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sincerelybubbles · 1 year ago

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it's a date || spencer reid x reader

part 2

warnings: cannon-typical violence/mentions of murder and kidnapping, slow burn, fluff!, early seasons spencer, not proof read

word count: 6.1k

You sigh and crack your knuckles, staring down at the pot simmering on the stove. You know that the sauce would be okay if you left it for a few minutes, did something else, but you remain standing, uselessly stirring it every few seconds. Truthfully, you’re bored. Your mind shifts from cooking to work tomorrow, itching to pull out your documents and scan through them one more time. But you know you shouldn’t, advise about work-life balance tugging at your attention.

You’re debating if you should pick up a book and try to read, something light to take your mind off of the day, when a knock sounds from the front door. Your dog, Penny, a lovely golden retriever you rescued a few years ago, lets out a weak woof before slowly standing and trotting to the door. She’s old, more grey than golden, but she never fails to answer the door with you.

You turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner, wiping your hands as you walk, when another knock echoes through the hallway. It’s sharp, official, loud. The sound fills you with anxiety. You stand on your toes to look out of the peephole.

“Hello?” You ask through the door, not recognizing the men standing outside and seeing no package in sight.

“Hello, Jason Gideon, FBI, could we have a word?” The older man says, voice stern but not unkind.

You open the door without unlatching the chain, peering out through the crack. “FBI?”

Jason Gideon, the one who spoke, pulls out his badge first. The lankier man next to him follows in suit. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than the other agent, taking in his toussled brown hair. You scan the badges for a second before shutting the door to undo the chain.

“Sorry, you can’t be too careful, you know?”

“Oh, we know that all too well,” Gideon says good-naturedly, “it’s good to be cautious.”

He asks your name, you give it, and nods sharply, looking to his partner. “Well, like I said, I’m Jason Gideon with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI, and this is my partner Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Well, come on in, Agent Gideon and Dr. Reid,” you say, waving them both in and shutting the door.

“Just Gideon is fine.”

Dr. Reid sends you a tight lipped smile as he walks in, adjusting his shirt and otherwise avoiding your gaze. He seems nervous.

“Would you two like something to drink while you tell me why you’re here? Coffee, tea, water?” You ask, twisting the dishcloth between your hands as you lead them inside.

“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” Gideon says. You nod and turn to Dr. Reid, who is staring at you with his mouth slightly agape.

“Oh, yeah, coffee for me too, please.”

“Of course, have a seat,” you say, waving them to the small table in your kitchen and moving to prepare their drinks. Neither of them sit.

“How well do you know your neighbors?” Gideon asks as you start the coffee.

You shrug. “As well as anyone does these days, I guess. I wave when I drive past them, smile when they’re out front at the same time. Why, has something happened? I saw the police cars earlier, on my way home from work, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dr. Reid says, even though he looks your age, maybe even a few years older. “Your neighbor across the street was murdered last night, Mrs. Furgison, and her eight-year-old son is missing. Did you hear anything?”

You fall still, facing away from the two officers. Numb, you shake your head, “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t home last night. I was watching my niece for my sister.” You turn around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “But there are cameras outside, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?” “Yes,” Gideon confirms with a nod. “Would you be okay if we took a look at the last few weeks of footage if you have it?”

“You want to see if he’s been visiting before last night,” you mumble, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you work in law enforcement?” Dr. Reid asks, the question erupting from him like he couldn’t hold it back. “You’re shockingly calm and seem to know what we’re going to ask before we get to it.”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, waving a hand in the air and turning to pull the pot of coffee out. “BAU, of course, you’d see right through me. I’m a victim liaison. I read through this process hundreds of times a week. Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” Gideon answers as Dr. Reid blurts out, “Yes, please.”

You set the mugs on the kitchen counter along with a container of sugar.

“Help yourself, I’ll grab my laptop to get those files for you.”

When you come back, laptop in tow, Gideon and Dr. Reid are having a hushed conversation, both holding their mugs of coffee. You round the corner slowly but loudly, aware that sometimes agents can be jumpy. Gideon smiles at you while Dr. Reid looks over sharply.

It fits, given their ages and presumably how long each have been in the field. You try to send him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates but still looks obviously awkward, fixing his hair and taking a sip of coffee.

“Would you like me to put the files on a USB? Email them somewhere? Or just,” you motion with the computer, offering it over.

“I can take it,” Dr. Reid offers, “send the files to Garcia.”

You let him, passing him the computer easily. With your job, the government is already elbows deep in that laptop, anyway; you have nothing to hide.

You watch as Dr. Reid begins typing away on your computer, leaning over the table and resting his forearms on the edge.

Both of the agents are dressed professionally: button-down shirts, slacks, dress shoes. Guns ready at the hip.

“You like to cook?” Gideon asks, nodding toward your forgotten pasta on the stove.

“Yes and no,” you admit, chuckling and turning your attention to him. “It always tastes better than takeout but it’s hard to get the motivation. Are you hungry? Can I offer you anything else?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Of course. I know how overworked you lot can be.” You cross your arms and lean back against your counter. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“Not as often as I should,” he admits, smiling sadly. “Victim liaison, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You seem a little young.” “Could say the same about him.” You nod at Dr. Reid who doesn’t hear you, too focused on his work. “But I guess drive and pretty much no social life can get you anywhere,” you admit with a laugh.

“Garcia should have the files in a minute,” Dr. Reid interrupts, looking up from your laptop.

“I’ll give her a call.”

He steps out with a nod to you, walking back into the front hallway of your small home and leaving you alone with the doctor.

He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes focus over your shoulder and his attention is stolen. “Sorry,” he says, moving past you and into your living room, toward your bookshelf. “Is that a Russian copy of Crime and Punishment?” He asks, brushing his finger over the spine of the book.

“Oh, yeah, it is.” You follow him, staring up at your own bookshelf like you’ve never seen it before. It’s crammed full of books. There are more filling your bedroom down the hall as well. “It’s a slow read, I have to use a lexicon a lot of the time, but I sort of like the work. Translating’s a hobby of mine, I guess. When I have time. Sorry, that might be weird.”

“No, it’s not weird at all! Not to me, at least. Are you using a Dictionary-based lexicon? Can I see it? I have one that I love. I haven’t read much Russian but I have one for Greek. They’re rarely used anymore, falling out of popularity with the creation of the internet where everything is readily available to just search up, but I find them fascinating and I’ve never seen one for Russian before.”

He talks enthusiastically with his hands. His eyes shine, the interest lighting up his face. You think, before you remember the reason why he’s there, that he’s actually quite handsome. You become slightly breathless at the realization. You don’t really notice people like this often. But, towering above you, buttoned shirt pushed up to show his forearms and a self-concious smile stretching across his face, you’re a little flustered.

You take a breath, remembering that your neighbor is dead and a little boy is missing, sending Dr. Reid a small smile and motioning behind you.

“It’s in my office if you want to go look at it. I prefer it to just typing out the stuff I don’t know — mostly because I don’t have a Russian keyboard — and it’s easier to learn when you have to research it.”

“I would actually love –”

“Reid,” Gideon interrupts, ending his call, “Garcia got the files, we have to go.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Gideon says, walking toward you and offering his hand. “And for the coffee. So sorry to have interrupted your cooking.”

“Anytime detective,” you say, shaking his hand and smiling up at him, “always happy to help. I can give you my card if you need anything else?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

You rush to your bag to pull out one of your cards and hand it to Gideon before turning to offer Dr. Reid your hand.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Dr. Reid.”

He takes your hand firmly. “Spencer’s fine,” he says, stumbling over his words slightly but still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” you repeat, letting them out and returning to your sad pasta.

Your mind wonders, not to the murder or kidnapping, but to Spencer Reid. Wide brown eyes, tousled hair pushed out of his face, a sweet smile. Smart, too. Way too smart.

You’re not exactly experienced when it comes to dating, you hadn’t lied to Gideon when you said you don’t make time for a social life, dating included, but you do know that an interest in a too-smart profiler might spell bad news.

Still, as you portion out your meal, you can’t help but think that you’re feeling awfully motivated to return to working on Crime and Punishment. You don’t lie to yourself about the origins of this sudden spark of motivation, but you do rationalize it. What’s the harm in a fleeting crush, then? Especially if it gives you the push to finally finish one of the many projects hanging on your ever-growing list?

You suppose you might see them arround the office if they’re working in this jurisdiction, but then he’ll be gone and it’ll fade away. In the meantime, you make yourself a plate of food and settle down in your living room with the book and lexicon.

||||

“Well, that certainly poses an interesting problem,” you hear Cheif Saunders say as you walk into the police department the next morning, arms full of files ready for sorting.

You round the corner to escape this attention but aren’t fast enough and he calls you over by name. Cringing, you turn on your heel and are faced, once again, with Gideon and Spencer. With them are two more men and two girls, all intimidating and confident.

All FBI, if you had to wager a bet.

“Morning,” you say, nodding to Gideon and Spencer respectively. “Nice to see you two again.”

“You’ve met?” The tall man next to Gideon asks, pointing the question to Spencer. He grins, white teeth overtaking his dark, handsome face. He reaches his hand out to shake yours, “Morgan, nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself, explain your position, and receive introductions from JJ, Elle, and Hotchner as well.

“Where did you meet our friends?” Chief Saunders asks, folding his hands in front of him and setting an accusatory glare on you. “Still preening for a new job?”

“No sir,” you say, uncomfortable. The chief is often cold with you, refusing to acknowledge your knowledge or work. When he found that you were looking to transfer stations to the one a district over, he’d still thrown a fit, though. You guess he can’t ignore how well your numbers reflect on him as easily as he deflects your accomplishments to your face.

“We stopped by to get access to her cameras, she lives across the street from the Furgison’s,” Gideon explains, watchful eyes glancing between you and the chief.

“They proved to be surprisingly useful,” Spencer interrupts. “We now know the make, model, and color of the unsubs car as well as his general height. Garcia is still trying to make out plates, but we are able to confirm at least pieces of our profile with the information.”

“You live across the street?” The chief asks, still staring at you. You shift your weight, holding the files closer to your chest.

“Yes, sir. In a duplex.”

“Then, fellas, I’ve found the solution to our problem. You’ll set up with our little liaison, then.”

“Sorry?” You ask, startled.

“We have reason to believe that the unsub is returning to the crime scenes after the police have left the area and allowed the family to return. But, if we know our guy, and we think we do,” Elle says, begrudingly, “he’s smart. He’s going to notice if we’re camped out in a car. And, in a residential street, it’s much harder to hide in a building.”

“So, you’ll have the opportunity to make yourself useful,” Chief Saunders chuckles, laying a heavy hand on your shoulder and shaking you.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Gideon adds, glancing at you with a patient expression.

“Yes, it would be a complete invasion of your privacy, agents would be there twenty-four-seven monitoring. We would only stay in the front areas of the house, of course, but you needn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. There are always other ways.” Agent Hotchner fixes you with a level look, voice sincere.

“Oh, she’s comfortable, aren’t ya?” The chief says, shaking you again with a wide smile.

“Yes, of course,” you say, nodding at the others. You mean it, you’ll do whatever you can to help out, you just wish you could’ve made the choice yourself.

“This way, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, either. Little Miss has full access to ongoing investigations, she’ll be there for all of the briefings and such.”

You nod, discretely moving a step back so his hand falls from your shoulder.

“Yes, I’m meant to be kept up to date with all ongoing, violent investigations where and if possible to act as a bridge between law enforcement and victims and families of victims. Especially those with children involved — I should have mentioned we would cross paths again last night, I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, we’ve worked with our fair share of liaisons,” Gideon chuckles, looking over his shoulder at JJ who gives him a small smile.

“Then it’s all set. You boys let me know when you have your profile ready.” Elle watches him walk off with a hard stare, obviously just as rubbed wrong by him as you are.

“Lovely man, isn’t he?” You joke, trying to make the situation lighthearted.

“We’ve interacted before. Our headquarters isn’t actually far from here, just a twenty-minute drive, we’re up in Quantico. He doesn’t get any better with time, though.” Agent Hotchner shakes his head, turning to grab a file off of the desk behind him.

“Well, he always forgets to offer his office space to visitors so I usually keep mine available. It’s quieter and there’s a whiteboard, follow me.”

||||

Since you started renting the small duplex by yourself, you’ve never felt awkward in your own home. Now, though, you feel odd taking up your own space.

The majority of the Quantico team is set up in your front room with laptops, cameras, and microphones.

“We don’t know exactly how long he usually takes to come back to scenes, only that it typically happens within the week,” Elle explains to you apologetically.

“No problem — comes with the job, no?” You say, smiling and trying to brush it off. Elle laughs gently, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head.

“No, not really. I wouldn’t be thrilled if these boys set up shop in my house, you’re taking this with much more grace than I would.”

You shrug, crossing your arms and tilting your head from side to side. “I won’t act like it’s normal, it is pretty weird having you guys here, but if it helps you catch this guy, why would I say no? Better me than some random civilian.” You hesitate, scrunching up your nose, “Better now than waiting for him to kill someone else.”

“Much more compassionate than I am,” Elle jokes, shaking her head and walking away as Gideon calls her name.

The main problem, you think, is that the duplex isn’t very big. The part of the team that’ll be staying with you — Spencer, Gideon, Elle, and Morgan — have all settled in. They won’t come and go, their car is firmly parked in your garage, and they’ll keep a low profile to prevent the unsub from noticing their presence. You’re meant to come and go as normal to keep suspicion low in case he’s cased the entire neighborhood. But, with only two bedrooms, a baths, and a small office, you’re feeling slightly cramped. Whenever you turn, you feel like you’re coming toe-to-toe with someone. It’s awkward, considering you’re very used to living alone.

Still, you’re determined to be a good host, so you set to preparing lunch for everyone. They’d insisted that you didn’t need to, but you really don’t know what else to do. You’d been given the day to help them all settle in and provide assistance wherever possible, but there isn’t much to do other than wait.

You’re pulling out the things for sandwiches when Spencer walks in.

“Hey, do you have an extra ethernet cable? Garcia thinks that a direct line would be better,” he asks.

“Maybe, you’re free to check in the office if you want. If you need, you can always pull the one from my desktop,” you say, shutting the fridge and trying to balance everything in your arms in one trip.

“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks, reaching forward to grab the ham and mayo from the top of your stack.

“Making sandwiches!”

“You really don’t have to. We can have food ordered, it’s okay.”

“I wanna make myself useful, I feel weird just standing around watching you guys work,” you say, dumping the materials on the counter. “I hope you guys like ham or turkey, it’s all I have.”

“You are being useful, though. You’ve let us set up in your home, how much more useful can you be?”

“I could provide food as well,” you say, sending him a smile. “Ham or turkey?”

Spencer looks exasperated, setting the ham and mayo down and shaking his head. Nervously, he uses both of his hands to push his hair back. “Either. Either is fine, thank you.”

You start to prepare the sandwiches, Spencer watching and still looking like he wants to say something.

“Hey, Reid, I found one, we’re all set,” Morgan says, rounding the corner and waving the white chord in the air. “Oh, what’re you making?” He asks, stepping closer and leaning over your shoulder.

“Sandwiches. I was asking Spence if you guys like ham and turkey but he wasn’t being helpful.”

“Well, Spence can be like that,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer a smirk over his shoulder. “But we’d appreciate anything.” “I was trying to tell her,” Spencer interrupts, “that it’s entirely unnecessary for her to make us lunch. She’s already done enough for us letting us set up here. The effort is appreciated, of course, obviously, you just shouldn’t have to. Because we’re already intruding.” He trails off as Morgan sends him a look, raising his eyebrow.

“Well, I, for one, appreciate the offer,” Morgan says, leaning on the counter and smiling down at you. You laugh at him.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! I do,” he says, turning to you and holding one of his hands up in a placating way, “I just don’t think, it’s very kind of course, I just –”

You cut him off, taking pity, “He’s fucking with you. Relax.”

||||

“I just can’t believe that you’re actually processing any of what you’re reading at that speed!” You say, throwing your arms up.

“I actually am. Speed reading, when done right, doesn’t take away from comprehension at all. Plus, with my eidetic memory, I can always think back and process later if I need to,” Spencer explains.

“Fine, you’re understanding what you’re reading in a general sense, but where’s the enjoyment in it? How can you possibly understand all the intricacies of the writing, what the author is doing, and appreciate the characters and their growth if you don’t take your time with it?” “I tend to focus my reading moreso on informational writing, so that’s not often a problem. And when I do read something fictional or with more nuance, I’m never lacking in any way when it comes to my understanding of the content, even when speed reading.”

“So you’re not actually taking the time to have fun reading is what I’m hearing.”

“Reading is inherently fun when you’re learning something, though,” he says, lips quirked in a slight smirk and a line forming between his eyebrows as he looks down at you. The look is so disarming that you find yourself deflating a little.

You’re in your living room, a few books scattered on the coffee table between you two, debating the merits of each one.

“I dunno,” you say, argument leaving you as you become distracted.

“Just say I’m right! You know I am,” Spencer says with a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning toward you slightly, hands spread.

You thought he was cute when he was shy, bumbling in your house yesterday, but after a few hours to warm up to each other, you can’t deny you really like him.

The only thing that completely blocks the disappointment that they’ll all soon be leaving is that their UnSub will be caught when they have to leave. Your community and neighborhood will be better off for it.

“No, I still think you’re wrong. Sure, you understand what you’re reading but I just don’t buy that you could possibly enjoy it in the same way that I am!” You’re trying your damndest to regain your confidence, shaking your head side-to-side with a wide smile to erase the vision of his own smirk, his hands, his rolled up sleeves from your mind. “I mean, nothing beats curling up with a book and taking your time with it.” “Well,” Spencer interrupts, lifting a finger, “how can you say if you’ve never tried my way?”

“Speed reading? I’ve done it, actually.” You shrug at his hesitating look, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his eyes.

“Really? What method? What was your fastest time? What —” Morgan cuts off his questioning by walking in and calling for him.

“Gideon wants you to take a look at something.” “Ah. Breaks over.” Spencer stands from where he was sitting on your armchair, brushing his hands off on his pants. He points at you while he walks away, “We’re not finished, though!”

“Oh?” Morgan asks when he’s gone, raising his eyebrows at you. “Unfinished business?” You scoff, moving to pick up the books you pulled out to talk to Spencer about.

You like Morgan. He’s an easy one to like and he feels like the bigger brother you don’t have with his easy smiles. The chaos in your house hasn’t been easy, you appreciate his consistent presence to lighten the atmosphere.

You’ve actually come to like all of them. Elle with her stories, Gideon with his dry smiles, and Spencer. Really, you just like Spencer. You’re an adult, you’re not ashamed to admit it. Just, only to yourself, lest you mess something up and make him uncomfortable.

“You know, I can’t really say I haven’t seen him this excited before because the kid gets excited about everything but,” Morgan shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall he’s been leaning on and coming to sit next to you, “you do seem to get along well.”

“Oh, yeah, Spencer’s nice,” you say, standing to put the books away.

“Nice,” Morgan muses, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms.

“He is! You all are.” You laugh when Morgan raises his eyebrows again. “I’m being serious, I would kill to work on a team like yours. You all actually work together.”

“We have to.”

“It certainly works out better when you do.”

“Yeah, your boss is a real dick. He usually walk all over you like that?” You wrinkle your nose at him as you sit down, pulling your legs under you. “More or less I guess. My personal opinion is that he’d like more men on the team and … no women,” you joke, giving him a what can you do? look, smiling sadly.

“And you tried to transfer?”

“Stop profiling me,” you say, eyes narrowing. Morgan smiles, all teeth.

“Not profiling, just remembering him saying something like that when we talked at the station.”

“Oh,” you say, slouching back. “That’s considerably less impressive.” “Ouch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I wound you. But I did look into transferring a while back. I’ve been trying to move up for a while and keep getting blocked. But, no surprise, I got blocked again.” You raise an imaginary glass, cheers-ing with the air, “Go government!”

“That’s fucked,” Morgan says, letting out a low whistle. “So you don’t want to stay a victims liasion?”

“No, I do. But it’s not my only job right now. It’s a little complicated, but our office is too small to have a head liaison. So I really just run around filling gaps wherever I can until I’m needed to do my actual job. I’d love to do just liaison work, I really like working with the public. Feels like I’m actually helping people, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” “Hey,” you say suddenly, not wanting to keep the mood somber (or ignore the FBI agent in your house with your silly woes while a murder investigation is underway), “you want some tea? Coffee?”

“Sure doll, I’ll take some coffee,” Morgan says, a confused smile taking over his face, “if you’re offering.”

||||

“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Spencer is saying, flipping through files and leaning over to show Elle something.

“Oh, I bet. Nothing better than vicious murder,” you say, dry, rolling a pen between your fingers.

“I mean the process behind deciphering their reasoning,” Spencer says, shrugging.

“I just don’t know how you look past it to see anything other than the violence,” you say, shuddering.

He and Elle have taken the night shift and are giving you a rundown on profiling. You’ve worked with profilers before, but they’re small-town cops, more interested in closing cases than being scientific, or, at times, even correct.

“How do you look past a crying mother after her daughter has been murdered to get the information you need?” Elle asks. “I’ve worked with hundreds of victims, I think I’m pretty good at it, but your records show that you’re one of the best.”

You heat at the praise, shrugging your shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I look past them. I actually try to get into their shoes to figure out what I can say to get through to them.”

“Often the victims families know more than they think. Every bit of information they can give us or the police about the victim only lead us closer to the unsub. We often rely on your job to get important information out of victims and families that we wouldn’t otherwise have. It requires tact, empathy, and extreme emotional control,” Spencer explains, setting the file down and brushing his hair back.

“Well, thank you?”

“I think he’s trying to say what we do is similar,” Elle explains, “it’s just the opposite side of it.”

“I’m still not following — but I’m definitely not built to be a profiler, that’s for sure.”

“But you could be. You profile in your own way. We look at the bad guys, the killing patterns, stuff like that,” Spencer leans forward, enthusiastic. “You just profile less intense people. Gather information from them, figure out what they need. Get in their shoes, to use your words. You use their actions, small phrases, and what you can gather from their homes to approach them the best way, no?”

“Looking at their clothes and body language and stuff, sure.”

“We do exactly that with crime scenes. Recognize patterns. Just like you can’t imagine seeing past the violence, some of us can’t imaigne having to see past the emotion of someone dealing with fresh loss.” Elle smiles. “You’d probably make a really good profiler. You’re just a better victims advocate.”

You consider that, weighing their words. “Sure, maybe,” you admit. “I still think it’s kinda like magic, though. Your knowledge, your intuition, your teamwork. It’s cool.”

“Thank you,” Elle says kindly.

Spencer jumps back into his explanation of the types of murder-kidnappers, musing with Elle again about their profile. Their ability to constantly return to the same evidence over and over without any hesitation is still amazing to you. Despite what Elle said, you’re sure you’d get bored.

You’re even more sure that it would stick to you in a way that working with the victims never did. You visit crime scenes, sure, but you never do everything in your power to commit every bit of them to memory.

