditioning’s busted again.” She flopped back against the seat with a sigh. “I should start charging extra for emotional damage.”

“Well, you always keep things interesting,” you said.

She shot you a tired side-eye. “Flattery doesn’t work when I’m this exhausted. You gotta bribe me.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

You reached under the table and pulled out a little paper bag from the bakery she always stared at through the window but never went into. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she peeked inside.

“Shut up. Is this the pistachio one?” She pulled it out like it was a Cartier necklace.

“They only had two left.”

Ani squinted at you. “You fought someone’s grandma for this, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

She took a bite, slow, deliberate and her whole face softened. The tension in her shoulders melted with every chew.

“You remembered I like pistachio,” she said quietly, almost surprised. “Everyone always thinks it’s weird.”

“Not weird. Just underrated.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“I also got you something else.”

You slid the small black box across the table. She blinked at it like it might explode.

“You didn’t propose, did you? Because if there’s a ring in there, I will launch myself out that window.”

“Just open it.”

She flipped the lid.

Inside sat a thin silver bracelet, nothing flashy, nothing loud. Just sleek, understated, with a single small pearl set into the clasp.

Her fingers stilled.

For once, Ani went quiet.

Her expression flickered, confused at first, then skeptical, then something softer. Like the sight of it knocked the wind out of her a little.

“Oh my God,” she said finally, laughing under her breath, almost embarrassed. “You seriously didn’t need to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

She looked up at you, and this time there was no smirk, no teasing comeback. Just something real.

“Thank you,” she said. Honest, low. Like it slipped out before she could stop it. “Like… seriously. No one’s ever gotten me something that wasn’t, like, lingerie or… bad decisions.”

“It reminded me of you,” you said. “Lowkey beautiful. Kinda rare. Impossible not to notice.”

She huffed out a breath, but her smile grew wider, warmer. “Okay, now you’re pushing it.”

Still, she took off her rings one by one, slid the bracelet over her wrist, and clicked it into place like it belonged there. Holding her hand up in the soft diner light, she turned it slowly, admiring it with a look she tried to shrug away.

“You realize I’m never taking this off, right?” she said. “It’s mine now. Permanently. Hope you’re cool with that.”

“I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll get a thank you in my Noble Peace Prize” she said sarcastically

She nudged your foot under the table and took another bite of the pastry. You were watching her, and she knew it and for once, she didn’t deflect. She let it land.

“All right,” she said, licking sugar off her thumb. “What else you got?”

You grinned. “Whatever you want.”

She leaned back in the booth like royalty.

“In that case,” she said, pointing at the menu, “I want pancakes. And bacon. And maybe a milkshake. You started this, now keep up.”