As they talk, you move toward the window and move the curtains over slightly. It’s the middle of the night, the second the team has spent in your home, and you’re curious how much longer this unsub will take to be caught.

You’ve done your best to keep to your usual schedule and luckily it’s not unusual for you to be up late. The movement behind the curtains won’t be suspicious, so you stand and peek out curiously at the home across the street.

Penny sighs from her bed in the living room, snoring softly. She’s taken a liking to your guests who are always willing to give her attention and scraps of food.

The Furgison house bigger than yours, a family home with a large backyard. It’s a faded blue, lightened by the sun, with a white door. Theres a dim porch light that’s been left on, throwing yellow shaddows across the street.

You swear you see a curtain move in the window and your entire body freezes, breath stolen from your lungs.

“Hey guys?” You say, dead quiet, as you see the curtains flutter again. Small, nearly inperceptable movement. Greys and blacks angainst more greys and blacks.

“Yeah?” Elle asks, still reading over the file with Spencer.

“You’re sure that nobodys gone in tonight?”

“Certain,” Elle says, moving quickly to stand next to you. “Why?”

“Curtains moved,” you say, nodding toward the house.

“Maybe the AC was left on?” Elle suggests and you shake your head.

“No, we would’ve noticed it before now. They have no animals, the house should be empty.”

Your heart is racing as Spencer joins you at the window.

“You sure you saw it move?” He asks, moving to stand behind you, just out of sight at the window, a hand pressed to your back. Gentle pressure, just his fingertips, that makes you siffen even more. He moves his hand, whispering an apology.

You wish he hadn’t.

Your mind spins, distracted for a moment, shaking your head again.

“Yes, I’m certain.”

“Go get Morgan and Gideon,” Spencer tells you, sharing a look with Elle.

||||

You follow the team out, despite their insistence that you don’t have to, holding your own handgun out and following the light Morgan casts.

You live in a relatively sleepy neighborhood. Shared duplexes and little houses line the streets, most with little flowerbeds out front. The Furgison house is no exception: it’s a little blue house with rose bushes out front. It backs the small patch of wood that runs along the length of the highway.

Heart racing and head light from adrenaline, you stay out front to watch for any movement inside while Morgan and Hotch creep around one side of the house, Spencer and Elle take the other side.

“Back here,” you faintly hear Morgan say through your earpiece. “The cellar door is open. It was deadlocked last time.”

You sitffen, readjusting your grip on your gun.

“Wasn’t it cleared, though, when we were here last?” Elle asks.

“Yeah, but he could’ve snuck in through the woods — there’s no telling.”

“Didn’t we position police cars on the highway?” Elle again. You can imagine them all standing behind the house, guns drawn. It’s intersting to hear them communicate so efficiently, voices low.

“We’ll worry about it later. Morgan, you take the lead, I’ll take the rear, Elle stay out here.”

For a long few seconds, you hear Morgan, Spencer, and Hotch begin to clear the basement, until you’re jolted out of the repetitive “clear!”s by Hotch yelling, “FBI, put your hands up!”

The next few minutes turn into a whirlwind as police cars arrive and Morgan drags the UnSub out of the house by his handcuffed arms.

The Furgison boy comes out next, disheveled and passed to the paramedics in the back of an ambulance. Once you see Hotch, Spencer, and Elle are okay as well, you jump into action, going to sit with the boy and comfort him. Morgan is there, too, crouched down to talk to the kid.

“You’re all good now,” he’s saying, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “And my friend here is going to make sure that you see your dad as soon as possible.” Morgan gestures to you and you nod at the little boy.

The sight of him makes your chest ache: he’s scrawny with wide brown eyes and a mop of curls on the top of his head.

“Agent Morgan is right, your dad is going to meet us at the hospital.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, shaking under his emergency blanket.

“I’ll ride with you in the ambulance, too, and that’ll be fun, right?” You ask, jumping up to sit next to him. Slowly and sluggish the boy rests his head on your shoulder, still shivering. You wrap an arm around him before mouthing ‘I’ve got him’ to Morgan. He gives you a small sile, waves at the boy, and goes to join his team.

After being checked over again by the paramedics, the boy falls asleep quickly in the hospital, holding his dads hand. You’re leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft click, when you see Spencer sitting in the hallway.

“How is he?” Spencer asks, standing up at the sight of you.

“He’s okay, some minor bruises and scrapes, dehydrated but on an IV. They’re just happy to be back together.”

“That’s good,” Spencer says, falling quiet and looking away.

“And, hey, you guys caught the bad guy — now you all get to go home!”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, turning to look at you again, chuckling slightly without any heart behind it.

“Are you not excited?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s always nice coming back home after a trip, even one as close to home as this one is. But it’s a little bittersweet.”

“How so?”

You practically see Spencer gathering his courage, straightening his shoulders and sending you a small but genuine smile.

“Well, we have some unfinished business, remember? And you never showed me your lexicon.”

“Well,” you say, smiling, “you’ll just have to keep in touch, then. Maybe we can get dinner?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Dinner.” Spencer is fully grinning now, eyes squinting with the force of it. You can’t help but mirror him, laughing a little. “Well, I do have a car to catch. I just wanted to check on him and say goodbye.”

“Well, goodbye for now Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye,” he says, smiling at you for a second longer before turning to walk to the exit. He makes it to the doors before he hesitates, one hand on the handle. He stands there, still, for a moment before turning around and asking, “Dinner, like a date, right?”

Giddy, your smile only widens as you nod. “I would really like that, if you’re asking, yeah.”

“I’m asking.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

i wanted more to happen here but then i got this far and still had so much more i could write about these two aahhh

lmk if u want a pt 2 bc i kind of have ideas :) tysm for reading!!

2K notes · View notes

odileeclipse · 2 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 21

<<<Previous Next>>>

When morning came…The door to the lecture hall swung shut behind you with a dull thud, the echo trailing like the remnants of Professor Almond Custard’s latest rambling theory, something about spontaneous infusion patterns that had your mind swimming more than it should have.

You rubbed at your eyes, blinking away the residual glaze of boredom. Your mind dozed off before you knew it whatever was said was lost on you.

“Another riveting lecture,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie drawled, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he caught up with you in the hall.

“I think my soul left my body around minute twenty.”

“You lasted that long?” Chai Latte Cookie teased, linking her arm through yours as the group moved toward the central corridor. “I lost interest when he pulled out the second chalkboard.”

“I rather liked the second chalkboard,” Earl Grey Cookie said smoothly, appearing at your side with his usual effortless poise. Hazelnut Biscotti rolling his eyes trailing behind Earl Grey. “Though I suppose it’s only natural that one must enjoy chaos to appreciate it.”

“Speaking of chaos,” you muttered, squinting up at him, “you said you’d show us what’s required for the Spire, right?”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a short nod. “Ah. Yes. I was wondering when you’d ask.” He gestured for you all to follow him and led you through the glass-paneled corridor that cut through the Scholar’s Wing like a vein of light. The noonday sun spilled through in dappled patterns, illuminating golden dust motes as they danced lazily in the air. He stopped just outside the smaller lecture annex and pulled a folded parchment from the inner pocket of his coat. The seal on it shimmered faintly with magic, stamped with the same sigil that had been on the article you'd read about the Spire. “This,” Earl Grey began, unfolding the paper with careful precision, “is what’s required to be considered for student placement at the Spire of Knowledge.” He held it out so everyone could see.

You and the others leaned in, eyes scanning the list.

Preliminary Application Requirements for the Spire of Knowledge (Student Research Cohort): -Demonstrated academic excellence in magical theory and application (minimum GPA threshold: 3.5) - One letter of recommendation from a faculty member (Spire-affiliated or Senior Scholar preferred) -A minimum of one completed research project within your department -Submission of an intent proposal: a 750-word document explaining your desired research path and its relevance to the future of magical study -Optional: portfolio of magical constructs, spellwork matrices, or theoretical contributions

Your mouth felt a little dry as you reached the bottom. “That’s… a lot.”

Earl Grey tilted his head. “They want promising scholars. Not perfect ones. But those who can prove they’re capable of more than passive learning.”

“You said this was optional?” Hazelnut Biscotti asked, pointing to the final note about portfolios.

Earl Grey nodded. “Optional, but highly encouraged. It’s a way to stand out. The review board will be selective.”

Chai Latte Cookie leaned closer to you, whispering, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” You nodded slowly, still taking it all in. The list in your hands was more than a formality; it was a door. One that could lead you there. To the Spire. To him.

“Applications open next month,” Earl Grey added, tucking the parchment back into his coat. “That gives you a few weeks to pull things together. I’d suggest speaking with your current professors about research topics, if you haven’t already.”

Hazelnut let out a low whistle. “Well, this just got a whole lot more real.” You stood quietly for a moment, the magnitude of it settling in your bones. Research. Letters. The proposal. You could do this. You had to do this.

For yourself. And for the chance to be where he was, too. “Think we’ll make it?” you asked, mostly to yourself.

Earl Grey regarded you with something almost fond in his expression. “I think you’re more than capable,” he said simply.

Chai Latte bumped your shoulder with hers. “We’re doing it together, remember?” You looked between them Hazelnut Biscotti already plotting aloud how to spin his latest project, Earl Grey calmly listing professors who might agree to sponsor a recommendation, Chai Latte’s quiet determination and felt the edges of your fear soften. Together. That part was never in doubt. You exhaled, a slow breath, one hand curling around the strap of your bag.

“Then let’s get to work.” You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment before glancing up at him. “Earl?” Your voice was smaller than you meant for it to be, but the moment felt fragile somehow, and you didn’t want to break it. “Would you… help me organize everything?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft laugh. “What, you don’t trust us to help?”

You shot him a look. “I trust you to set my desk on fire by accident.”

“Rude,” he grinned, clearly unbothered.

Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Fair, though.”

You turned back to Earl Grey, offering a sheepish half-smile. “No offense to either of them, but… you just have a way of making things make sense. I don’t want to mess this up.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head, gaze unreadable for a moment before softening, just slightly. “We’ll all help,” he said. “That was always the plan.” His eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “But I’ll make sure your materials are in order. I know how… overwhelmed you can get.”

You winced, just a little. “Is it that obvious?”

“To most? No.” His voice was low, reassuring. “To me? You forget how long I’ve been watching you wrestle with your notes during every group study session.” A flush crept into your cheeks, but it faded quickly beneath the warmth blooming in your chest. There was no judgment in his tone just gentle honesty, the kind that made you feel more seen than exposed.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. Chai Latte Cookie leaned her head against your shoulder. “We’ve got you.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie offered a lazy thumbs-up. “Team effort, as always.” You glanced at the stack of papers again daunting, yes, but suddenly, not quite so impossible. Not with them beside you. Not with him. You smiled down at the neatly arranged documents, a weight lifting off your chest now that it wasn’t just you staring down a mountain of requirements alone. The way Earl Grey had broken everything into clean, digestible pieces, color-coded tabs and annotated margins made it all feel far less impossible than it had even ten minutes ago.

“I think I’ll look over it tomorrow,” you said, fingers brushing the edge of the folder. “Maybe… after I’ve slept and recovered from Professor Almond Custard’s war on attention spans.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Sleep first, suffer later. Classic.”

Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “I’ll bring snacks for morale support. You know, the important kind of support.”

You beamed at her, heart light. “You always do.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a quiet hum of approval as he slid the folder back into its case. “Sleep is an acceptable excuse for now,” he teased, a rare note of mischief in his otherwise polished tone.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, stretching your arms out with a small sigh. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll tackle it together.” There was a warmth at the table that lingered, a quiet promise spoken not in declarations, but in gestures. In how Earl Grey kept the documents close at hand, in how Chai was already thinking of snacks, in the way Hazelnut’s relaxed posture said you’ve got this without a single word. And deep down, you knew you’d be okay. Because you wouldn’t be doing this alone. Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table, her fingers lightly brushing yours as she closed the folder you’d been staring at for the past few minutes.

“You should nap,” she said gently, her tone so sweet and final it left no room for protest. “We’ll wake you when it’s time for tutoring. Promise.”

You blinked at her, blinking slowly, the heaviness in your limbs catching up to you all at once. “But what if-”

“Nope,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie interrupted with a lopsided grin. “No arguing. You look like you’ve been dragged through five lectures and four existential crises.”

“That’s… alarmingly accurate,” you muttered, already sinking back into your chair. Chai Latte Cookie giggled, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face like she had every right to like she always did. “You’ve done enough for today. Let your brain take a break.” Earl Grey Cookie gave an approving nod, already tidying the papers as if sealing the deal. “We’ll keep everything safe. You’ll be far more efficient after rest.”

You gave a weak laugh, warmth blooming somewhere in your chest at the quiet care in all their voices. “Alright, alright. Just for a bit.”

Chai Latte Cookie stood and held out her hand, helping you up. “Come on. You can use my blanket. It smells like cinnamon and reassurance.” You let her guide you away. Chai Latte Cookie’s dorm room smelled exactly like her warm, floral, and ever-so-slightly spiced, like steamed milk kissed with cardamom and honey. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the sounds of the hallway, and you stood still for a moment, letting the atmosphere settle around you. It was soft.

Every corner of her room breathed softness, like it had been designed not just for comfort but for care. The walls were a muted rose color, washed gently in natural light filtering through gossamer curtains embroidered with little constellations of gold thread. Strands of fairy lights looped from one end of the room to the other, casting a gentle, magical glow over the shelves lined with worn novels, dried flower bundles, and carefully curated trinkets from festivals and markets long past. There were pictures, too tucked in between vases and books of the four of you, of her family, of blurry sunrises captured in shaky hands and bright, unfiltered smiles.

Her bed was massive, layered in plush quilts and far too many pillows, silk, velvet, hand-stitched, patterned with swirling florals and soft geometric shapes. It looked like a cloud pulled down from the heavens and coaxed into a shape meant for daydreamers. On the desk, there were journals open and overflowing with curling cursive and half-doodles, stars and teacups and notes-to-self and an old teapot kept warm on a charm-cast tray. There was a small music box by her windowsill, its paint chipped just slightly, as if it had been loved too much to stay pristine. She placed a hand on your back, guiding you gently toward the bed.

“You’re using the quilt with the little stars,” she declared, already fluffing the pillows behind you. “It’s my favorite, and it’s good for dreaming.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie dropped onto a chair in the corner, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn. “Place still smells like poetry,” he muttered.

Earl Grey Cookie only nodded once, fingers ghosting along the edge of her bookshelf as he glanced over the titles. “A surprising number of historical romances,” he mused.

“I contain multitudes,” Chai Latte replied sweetly, pulling the quilt over your legs once you settled down.

“And a hopeless romantic streak.” You murmured something incoherent into the pillow, and she brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear like she always had. Her touch was as familiar as the rest of her gentle, grounded, and unflinchingly kind. “We’ll be right here,” she whispered, voice quiet enough to rest on your skin like sunlight. “Just rest, okay? When it’s time, we’ll wake you.”

The last thing you saw before your eyes drifted shut was the soft, golden lantern light flickering above, casting faint stars across the ceiling. And the sound you fell asleep to wasn’t a lullaby, but the low hum of your friends talking softly just beyond you, safe and close. You didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment, the quilt was warm against your cheek, the scent of Chai Latte Cookie’s lavender sachets settling deep into your lungs, and the next gentle fingers were brushing over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Chai Latte Cookie murmured, her voice like steam rising from a fresh cup. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead.”

You groaned softly, blinking into the plush folds of her favorite star-quilt, bleary-eyed and dazed. The golden hue of the room hadn’t changed much, though the fairy lights now glowed a little brighter with the late afternoon sun dipping behind the window curtains. A hand gently patted your back.

“You should get to your study date,” Chai Latte said lightly, a playful lilt in her voice. Your eyes opened a little wider. “Tutoring,” she corrected, in the exact same breath, as if she hadn’t just tripped over her words.

“Obviously.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted from where he lounged on the floor, flipping through one of Chai’s romance novels. “That slip was louder than a thunderclap.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed and mildly insufferable, offered a knowing glance over the rim of his teacup. “I believe the term is freudian. Though I’m not entirely convinced you mind the implication.”

Your face flushed as you pushed yourself upright, the quilt pooling around your waist. “It’s tutoring,” you mumbled, throat dry from sleep. “Academically-motivated tutoring.”

Chai Latte Cookie only grinned, her hands on her hips, betraying no shame. “Mm-hmm. That’s what we’re calling it.” You shoved your arms through your sleeves, cheeks still hot as you gathered your bag. “You guys are the worst.”

Earl Grey grinned, rising to his feet, “you still rely on us though.”

Chai handed you a small to-go cup of tea warm and sweet, because of course she’d made something while you slept. “Go,” she whispered, her teasing replaced with something gentler. “You’re gonna be late.”

You clutched the tea to your chest and nodded once. There was no turning back now. Whatever this was, whatever it would become you were already stepping toward it. You moved through the Scholar’s Wing on autopilot, feet barely grazing the floor as you weaved through the golden afternoon light slanting in through the high-arched windows. The halls were quieter now most students still lingering in their final classes or tucked into the library, looking over pages with ink-smudged fingers. But you?

You had somewhere else to be. The cup of tea Chai Latte Cookie had pressed into your hands remained warm, cradled like a charm of courage between your palms. You hadn’t taken a sip yet. Just holding it felt like enough a silent reminder of your friends’ unwavering support. You reached the familiar door tucked in the Scholar’s Wing, simple and heavy, carved with the faint outline of ancient runes barely visible unless you knew how to look. Your hand hesitated for only a breath, hovering before the wood. Then, with a quiet rap of your knuckles, you knocked. Just three times. A formality, really. You both knew you didn’t need to anymore. But still you knocked.

From within, you heard the soft shuffle of parchment, the closing of a book, and then his voice: calm, measured, and unmistakably him. “Come in.”

You exhaled slowly, adjusting your grip on the tea, and pushed the door open. “Hey,” you said, the word coming out softer than you intended, like your voice hadn’t quite found its footing. It was the same type of greeting you always gave him, informal, unceremonious, something that once masked how nervous you used to be just being in the same room as him. You had said it a hundred times, maybe more. But today… it didn’t sound the same. Not to your ears. Shadow Milk Cookie looked up at you from behind his desk, and though his expression remained composed, there was something quieter in the air between you. Something not yet named, but no longer hidden.

He didn’t answer right away. Just held your gaze for a moment too long…long enough that your heart skipped. Then, with a faint curve to his lips, he replied in kind. “Hello.” You sat down without being asked, as you always did. The chair was familiar beneath you, the desk scattered with papers and ink. Everything about the moment should have felt like routine. The familiar rhythm of your tutoring sessions, the way the silence filled the room like velvet, the warm scent of parchment and candle wax clinging to the air. But it wasn’t the same. Not really. Because even though you were still you and he was still him, something had changed. The truth had shifted the light in the room gentle, but unmistakable. And maybe no one else would notice. But you did. You sat straighter than usual. Your fingers didn’t fidget with your notes. And when you looked at him you saw something new in the way his gaze lingered, in the way he waited for you to speak like he already knew you would, but still hoped to be surprised. “Long day?” he asked, voice calm as always, but softer somehow.

You smiled, small and private, the kind of smile that only belonged here. “Not yet,” you murmured. “But it’s about to be.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your notes slightly crumpled from being stuffed between too many books, corners folded and scribbled with your usual half-formed thoughts and highlighted passages you weren’t entirely sure you understood. You flattened the pages out on his desk between the two of you, fingers hovering over the diagrams you'd drawn. “So,” you said, nudging the notebook forward, “I think I’m missing something here between the leyline convergence and the anchor sigils.” You tapped your pen against the margin, frowning. “This part just… doesn’t make sense to me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned forward, his expression sharpening not with judgment, but with focus. His eyes swept across the notes, tracing the lines you’d drawn, the hastily-sketched symbols. And just like that, something shifted. Gone was the quiet, almost tender stillness from moments ago. This was the Sage of Truth. His gaze took on that unmistakable glint, bright as a star yet weighted like ancient stone. He didn’t rush. He simply began his voice even, calm, yet commanding in that way that always made you sit a little straighter, hold your breath a little longer.

“You’re approaching it as if the sigils are meant to reinforce the leyline. But in this configuration,” he said, lightly turning the notebook toward you, “they’re actually meant to contain its flow, not strengthen it.”

He reached for a piece of parchment, already illustrating the concept anew, translating the arcane theory into something tangible with practiced ease. His voice wove through the explanation, never faltering, never hesitating. Words that might’ve felt impenetrable in a lecture hall unfolded here with clarity, like pages turned by a knowing hand. “And this,” he added, pointing toward a corner of your notes, “is not a convergence, but a divergence caused by residual energy. You mistook it for equilibrium but in truth, it’s instability.”

You blinked. “But how is that even sustainable?” He glanced at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Because it isn’t. That’s the lesson.” Oh. You sat back slightly, processing the weight of his words not just the answer, but the way he always knew how to give it. As if he had peeled back the layers of your confusion before you’d even fully formed the question. It was humbling. A reminder of why you’d come to rely on these sessions more than you ever thought you would. And yet… this time, the air between you carried something more. You weren’t just looking at a scholar, or a guide, or even the Fount of Knowledge. You were looking at him. The one who had seen your worst confusion and never turned you away. The one who’d waited quietly, patiently for you to understand more than just theory. You exhaled slowly, gaze flickering from his notes back to his face. “…You always make it sound so simple.”

Shadow Milk Cookie looked up at you fully then, the golden light catching in his eyes like some distant, steady flame. “Truth,” he said gently, “is rarely simple. But clarity that, I can offer.” And you believed him. You always had. You leaned forward slightly, propping your chin on your hand, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. Your notebook still lay between the two of you, now marked with new annotations and precise diagrams that only he could make look so elegant.

“You know,” you said, half-teasing, “I was thinking…”

Shadow Milk Cookie glanced up from the parchment he’d just finished sketching on, one brow arching in mild curiosity. “Were you?”

You gave a soft, amused exhale. “What’s it like? Being able to reshape the academic world with, like… a flick of your wrist?” You wiggled your fingers dramatically for effect. “One stroke of a quill and suddenly entire departments are reorganizing themselves to follow your latest lecture.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he laughed. A real one, low and soft, like the echo of a library chuckle that had never quite forgotten how to be human. “If only it were as effortless as you make it sound,” he replied, eyes gleaming with something like fondness. “Influence is not granted by the flick of a wrist. It is earned over years, sometimes centuries by the flicker of ideas. The wrist simply carries them forward.”

You wrinkled your nose. “You could’ve just said, ‘It’s a lot of work.’”

“I could have,” he agreed, amused. “But then, you wouldn’t have had your little moment of reverence.”

You scoffed. “Who said I was reverent?”

He leaned forward ever so slightly, voice dipping lower, quieter. “You speak as if I move stars with my hands,” he murmured. “Yet it is you who offers constellations in your margins, and truths in half-formed questions.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your face flushed with heat as you quickly averted your gaze, muttering, “That’s… unfair.”

Shadow Milk Cookie only tilted his head, the faintest smile still playing at his lips. “You’re the one who asked.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m never asking anything again.”

“You will,” he said, with maddening certainty. You would. You were supposed to be reviewing ley line variance theories, something about elemental drift and spatial fractures but somewhere between diagrams and ink stains, your mind veered off-course. It always did with him. You tapped your pen against the page, then looked up at him slowly, voice casual despite the steady thrum beneath your skin. “If you weren’t doing this teaching, theorizing, being the Fount of Knowledge or whatever what do you think you’d be doing instead?”

Shadow Milk Cookie paused, the tip of his quill held just above the margin of your notes. “An intriguing question,” he said, not looking up yet. “Though I suspect anything I answer will sound terribly pretentious.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Try me.”

He finally set the quill down, folding his hands atop the desk, expression thoughtful. “I suppose I’d be… a lighthouse keeper.”

You blinked. “What?”

“A lighthouse keeper,” he repeated, as if the idea wasn’t completely ridiculous. “Somewhere far from here. Remote. A cliffside, perhaps. I would tend to the light. Keep records. Listen to the sea.”

You stared at him. “That’s so dramatic.”

“I am dramatic,” he said mildly. “And there’s poetry in solitude.”

You leaned forward, grinning now. “So you’d rather be alone on a craggy coast with no one but a thousand squawking seabirds for company?”

“I never said I’d be alone,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d simply prefer… quieter company. Perhaps someone who asks nonsensical questions to fill the silence.” Your breath hitched. It was such a small thing his tone was still and even. His gaze was still soft but it made your heart lurch anyway.

You looked back down at your notes, suddenly embarrassed by how warm your face felt. “…You’re impossible,” you mumbled.

“I prefer inevitable,” he replied smoothly. You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back a laugh. And for a long, quiet moment, the question of ley lines was forgotten, suspended in the hush that had settled between you the kind that needed no explanation. The study session passed more smoothly than you had anticipated. The gaps in your understanding didn’t feel like deep chasms waiting to swallow you whole, but rather, shallow dips you could step across with care. You flipped through your notes with a practiced hand, the ink clean and your diagrams if a little messy and accurate.

Shadow Milk Cookie sat across from you in that same elegant stillness he always did, his hands folded atop a stack of tomes, golden eyes sweeping across the parchment you laid out before him. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t steer, he simply watched, letting you walk yourself through the concepts. You knew he’d only speak if you faltered, if your logic veered too far off course, but today… you didn’t falter much at all.

“…So, if the anchor pulse destabilizes, it starts to slip through the ley line current, right?” you asked, tapping your pen against the diagram you'd drawn. “But if the convergence point is reinforced beforehand, the distortion minimizes less of a ripple?”

His gaze didn’t leave the page. “Precisely.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Wait, really?” A slow nod. “You’ve grasped the core concept. That’s more than most.” There was no teasing in his tone, no quiet amusement at your surprise just a calm certainty, the kind of praise that didn’t flare and vanish but settled deep into your chest like a quiet ember. You looked back down at your notes, a small smile tugging at your lips. It felt good, so good to not be drowning for once. Every now and then, you still asked a question. But they weren’t frantic or confused, not desperate grasps at meaning. They were thoughtful, steady. The kind you could only ask when you understood enough to start wondering why. And he answered them with the same gentle depth he always had. But there was something different about it now. Something less guarded. Something warmer. Eventually, you leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms over your head with a soft groan. “Okay,” you said, smiling a little, “I think that’s everything. I mean for now. Until I find a way to confuse myself again tomorrow.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with a soft look, the corners of his mouth curving upward in that quiet, elusive way of his. “Then tomorrow, I will be here.”

You let out a laugh, your hand brushing your notes into a neat pile. “Of course you will. You’re as consistent as the moon.”

He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable but not distant. “Even the moon waxes and wanes.”

“…But you don’t,” you said, then quickly added, “At least, not when it comes to this.” He didn’t answer right away. But his gaze lingered on you longer than it needed to. Something soft. Something steady. And you found that for today you didn’t need him to say anything more. Shadow Milk Cookie had begun tidying the corner of his desk a quiet, practiced movement, like brushing away the remnants of time. You gathered your things just as softly, your fingertips trailing along the edge of your notebook before finally lifting it from the polished wood. But as you stood, something lingered. Not just your steps, not just your thoughts, but a truth you hadn’t spoken yet. The kind that pressed at your throat with hesitant breath. You clutched your notebook to your chest, and before turning to go, you paused by his desk once more.

“…Can I ask you something?”

He looked up immediately. Not surprised. Not impatient. Just present. “As always.”

You bit your lip, gaze faltering. “Do you want to keep this” you gestured vaguely between you, between the two chairs and the shared silence and all the unnamed moments that had stacked quietly in the space between your hearts “us… quiet?”

His expression didn’t change at first. But you saw the flicker in his eyes. A small shift, like a truth catching the light. “I wouldn’t mind,” you said, quickly, earnestly. “If you did. If that’s what you want. I mean, I understand. You’re… you.” You offered a small smile. “You belong to a bigger world than I do. You have so much ahead of you, and I just…” You swallowed. “I don’t want to be the thing that ever holds you back. I want your happiness more than anything.”

Shadow Milk Cookie remained still for a heartbeat. Then another. He set the scroll in his hand down with quiet precision, the soft papery hush of it folding into the quiet. His gaze met yours not the gaze of the Sage of Truth, but of the man beneath it. The man who let you ask nonsensical questions just to hear your voice. The one who never looked away when you were uncertain.

“You are not something to hide,” he said at last, his voice low and even as always held the weight of something certain. “But some truths deserve to unfold in peace.” Your heart gave a strange, aching flutter. He stood, stepping around the desk not to close the distance between you, but simply to see you off, as he always did.

“If discretion grants us quiet joy for a time,” he said softly, “then let us choose that joy.” You nodded slowly, understanding, grateful. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

You turned toward the door, pulse steadying as your hand reached for the handle. “And for the record,” his voice came, just before you opened it, “your happiness is not a cost to be weighed against mine.” You turned to glance at him, surprised. His gaze met yours, unwavering. “It is part of it.” That moment was enough to carry you through the rest of the night.

The dining hall buzzed with its usual chatter, but your friends were easy to find same table, same chaotic energy. Chai Latte Cookie spotted you first, her hand already raised before you’d fully stepped inside. She waved you over with all the subtlety of a spell gone awry. “Look who finally returns from their very academic meeting,” she sang, scooting over to make room.

You slid into your seat, giving her a look. “Don’t start.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted into his cup. “Oh, we’ve already started. You’re just catching up.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, gave a polite nod. “Welcome back.” He set his teacup down with that familiar, deliberate clink. “We took the liberty of organizing your Spire application.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Chai Latte grinned. “Well, not submitting anything. Just getting everything in one place.”

Hazelnut stretched his arms behind his head. “More like rescuing your drafts from binder purgatory.”

Earl Grey reached into his satchel and produced a neatly clipped stack of papers, which he passed across the table to you. “You had almost everything already. We compiled what we found. Personal essay, transcripts, relevant project summaries, letters you’ve started…”

Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “We even labeled the sections. Earl Grey wouldn’t let me use glitter ink, though.”

“I spared you,” Earl Grey said dryly. You flipped through the pages, a bit stunned. “This is… really well-organized.”

“Of course it is,” Chai said, reaching over to straighten one of the tabs. “He color-codes everything like his life depends on it.”

Earl Grey ignored her. “You’ve got four weeks until the deadline. But if you want to be considered for the earlier review batch, I’d recommend finishing your research statement by the end of next week.”

You looked at the stack, heart catching just a little at the effort they’d put in. “I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t have to,” Chai said, nudging your arm. “We knew you’d want to apply early.”

Hazelnut nodded. “Besides, this way you don’t have to panic last-minute. Very unlike you, I know.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was hard to fight. “I don’t even look stressed.”

“No,” Earl Grey agreed smoothly, “you look suspiciously well-balanced. Which is why we struck while the calm was fresh.”

“We can go over the rest of it tomorrow,” Chai offered, tugging your tray toward you. “Tonight, just eat and bask in how loved and supported you are.”

You laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re welcome.” She tapped your arm. “Come back to my dorm after, yeah? We’ll start organizing the research sections. Or nap. Or both.”

Hazelnut grinned. “Mostly the nap.”

Earl Grey just smirked, sipping his tea. “I’ll bring copies of the department rubrics tomorrow. For your reference.” Your chest ached, but in a good way. Full. Grateful. This strange, unexpected life you were building wasn't just yours anymore. “Okay,” you murmured, hugging the papers closer to your chest.

“Tomorrow.” The thought of the Spire didn’t feel far away. It felt like something real. Something possible. Something within reach. You let your fingers linger on the edge of the neatly compiled documents, flipping absently through the labeled sections again as warmth rose in your chest. All the care, all the little details each one held pieces of your friends. It wasn’t just their effort you held in your hands. It was them.

“So…” you said, glancing up at them around the table, “what about you guys? Are you all submitting for early review too?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looked up from his plate, a half-eaten bread roll hanging between his fingers. “That’s the plan,” he said. “Assuming Chai doesn’t start rewriting her personal statement every other night.”

Chai Latte Cookie swatted his arm. “I’m just thinking about fine-tuning the narrative voice.”

“You’re going to be rewriting your life story like it’s a romance novel,” he shot back, grinning.

“It is!” she declared with a dramatic flourish, earning a chuckle from Earl Grey Cookie. You turned to him. “And you?”

Earl Grey lifted his cup, always so poised. “I’ll be submitting before the week is out,” he said.

“Just waiting on one final signature.” You nodded slowly. “So… letters of recommendation are all that’s left for everyone?”

“Pretty much,” Chai said, balancing her spoon on her finger. “Professor Mulberry’s writing mine, but I’m going to ask Professor Pistachio, too. She knows my research better.”

Hazelnut raised a hand. “Professor Currant. He already said yes. He owes me after I helped him fix his projector like three times.” Earl Grey took a measured sip of tea. “I’ve asked Professor Cardamom, as mentioned.”

He paused, looking at you. “Have you decided who you’ll ask?” Your breath caught. Your thoughts immediately drifted to him his eyes, the soft way he’d looked at you when you’d asked what you were, the weight in your chest when he didn’t answer but stayed anyway.

“I think I know,” you said softly. Chai Latte’s smile bloomed like sunlight. “He’d say yes,” she said. “I know he would.”

You offered a sheepish smile, tucking your papers closer. “I’ll… ask tomorrow. Maybe.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Oh, come on. You’ve already made out with the man, what's a letter of rec in comparison?”

Your face went red. “Hazel-!” Chai burst out laughing, Earl Grey pressed a hand to his mouth in a rare moment of stifled amusement, and you could only bury your face in your hands.

“I hate you all,” you muttered into your palms.

“No, you don’t,” Chai teased, leaning her shoulder against yours. “You love us. And you’re going to do great.” You peeked out from between your fingers, and for a moment, the thought of the Spire didn’t feel heavy or impossible or frightening. It felt like something you were walking toward together. Maybe it wasn’t about reaching the top alone. Maybe it was about the ones walking beside you the whole way there. And tomorrow… you’d ask.

Dinner had ended in a blur of laughter and half-finished stories, the kind of night that made you forget the time until it was too late. By the time you and Chai Latte Cookie reached her dorm, the halls of the Orchid Wing had quieted to a sleepy hush, the enchanted lanterns dimmed to their softer, golden hue. Her room welcomed you with its usual warmth, soft and familiar the scent of cardamom and honey curling around you like a shawl. The constellation-threaded curtains danced in the faint breeze, and the fairy lights blinked low and slow, like they too were ready for rest. Books and trinkets stood like sentinels in their places, watching over the space with a kind of loving stillness. Chai didn’t bother to turn on any brighter lights. Instead, she set her satchel down with a sigh and pulled out the packet Earl Grey had prepared. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice a murmur in the hush of the room. “Research tracks. Let’s at least pick the ones you’re leaning toward so we’re not scrambling tomorrow.”

You dropped your bag beside hers, stifling a yawn as you joined her on the bed. The plush quilts dipped beneath your weight like they were embracing you, and the moment you sat down, you felt how late it truly was. “Do we really have Almond Custard first thing?” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. You don’t know why you bothered to ask…you knew the answer.

Chai smirked. “Unfortunately, yes. Bright and early. And you know how he gets if we’re late he drones slower just to punish us.”

You groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “This is cruel. There should be a rule against late-night responsibility and early-morning boredom coexisting.”

She chuckled, laying down beside you with the research packet still in her hands. “Just pick your top three tonight, and we’ll organize the rest tomorrow after class.”

“Fine.” You reached over, squinting at the categories in the low light. “Leylines. Dimensional stability. Artifact restoration.”

Chai hummed in approval. “Strong choices. We’ll mark those and build out the proposal after class.”

You let out a soft breath. “Thanks for doing this with me.” She didn’t say anything at first. Just reached over and gently adjusted one of the velvet pillows behind your head. “Of course.” You both knew you wouldn’t be awake much longer. She clicked off the fairy lights with a flick of her fingers, leaving only the soft glow of the charm-warmed teapot on her desk. Then she settled beside you, her arm brushing yours beneath the covers.

“Wake-up call at dawn,” she said through a yawn, “and I swear, if you fake sleep, I’m dunking you in cold water.” You smiled sleepily. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar.”

You let the silence stretch between you, quiet and safe. And then, just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard her whisper, barely audible beneath the breath of the curtains “I’m proud of you.” You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t hear her. But because your heart did, and that was enough. Sleep claimed you gently, wrapped in the warmth and scent of tea and twilight. And someone who had always, always stayed.

The next morning came far too soon. Drowsy sunlight filtered through the constellation-speckled curtains, casting golden patterns over the room. The air smelled of jasmine and cinnamon warm, familiar, like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream. You blinked awake slowly, blinking against the soft light, your mind still wrapped in the folds of sleep. And that’s when you noticed it. Chai Latte Cookie had, at some point in the night, wrapped herself around you like a favorite pillow. Her arm was slung over your waist, her cheek resting against your shoulder, her breath soft and steady in the crook of your neck. Her hair smelled like her tea floral, warm, and sweet and the weight of her presence was both grounding and… impossible to slip away from.

You shifted slightly, trying not to wake her. Her grip tightened. You groaned softly. Of course. A muffled voice mumbled from behind you. “No moving. Warm.”

“Chai,” you whispered, poking at her arm, “we have class.”

“Don’t care,” she mumbled, nuzzling closer. “You’re comfy. Five more minutes.”

“Professor Almond Custard will literally bore us to death if we’re late.” A dramatic sigh. Her arm loosened slightly, but she still didn’t let go.

You gave her a gentle shake. “Chai.” Another groan.

Then, reluctantly, she peeled her arm back with the sluggish agony of someone parting with the last honey-drizzled waffle on campus. She flopped onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling with one eye open. “…You’re so annoying in the mornings,” she muttered, voice hoarse with sleep.

You smiled. “You say that like it’s new.”

She waved a hand limply toward the teapot still warm on her charm tray. “Warm tea on the desk. Go be functional. I’ll rise like the dead in a minute.” As you sat up and stretched, your heart swelled a little with affection. It was the kind of morning that, despite the looming threat of Almond Custard’s lecture, felt soft and safe woven with lazy smiles and quiet friendship.

You reached for the tea. “You’re the one who latched onto me like I was a quilt.” Her only response was a sleepy hum and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… but lingered all the same. You paused mid-sip, blinking down at the cup in your hands. The tea was warm and comforting, as if it had just been poured and yet you knew neither of you had gotten up in hours.

You glanced over your shoulder at Chai Latte Cookie, who still hadn’t moved from her sprawled position on the bed, one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes like a swooning noble.

“…How is this tea still warm?” you asked, eyeing the cup like it might reveal its secrets if you stared hard enough. “It’s been sitting here since last night, hasn’t it?”

She cracked open one eye, lips curling into a lazy, triumphant smirk. “Mm. Magic.” You squinted. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is an answer. Just not one you understand before breakfast.”

You set the cup back on the tray, though your hands lingered near the steam curling up in delicate wisps. “Seriously though, what spell keeps tea warm but doesn’t overbrew it?”

Chai rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. “An enchantment I learned from my aunt. She used to make whole pitchers of chai and keep them warm for days. Said the secret was warmth without burn. Gentle heat. Like affection.” She grinned. “Like me.”

You gave her a look. “So what you’re saying is the tea is imbued with the essence of you.”

“Exactly.” She tossed a pillow at you with very little aim. “Drink it with reverence.” You caught it with a laugh, shaking your head. “You are so full of yourself.”

“And you love it.” You didn’t argue. Mostly because she wasn’t wrong. The morning air was crisp as you and Chai Latte Cookie stepped out of the dorm, the soft clink of her tea thermos tapping against her satchel with every step. You’d barely managed to wriggle out of her grip earlier; she had clung to you sometime during the night like a beloved plush, soft and immovable, mumbling half-asleep protests when you’d tried to move.

You’d barely had time before the morning pulled you both forward, the hazy light of dawn glimmering through the ivy-veiled arches of Blueberry Yogurt Academy. By the time you reached the central fountain on the way to Professor Almond Custard’s lecture, Earl Grey Cookie was already there, unsurprisingly punctual, tea in hand and posture perfectly composed. He nodded toward you both, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Good morning,” he greeted smoothly. “I hope the sleepover didn’t devolve into midnight chaos.”

“Oh, it absolutely did,” Chai said proudly.

“You didn’t hear about it because you weren’t invited,” you added. He hummed in amusement, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Noted.”

Then Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arrived, nearly bouncing down the steps with his usual easy charm. “There they are!” he said with a grin, stepping up beside you.

“Good morning to you too,” you said, already bracing for whatever chaos he brought with him. “Hold on,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his coat. “I found something the other day meant to give it to you sooner but kept forgetting.” He pulled out a small pendant on a delicate chain, an orchid carved in fine silver, its petals etched with intricate veins and tiny dew-drop sparkles that caught the light.

“I saw it in a market stall,” he explained. “Made me think of you. It’s got this… quiet strength to it. Like it blooms when it wants, not when it’s told.”

You blinked, stunned. “Hazelnut…”

He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Sentimental. Just take it before I regret getting all poetic this early in the morning.” You took the pendant carefully, the silver cool against your palm. “Thank you. It’s… beautiful.”

Chai Latte leaned in, whispering with a wicked smile, “You’re getting all the suitors lately.” You elbowed her gently, but your heart fluttered all the same.

Hazelnut just chuckled. “Come on, we’re gonna be late for Almond Custard’s lecture of doom.” Together, the four of you moved as one through the morning mist, the comfort of friendship tucked quietly between the space of laughter. The lecture hall was unusually still for an early morning. No fidgeting. No distracted glances at the window. No whispered side conversations. For once, everyone including your trio of partners-in-chaos was focused. Professor Almond Custard stood at the front of the room, droning on in his usual syrup-slow cadence about interdimensional grain storage and enchanted fermentation ratios, but somehow… it stuck.

Maybe it was the looming exam next week. Maybe it was the collective determination to end the semester strong. Maybe it was just that shared sense of urgency that crept in when the finish line was finally in sight. You found yourself scribbling notes faster than you could think, underlining terms you knew you’d have to memorize, circling formulas with half-formed mnemonic devices already taking shape in your head. Beside you, Chai Latte Cookie was unusually silent, her brow furrowed and her pen dancing swiftly across her notebook. Her handwriting, always looping and dreamy, had sharpened into something tighter still lovely, but undeniably focused.

Every so often, she’d tilt her notes your way for you to copy something you’d missed. Behind you, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t make a single joke. Not one. His gaze was locked on the board, his fingers tapping steadily as he jotted down formula after formula. His notes weren’t neat, no surprise but they were thorough. You could hear the quiet rustle of his pages turning, one after another, like he was chasing the lecture’s pace and determined not to fall behind.

And Earl Grey Cookie, of course, looked like he was born for moments like these. His notes were already color-coded, diagrams annotated, keywords highlighted with exacting precision. He barely blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching every so often when something particularly important was mentioned. He looked perfectly calm, but you could see the intensity in his eyes, the kind of focus that could burn through stone if left unchecked. You sat straighter. You matched their pace.

You wanted to do well not just for yourself, but for them. For everything you’d been building. For the Spire. The professor’s voice faded in and out of clarity, not because you weren’t listening, but because your mind was working faster now linking concepts, stitching them together with things you’d learned from Shadow Milk Cookie, from your own late-night study sessions, from the lingering weight of all the time you’d invested. This was the final stretch. And you weren’t going to stumble. Not now. The clink of chalk against the board marked the end of a long equation. Almond Custard cleared his throat and turned back toward the hall.

“This,” he intoned, “will be the cornerstone of your final exam.” A quiet rustle of pages. Pens pressing faster against parchment. No one slacked. No one dared. You glanced at your friends, all of them immersed, serious, determined, burning quietly with a shared sense of purpose. You took a breath. And kept writing. The lecture ended with a dry scrape of chalk and Professor Almond Custard’s half-hearted reminder about next week’s exam. You were already closing your notes before he’d finished his sentence, your fingers itching to be anywhere else.

Outside the classroom, the halls buzzed as usual. You and your friends walked in easy step together, still half-absorbed in the material. Earl Grey had already started analyzing one of the professor’s offhand comments. Chai Latte, always the multitasker, chimed in while braiding a bit of ribbon into her hair. Hazelnut Biscotti popped a candy into his mouth and offered you one without even looking. You shook your head, hugging your portfolio close.

“Hey… I’m gonna head to the Scholar’s Wing.” Chai looked over with a knowing glance. “Another meeting with him?”

“Tutoring,” you said too fast, clearing your throat. “Mostly. Also… I want him to look over this.” You lifted your binder slightly for emphasis.

Hazelnut raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust our craftsmanship?”

“Please,” you said, giving him a look. “I trust you three more than I trust myself on most days.”

“Correct answer,” Earl Grey murmured. You smiled faintly. “I just… want a fourth opinion. He sees things differently. Thoroughly. Painfully, sometimes.”

Chai Latte nudged your elbow. “You’re hoping for an endorsement, aren’t you?”

“I mean,” you began, “if anyone’s word could get something noticed by the Spire committee, it’s his.” Hazelnut gave a low whistle. “Think he’d recommend all four of us?”

You shrugged. “I’m not counting on anything. He probably wouldn’t unless he thought it was deserved. Too much integrity, that one.”

Earl Grey nodded in agreement. “He won’t be swayed by sentiment. But he will tell you the truth. Whether you want to hear it or not.”

“That’s the plan,” you murmured. Chai gave your shoulder a light squeeze. “Go get your truth, then.” You glanced back at the three of them, warmth pooling low in your chest. “Thanks. I’ll meet you at dinner?”

“We’ll save your seat,” Hazelnut said, already pulling Chai into a new conversation. And with that, you turned down the familiar path to the Scholar’s Wing, fingers curled tight around the edge of your binder. This wasn’t about doubt. You just wanted to know what he saw when he looked at your work, when he looked at you. You weren’t late. You weren’t even close to late, actually but your pace had been brisk more out of nerves than necessity. Still, there was something jittery about the way your fingers tapped against your binder, like your body hadn’t yet received the memo that everything was, technically, on time.

The Scholar’s Wing greeted you with its usual hush soft-echoing footsteps, warm sconces glowing like suspended starlight, the faint scent of ancient parchment lingering in the air. You passed a few scholars deep in discussion near the far alcoves, but no one paid you any mind. It was peaceful. Familiar. And maybe that was what made it worse when your foot suddenly slipped on the overly polished marble. It wasn’t dramatic. No witnesses. No loud crash. But your binder, your painstakingly organized, section-labeled, early-application-ready binder flew from your hands in an arc that felt cruelly slow. The contents fanned out in every direction: pages sliding across the floor like they were trying to flee your academic future, post-it notes scattering like panicked birds. You didn’t fall. You just stumbled, catching yourself with a quick, awkward step forward.

But somehow, that was worse. You stood still for a second, heat flooding your face. Not because anyone was watching. Not because someone laughed. But because of that ridiculous little flinch in your chest that whispered, Of course. Of course this would happen now. You crouched down quickly, gathering up your pages, cursing every single loose document for not staying put in their designated folders. You had dividers for a reason.

Earl Grey would have been appalled. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as you pressed everything back into place, palms brushing away the dust that had settled along the page corners. You gave the binder a pat like it was a pet that needed soothing and straightened. Still not late. Still fine. Just… slightly less composed than you wanted to be. You smoothed your hands down the front of your robes, forced your shoulders back, and took the last stretch of hallway with steady steps. Shadow Milk Cookie’s door came into view, tall and dark and just a little intimidating, like it always was. You paused at the threshold, one breath to center yourself, then knocked three times softly. For formality’s sake.

And then, you opened the door, stepping inside with your binder pressed close to your chest and a heart that beat just a little too loud in your ears. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t glance up at first. His desk was covered in constellations of parchment and drifting quills notes levitating just above the surface, slowly rotating through invisible orbits as though the air around him itself hummed with focus. His brows were furrowed, eyes moving quickly as he scribbled something down with a deep indigo ink that shimmered faintly, catching the warm lamplight.

You didn’t speak right away. You never did when he looked like this. There was something endearing about it this kind of focused stillness he fell into when no one else was watching. He wasn’t the Sage of Truth then, or the Fount of Knowledge, or any of the titles inked beneath his name in gilded letters. He was just… Shadow Milk. Lost in thought, and unaware at least for the moment that you had entered. You lingered by the door, hugging your binder closer to your chest. Not out of nervousness, not really. Just… quiet admiration. There was something sacred about watching someone so consumed by something they loved.

Eventually, as if the rhythm of your breath finally disturbed the quiet equilibrium of the room, he paused. His quill stilled mid-word. His fingers relaxed. And then, he lifted his gaze. His eyes found yours calm, luminous, sharp as ever and you could see the shift behind them. That subtle click back into awareness. “You’re early,” he said, voice low and steady, the faintest curl at the edge of his mouth betraying his otherwise unreadable tone.

You smiled, a little sheepish. “Not really. You’re just distracted.” Shadow Milk Cookie set his quill down with care, the ink on the parchment still drying in slow, shimmering trails.

“Is that what I am?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Distracted?”

“Thoroughly,” you replied, stepping further into the room. “But in a charming way.” He huffed, a soft exhale that could almost be called a laugh, and leaned back in his chair as his papers gently rearranged themselves with a flutter.

“And what brings you here with such flattery on your tongue?” he asked, eyes gleaming. You placed your binder on his desk and slid into your usual seat.

“I want a fourth opinion,” you said. “On the Spire portfolio. My friends helped me get it together, but well, I figured I’d ask the most terrifyingly honest person I know to look it over.”

He looked at the binder. Then back at you. “And what makes you think I would go easy on you?”

“I don’t,” you admitted, smiling. “That’s the point.” You nudged the binder closer across his desk, its neatly clipped pages now feeling heavier than ever. Your fingers hesitated just for a second before slipping away. “I want you to look it over,” you said, meeting his gaze. “All of it.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes flicked to the binder, then back to you. “I gathered as much.” You let out a breath, shoulders tightening with something nervous but steady. “And I want you to be honest. Completely. Brutally, if you have to.”

There was a pause. He looked at you not just with those piercing, soul-deep eyes that always made you feel like your thoughts were laid bare, but with something gentler hidden beneath the surface. Something knowing. “Brutally?” he echoed. “Even if it leaves your pride in tatters?”

You snorted. “Please. My pride’s already hanging on by a thread.”

He considered you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and opened the binder. “If you ask for truth, you shall have it,” he said, flipping to the first page. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You smiled faintly, hands settling in your lap. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A/N Hey y'all <3 So I finally got around to posting this I am so excited to finally have more time to write and work on things I want so yah!!! HELLL YEAHHH!!!! anyways I have been doing well... I am getting through my inbox...I will have more time tomorrow...Now excuse me as I go to finish my genetics lab report <3 I'm almost done

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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honeynutmalcontent · 6 months ago

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Did you know that you could experience Tumblr ad-free?

You can!

If you upgrade to

✨ Tumblr Premium ✨

About ten, fifteen years ago I wrote a story about a guy living in a Capitalist dystopia. His walls, furniture, and tableware are all covered in smart displays. Basically animated wallpaper. It's sold as being able to turn your room or objects into anything - A nice forest view, outer space, a fantasy realm... but the companies that run this stuff keep sneaking ads in.

It gets so bad he's always being woken up by adverts that offer insomnia cures and better bedding that play when he tries to sleep.

So he buys the ad-free tier, and it's great... for a few months. And then he starts getting adverts from 'premium partners'. So he goes up a level... and the same thing happens.

So he jailbreaks his wallpaper and sends all the ad servers to 0.0.0.0 and voila... he can sleep.

Until this SWAT team blows his door off and drag him off to jail. The Ad companies are suing him for loss of revenue for the products he' notionally have bought if he'd watched their adverts, based on some weird 'The average consumer buys X products with an average value of Y' calculation.

The judge is like 'well I dun wanna annoy the sponsors' so he RICO's this guy's house and possessions and sends him to jail.

... which is a nice relaxed non-volent offender jail for the corporately disenfranchised. But because these people have no money... there's no ads and now he's happy because the only place he's free... is in prison.

Which at the time was a bit much and now it's like: Called it.

Elon's suing companies for not advertising because he's losing revenue. He's also cranking the price of Ad Free Twitter. Disney and Amazon play adverts on their paid service when services used to be free because of the adverts... and now you have to pay to watch the adverts or go up a couple of tiers.

And google's going around freaking out about ad-blockers.

#welcome to the dystopia #advertising #aww man #I wish i’d gotten a screenshot #an ad popped up while reading this #it was advertise an upgrade to ad-free Tumblr Premium #someone call Alanis #the irony should be documented inaccurately by way of a 1990s folk-rock vibe #also I haven’t had problems with flies in my pinot grigio #so perhaps you should just switch to a different white wine

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lascvitae · 15 days ago

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APPLE CIDER ✵ AERI UCHINAGA.

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ alt. AND I DON’T EVEN LIKE YOU THAT MUCH

WAIT, I DO, FUCK .ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ you wrote her a letter and to your surprise, she wrote back. now you’re leaving notes in windowsills, falling in love, and trying not to pass out every time she smiles at you.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. giselle x reader (no gendered terms) ᝰ.ᐟ genre. fluff like this is so cute and gay ᝰ.ᐟ warnings/tags. mutual pining, yall pass letters, reader is lowkey a loser and awkward 😭 joe goldberg mention 🤓

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 1.9k

ᝰ.ᐟ katty me and who? but i experimented with this fic a LOTTT, thank you for requesting because it was honestly kinda fun 🤭

(🎧) now playing — apple cider by beabadoobee.

masterlist.

YOU DID IT. you actually did it.

you just dropped a full on handwritten, deeply humiliating, mildly poetic love letter into aeri uchinaga’s bag.

aeri. giselle. the coolest, hottest, most charming girl on campus. the girl who makes even calculus lectures feel like romance movie montages. the girl who dyes her hair every few months and you’re the confused background character who’s pretending that you don’t have a crush on her.

you slide into your usual seat, third row from the back, close enough to hear her laugh but far enough that she never turns around to catch you staring. you’re not proud of that last part, but hey, you’re in a university class full of insanely attractive women. survival instincts kick in.

you sit there, frozen, like you just committed a crime. because you kinda did. to yourself.

aeri walks in a few minutes later wearing a black hoodie and a backwards cap, sipping iced coffee. you watch as she tosses her bag on the floor beside her, completely unaware that inside is your heart, folded in half and written in black ink.

okay. don’t stare. don’t act suspicious. you are a normal person. you’re normal. you’re the anti joe goldberg. you are—

“hey. you good?” your seatmate, jimin, blinks at you.

“oh. no. i’m just… thinking.” you glance forward. aeri’s flipping through her notebook, scribbling something in the corner.

thinking about the fact that you just told the prettiest girl in this university that her hair smells like fruit punch.

thinking about how you signed it “from someone who’s trying really hard not to stare during class.”

thinking about if you should drop out right now or just wait until after midterms.

professor lee starts rambling about complex numbers, but you’re not hearing a word. you keep glancing forward, watching as aeri leans over her desk.

she doesn’t check her bag. not yet.

you tell yourself that’s good. that you don’t want her to read it right away.

but deep down, you do. you want her to find it. you want her to smile. you want her to wonder.

you want her to write back.

and maybe, you want her to know it’s you, too.

you don’t check the windowsill right away.

it’s stupid. you know it’s stupid. but you pass it twice. once after seminar and once after grabbing a snack from the vending machine, and both times you chicken out like the absolute loser you are.

so by the time you actually climb the stairs up to the third floor of the humanities building, you’ve already drafted a backup apology in your notes app just in case there’s no letter and she never responds and you have to pretend it never happened and maybe change your name and move—

it’s there.

a folded letter. tucked right where you said to leave it.

you stare at it for a full three seconds before grabbing it like you’re stealing top secret documents.

your hands are shaking again.

you sit on the bench near the window, cross legged like a kid, and open it with your fingers.

you’re bold. i like it. also, i haven’t had anyone tell me my hair smells like fruit punch since middle school, so thanks for that. (not sarcasm by the way) i’ll play along, but only if you tell me something about yourself. something small. — g

you fold the letter back up slowly. you read it twice. three times. you might pass out.

then you grab the notebook from your bag and start writing. again.

this becomes a thing for two days (you counted). you’re way too scared to face her in person but you also like her way too much — so you accept your fate.

YOUR RESPONSE.

it’s left on the third floor windowsill, folded once and written on lined notebook paper. your handwriting is a little neater this time. you tried really hard.

okay. something small: i drink apple cider year round. cold. not hot. is that weird? also, my lucky number is 4. and i write my 4s weird. sorry in advance. if you’re still playing… what’s your go to vending machine snack? (there is a right answer.) — still not staring

HER RESPONSE.

it’s written on a page torn from her sketchbook. you can tell because there’s a faint outline of a doodle on the back. she writes in all lowercase. her i’s have hearts instead of dots.

apple cider is elite. the sparkling kind in glass bottles? so good. maybe we’re soulmates. vending machine snack: m&ms. the peanut kind. if you disagree, this is over. also, i already figured out who you are. just kidding. or am i? (there’s a silly face drawn nearby.) — g

YOUR RESPONSE.

in the top right corner, you drew a little apple with a smiley face. you weren’t gonna… but you couldn’t help it.

first of all. peanut m&ms are the only valid choice. you pass. second of all: don’t scare me like that. third: what color would you dye your hair next if you weren’t thinking about being perceived. — the cider soulmate

HER RESPONSE.

it’s left with a little sticky note attached that says “open when alone :)” in gel pen. her handwriting is messier this time, but somehow prettier. the back smells like her. fruit punch and something warm.

i wouldn’t change my hair. i like being perceived by the right people. and your 4s aren’t weird. they’re just yours. tell me something else. what’s something you wish people noticed about you? — g

YOUR RESPONSE.

this one takes you the longest. you rewrite it twice. your hands are a little shaky again but for a softer reason this time. you tuck it into the windowsill the next morning just before your shift at the university café.

this is going to sound dumb. but i wish people noticed when i’m trying. like, really trying. i make a playlist for almost everyone i like. i remember people’s favorite drinks. i overthink goodnight texts. you probably already noticed this about me though. i hope you did. — me (still trying)

HER RESPONSE

it’s taped to the window with green decorative tape (where did she get that?). it feels like the kind of message you would fold up and keep in your wallet for a hundred years.

i noticed. i notice everything about you. meet me tomorrow morning. same windowsill. if you’re not there, i’ll understand. — g

so now you’re in the humanites building again. you styled your hair. wore your favorite sneakers. even used that fancy fragrance you wear when you want attention.

your fingers tremble a little as you walk up the stairs. you’ve read her note twelve times. maybe thirteen.

you’re holding your reply. it’s messier than the last one. shorter. it says:

i’ll be there. please don’t change your mind.

but now that you are, you’re not sure if you can actually do it. you’re standing just out of view from the windowsill. you can’t see her, but you feel her. somehow.

you wonder if she feels you too.

okay. just walk over, leave the note, and run away like usain bolt. no big deal. she probably won’t even be there yet—

“you came.”

your entire body freezes.

you turn so fast that it feels like your bones forget how to move. and there she is. hoodie on. headphones around her neck. same iced coffee in hand.

her hair is pulled back with a clip you swear she wore the day you first spoke in class. when she asked if you were in the wrong lecture and then laughed and said “just kidding” like it wasn’t the beginning of your entire joe goldberg era (you're normal).

“i— yeah. i said i would.”

she smiles and it’s the kind that makes your stomach ache. not because it hurts, but because you want to hold it. keep it. never let it go.

“can i read it?” she asks, nodding at the note in your hand.

you hesitate.

“it’s kind of… lame.”

“i like lame.”

you hand it over.

she reads it and doesn’t laugh. just looks back up at you with the soft expression she wears when she’s listening to something she loves.

“you know. i was really hoping it was you.” she says, folding the paper once and tucking it into her hoodie pocket.

your breath catches. “you… were?”

“mhm. who else would write about my hair smelling like fruit punch and weird number fours?” her smile grows.

you look at her and in that moment, it feels like she’s already yours.

“so, since you’re already trying so hard… wanna try going on a date with me too?” she says, stepping closer.

you freeze.

then nod. quickly. furiously. stupidly. completely in love.

“…yeah. i’d really like that.” you breathe.

taglist — @saysirhc @m00nqvv @yuyuy90

#apple cider — au #aespa imagines #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aespa giselle #giselle x reader #giselle x fem reader #aeri uchinaga #aeri uchinaga x reader #wlw #wlw post #kpop gxg #gxg imagine

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kirunawrites · 9 months ago

Note

i got a req!!

Jaime x reader stark ( twin sister of robb )

they already married. Just make it smut and the plot depend on you author. I just wanna read some smut 🤭🤭

Omg, my first request ☺️🙈

a wolf in lion’s clothing

no matter the loss, a daughter of the North is not defeated until she says so.

Pairing: Reader! Stark x Jaime Lannister

A/n: warnings of smut, teasing, somewhat dark!Jaime (c’mon, give him a break, he has lost a hand and we all hate Vargo Hoat). Reader is Robb’s twin, but I did not want to feast over the Red Wedding because my Northern little heart aches for it 😢, let’s say she knows they are gone but not the whole circumstances

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Damned be the day you left Winterfell.

Damned be the day you and Sansa were trapped by the Lannisters.

Damned be the day your future was sentenced by your brother’s enemy.

Damned be the day you were taken to Casterly Rock, far from anything you knew, and surrounded you by unknown faces.

Damned be the day that shining knight had been relieved of his position as a Kingsguard and pushed to assume the status of heir to the Westerlands.

Damned be the day you were forced to marry him.

Damned be the day you found that he is the least bad of all that wretched family.

Damned be the day he went to war and returned maimed, with all his pride taken of him.

It had taken you all of your strength to not fall apart when you have seen that man coming from captivity, and all the courage you did not knew you had to not die when you heard him say that he feared that you would have gone to The Twins.

“What keeps you that busy? I haven’t seen you since lunch” You say with a soft smile when you come into the library and find him focused over a pile of dusty parchments. He looks up, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over his face. Sometimes he still flinches when somebody catches him by surprise, you think it is because of his moons as a prisoner.

“Ah, Y/N,” he replies, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. “I've been trying to sort through these old records,” he explains, gesturing to the mess of papers before him.

“It is dark outside, my love. You should rest," you suggest gently, glancing toward the window where the last sliver of sunlight has vanished. “The past cannot be changed, but exhaustion won't aid in the future,” you continue, moving closer to his side, kissing his hair once you are next to your husband.

He sighs deeply, nodding as he leans into your comforting touch. Eyes closed, he murmurs, “I know you're right. I just can't shake the feeling that there's something I've overlooked within these pages.”

“It just surely can wait” your hand lays upon his shoulder, tracing the way to the other with care. “Your mind needs as much rest as your body,” you insist, urging him to set the parchments aside.

He hesitates for a moment, eyes lingering on the scattered documents, before finally conceding, turning to face you with a softness in his look you have not seen in ages. A loving smile tugs from the corners of your lips as the other hand goes to his cheek, soothing the worry etched there. “Come,” you coax gently, drawing him away from the desk, “you can revisit the mysteries of the past with a clearer mind tomorrow.”

With a hum he manages to tug you towards him, falling on his lap. He wraps his arms around you, resting his forehead against yours, taking a moment to breathe in the calmness you provide. “You always know how to bring peace to my mind,” he whispers, pressing a grateful kiss to your temple.

You bite your lower lip, a playful glint in your eyes. “It's a gift,” you reply with a soft laugh, snuggling closer to him, brushing his lips with yours, tempting. “Perhaps we should see what tomorrow brings,” you suggest, teasingly brushing your nose against his.

“Screw tomorrow” he tries to kiss you, only for you to lean back slightly, just out of reach, your eyes gleaming with mischief. He chuckles, recognizing your playful challenge, and gently pulls you back toward him with a quiet determination . “No escaping now,” he murmurs, capturing your lips this time, their warmth reminding you of the comfort and safety he has always offered you.

The kiss deepens, each moment a promise of shared dreams and unspoken futures. Unconsciously you make yourself comfortable on his lap, giving up to his wondering hand on your back. With a contented sigh, you melt into his embrace, letting the world outside momentarily fade away. Time stands still as the mingling rhythm of your hearts becomes the only sound. His fingers trace light patterns across your back, grounding you in this perfect moment.

You end the kiss only to trace with your lips his jawline, earning pleasured sighs as he tilts his head to leave you an unbroken expanse of skin to explore, which you gladly pamper, a deep part in your mind yelling at you that right now the only salvation you have is to make that man sire children with you.

A wanton moan escapes your lips as you feel the bulge pressing against you, a reminder of his desire matching your own. You quickly change your position, riding his lap, as your quick fingers start unbuttoning his doublet, your eyes clouded with lust.

“Y/N…” he whispers, almost a purr as your kisses go down to his collarbone while you teasingly rock your hips against him. A muffled moan escapes your lips when you feel his hand and the golden prothesis caress your thighs under your skirt. “My little she-wolf”

Your hands roam free to his hair, your fingers curling against it, ripping a soft moan from his lips, half muffled by yours when you press a needing kiss.

“What if somebody comes—?”

“They will see their future lord fucking his wife and putting a little lion inside her.” as you talk your fingers quickly go to his breeches, unlacing them, searching for the object of your desire. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful?” your hands reach his cock and free it, going up and down of it before driving it directly to your folds, making him discover what you have spend days doing —purposely leaving your undergarments aside to get him fuck you. “Wouldn’t my lord like little lions playing free along the Rock?” you purr to his ear, gladly earning a lustful groan, making it the signal to slowly go down his length, silently moaning as your wetness takes all his cock and your folds glide over it with little to no effort.

Your hips keep rocking over his lap, swallowing all of him in the process, as you let yourself go, free to enjoy a pleasure that can guarantee your safety.

What at the beginning had been just wanton moans with the only purpose to entice your husband turn to feel true, to really drive you helpless as you give up to any restrains you had towards the man who had pliantly followed instructions that had led to the disappearance of what you once dared to call ‘home’. With the golden hand by the lower part of your back, his left subtly goes to the lower part of your belly, his dexterous fingers adventuring the way towards your sweet spot, its tips teasing it, tearing pleasure sounds from your mouth.

It had been days since that shell of a man had started to show himself again, and even more days since the last time he made that easily a mess of you.

“Shh” almost entranced, you lean over him, your sweaty forehead against his, your eyes half-lidded as if the thirst for his touch had possessed your body “The whole castle may hear us.”

The subtle weight of the golden hand forcing you to go slower as your hips try to search his good hand with a hint of desperation to ease the sudden need.

“Jaime—“ you whine, breathless, one of your hands unconsciously returning to his hair “Please."

His lips twist into a crooked smile as you lay featherlight kisses along his jawline, panting.

He knows well how you Starks could behave, because he had seen it with his very eyes at King’s Landing and in the battlefield, and he knows that if he wishes for you to be the mother of proper Lannister children, he has to make sure that you will make a proper lady of the Rock.

“Who do you belong to?” he whispers to your ear before nibbling your earlobe, earning a moan in exchange. “Come on, be a good kitten and speak to me.”

Before you can even try to speak, his fingers retake their ministrations between your legs.

“Jaime—“ you close your eyes in delight.

“Come on, sweet girl.”

It is hard to properly think when you are so close to the edge.

“Yours” you pant, helplessly realizing how tables have turned.

“Such a good girl” he nuzzles against your neck as you try your best to hump against him, perky breasts brushing against his chest from behind the fabric of your dress. “You want to give me heirs, don’t you?” you nod, mewling, half eager, half desperate.

You know too well that you can only survive if you become the mother of any heir to the Rock, and yet you cannot help but find it enticing any time that man does his best to carefully push you to an extreme, even if he tries to make you realize you have left all behind.

“Y/N” he sighs, his lips finding yours as you eagerly kiss him, finding that he is no longer making you stay still, but encouraging you to keep going as his fingers retake their speed in their teasing.

Finally the tingling feeling at your core takes over you and you find yourself muffling your moans against his lips as he releases himself inside you with the clenching of your folds, claiming you as his.

But you don’t care. You were made to endure.

You are a daughter of the North.

And the North never forgets.

#a wolf in lion’s clothing #reader insert #got x reader #got x you #jaime lannister fic #jaime lannister fanfic #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister x you #got smut #asoiaf smut #a song of ice and fire fanfic #a song of ice and fire fic #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fic

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turian · 11 months ago

Text

I’d like to introduce you to Ahed ( @ahedalshaer ), whose fundraiser is verified by the butterfly effect project (#407 on the list). Ahed is younger than my little sisters and yet she has been forced to shoulder a great burden in seeking donations for both herself and seven members of her family. She is incredibly sweet, and the way she has documented her life is beautiful. Ahed an aspiring dentist who seeks safety and the ability to continue her education. I haven’t known her long, but looking at her blog brought me into her life – particularly her life on October 5th. Ahed speaks of going back in time to her practicum, to her freedom, to her livelihood, to her safety. She speaks of a return for her family.

The lack of donations sent to Ahed and her family threatens their survival and makes a terrible situation worse. When I look at Ahed’s blog I feel a mix of despair and anger at the world that has left Ahed desperate like this – she should not be left to do this on her own. She should not have to feel afraid when posts of hers do not gain traction and donations are stagnant. She should be provided for as much as possible, as should her family.

I’m begging you to hear Ahed's cries for help. Read her posts, see the beautiful life she has lived, and help her in continuing it. I’m also begging you to share Ahed's campaign, and to donate as much as you can spare to her and her family. Anything helps! It can be as small as the cost of a cup of coffee.

tagging for reach !

@timetravelingkitty @meaganfoster @briarhips

@dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe @rhubarbspring

@schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms

@sawasawako @feluka @terroristiraqi @irhabiya

@commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria

@deepspaceboytoy @post-brahminism @khanger @kibumkim

@neechees @mangocheesecakes @kyra45 @marnota

@7bitter @tortiefrancis @toiletpotato @fromjannah

@omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @criptochecca @aristotels

@komsomolka @xinakwans @heritageposts

@nibeul @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez

@communistchilchuck @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril

@mavigator @lacecap @yugiohz @socalgal

@chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @northgazaupdates2 @vakarians-babe

#🍉#from the river to the sea #donations needed #mutual aid #gaza gfm

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bsdtakanenohana · 5 months ago

Text

Exhibit 1 of people in this fandom basing their forgiveness of a character’s crimes based on how much they’ve suffered.

the strangest thing to me about the BSD fandom is the fact that the vast majority of people in it are dazai fans, while also consistently assuming the absolute worst of him, disregarding the circumstances around his actions and giving him no grace or consideration of his situation whatsoever.

there's no doubt dazai is a bad person in many ways. he did plenty of unjustifiable, inexcusable things. he's pathologically manipulative with a totally skewed moral compass, most of which was undoubtedly brought on by his upbringing in the mafia. but at the same time, i see such a huge number of people taking that and somehow ending up with - and vehemently defending - this idea that he's a remorseless, indifferent, innately cruel person by nature?

are we forgetting this is the same dazai who was forced to false-witness a murder at fourteen years old? the same dazai who already wracked up numerous suicide attempts barely out of his pre-teens?the same dazai who was referred to by everyone around him as a 'demon' at fifteen years old? the same dazai consistently described as having grief-filled, empty expressions and detached, vacant reactions to practically everything when he was so young? the same dazai that oda described as "a child crying in the dark, alone, left to fend for himself with a hole in his heart as large as the world itself"?

that dazai is an indifferent, heartless, innately psychopathic person? really? i'm not convinced.

#it reads as “he’s bad but he wasn’t born that way so if you acknowledge him for the cruel horrible person he is you’re misinterpreting him’#but unless they’re bringing philosophical arguments of ‘actually people can be born bad’ (which I haven’t seen) NOBODY is saying Dazai was #predisposed to be the way he is. He just is the way he is which is horrible. and this is like ‘well yeah but if someone was made to become #that way if someone became that way due to trauma give them grace’ I am not God and this fictional character isn’t a real person. Let’s talk #about them truthfully and honestly. And I don’t even believe he’s all bad so by fandom standards I guess I am giving him grace by defending #him from haters who see no good whatsoever in him. It’s about the truth not about whether you love him or hate him.#and no amount of ‘oh he had to witness a murder as a teen. oh he was suicidal’ will ever excuse or justify why he does the things he does.#and if you (general fandom not OP specifically) werent trying to excuse or justify it why should anyone give a damn about what he went #through? it’s still says everything about him that he chose to repeat the cycle of abuse instead of breaking it that he still chooses to be #an asshole. all in a series that has characters who also suffer and don’t do that (the MC!)#I’m starting a series because I’ve mentioned it before but that’s not enough I need documentation to point back to (I feel like I’m the only #one who sees this and it’s driving me crazy).#it will feature multiple characters don’t worry #the tag for it is #//#tragic backstory = redemption arc

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harmonyrae · 2 months ago

Text

Vow - Part 4

Synopsis: Your blossoming relationship with Sylus is starting to attract the attention of those closest to you. Life had been so bland, so ordinary before Sylus. He’s offering you another first and it’s rather… interesting. Good thing you’re just as eager to please as he is.

AN: I do not claim to be knowledgeable about everything in BDSM culture. I am very interested in it and am still learning, so keep that in mind. Cover image from Pinterest, all credit to original artist!

Content Warnings: Explicit language & sexual themes, blood, medical terms, somewhat detailed surgical procedure described, guns/self-defense fighting, BDSM culture & toys/tools, Genital Piercings, Improper use of evol - do not try at home, Deepthroating, Sensory Deprivation, Intimacy Struggle & Implied Grief, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.6k

New Years was exactly as chaotic as you expected. From alcohol poisoning to a slew of vehicle accidents, when you finally clocked out you immediately called Sylus. There was no way you’d be able to drive home with how tired you were. Sylus surprised you and drove you straight to the airport. After boarding the mystery flight you passed out, when you woke up you were somewhere warm, where the air smelled like citrus and spice.

Seven days in an overwater bungalow with private beach access, custom catered meals, massages, boat tours…and, of course, mind-blowing sex. It was the honeymoon you never had and honestly never expected. When you returned to the N109 Zone you were a new woman, taking the “New Year, New Me” thing seriously. Sunkissed skin, a closet full of new tropical dresses, skirts, bikinis, a shell bracelet you made yourself after a long walk along the beach. Convincing Sylus to wear the matching bracelet was easy when you were on the island, but you were sure it’d be impossible once you returned. However, you caught a glimpse of it under the sleeve of his suit when he kissed you goodbye before your shift. You couldn’t hide your smile while changing into your scrubs in the locker room.

“So he just surprised you with a vacation to the Maldives?” Yvonne leans against the locker beside you, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Yeah, I had no idea. Took me right to the airport from the hospital.”

“Okay, it’s official, I’m jealous of your whole life.”

You shake your head while you laugh, if she knew the dark side she might change her tune. Her phone chimes and she gives you a quick hug before racing out of the locker room. You check your phone to see who you’re working with today and nearly drop it. Zayne? Really?

Since the board critiqued him for working with you while he should be “offering equal attention to all residents” he basically stopped adding you to cardio cases. The board literally pressured him about non-existent special treatment and it bit them in the ass. You’d been the most promising cardio hopeful when you first arrived, everyone thought you and Zayne would be running the department like a well-oiled machine in a few years. But thanks to the board’s meddling you changed your specialty to neuro. It’d been at least a year since your last cardio case, why is Zayne requesting you now?

Beep Beep

Your phone buzzes and it’s a page from Zayne requesting your presence in pre-op. Not wanting to irritate your brother, and for today your boss, you hurry to the elevator and descend to the surgical ward.

“Good morning. I take it you haven’t had a chance to read the case notes yet?

Formal as ever…

“Not yet, I can read them now.”

You open your tablet and open the newest document he shared with you. The notes were simple, written in Zayne’s unique short-hand. 65 year old male, moderately healthy, born with a heart defect, signs of heart failure began 6 years ago, has been on the transplant list for 4. You nearly walk into a wall as you read the pre-op notes for a full heart transplant.

“You requested me for a transplant? I’m not even specializing in cardio! What about Olivia? Or Maxwell? Wouldn’t they be better choices for such a major surgery?”

Zayne stops. His posture stiffens and you immediately regret speaking so casually. He turns and tucks his tablet under his arm, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Doctor Green is on vacation and Doctor Reeves is on sick leave.”

You can think of at least 5 other cardio residents who would kill for a chance to work with him on a transplant. He shakes his head and turns to continue down the hall. You jog to catch up, glancing down at your tablet off and on to finish reading.

“I’m sorry, I am grateful to be working with you. I was just surprised.”

“I can tell.”

You try not to take it personally, he’s like this with every resident. But you can’t help but wonder if he’s angry with you for… well, you’re not sure what…

“I simply needed a resident I trust. I’ve worked with this patient for several years and know his family. However, if you’d prefer I select another resident, I can remove you from my service.”

“No! I’ll do it! When is the procedure?”

“20 minutes.”

You freeze in the middle of the hallway. Zayne senses your hesitation, he turns and stares at you. He waits for you to return to reality.

“I’ll speak with the patient, you finish reading the case notes and meet me in the OR.”

He veers off and enters the prep area while you continue to the scrub-up room to finish reading. When Zayne joins you, he immediately shrugs off his coat and hangs it up. He turns to the sink and steps on the bar to turn on the water. He looks over his shoulder as he grabs the soap.

“Any questions?”

You follow his lead and hang up your own coat to begin to scrub up.

“Nope, I’m ready.”

He nods and you finish scrubbing up in silence. The surgery is straightforward and you witnessed a few transplants in your time at Akso. While it was never a heart, you knew the basics and knew your primary task was assisting Zayne and following orders.

Mr Dylan is prepped and under anesthesia by the time you and Zayne enter the operating room. Zayne always operates with a small nursing staff and one resident, which today is you. He nods to a nurse and she holds up a remote. The lights dim and focus in on the patient and soft classical music begins playing over the speakers. The steady beeps of the machines sound off in time with the music. You sigh, you’ve missed operating with Zayne. He always creates a peaceful atmosphere, which makes the surgery less intimidating. It’s no wonder why residents basically fight over him as their teacher.

The nurse administers blood thinners per Zayne’s instruction and you prepare the bypass machine. It’s more advanced than bypass machines of the past, but it still shocks you that Zayne prefers to use them. With newer techniques and procedures available, you expected him to be at the forefront of testing their efficiency. As you watch him carefully make the incision and expose the patient’s heart, you realize he’s sticking to tried and true methods for the sake of the patient. He mentioned Mr Dylan has been his patient for a long time, he won’t risk a newer method failing a patient he cares deeply for. “What?”

You look up to see Zayne staring at you.

“Huh?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m wearing a mask, how can you tell?”

He gives you a pointed look over the rim of his glasses and you chuckle. He extends his hand and you pass the cannulas to him. His steady hands attach them to the patient’s superior and inferior vena cava’s.

“Your eyes. They get all… squinty and your blink rate increases.”

He motions for you to attach the next tube to the patient’s aorta and you shake your head to focus. Once all the tubes are attached and the medication to stop the heart is given, the bypass machine whirs to life. Zayne is quick to clear the field and clamp and sever the vessels, you let the comment about your “squinty eyes” slide and watch in awe of his handiwork. He operates like he's conducting an orchestra, bold but flowing effortlessly.

“How was your vacation?”

He’s elbow deep in a chest cavity and he’s starting this conversation now?

“It was… relaxing. Haven’t gotten that much sun in years.”

As he removes the heart you hold the basin to retrieve it. You hold your breath as you carry it to the nearby table and cover it with a surgical cloth. The nurse retrieves the new heart and you both carefully bring it to Zayne. He inspects the organ and gently lifts it from its container, placing it into Mr Dylan’s chest.

“Good. You were looking a little worse for wear.”

You scoff and pass him the forceps with the prepared sutures. You hold the graft material in place and provide suction while he slowly reconnects the vessels. Each suture placed with such precision you’re completely mesmerized. Not so far gone to let his cheeky comment slide.

“Rather bold of you, Dr Zayne, to judge me for how I appear. When was your last haircut?”

He huffs and pauses his movements to glare at you. You flash a smile and he rolls his eyes. He returns to his previous state of godlike stillness and you try not to breathe too loudly.

The rest of the surgery goes by rather quickly, no complications, no need to use electro stimulation for the new heart. Mr Dylan was wheeled to recovery in record time and you were scrubbing out with Zayne before noon.

“Would you like me to write up the surgical report?”

“No, we can work on it together. I’m going to get a coffee and I will meet you in my office.”

“Get me one?” You call out to him as he turns to leave.

“I should tell you to get your own, but you impressed me today.”

“I impressed you! Wait! How–”

“My office, 10 minutes.”

He leaves without another word and you shake the water from your hands excitedly, droplets pelt your face, but you’re too delighted to care. You dry your hands and rush to grab a hoodie from your locker before settling into Zayne’s office for a lengthy report writing session.

Zayne arrives with two cups of coffee and you eagerly take what’s offered to you. The warmth from the first sip spreads through you, seeping into your very soul. Notes of chocolate and hazelnut cut through the bitterness, you want to down the whole cup in one go. Forcing yourself to slow down and set it aside, you look up at Zayne, who settled at his desk instead of sitting next to you on the couch. Reluctantly, you trudge over to his desk and sit in the chair across from him, opening your tablet.

“I can cover opening if you’d like to cover closing?” He asks and you nod.

The soft taps of your fingers on your screen and his fingers on his keyboard fill the room. You glance over at him occasionally, waiting for him to ask you a question or make another comment. When he doesn’t, you take advantage of this alone time to ask the question you’ve held onto for months.

“Zayne, are you ever going to tell me how you know Sylus? Like how you met?”

He stops typing and closes his eyes. Uh oh.

“This is hardly the time or place to discuss that.”

You place the tablet on his desk and lean back, holding your coffee with both hands in your lap.

“There’s never going to be an opportune time to discuss this. And this is the first time in weeks we’ve been alone. I’m not asking for the dramatized version, I just… want to understand why you, you know, volunteer…”

You may be alone, but blurting out “perform unauthorized medical treatments in an illegal medical facility with equipment of unknown origin” in a hospital is just… awkward.

“He helped me. It’s as simple as that.”

“No. Nope. Calling bullshit.”

He turns his chair away from his desk and reclines. He watches you out of the corner of his eye.

“Zayne…”

He sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes roughly.

“A few years ago, some information about the hospital was uncovered and it put me in a bad spot. Without Sylus getting involved myself and a… colleague may have been killed.”

You don’t miss the way he struggled to say “colleague” - his eyes glazing over, his hands turning restless, his expression grave. There’s more to the story and he’s being evasive on purpose.

“What happened to your colleague?”

He shifts in his seat and stares at the computer screen. A chill runs up your spine as you notice the drop in temperature. You’re used to the cold, with your evol you usually prefer it, but this… There’s a difference between using your evol to cool off and freezing because you lost control. Zayne taught you how to control your evol when you were young, but as you got older you realized he never could quite control it himself. He never explained why. Thankfully you’re one of the few people who can calm him down before it turns dangerous.

“Zayne! Hey! Look at me.”

He blinks slowly, crystals begin forming and inch up the side of his neck. You stand and circle around his desk quickly to grab his face. You turn him to look at you, focusing your evol to absorb some of the frigid energy. His eyes clear just enough to reflect your panicked expression. Once the crystals recede, you sit on the edge of his desk and hand him his coffee to warm up.

“Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you been dealing with this?”

He finishes his coffee and tosses his glasses on his desk.

“Because I didn’t want you to be in danger. And… I was ashamed.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t earn this position based on my skills alone. I am confident in my abilities, but I know it was a political move.”

You rub your temples as you try to read between the lines.

“Wait, so you’re saying the board promoted you to chief of cardio to what? Keep you quiet?”

“That is what I believe, yes.”

“Zayne, what the fuck is the board hiding?”

He stands abruptly and places his hands on your shoulders. You can feel how cold his skin is through your hoodie.

“This is why I kept it from you. Do not ask questions like that. Not even to Sylus. Do not go looking. Promise me. Please.”

There’s an urgency in his voice that frightens you. His hands tremble as he holds you tightly.

“I won’t, I promise. Just tell me you’re safe?”

He releases you, straightens his jacket and retrieves his tablet and glasses from his desk.

“I am.”

You nod, nowhere near satisfied, but you won’t push. At least not now. He steps past you towards the door.

“I’ll finish the surgical report if you can write up the post-op review and recovery guidelines.”

“Yeah, I will.”

You phone chimes and you gasp, you’d forgotten Sylus changed his own alert to Careless Whisper… Zayne looks over his shoulder with a brow raised.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, when did you and Sylus start sleeping together?”

You almost drop your phone and scream bloody murder. Your BROTHER did not just ask that question. He chuckles and looks at you over the rim of his glasses.

“You know you look like dad when you do that.”

You try to deflect… unsuccessfully. His smile grows wider and he leans against the door, effectively blocking your way out.

“You do realize how weird it is to ask me that right? Like, I don’t ask you about your sex life!”

He remains silent, which only irritates you further. Your phone chimes again, another message from Sylus and another sexy saxophone solo. You cover your face with your hands. You’re not embarrassed, just… you wanted to keep it private for a while longer.

“Fine! Before New Years…”

He nods, his smile remains.

“I don’t love the idea, but he is a good man. You know, if you overlook the fact he’s the leader of the largest criminal organization in the N109 Zone. And all of Linkon, if we’re being honest. But, he’s… he’s a good man. Just, promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Two promises in one day? Zayne, you’re asking a lot of me.” You smirk, making sure he detects your sarcasm.

“It’s one thing to be in a fake marriage to protect yourself from a psychotic gangster, but trying to have a real relationship with someone like Sylus…”

You stand to gather your things before standing beside him.

“I’m happy, Zayne.”

He surprises you with a hug. Usually, you’re the one to initiate something like this, but you’re not complaining. Look at your big brother becoming more sentimental. You’re so proud. He lets you go and opens the door, looking back for another moment.

“We’ll review the reports tomorrow.”

He leaves you in the doorway to his office. You watch him walk down the hall and disappear into an elevator. Digging your phone out of your pocket you see Sylus’s messages. He brought you lunch and is waiting at the entrance. You bite your lip and skip down the hall to the stairwell, if you’re lucky he’ll provide dessert first. If an on-call room is available that is…

“Is that really the best you can do angel?”

Oh you just want to slap that smug grin off his dumb sexy face. You wiggle to try and free your limbs, but with how Sylus has you pinned to the mat you’re not going anywhere. Sweat coats your back, making the mat beneath you slick. You try to use that to your advantage and slide away, but he brings his knee down on your hip and stops you.

“Sylus!”

“Say the magic word sweetie.”

You try to thrust your head forward, as if knocking him in the head wouldn’t leave a massive bruise on your forehead and have your colleagues asking many awkward questions… He doesn’t even need to pull back, with your wrists pinned to the mat your range of motion is too limited.

“Fine! Kitten. Kitten!”

He smiles and releases your wrists, sitting back on his heels to stand up. You stay where you are, utterly defeated and embarrassed you have yet to make any progress in overpowering him. He crouches down next to you and pokes your cheek. Ignoring your glare, he offers his hand and helps you stand before turning to grab his water bottle.

“You’re doing well, all things considered.”

You dry your forehead with a towel and toss it over your shoulder. As you turn around you tense, he’s tugging his shirt off over his head… His body glistens with sweat, his shorts tight enough to show the curve of his ass. He probably wore them to distract you. How dare he.

Two can play that game.

You pretend to dry your face some more, dipping the towel into the front of your tank top. He sips his water, keeping his eyes trained on you. Lifting your tank top over your head, you drop it to the floor next to your towel and approach him, bringing your hands up into the sparing position he showed you. As if you didn’t just perform a cute little strip tease a moment before.

He stands opposite you, hands by his side. In one swift motion, he conjures a gun as his arm swings wide, black and red smoke vanishing as quickly as it came. You follow the steps he taught you. Once the gun is pointed, you reach out and grab the barrel with your left hand and slam your right hand down on the inside of his wrist, turning the gun away from you and around towards him. He takes hold of your wrist and yanks it away, bringing the gun back to its original position. Diving under the line of fire, you kick his leg hard, making him stumble.

“Impressive, you’re improving.”

Without missing a beat, he lunges forward and knocks you back. Your back hits the mat once again and you gasp when you feel the tip of the barrel under your chin. You open your hands and drop them beside your head in surrender.

“Kitten…” You whisper.

He chuckles under his breath and stands up, tucking the gun in the back of his shorts. Again, you don’t move, you’re not sure how long you’ve been trying to disarm Sylus, but it’s starting to feel pointless.

“Come on, we try again.”

You sit up and pull your knees to your chest, resting your chin on your knee.

“No. I’m done…”

Sylus crosses his arms and stands in front of you. His sneaker taps the mat like an impatient coach waiting for his moody trainee to stop being a big baby.

“You’re quitting on me? I thought you said you wanted to learn to shoot?”

“I do!”

“And before I teach you how to shoot you have to…”

“Disarm you. I know. But clearly I can’t and I feel worse about my chances of survival than when I walked in here.”

Sylus sits in front of you, but you avoid meeting his gaze.

“Tell me what you would do. If this was real. Someone pointed a gun at you and your life was on the line. What would you do?”

“I’d turn them into a popsicle.”

“Perfect, your chances of survival are better than most.”

You huff and tuck your chin to your chest, lowering your forehead to your knee.

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you started racing?”

“Yeah…” You mumble from your fetal position.

“We’re training your brain. If you can disarm me without your evol, you’ll feel more confident and less fearful. And I meant it, you’re improving.”

Throwing your head back to cast a pitiful glare.

“When we started, you’d flinch when the gun appeared. Now, you act, you don’t hesitate.”

He pulls the gun from his waistband and holds it out.

“I know you want to learn to shoot, but if I know you like I think I know you… non-lethal methods might be best.”

He’s not wrong. Once the anger clears, you’d regret shooting someone. But you still want to know how, in case it ever comes to that point. You know if a life is on the line, yours or someone you care about, you’d pull the trigger.

“Baby, I will teach you, but I want to make sure you know your options and feel free to choose on your own.”

You cross your legs and settle your hands on your knees. The gun disintegrates into swirling mist and Sylus shifts closer to you and takes your hands in his.

“Might be a good idea to stop for the night.”

He brings your hands to his mouth and kisses your swollen knuckles. You nod and giggle as he drags you over onto his lap, he kisses your neck as his hands travel up your back to toy with the clasp of your bra. You press on his chest and struggle against his grasp.

“Sylus, we’re all sweaty…”

“We’d end up like this anyways, wouldn’t we?”

You groan as his mouth moves over your collarbone, sucking on your skin, The sounds he’s making are lewd, shameless.

“How about we continue to train in a different way?”

Looking down at him, unsure what he’s implying. He lifts you and guides your legs to straddle his lap. His hands massage your ass, pressing your core closer to his hardening cock. You whimper as he continues to kiss your neck, pausing to whisper his filthy plans in your ear.

“We can train your adrenaline and satisfy our… more carnal needs.”

“What are you suggesting, Sy?”

“Would you like a few more firsts?”

With how he’s staring at you, whatever he has planned is bound to be… intense.

“Yes…”

He helps you stand and instructs you to take off your shoes and socks, leaving you in just your bra and shorts. He takes your hand and leads you out of the gym. You follow him through the house, passing his bedroom, your bedroom, the kitchen, the living room… When he stops in front of the door to his armory you freeze. He places his thumb on the scanner and the door clicks open. When he feels you hesitate, he squeezes your hand and nods reassuringly. You step closer and he swings the door open, ushering you inside the one room you’ve never seen.

The sheer amount of weapons - of all types from guns and katanas to crossbows and ancient battle axes - you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You’re a doctor, an upstanding citizen - besides the illegal racing - and you live in a house with a fucking arsenal. Some of the guns look advanced, their hazy glow hinting at their protocore capabilities. A long sofa, a shelving unit with cleaning supplies, a bar cart with wine and whiskey.

“So this is your man cave, huh?”

He lets go of your hand to hook his arm around your waist instead.

“I take pride in my collection, no shame in that is there?”

You shake your head and lean closer to him as he continues through the room. It’s much larger than you anticipated. Showcases, wall mounts, shelving units - it’s like a vault or a treasure room. When you spot the pair of doors in the corner you just laugh, how on earth is there more?

“Door on the left is a bathroom, the storage is exclusively for my cologne collection. But it does have a nice skylight over the tub.”

“You collect cologne too?” He nods. “So I’m guessing the other room is for another collection?”

“You could say that.”

His vague answer leaves you more curious than ever. He approaches the door and pauses, his hand on the knob. He holds you close and you instinctively loop your arms around his waist.

“Do you remember the magic word?”

“Kitten? Why?”

His tender smile morphs into a wicked grin. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him open the door, letting it swing open to reveal his other collection.

“Holy shit…” You whisper before letting him go and stepping inside.

You’re not sure what kind of kinky dream you’ve entered, but you’re too engrossed in examining every detail to even think about leaving. At the center of the room sits a round bed with silky red sheets and plush pillows enclosed in a huge cage. There’s a padded wall with rings fixed above. A display case filled with… tools? Toys? You recognize some of them, a dildo is a dildo but some of the other “items” are a mystery to you. A rack on the wall holds various handcuffs, blindfolds, harnesses, paddles, gags, collars… Your heart races as you continue to scan the room, you’d expect harsh neon lighting in a room like this, but the red and blue accent lights cast a soft glow on the black marble floors.

Sylus rests his hands on your hips as he stands behind you. His chin on the top of your head. You melt into the warmth of his chest against your back.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I’m showing you this in case you ever want to… indulge your curiosity.”

You take hold of his hands and bring them around your waist. He holds you, swaying side to side, letting you decide the next move. You realize your life has been so… boring. Sheltered. Careful. You didn’t even think about the consequences of racing until after your first race. The rush was addicting and you knew the moment the countdown began you’d be hooked. Being with Sylus these past few months has made your inexperience extremely obvious. You’re not embarrassed, you have goals and dreams to achieve, but god do you want to live a little.

You can’t ignore how seeing a room like this makes you feel. Your heart pounding against your ribcage, palms sweaty, nipples pebbled, pussy throbbing. The room itself, while enticing, is not what sets your skin on fire and your nerves into a frenzy. Who you’re with and what they want to do to you… You want this. So much…

Leaning back, you rest your head on Sylus’s chest. You rub the backs of his hands before lifting one of them and placing his palm over your breast. His breath catches and he squeezes, making you moan. He lowers his head to whisper in your ear, his hand dipping under the fabric of your bra to continue working your breast.

“I need to hear you say it angel.”

Turning your head towards him, he brushes his lips over the shell of your ear.

“I don’t have to call you any weird names, right?”

He chuckles, his breath warm tickling your ear.

“I prefer it when you call me by my name actually.”

“The bed does look comfy…”

“I wouldn’t know.”

You lean further to the side so you can fully see his face above you. He’s dead serious.

“You’ve never…”

“I’ve never brought anyone here, no.”

You turn and set your hands on his hips while his fingertips dance along your arms.

“So… It’s a first for both of us…” You purr.

Without wasting another second, he picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder. You squeal and slap his back, which only makes him laugh louder as he kicks the door closed. He stalks over to the caged bed and opens the hinged door. He ducks to step through and up onto the bed where he drops you amongst the dozen or so throw pillows. He drops to his knees, straddling you, his hands gliding over your stomach and over your ribcage. You close your eyes and arch your back, eager to please.

“Remember the magic word. If you want me to stop, I will.”

You open your eyes and nod, your mouth falling open as he tugs the cups of your bra down exposing your breasts. He pitches forward to take one of your nipples in his mouth. The pace of his tongue flicking and swirling around the sensitive flesh drives you mad. You fist his hair and grind his face against your chest, which prompts him to bite down. You jolt and then your hands are yanked upwards and slammed down on the bed above you. The fabric of your bra that was bunched under your exposed tits vanishes and your eyes fly open.

“Sy… what…?”

Sylus doesn’t stop his relentless attack, your back arches to the point of pain as he switches between your heaving breasts. What his mouth can’t touch, his hands take care of. Pinching, tugging, rolling, flicking. You scream, the mixture of pain and pleasure completely unravels you. When he finally leans back, his cheeks are flushed and he’s gasping for breath.

“I’ve wanted to show you the extent of my evol… tonight, I’ll give you a preview.”

You look down at him as he slips your shorts and panties over your hips and down your legs. Your brain reels as you realize both of his hands are visible to you, but whatever is holding your wrists doesn’t feel metallic or plastic, it feels… You struggle against whatever is holding you and hear Sylus snicker. Suddenly you’re lifted off the bed by your wrists, your arms brought down and around Sylus’s shoulders. As he dives into the crook of your neck you see the red and black smoke wrapped around your wrists like rope.

“Is there anything your evol can’t do?”

He lifts your hips and lays you back on the bed, pressing you down into the mattress under him.

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll have to put it to the test.”

“My bra! Did you–?” His breathy laugh becomes a sigh as he kisses you.

“I’ll buy you as many pretty bras as you like, if you let me destroy them to get to these perfect tits. Deal?”

You whimper as he seals his mouth over yours again.

“Take that as a yes…” He breaths.

When he turns his attention back to your neck, you look around the room once more. Wondering what each tool does and what it would feel like. As Sylus grinds his hips down you gasp. Your brows knit together as you try to work up the courage to –

“What are you thinking about, angel?”

Sylus hovers over you, his nose tracing your jaw to get you to turn your attention back to him.

“I want to do something.”

He tilts his head, a brow raised, amused yet curious.

“But… I’ve tried before and you stopped me.”

You tried many times before actually. During your vacation you’d tried almost every night, almost begging at one point, but he always diverted your attention. You want nothing more than to make him happy, to make him feel good, to please him like he pleases you.

“Is there a reason you don’t want me to go down on you?”

His brows shoot up and he stutters. He’s the one who wanted you to be more direct and now he’s the one who is speechless. If you weren’t so desperate to understand you’d find it funny.

“My intimate life has been… more about giving, not receiving.”

“Do you not like it or…” Puzzle pieces start to slide into place. “Do you not allow yourself…”

His head falls forward to rest against your shoulder. The energy around your wrists dissipates and you thread your fingers through his hair.

“I want to make you feel good. You deserve to feel good, Sy.”

He groans softly, lifting his head to stare down at you.

“It’s been a long time since… I haven't felt like I could…”

“I want you, in every way. I crave you. When you’re ready, I want to take you… all of you.”

His body trembles, his cock straining against his shorts. He sits back on his heels, lifting your effortlessly onto his lap. He stands and grabs hold of a bar running along the top of the cage. You squeal as you begin to float, his evol wrapping around your body like a cool breeze on a hot day. You hold onto his shoulders and giggle as the feeling of weightlessness becomes less foreign. He smirks and he doesn’t have to say a word, you know whatever comes next will be unlike anything you’ve experienced before.

Sure enough, you gasp as he flips you upside down. Sylus holds onto your waist and guides your legs to bend at the knee. Once you’re steady, he backs up and you watch him drop his shorts, kicking them out of the cage. His cock bobs, heavy and flushed, leaking already. He steps forward, you can sense his hesitation. Your hands rest on his thighs.

“Are you sure?”

“Only if you are.” He whispers.

You smile up at him, even though it probably looked like some demonic frown from this angle. Taking a page out of his book, you don’t waste any time, stretching your neck to close your mouth around his tip. His thighs twitch and he groans, his hands finding your hips. You wrap your hands around the backs of his thighs and pull yourself closer, his evol carries you where you want to go. His cock is long and you’re somewhat inexperienced with this, but you’re also insanely stubborn. And a quick learner. You want all of him. Now.

“Squeeze your thighs if it’s too much, angel.”

Your hands are torn away from his legs and secured behind your back. He parts your knees and rests your thighs on his shoulders. His fingers immediately stroke through your weeping cunt and you whimper. It’s exactly like you thought it’d be. His cock in your mouth, his fingers in you pussy… being upside down was not part of your little imaginary scenario, but fuck is it hot.

Trying your best to relax your throat, you focus on rolling your tongue over each of his piercings. You hollow your cheeks and suck hard, making Sylus hiss and thrust involuntarily. His tip hits the back of your throat and you gag. Sylus swears loudly and his hand on your hip spasms, his nails digging into your skin. Oh he likes that. You bob your head, breathing deeply through your nose so you can keep him as deep as possible. Every gag becomes less scary and more arousing.

As soon as you hear a strangled whimper break free from him your entire body breaks out in chills. Sylus can’t even pleasure you anymore, his hands hold onto your thighs and he growls, trying his best not to thrust. As his grip tightens you feel his resolve slipping away, his hips twitching, the veins in his cock pulse. You close your eyes as you summon your strength to stretch your neck forward one last time, his tip sliding down your throat as you tip your head back and swallow around him. He’s cumming before he can give you any warning. Your mouth forms a smile as you take what he gives you, swallowing every last drop. A guttural groan rips free from deep in his chest. He moans your name over and over, his voice raw and broken. His cum leaks out the sides of your mouth and you close your eyes as it drips up your cheeks. He pulls you away, his cock slipping from your mouth. He lowers you to the bed and as his evol fizzles out you drop onto the mattress.

Sylus nearly collapses onto the bed beside you, still unable to catch his breath. You roll onto your side and caress his cheek, moving your body closer until he grabs you and your bodies collide. He frantically kisses your face, your hands, your neck, any skin he has access to while holding you close. He licks his release off of your face between kisses and you can’t stop yourself from giggling as his tongue tickles your cheek.

“Baby… breath.” You manage to whisper.

He grunts as you cover his mouth to stop him. You kiss his forehead and his breathing slowly steadies. He reaches up to remove your hand from over his mouth.

“I was supposed to give you a first.”

“You did. Deepthroating while upside down is definitely a first for me.”

He glares at you and cradles your head in his hand.

“So, what would you like to try next?”

Your eyes widen, you swallow a few times in an attempt to soothe your sore throat. Looking over his shoulder you spot a set of clamps that look exactly like office supplies. Oh god, what if some CEO somewhere has them on their desk… There’s too many things to choose from…

“Angel, use your words.”

“I don’t know… You choose.”

His smile should make you worry. You have work tomorrow and you need to be able to walk… He uses his evol once again to bring a blindfold, thick headphones and a pair of handcuffs over to the bed.

“You might regret that decision, angel.”

“God I hope so…”

You slot your mouth over his and let your body go limp. Handcuffs are placed around your wrists, a blindfold covers your eyes and the world goes silent as the headphones settle over your ears. Every touch feels brand new. He takes his time ruining you and you’re fairly certain you blacked out for a minute or two.

When you wake up in Sylus’s bed the next morning, you watch him sleep. His arm draped over your waist, his eyes shifting as he dreams, his lashes fluttering, his hair stuck to his forehead from last night’s… activities… You don’t know why he denied himself for so long, your best guess involves whoever he lost. Whoever he thinks about whenever he plays that song. You’re thankful he let his wall down, let you in, let you pleasure him and make him feel half as good as he makes you feel.

This man, who’s feared by so many, has opened his heart to you and shown you his vulnerability. You’ve come a long way from the girl who only cared about her career. And you’re thankful. Now, you only want to bring him happiness.

🏍️۶ৎ🩺

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Upside Down Deepthroat Scene inspired by THIS fanart!

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oofmybad · 4 months ago

Text

I want someone to choose me

Synopsis: You are surprised to read an upsetting update from a university you’ve applied to. You text Billie, your best friend, giving her the news, and she comes over to cheer you up. But her visit leads to a bit of an argument since you’re feeling sensitive. The whirlwind of heightened emotions causes you both to admit things you haven’t before.

Warnings: angst (happy ending though), fluff, friends to lovers, billie x fem!reader, use of y/n, light arguing, crying, reference to rejection issues (?), low self worth (?), razor mentioned (only in reference to shaving), swearing. Pls lmk if I missed any!

Word count: 3k

a/n: a lil angsty one today cuz I just lived the plot (w/o the happy ending lol). Not proofread, sorry in advance !

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re sat on the edge of the bed, peering out of the window while you wait to come to, having freshly woken up. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon, but you’ve recently returned from a trip, so you’re still acclimatizing to the 8-hour time difference. Despite it being the middle of the day, the sky is painted a bland grey. The skyline bleeds into the cement lining the road outside. As you turn your head to observe your surroundings, you remember that you’ve yet to unpack the olive-green hard-shell suitcase perched at the end of your bed frame. Begrudgingly, you press your palms to the mattress and peel your thighs up from the bed so that you can start on the task at hand.

The suitcase now lies open like a book on your dark hardwood floor, letting you pull out garment by garment whilst you vibe along to Bruno Mars’ Unorthodox Jukebox. You recently rediscovered the album, fondly recollecting your 8-year-old memories. This was the first CD you ever bought. A small chuckle escapes your lips at the memory of getting in trouble at school for singing the lyrics ‘Gorilla,’ unaware at the time of what they meant. Once the rest of the album has played, your suitcase is fully unpacked and rolled back into your hallway closet where it lives.

Checking your phone for any notifications, you notice that an email has come through from the USC Graduate School. Immediately, your heart sinks as you’re jumpscared with the reminder of those three applications you sent in a few months ago. You’re pretty good at forgetting the big things that should be weighing heavy on your chest. The anxiety just gets too much so your brain blocks it out. But no more ignorance, the weight of the world has dropped on your shoulders in a matter of seconds. You gingerly lower yourself back onto your bed, before your blood pressure can shoot any higher, and tuck your legs into crisscross applesauce. To your left, your two emotional support teddy bears sit looking back at you, so you tuck them into the crevice between your folded legs and cling on to them. Opening your laptop in front of you, you load Outlook and click on the email that leads you to a link titled “Decision status”. Teeth chattering and hands shaking, you click on the link and wait for the portal to buffer. Inputting your email and password, you quickly close your eyes before you can be bombarded with something you’re not ready to see yet. “It’s probably going to be a no. Just statistically, it’s very unlikely you’ll get in. You’re going to feel hurt, but it will be ok” you tell yourself as you let out a measured breath through pursed lips. But a wave of fear courses through you anyway, “I can’t look yet. I don’t want my day to be ruined” you think. “Fuck it, there’s nothing I can do about it now.” You say, a newfound sense of gumption pumping you up as your eyes shoot back open.

Before you can back out, you mindlessly click on a document titled ‘Decision Letter’ in bold letters. Skimming past the useless pleasantries in the first couple of lines, your eyes trace the document, searching for the words “We regret to inform you…” As though you’ve willed them onto the page, those exact words appear before you. Immediately as your brain processes what you’ve read, you snap your eyes away from the screen towards the ceiling. “Fuck. I knew it” you say, dejected and emotionless. Unsure of what to do next, you open your messages on your phone so you can tell the only person who knows you even applied about this pathetic advancement.

You:

usc said no :(

pls don’t tell anyone

bil:

oh, my love. i’m sorry

r u on ur own?

You:

yeah

You can see that Billie has read your message, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s not even typing. A drawn-out huff escapes your mouth as you throw your phone away from you - it lands with a bounce on the bed. Weirdly enough, you don’t feel much other than a feeling foolish for thinking you had a chance in the first place. There goes $135 that you’ll never get back, you think. “What a waste” you mutter.

To prevent any other emotions from creeping in, you pull yourself up onto your feet and grab your speaker. You go to Spotify and scroll until you find your ‘gifted kid to academic burnout pipeline’ playlist. You’ve been in this position before, evidently. You trod over to the bathroom next to your bedroom and turn on the shower so it can heat up. You undress yourself from the hoodie and boxers you slept in when you realize that you had on your old department hoodie from your undergraduate degree – the disproportionately large, blown out logo taunting you. You scoff in irony at the inanimate piece of cloth now discarded on the floor and say, “fuck my life!” exacerbated. You wish you could go back to those days in college; they were your best ones. Since you graduated last July, you’ve been dealing with a feeling of mourning for your time at college.

Shaking away the memories, you step up and into the tub as the piping hot water falling from the showerhead engulfs your body in a searing hug. The water droplets piercing your back like needles due to the water pressure. Tracks like ‘this is me trying’, ‘Cellophane’, and ‘From the Dining Table’ are the soundtrack to your self-pity shower. After you clean and exfoliate your body, you decide to shave your legs solely so you have something else to continue occupying your mind. As you shave your second thigh, the melancholic acoustic guitar from ‘Scott Street’ clings to every water droplet sitting in the room’s atmosphere. Without a chance to brace yourself, the overwhelming feeling of shame consumes your mind and travels down your body with each stroke of the razor. Your body tingles and your eyes burn, tears now pricking at their waterline. It’s indistinguishable to you if tears are actually falling because your entire body is covered in warm water – you assume a few must have slipped down, though. Phoebe has now reached the second verse, where she sings about ‘getting a degree’ and solemnly asks, “Do you feel ashamed?” You could’ve sworn she was talking directly to you, so you send her an infuriated response, “FUCK YOU, PHOEBE BRIDGERS!” as you heave with disappointment [a/n: pls someone get the reference].

You’re sure this is a good point to get out of the shower before things get worse, so you do precisely that. Once you’re dry, you brush your teeth, do your skincare routine, and moisturize your whole body – making sure to lather on an extra layer of coconut oil to your freshly shaven legs. Your tacky skin is quick to pick up the crisp, fresh air and send a chill through your body, so you put on a pair of boxers under some short sweatshorts and an apricot-colored cami top – not bothering with a bra since you’ve retired the day to bed rotting. However, this plan comes unravelled not a moment later when you hear a polite, cautious knock on your front door and keys jangling in the doorknob. You walk down the hallway to meet your guest, having realized that it must be Billie – she’s the only one with a key.

“Hi, pretty girl. Come here” she says in a knowing tone, opening her arms for you to be comforted. You push out your bottom lip in a pout and dip your head as you tread forward to melt into her embrace. “I’m sorry” Billie says into your neck, her arms muffling the words. “Ugggh” you mumble – some sort of half-assed response. Unhooking your arms around her waist, you lean back to notice a large, square-ish cotton tote bag filled with food sat next to her feet. “What’s that?” you ask, pointing with your eyes. “Just some stuff to cheer you up” she says. All you give her is silence and a blank stare in response. “Welllll… hopefully…? at least?” Billie tries again, making an ‘eek’ face. “Thank you for being so sweet” you say and give her a grateful smile – a happy pout pulling on your lips. “Anything and everything for you, y/n”. “Ok, shut up now…” you giggle and grab the bag to take to the kitchen “or you’re gonna make me cry again” you joke back. “You were crying?! Why didn’t you text me?!” Billie asks, following you through the house. “I had already texted you what had happened” you shrug. “Plus, it happened in the shower, so I couldn’t exactly go on my phone” you explain very matter-of-factly. “I’m here now, my love. I’m sorry you were alone when you found out. Have you heard from the other ones yet? Where else did you apply to again?” Billie sends a list of questions your way. You tackle the list one by one as you put the snacks away in their appropriate spots. “Eh, it’s ok; I live alone, so it was probably gonna happen that way. I haven’t heard from the other two schools, but I’m not holding out hope because that’s asking to get hurt again. And I applied to UCSB and UCLA, too” you say. “Girl, don’t say that shit! You’re gonna manifest bad luck” she argues with you. “Billie, be realistic…” you tilt your head and give her a ‘bffr’ face. “…Even if we ignore that I have terrible luck, it’s just not very likely I’ll get in to any schools, like, statistically.” Billie now raises her voice saying, “Fuck statistics. And fuck outta my face with ‘I have such bad luck’!” – her left hand flailing in front of her. You can tell Billie is starting to get oddly heated over the matter, which confuses you a little, but you brush it off figuring she’s just an overly supportive friend.

“I do have bad luck! The things I love never choose me back!” you say as your voice breaks, betraying your ‘whatever, I don’t care’ front. You now sound incredibly husk while you attempt to get out the rest of your statement the way you’d like. “All I’ve ever experienced is unrequited love… from every angle” pausing to angrily wipe two fiery tears before they can burn a trail on your face. Billie’s expression contorts to one of concern or maybe tenderness and she reaches out to grasp your shoulder comfortingly. But you shrug your shoulder up and back out of her reach and snap “don’t” putting a hand up between your bodies. “Hey, y/n, talk to me” she breathes out “I feel like I’m missing something”. Billie tries to coax your resistant demeanour away. You decide to follow suit, not having enough strength to resist.

“I’m sick of not being chosen. Everything and everyone I choose never chooses me back. It hurts to give your everything to something for nothing in return. Every time”. You pull out your fingers one by one like you’re counting down a list as you say, “My parents don’t choose me! These fucking schools don’t choose me! I’ve only let myself fall in love once, and I’m sure as hell not their choice either!” At this point, your tears are freely cascading down your cheeks and snaking around your chin. Each tear lands on your exposed chest, just above your tank top’s low neckline. “I’m sick of it! I’m fed up now! Clearly, I’m the common denominator here but I can’t fix it because I’m stuck being me. I can’t be someone else even if I tried, and believe me, I’ve tried!” “Y/n, stop. You need to stop. You’re working yourself up now” Billie says with a firm grip on your upper arms. She lowers one of her hands to grab yours so she can press it to her heart – a gentle attempt to ground you. “Not all of your love is unrequited; it’s just your mind telling you that. People do love you… more than you could ever know. You just can’t see it right now” she says softly. You groan in frustration, “Of course you’d say that, everybody loves you… more than you’ll ever know. But I’m not you, Billie. Most people aren’t adored like you are”. “You don’t know what you’re saying, y/n. Please take that back” Billie responds, hurt evident in her voice. “No!” you exclaim “I mean it. People you haven’t even met love you, while I’m over here begging for people to love me! Everybody is in love with you”. Billie scoffs at that, “Yeah…” she looks down “Everyone is in love with me. Everyone but one” she sighs. “What the fuck is that supposed to even mean, Billie?!” you raise your voice, getting unfairly pissed off at her audacity. “Jesus Christ!” Billie drags her hands down her face, getting more and more frustrated at your obliviousness. “For fuck sake! You! Are you happy now? You! I love YOU! And all you seem to do is pay it no mind!”

You stand across from Billie with an absent expression on your face. Soon, though, a smile creeps up, joined by a bout of laughter. “What the fuck are you laughing at?!” Bille questions. “I’m laughing because you’ve just proven my point. Everybody does love you… I love you” you say. “What?” she asks. You reach out to softly hold Billie’s cheeks in your hands, “I love you Billie. In every way.” You can’t contain the wild grin begging to come out any longer. Billie looks taken aback, confused like a lost puppy. “More than a friend?” she questions you. “Yes dipshit, more than a friend” you say through your bitten lip, another laugh scraping past. As you continue to look at Billie, your eyes flicking back and forth. Left and right between hers, you can see the cogs beginning to turn in her head. She opens her mouth and voice hitches – like she is trying to arrange her next words in precisely the right way. “But for years you’ve said you only loved someone once, and they didn’t love you back?” she questions. “Good God! You’re hopeless!” you laugh in her face “I was talking about you, Billie. I’ve loved you for years, I thought you caught on and were ignoring it because you didn’t love me back, so I never admitted it myself” you say still anxiously biting the corner of your bottom lip.

“How could I NOT love you?” Billie says in a cheeky tone as she firmly puts her hands on your waist, her usual confident persona starting to return. The rings adorning her fingers are strikingly cold and pressing against the small sliver of bare skin that peeks out between the hem of your top and the waistband of your shorts. You move your eyes away from Billie and to the right, feeling flustered at her flirting, “Well… I suppose because nobody has before” you lazily shrug and pull your eyes back to meet hers. Billie laughs at this, the whole idea seeming utterly preposterous to her. “That you know of” Billie retorts and jokingly rolls her eyes. Her hands then reach up your body, holding either side of your neck as a thumb strokes the front of your throat. You swallow deeply with anticipation and continue looking into her big blue bambi eyes waiting for her next move, but she’s no longer looking into yours. She is far more focused on your lips and how you continue to nibble on your bottom one. Billie knows very well that this is a habit of yours that appears when you feel shy – so she gingerly tests the waters a little further.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks softly. Her eyes flicker up to yours just as your own flicker down to her lips. Both of your eyes are doing a dance now, taking turns gazing at each other’s lips. “Please” you reply at a volume that wouldn’t be audible if it weren’t for Billie’s incredibly close proximity. One side of Billie’s mouth upturns into a smile before she leans in to leave a measured yet firm kiss on your lips. A kiss that professes nothing but her complete and utter adoration for you. She pulls back a few moments later and you’re both smiling now. This time, feeling a little more confident, you lean in and kiss her soft pink, plump lips again. Initially, the kiss is just as calm as the first one, but once Billie feels your tongue swipe across her bottom lip, the air between you two shifts. She parts her lips a little, allowing your tongue to enter her mouth while her own tongue mirrors the action. Somehow, you both are now even closer to each other – inhibitions a thing of the past. Once hours have passed, only a few minutes in reality, you feel Billie’s lips morph into a wide grin. “I can’t kiss you if you keep smiling like that, doofus” you tease her. “Sorry, sorry! I just… I can’t help it” she replies as you both pull back to get a better look of each other’s faces. “I’m just happy” she continues with a shrug. You laugh at her endearing confession and say with a pout, “I’m glad. But I still just opened a rejection letter so I think I’m gonna need some more cheering up” you joke. “Come here, idiot” Billie scoffs reaching down to lock her arms around your waist and pull you flush against her own body. “Mhm” you nod, agreeing with her teasing. “But you love meeee” you reply in a sing-song voice. “Hell yeah, I do. You’re my baby” Billie responds sincerely as she envelopes you deeper into her hold, one hand cradling your back, and kissing you like she is trying to make up for all the years she didn’t.

#billie eilish #lesbian #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x y/n #billie x reader #billie x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish angst #friends to lovers #argument #Spotify

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sunshine-on-marz · 1 year ago

Text

Bad and better days

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

In which reader is stressed and Hotch is a gift giver.

Lots and lots of fluffy fluf (I’ll proofread later)

Very much inspired by @mariasont s ABSOLUTELY AMAZINGLY WONDERFUL bimbo assistant series that i literally can’t get enough of. If you even remotely enjoy this fic go read hers” series, and if you don’t like this fic, go read her other stuff. It’s worth it I promise!!!

“Sir!” You were practically a blur of pink as you run up to him, well, run as much as you can in your heels.

“Y/N, hi, what on earth could be this worrying-“ he checks his watch “-two minutes before the work day starts” he chuckles softly, an occurrence that seems to become less and less uncommon when you’re around.

“Well, sir, I was filing papers and I got a call- well you got a call which means I got a call which means I walked away from papers and when I stood up they fell on the floor and they’re time sensitive and-“ he cuts you off with gentle hands on your shoulders.

“Y/N do you need me to help you reorganize paperwork?” He asks, smiling softly at your frantic nodding. “Alright, lead the way, slower this time maybe?” He jokes, you laugh, he does his best to memorize the sound (not that he doesn’t already know it by heart). “Yes sir” you nod, turning to walk back to his office. And it really was just one file you’d knocked off the desk, but it wasn’t case paperwork that you could’ve easily picked up and reorganized, it was paperwork for Strauss, detailing a week worth of work in the bureau, along with staff ratings and a couple legal documents.

“I hope you know that this is not at all an inconvenience to me, we all make mistakes, if the biggest slip up this week is an unorganized file, I think we’d have to throw a party” he says, laughing softly, you do the same, the tension falling from your shoulders. “Yea, well, I was nervous to greet you with a screw up” you say, he puts down the papers to look at you.

“Y/N, you’re an amazing assistant, you’re great at your job and the million other things you do far outside of your obligations, this office wouldn’t function without you, I wouldn’t function without you, this-“ he taps the folder “-doesn’t even register as a screw up. Having to turn around the jet last week because Morgan forgot his phone? That was a screw up. JJ emailing a random cop witness statements from an unrelated case? That’s a screw up. You dropping a file? That’s not even a minor inconvenience. You’re alright.” His voice goes back to his normal tone at the end, but the gentleness is still very much there. He’d taken note of your stress the last few days. You’d clearly overworked yourself, something he knew would happen eventually. He was worried.

“Thank you, sir” you say softly.

“Aaron” he corrects. You must’ve looked like he asked you the square root of 43,862.

“I’m sorry?” You ask, your head dipping to the side

“Well I told you on your first day to call me Hotch, and you haven’t, so I’m seeing if telling you to call me Aaron will get you to tone down the formality.” He smiles. You laugh. He smiles harder.

“So should I call you Aaron or Hotch?” You ask, he shrugs.

“You can decide” his voice is even, but he can’t quite calm the grin still plastered to his lips.

“Alright, Aaron” you say, you feel like you broke some unspoken rule, but Hotch? He understands why sailors abandoned ship for sirens. He wants nothing more in that moment than to hear you say his name again.

But he just nods, going back to reorganizing papers. You pipe up with a question “should I go see if JJ has a case yet?”

“No, not yet, the work day started a few minutes ago, no need to rush her” he says, you nod.

“Should I-“ he cuts you off by putting his credit card down on the table. “You should go online and look for office supplies” he says, and once again, you look at him like a confused puppy.

“I talked to Strauss, we agreed that you do far too much around here to not have an office. It’s by no means extravagant, but I talked her into giving you the empty office” he says. You know exactly what he’s talking about, and it’s really not extravagant, it’s probably a little bit smaller than Penelope’s lair, but it’s right next to Hotch’s office and it’s big enough for a desk and a filing cabinet. You’re ecstatic.

“Really?!” You squeal, practically bouncing with excitement. “Really” he nods. You hug him, it’s awkward, you’re bent over to hug him while he sits. You don’t really mind, but Hotch wants to acknowledge your affection, so he stands and hugs you back. Wrapping his arms around you and gently rubbing your back. As you pull away you smile up at him.

“Thank you so much Aaron” you smile, he just nods to the card. “You’re very welcome, and get whatever you want for the office, don’t worry about the cost” he says, your eyes go wide.

“Oh no- I can’t. Really. I’d feel awful and-“ he cuts you off again.

“I mean it. Whatever. You. Want.” He says sweetly, but you protest again.

“I really can’t. I couldn’t.” You say, he nods “alright, send me what you like, if it’s not too much I’ll get it, then you can buy the rest, would that work?” He offers, you shake your head

“I can’t take your money-“ he once again, stops you. “It’s my final offer. I buy it all or I buy some. I want to do this for you” he says, you blush, he takes note. You nod.

“I’ll- uh- I’ll send you what I like” you say. He nods “good, you can start looking now if you’d like, I have to go talk to Rossi.” He says “don’t worry about anything else until we debrief alright? You’re officially on break.” He says, you nod. “Thank you. So much. For all of this” your sentence comes out in parts, like you’re building it once it’s already left your mouth. Hotch smiles. “Rest for a bit Y/N, you’ve more than earned it” he says as he leaves the office.

You have a nice, 20 minute break before the debrief. You get right back to business as usual, only adding in excited rambling on the jet too Spencer about how you plan to decorate your office, Hotch listened with a smile.

“Are you planning to eavesdrop on that poor girl the whole flight? Or are you just really interested in colored gel pens” Emily asks, tone teasing and sarcastic. Hotch rolls his eyes. “I have interests” he says, Emily grins. “Yea, you’re definitely interested in something” she says, Hotch laughs softly. “Maybe” he admits.

He knew that maybe was a definitely, so did Emily, but neither of them mention it. She drops the topic and he goes right back to listening in on you and Spencer.

The case goes by quickly. A less than 72 hour turn around. Hotch sends everyone home early when you get back. A small congratulations for a successful case. You, as always, stay behind when he does.

“Y/N, go home and rest” he says, you shake your head

“I’m fine to stay” you assure him, he won’t have it “you’ve been tired and stressed. Go home, rest, and come back tomorrow feeling a little better. That’s what I need from you.” He says it like an order, you honestly feel like you’ll get fired if you don’t go have a spa day. So you just nod. “Yes sir” you nod, putting down the files you were holding.

“Have a good night, Y/N” he says as you leave. “You too Aaron, head home at a good time, I’m sure Jack misses you”. He assures you he will. You nod and leave.

An hour later, you’re home, watching bad tv and eating take out, which absolutely counts as self care, when you get a text.

Hotch!: “Jack wanted me to tell you he says hi.”

You laugh and text back

-> “Awww!! Tell him I say hi back!!”

You don’t wait long for a response.

Hotch!: “He’s very excited to hear from you. Have you picked anything for your office?”

You smile

-> “I’ll have to babysit again sometime!!! And yes, here🙄 (but 4real, thank you so so so so much for paying. Absolutely don’t worry about anything thatz 2 expensive!!)” you text back, including an Amazon wishlist

The next day is normal. Completely average. No cases, no major drama. Just paperwork, random ramblings to Hotch about whatever is on your mind and gossip sessions in the bullpen. Good, but average.

Then the next day comes. And you squealed so loud that Derek thought he’d be on rat catching duty again. But nope, much better, you walked into Hotch’s office and were greeted with Amazon package after Amazon package.

Hotch smiled “I figured you’d be picky about how the office is set up, but I did come in early and set up your desk and filing cabinet.” You hugged him and probably thanked him a dozen times, excitedly rushing to Penelope’s office to get a decorating buddy.

He’d never admit this to you, but he confides in Rossi later that day that he never approved your office with Strauss, but he knew how happy it would make you, and he knew he wanted to be the reason you were that happy. He’d argue with his boss a million times to make you smile.

Your day was obviously above average, but Hotch’s was wonderful, just because he got to spend it watching you run back and forth with the biggest smile on your face. He knew he wanted you before, but now? God, he wanted to spend forever making you smile like that.

I pulled an all nighter and spent 2 hours in a haze writing this. I hope you like it!!!

Click here for more of my work

Please remember to reblog with feedback!!! It helps writers a lot and is how my work reaches more people!

#aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #crimal minds

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starrihan · 5 months ago

Text

My Youth is Free - Toxic! Boynextdoor Break Up Scenarios

-> Pairing: afab! Reader x toxic! Boynextdoor

-> Plot: toxic breakup scenarios for each of the members

-> Genre: angst, suggestive (only some, not WH), Sungho and riwoo are misogynistic and controlling, riwoo is a manipulator, Taesan is really cold, anger issues in woonhak’s, fwb! Leehan, Leehan and Taesan are assholes, reader is blunt and swears a lot, use of real names (Sanghyeok, Dongmin, and Donghyun)

-> Warnings: misogyny, swearing

-> Word Count: 5,935 (~800-1200 words per member)

-> Notes: toxic bnd is all that’s been on my mind recently but let me know if you would like a part 2 where they make up with reader 🤭part 2 where reader gets back them is posted here!

-> Side Note: I get a lot of my inspirations from songs (like 1 or 2 lines from a song) and obviously 20 was the inspiration for this one but I always forget to link the song in case someone doesn’t know it 🤦🏽‍♀️ so here is a little edit with the song added anyways enjoy reading~ 😚

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

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Sungho:

He couldn't stand the thought of you getting closer to your male coworker. You had recently gotten a new job that required you to work a little later than he did. Sometimes you’d have so much work to do that you’d bring it home to work on, not having had enough time during the workday to get important documents and files finished before their deadline. When you told him that you would be working on a project with a male coworker he was supportive, at first. Of course you guys had total trust in each other, so he didn’t mind you needing to stay later in the office to work with him. But even after your joint project was over, you would still hang out regularly amongst other coworkers. This is what got under his skin.

“You know he wants you, right?”

“Sungho, please. We’re going out with a couple of friends too. I only mentioned his name because you’ve met him before.”

“And the whole time we hung out he was eyeing you down like a piece of candy. C’mon Y/N, seriously? The only reason a guy would hang out with a group of girls is because he wants one of them. You told me that he doesn’t really know the other girls so he’s only going out because you’re there.”

“Yeah, because I’m introducing him to them. I’m the department head so he worked with me but he should know the other people in my department if we’re going to be working together.”

“Im just saying, why would he hang out with you if he didn’t like you?”

“Excuse me? You don’t think I’m fun or interesting enough to hang out with a guy? You think men would only hang out with me because they want to sleep with me?”

“Baby, that’s not what I meant I–”

“Save it. I’m leaving. I’ll be back by 11.”

That was the first conversation of many that led to the break up. It got to a point where you would tell him you were going out and he’d automatically assume you were hanging out with the coworker, throwing a snarky, “don’t come back if you smell like him,” at you before you bitterly slam the door in his face. Until one night you had a work party and you didn’t invite Sungho to come with you, not even mentioning it to him. He only found out because your friends had posted about it.

“So were you ever going to tell me about this? Why didn’t you invite me to come with you?”

Sungho shows you his phone screen with your friend’s post before slamming it on the table.

“You’ve been so insufferable and insecure whenever I bring up anything work-related. If I invited you out tonight you would’ve punched the guy in the face when you saw him.”

“And why is that so bad, huh, Y/N? You don’t want me to punch your boy toy now?”

“PARK SUNGHO HE IS NOT MY BOY TOY AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY, UNDERSTOOD?”

You angrily throw down your stuff, marching up to him.

“I haven’t done anything. He hasn’t done anything. WE haven’t done anything so why can't you believe me and move on from the fact that I have a male friend? Are you that insecure about me leaving you when I’ve never done anything to betray your trust? Do I mean that little to you that you won't even give me the benefit of the doubt?”

Tears are slowly making their way down your face as you try to wipe them away before smudging your makeup. His expression softens, not realizing how far he’d let his jealousy come.

“Y/N I–”

“Save it, Sungho. You clearly don’t respect me or trust me. I’ll be back later to get some of my things. I’ll stay with my parents until you can figure your shit out. Call me when you’ve gotten some sense back.”

Anger, shock, disbelief. Sungho couldn’t believe that he had let this get so out of hand. Why was he so jealous in the first place? You guys still hung out and had dates every week and you were right; you never gave him any reason to doubt your loyalty to him.

He’d spend the next few days figuring out what it is he wants but more than that, he just wanted to give you your space. You didn’t want to leave so abruptly like that, but his toxic behaviors were driving you mad. Every time he’d spew some bullshit about you and your coworker you’d want to punch him in the face. You needed to give Sungho the time and space to figure out what his problem was, but more than anything you just wanted to be back in his arms.

༄ ༄ ༄

Riwoo:

When you first met Riwoo, it took him some time to get used to your bubbly and outgoing personality. You loved being out and having fun and partying, while he preferred to stay at home. It never bothered you that he didn’t always want to go out with you and it never bothered him that you would always want to go out. It would cause some small tiffs between you two about where date night would take place that week, but other than that, there were no issues with your opposing lifestyles. But somewhere along the way, his attitude about your friends and your constant outings had changed. He would fight it more often, using lame excuses that you would take to avoid any more fighting.

“I heard you’re going out with her (your friend) tonight?”

“Oh yeah, she invited me out after an argument she had with her boyfriend. We’re just going to the food stands so she can vent, nothing crazy.”

“Well, I heard she got into a fight with him because she was showing herself off to other men?”

“I mean, it is summer and she was at the beach? It’s not like she was 'showing herself off to other men,' she just wanted to wear a swimsuit. But apparently there's more to it she’s going to tell me about tonight.”

You were a little taken aback at his statement, not having expected him to find a problem with a woman wearing a bathing suit or moreso, using such a demeaning phrase against another woman, especially at the insinuation of wanting another man’s attention.

He just rolled his eyes and you both awkwardly sat there, until you broke the silence, telling him that you'd be leaving now and that you'd be back later.

Letting the rest of the evening play out, you came back with food for Riwoo, hoping that whatever he was saying earlier was just a result of him being hungry or having an off day and you knew food always made him feel better.

“Honey! I brought you some food!”

You expect him to come running like he usually does when you bring home food, but this time he just walks up to you, phone in hand.

“Thank you baby.”

He sits down and starts eating, waiting for you to tell him about your day.

“Okay so, apparently they’ve been having these issues for a while and this isn’t the first time he’s made some comment about her revealing her body or wearing revealing clothes. Just today he told her that she couldn’t wear jean shorts to meet up with me. Like it's 90 degrees out, what did he want her to wear, fluffy pajama pants?”

“I’m sure he has his reasons for not wanting her to wear revealing clothes in public? Why doesn’t she just respect his wishes?”

“Because he doesn’t have control over what she wears and how she wants to show off her own body? Yeah they’re dating but it’s not like she’s his to claim or anything.”

“Are you sure you should be friends with someone that doesn’t at least try to hear their boyfriend out?”

“Sanghyeok, what the hell are you talking about? What’s gotten into you? Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what? I just mean that I wouldn’t want you to be around people that don’t respect what others say. Who knows? Maybe she’ll start ignoring what you say and just move on to something else. She’s making a big deal over one thing so what if you get into an argument one day and she stops being your friend? I wouldn't want that happening to you.”

He rubs your arm up and down, trying to get you to understand his point of view but you move away from his touch.

“I don’t know why you're talking like that, but I don’t like it.”

You walk away from him, but something in your mind starts reconsidering your entire friendship with your best friend. Was she really so bad for not respecting her boyfriend's wishes over her clothes?

A few more instances arise where Riwoo tries to nicely reason with you on who you can and can’t hang out with, saying things like “I don’t want you to get hurt,” or “I don’t think you should wear that, the men around you might get the wrong idea.” And you slowly found yourself listening to him, so much so to the point where you didn’t have anyone left to hang out with besides him.

You spent days at home, your bright personality dimmed from not having any social interaction outside of your boyfriend. It wasn’t until you got a message from one of your friends, reaching out after you had made an excuse that Riwoo gave you to not hang out with her. It clicked in your brain that your friends had done nothing wrong. It was actually him that was the problem.

“Hey baby, ready for movie night?”

“No, I’m not.”

You stood up from your little blanket cocoon ready to confront him.

“You know what I realized? This whole time, you telling me not to hang out with this person or that doing this is wrong, even telling me what I can and can’t wear? You were just manipulating me this whole time. Why? You don’t think I should do things on my own?”

“Baby, I wasn’t manipulating you I—“

“Do NOT call me baby, you have no right. You don’t care for me and you don’t even love me. If you did you would let me be myself and not this shell of the person I once used to be. If you don’t like how I am then why have we been together this long?”

“Y/N, I was just looking out for you that’s it.”

“Well you can stop looking out for me, we’re done.”

You decide then to leave him, packing your things without turning back. He can tell he’s taken it too far. He was too selfish wanting you all for himself. You deserved happiness and you weren’t going to find that with him.

༄ ༄ ༄

Jaehyun:

The textbook definition of a workaholic. Jaehyun had expressed to you before how important his career as an idol was and that if you couldn’t handle days without seeing him or barely seeing him at all, then a relationship wasn’t the best idea. But you of course, in the optimistic honeymoon phase, denied the hardships of being in a relationship with an idol and agreed to date him anyways. Love was enough, right?

At first, things were great. It was hard, admittedly, having to hide yourself whenever you walked into the building and even from the staff for a while, only being able to meet him in empty conference rooms after somehow managing to sneak up there by yourself. But slowly his members and staff found out and you were in the clear to freely be around each other during his practices. You even brought snacks and lunch for everyone on occasion. But you also working meant that you didn’t get to see each other much. Though this is what you had anticipated, you didn’t think it was going to be as hard as it was.

Jaehyun would be busy hosting or in variety shows or interviews in the morning and then spend the rest of his day at the practice room or the studio. He was allowed to be over at your apartment but even then it was hard only being able to sleep next to him for a couple hours since he would be too tired to engage in anything other than a short conversation whenever he came home. He would always try to call and talk but even that got redundant since he was always so busy.

The lack of physical contact and barely any contact at all was starting to put a strain on your relationship. You would constantly try to get him to rest or stop working but he would insist that his work was too important to stop, often insinuating that it was more important than you.

You would try to visit him whenever possible but it always felt like you were always putting more effort to see him than he would to see you. It all came to a head when he was able to get a day off. The whole group was given time off after nonstop preparations for award shows and their upcoming tours. You were finally able to get your hands on him, innocently and not so much. The night he came home was great, filled with love and passion and all the pent up emotions from the months of strain you had endured. But the next day didn’t hold the same feelings.

Waking up to each other was all that you had asked for since the beginning of your relationship. You’d usually find yourself asleep when he came home and then he’d be gone by the time you woke up. An endless cycle of just barely missing each other was halted for just a day. Assuming that you’d be in his arms the rest of the day, you let him sleep in as you shower and work on breakfast for the both of you, taking your time.

“Good morning baby, it smells amazing in here.”

The cliché back hug while you cooked up eggs was exactly what you had pictured, never wanting this moment to end. After eating you let him rest while you cleaned up a little bit. Once you were done, you were slightly disappointed to have found him in the room playing online games with Donghyun and Sungho.

“Hey baby. I thought we were going to hang out today?”

You say, all cute and pouty.

“I know, baby. I’m only gonna play a couple rounds with them and then I’m all yours, okay?”

He gives you a quick kiss before going back to his game, focus completely shifting as he tried to recover from his last death. You sigh as you walk away. You didn’t want to sound commanding and needy but you’ve barely seen him and wanted to hang out with him.

You kill time by watching shows on Netflix. One hour turns into two and two turns into 4 as he emerges from the room, a disappointed look on his face. Upon hearing the bedroom door open, you turn back to see him.

“I have some bad news…”

“Oh no, Jaehyun, what is it?”

“They called me into the studio just now. Apparently something happened to the usb drive that had a bunch of pre-released tracks on them and they want to see if I can save them.”

You look at him in disbelief, tears welling up in your eyes. Voice broken, you respond,

“C-can’t they call a computer technician or something? Why are they having you go? Do you know how to retrieve the files?”

“Well no but—“

“So why do you have to go then?”

“Y/N…”

He comes closer, giving you a hug as you let your tears stream down your face and into his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I can’t just not go.”

You didn’t want to sound rude or ungrateful, but you couldn’t let your anger build up any longer.

“You just HAD to play games with Donghyun and Sungho huh? Instead of spending time with me.”

You pull away from him, eyes red and angry as tears continue to spill from your eyes and voice cracking in rage.

“They wanted to hop on for a bit and wanted me to join them…”

“You see them EVERYDAY!! I’ve barely seen you because your work is SO important, more important than me and then the ONE day you have off, you choose to spend half the day with the people you see LITERALLY everyday and now you’re coming out here telling me that you have to go BACK to work??? Jaehyun I don’t know how much more of this I can take…”

Tears are slipping down his cheeks as his voice starts to break at his next words,

“Baby I told you that it was going to be hard and that my work is so important. You know I cant say no to them.”

“So you’re choosing work again over me? Just like how you chose your friends over me? And like how you choose everything else in your life over me? Alright, that’s fine.”

You wipe your tears as the sadness dissipates and is replaced by anger. You have no words left to say as you try to walk past him, his hand grabbing your wrist delicately stopping you from walking away.

“Y/N please, that’s not fair. I’m so sorry. You’re so important to me and I know this is hard but can we talk about this when I get back?”

“I’ve given you plenty of chances Jaehyun. You always refuse my help, refuse my offer when I tell you to rest or spend time with me. I have nothing left to say to you.”

You harshly pull your hand away from his grip, closing and locking the bedroom door as Jaehyun gathers himself, washing his face before grabbing his things and heading out to the studio. Maybe love wasn’t enough.

༄ ༄ ༄

Taesan:

Taesan was good at everything. Almost. He was smart, always got good grades and he was very musically talented. He could sing, rap, dance and even play the piano. He was also very determined, attending both college and dance/ singing practices at his entertainment company, KOZ. You knew he was very busy but you shared similar classes and would always pair up together for projects or assignments so not being able to see each other was never an issue. The problems arose when he was stressed beyond belief.

He seemed very chill and nonchalant to strangers, not really showing his mischievous yet funny personality. But you knew him as the fun, lovable, fake emo that was surprisingly affectionate and loved giving you cute couple gifts, like the guitar heart keychain on your bag. But when he was stressed, it was like he shut the rest of the world out, including you. At first you thought he just didn’t know how to manage that much stress yet and would cut him some slack, letting him figure things out on his own. But when his behaviors under said stress persisted even after a couple months of dating, you were starting to get sick of it.

He was good at everything, except telling you how he was feeling. He would text you normally one day and then go no contact for multiple days, even avoiding you during classes. It would irk you the most when you’d see him hanging out with his friends right in front of your face, acting like everything was fine and then ignoring you. Finally fed up with all his antics you waited again until he hit another no contact stress period to confront him.

You both had a big exam coming up. Exams in this class were 20% of your grade, each, so you knew he would be stressed trying to juggle studying and practice. Like you predicted, a week before the exam he stopped messaging you. He didn’t even sit next to you in class, choosing to sit by himself in the corner of the lecture hall, face buried in his laptop and notes. You would find him later in the day at the student center, talking and laughing with his friends, still not having received even a single text from him for the last few days. You decided to take pictures of him with his friends, keeping it as evidence if he tried to deny your accusations. You waited until after the exam was over to message him, “let’s hang out today! I miss you :(,” hoping that your fake excitement was conveyed through the message. You weren’t surprised to see that he had messaged you back after, simply replying with “sure,” which made you even angrier. No talking for a week and the only thing he says back to you is “sure?”

You’re with him in a solo practice room, the small space covered in mirrors on two sides a little claustrophobic for you.

“Dongmin, we need to talk.”

His sigh indicated to you that he knew what you wanted to talk about.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

His attitude was already bad, pissing you off even more.

“Let’s get this over with? Why are you acting like this is such a burden on you? Ignoring me, your girlfriend, for a week because you’re stressed studying for an exam and being here at practice but you can hang out with your friends no problem?”

“Y/N you’re being ridiculous I wasn’t hanging out with my friends and I have been stressed, you know that.”

“Oh really?”

You scoff, pulling up the picture of him laughing with a couple of his friends, the date being that of 2 days ago. His face doesn’t change, if anything he looks more uninterested than when the conversation started, not even caring that he was caught in his lie.

“You’re really gonna stand here and tell me that you haven’t been hanging out with your friends all week when you have? Why can’t you just tell me why you don’t message me, why you ignore me whenever you have too much on your plate. All I ask is that you communicate but you never do!”

“You’re just too much to deal with.”

That one sentence shut you up, tears on the brink of falling from your eyes. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“What?”

“Recently you’ve been too much to deal with. Especially when I’m stressed. I can’t handle you and all my work and practice all together. And you know I’m not good at communicating. I don’t like to talk about my feelings.”

It was the way that he had no emotion behind his sentences that made the lump in your throat even bigger. When did he stop caring about you? When did he stop loving you?

“Where is all this coming from? I thought everything was fine? You always acted normal after your little ghosting.”

“You never saw that as a problem? That I would ghost you and pretend that everything was fine after? At first I was just learning how to juggle everything at once. But after a while, I started to get tired of this. I guess I just didn’t know how to say it.”

He was so cold about it that you didn’t know how to react. Heart broken into a million pieces, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“You should’ve told me a while ago. Before things got this far. It’s been 8 months and you couldn’t tell me that you didn’t want to be together?”

“Sorry. Like I said, I don’t talk about my feelings or emotions. You should’ve known that.”

You couldn’t stand to be in that suffocating room with him any longer, shoving him out of the way as you bolt out the door, tears falling haphazardly as you exit the building. You were so lost, so hurt that he was feeling this way and never said a thing and yet he still managed to make you feel like shit about it. You wipe your tears away, removing the keychain he gave you from your bag and throwing it down to the ground, stomping on it.

“Fuck you, Han Dongmin.”

༄ ༄ ༄

Leehan:

The undeniably attractive, oblivious and kind hearted man that everyone loves. He was incredibly popular on your small campus, loved by men and women alike. So you were very surprised to find that he had taken an interest in you. You wouldn’t say you had a crush on him but of course you couldn’t deny his beauty. You weren’t shy per se but you didn’t put yourself out there. You had your circle of friends and did your part in the clubs you were in but that was it.

Everyone knew him as the lovely fish guy, always talking about his pet fish and what he hopes to achieve in his tank in the future. You had only ever seen him at your school’s aqua life club, as he was the president of it. You worked with him before but you didn’t know him that well.

“Hey Y/N.”

There were a couple of other people helping to organize the fundraiser your club was hosting, Donghyun came to speak to you first.

“Hey Donghyun, how’ve you been?”

“I’m doing well. I actually had a question to ask you.”

“Oh? What’s up? Did you need help with something for the club?”

He nervously scratches the nape of his neck before flashing his bright smile at you.

“Actually, I was wondering if you would want to go out with me sometime? I completely understand if you don’t want to but I just thought I’d ask.”

You were taken aback, not really expecting to have been asked on a date by him, but you agreed nonetheless. Which brought you to your current situation.

Donghyun would constantly get invited out to parties by his friends or girls who thought they had a chance with him. You guys had more of a friends with benefits relationship, occasionally going on dates whenever he asked. But you inevitably caught feelings for him. You were scared to confront him about them, worried about what his reaction might be. The next time you saw him was when he invited you out to dinner. After eating, you went back to your apartment. Usually the time after your date was spent feeling each other up, as per your arrangement, but today felt different. Dognhyun could feel the tension radiating off of you so he waited until you were back inside to ask you about it.

“Everything okay? You seemed a little tense back at the restaurant?”

You fiddled with your jewelry, his nervous smile making you even more nervous.

“Yeah it's just… there's something we need to talk about…”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you have a boyfriend now and have to end things with me? If you waited to tell me that after our date then that's just cruel.”

His laugh is lighthearted, almost mocking, as if the possibility of you getting a boyfriend and breaking things off him was unlikely. You reciprocate his laugh nonetheless.

“No… I actually think we need to end things for a different reason.”

His joking manner turned serious as the words left your mouth, sitting on the couch and pulling you down with him.

“Did I do anything to upset you? I like this arrangement we have and if there's anything I can do to fix it please tell me.”

“No Donghyun, it's not you. It's just… I like you. I know that's against what our arrangement was about but I can’t help it.”

“Y/N… you know I can’t date you. It’d be too… weird. I don't meant weird but you know, I’m the president of aqua life and I have a big name here and-”

“And being with me would ruin your reputation so you decided to just sleep with me instead?”

He fell silent, confirming your previous statement and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. How had you not known how he truly felt this whole time?

“Why take me out on all these dates then if you strictly wanted it to be just sex? It’s not like everyone in the club doesn’t know anyways so this ruining your reputation bullshit doesn’t make much sense. Or were you just hoping that things would work out and you could throw me away when you got bored?”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want a relationship with you. I took you out on dates to be nice so we could keep things like this between us. If I had known you were going to catch feelings for me I wouldn’t have done all this.”

“You’re such an asshole. You were giving me mixed signals this whole time, taking me out and treating me like a girlfriend, holding my hand and shit and you expected me not to catch feelings? Just so I’d stay fucking you in hopes that I dont realize just how much you suck? You’re a dick, Donghyun.”

He didn’t have it in him to try to argue with you or calm you down, getting up from the sofa.

“I feel like I’ve said a lot of things that were taken out of context. If you would like to talk more about this then let me know. But for the record, I do apologize for all of this. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew this is how things would go.”

“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, Donghyun.”

You basically push him out of your apartment, slamming the door in his face. You waited until you heard his footsteps walk away to silently sob to yourself for not seeing his true colors sooner.

༄ ༄ ༄

Woonhak:

A normally very sweet yet childish boy that had so much love to give you. His passive aggressive tendencies towards his friends would always make you laugh, his embarrassment at being babied by them entertaining to you. He could be the most perfect boyfriend ever, when he didn’t have anger issues. Even though he would never admit to it, Woonhak was very sensitive and it was very apparent when he was angry or ticked off. It didn’t help that he couldn’t control himself when he was angry, often opting to yell at the person that made him mad.

The first time you saw him angry, he was in an argument with Jaehyun. With their comeback approaching quickly, tensions between all the boys were high and all the criticisms were getting to them. While the others had more sensibility and maturity when it came to controlling their anger, Woonhak would just explode. You had walked into the practice room to deliver dinner to the boys, a simple meal you got from the food stand down the road. You heard yelling come from the practice room but you just assumed it was an instructor giving them directions for their comeback stage. But upon walking in, you see Woonhak and Jaehyun fighting, screaming about the performance.

You were quite soft spoken yourself, so hearing Woonhak yell like that scared you, making you drop the food on the floor, alerting the two boys of your presence. They both looked at you seething, but Jaehyun’s expression softened up when he saw you there, standing frozen as the food had started leaking from the bag and onto the floor. Woonhak looks at you but just huffs and walks away, probably embarrassed that you had to see that. You slowly clean up the food in shock, Jaehyun apologizing while helping you clean.

You go to see Woonhak after and see that he had tear stains down his cheeks, visible through his messed up makeup. Thinking you were Jaehyun, he started yelling again, asking to be left alone before looking back at you, seeing the tears in your eyes in fear of being yelled at by him. He quickly apologizes to you before walking away, mad at himself for being such an idiot and blowing up at you for no reason. You were scared and upset, not being able to handle being yelled at from anyone, especially your boyfriend.

You had waited for him to come to you and when he did, he immediately apologized again and hugged you, asking for your forgiveness. You of course said yes, as long as he doesn’t yell at you ever again. He agreed and you guys were fine for a while. After the comeback and promotions, they were right back to practicing for another comeback plus the first part of their tour. You had learned that Woonhak just needed space when preparing for comebacks, so you always gave him distance when he was at his busiest, but recently, everything seemed to piss him off, including you.

You would be at his dorm, preparing food for the boys after practice and he would come home mad, stressed and tired. You’d politely offer him a try of the food you are making, only to be swatted away by him and ignored, making you feel less than adequate. He did this a couple times and your patience slowly dwindled, until you met your breaking point.

A particularly rough afternoon had resulted in him getting into a fight with Taesan over lyrics to their new song. He was being reprimanded for trying to add lyrics that were shot down multiple times. You just so happened to get caught in crossfire, and he would blame you, saying that it was your constant need for his attention that distracted him. Upon hearing this you felt the tears well up in your eyes.

“Is that what you think of me? A distraction to your music career for simply wanting to be by your side?”

Taesan looked like a deer in headlights, excusing himself from the situation, afraid of feeling your wrath.

“Y/N, you know that's not what I mean, I’m just frustrated.”

“That's the issue Kim Woonhak, you’re ALWAYS frustrated. You're always stressed and there's always something wrong. Anytime I try to help you, you treat me like I’m a burden and I can never be good enough to help you. You always ignore me when I’m here so I’ve stopped asking for your attention in hopes that you’d come to me for once but you never do. Do you even want to be with me anymore?”

Tears were flowing down his cheeks not being able to hold them back any longer after your confession.

“Y-Y/N, i love you so much. I’m sorry I’m so busy… I want to be with you I swear I can treat you right I just need some time during this comeback and–”

“I’ve given you nothing but time, Woonhak. I don’t have any more of my time to give you. I can’t stay here while you yell at me and I can’t stand the fact that you think I’m the one holding you back. So I won’t be here to hold you back anymore, Kim Woonhak. We’re done.”

You can no longer hold your tears back, letting them roll down your face and onto the ground as you slowly pack up your belongings, giving him one last hug before leaving, wishing him luck on his upcoming comeback and tour.

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

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obbystars · 11 months ago

Text

Encounter Nihilism

Synopsis: “Just because they don’t have any eyes doesn’t mean they don’t have other senses. Come on, you should know that by now.” Z-13 (Sebastian Solace)

Notes: Not exactly a Sebastian Solace x Reader fic but you can read it as such / read When Light Fades before reading this / Reader deaths, nothing too angsty though / Sebastian being an asshole (and we love him for it) / Experimental deaths + cutting off limbs / Brief angst at the end / may be a tad bit shorter than my usual (it bothers me)

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(Is it obvious this is self indulgent? I really love When Light Fades, super proud of it. I haven’t decided if I’m gonna take this concept and use it for an OC yet, but oh boy, it’s getting strong. Anyway, this fic’s meant to explore more on the reader featured in When Light Fades while also continuing to experiment with Sebastian’s character.)

As you swam to the next door, you hear strange noises coming from the other side. It’s not the Good People, they can’t come into the flooded rooms. It doesn’t sound like an angler either. You continued forward and the next door slid open. Your eyes widened at the sight of the creature on the other side as it looked at you.

Panicked, you try to climb into a locker. You don’t make it in time as you feel its tentacles wrap around your head to crush your diving mask, but that isn’t what kills you. The creature manages to trick the operator behind the PDG by attempting to remove it, causing immediate detonation.

You woke up with a gasp in an all too familiar room.

“I heard that,” Sebastian leans on his hand as his lure flickers on, “What’d you run into this time… Ah,”

You looked down as he slides over the document. An image of the creature you encountered is shown and beside it was another photo that was redacted. Maybe in another death you’ll see what that other photo is.

Nihilism was the codename Urbanshade had given it. A lot of the text within the first page was left redacted, and only a few lines were on the second page were visible.

“If by chance any operative encounters Z-8 within any flooded rooms, it is advised to remain still and turn off any light source currently in possession. Wait for Z-8 to pass.”

That was the only line you were able to read. Sebastian begins to tap his finger against the desk. You sit back and he takes that as the signal you’re done, but it’s not like you read much anyway.

He sighs as he closes the document, “Think of if as Red Light, Green Light. Surely you’ve played that game before,”

“Ugh, this feels worse than Pandemonium…” you groaned, leaning on the table.

“Pretend you’re a corpse floating in the water. That should be pretty easy for you, yeah? I mean, you have died quite a lot,”

“Screw you…”

Upon your next life, you find yourself in the trench tunnels about 20 doors in. It was an area in Hadal Blacksite you despised since it showed you that the anglers can attack from the front. You stepped out of the locker once the angler passed by and turned on your flashlight. There’s no squiddles in this room so you decided to look through the drawers for anything useful.

In the corner of your eye, you swear you saw something moving in the dark water. It wasn’t the Eyefestation as you didn’t see a green glow. Instead, it was Z-8. You freeze once you finally realized it, and you clicked your flashlight off. They looked like they were just passing by, but they suddenly turned to look at your general direction. Did they somehow sense you turning it off?

“Are you alive?”

You actually freeze up this time. It was a voice inside your head, but it wasn’t like Eyefestation where it tried to mimic the voice of the person in the PA. This was its own voice.

“I can sense you there,”

You start taking shallow breaths, almost resorting to holding it.

“Don’t worry. I can’t reach you. But when I do, it’s not personal,” it continues, “We’re both fighting for what we want, right? Freedom from this place?”

You try to not listen, thinking it’s only try to persuade you into meeting up with it. Maybe even striking up some sort of deal.

“I wish this wasn’t how we met, but I owe Sebastian. This is my favor to him,” its tone suddenly changes, “We can’t let you get that crystal,”

“…they owe Sebastian?” You whispered to yourself.

The Eyefestation suddenly emerges from the dark, and Z-8 swims out of her way as her eyes turned red. A new voice cried inside your head, pleading for you to look into its eyes. The next thing you knew, you were back in the room with Sebastian who stifled a laugh as he slides over the document to you. You had questions concerning what Z-8 had said, but maybe now’s not the right time to ask.

“For unknown reasons, Z-8 is somehow able to communicate with Z-317 “The Eyefestation.” Should operatives see Z-8 outside the windows, or hear its voice, DO NOT LISTEN and keep moving forward as they cannot reach you. They have already called “The Eyefestation” and are trying to keep you in the room.”

Sebastian closes the document, still trying to keep himself from laughing, “A tag-team! Who would’ve thought, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “I can’t believe that’s how I died,”

“Like a deer in headlights,” he smirks as he leans closer, “Happens to all of us, but man, I thought you’d be used to seeing that shark considering the amount of times you looked at her,”

“She just startled me! I’d love to look at her if she wasn’t able to kill me just by making me look at her,” you shrugged, “She is a beautiful shark,”

Sebastian gives you an odd look and groans, “Get out of here already,”

“Fair enough,”

The next few deaths to Z-8 were more of trial and error. In your most recent death, you learned the hard way that Z-8 does not like the flash beacon and did not hesitate to detonate your PDG. You felt like it was a strange reaction considering it took them a moment to even react when you used any other light source.

“Got grabbed again, did ya?” Sebastian laughed.

He then slides the document to you, now revealing the entire document with some text still left redacted. Some documents contained those, such as his own, and you learned to stop caring about it. At least it wasn’t like the Multi-Monster. Previously redacted photo was now uncovered. A person whose face was obscured.

Z-8 - Codename: Nihilism. Real name: ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇

In early 2011, five LR-Ps were selected to be a part of an experiment to achieve immortality. Out of the five selected, only Z-8 survived the first round of tests. Z-9, Z-10, Z-11, and Z-12 all succumbed to different effects as each subject was given a different dosage. Although Z-8 survived, they were not immune to the effects their dosage brought. As a result, the experiment was left on hold until researchers found a better source to reach the desired goal.

By 2013, the experiment resumed using the immortal jellyfish as originally planned along with the mimic octopus, the ▇▇▇, and ▇▇▇▇. Z-8 was used again for the next test and hasn’t experienced any side effects on the first day. Two days later, a guardsman escorting Z-8 noticed they have been stumbling and bumping into the walls. On the seventh day, Z-8 had gone completely blind. However, it has been noted that Z-8 is capable of sensing where there is light and where someone is even if they are not moving.

Z-8 soon began to struggle walking and can’t seem to have a tight grip. It didn’t take very long for them to lose all feeling in their arms and legs. They were still able to move their torso as well as their head. They were still capable of speech, but Z-8 has been refusing to talk.

Z-8 was meant to be executed due to the state they were in, but thirty minutes after their heart seemingly stopped, it soon started to beat again. They wake up an hour later as if they had just taken a nap with all of their memories still intact, but Z-8 still cannot see and still cannot walk or move their arms. This resulted in having to move Z-8’s location into a more suitable cell for testing.

Z-8 has endured 5 deaths before changes in their body started becoming clear. Shortly after, testing and studying the regenerative properties Z-8 should have began. Due to poor execution during the procedures, Z-8 ended up enduring 7 more deaths. By the 4th death, a new side effect to Z-8’s resurrection was noted. Upon death, coral (polyps) begins to form on their body.

Their body soon takes the form of a humanoid jellyfish, leading to having to relocate them again. Z-8 no longer turns to others when they are near until they shine a light. The behavior they show gives the impression they like the light and often try to follow it, sometimes moving their head or even their entire body.

Z-8 will then be used to study the regenerative properties further until it can be refined in a way that is desirable.

Before the lockdown was in effect, Z-8 was going to be sold at The Anomalous Auctions as Z-8 had been deemed of no monetary value, nor can be used for work. 5 hours into the lockdown, camera footage caught Z-13 transporting Z-8 to an unknown location.

If by chance any operative encounters Z-8 within any flooded rooms, it is advised to remain still and turn off any light source currently in possession. Wait for Z-8 to pass.

DO NOT move as Z-8 can sense you nearby, but they can’t differentiate between a corpse and a living person until you move.

Turn off any and all light sources in your possession as Z-8 can sense it and become curios. Your window to turn it off is narrow, but it’s still wide enough to not raise their suspicion.

There is a chance where operatives may find Z-8 roaming in a dark flooded room with S-Q. If the room prior has lights on, Z-8 will go into that room. It is safe to move in the dark room as Z-8 cannot tell the difference between you and the S-Q.

For unknown reasons, Z-8 is somehow able to communicate with Z-317 “The Eyefestation.” Should operatives see Z-8 outside the windows, or hear its voice, DO NOT LISTEN and keep moving forward as they cannot reach you. They have already called “The Eyefestation” and are trying to keep you in the room.

Unlike Z-13, operatives are instructed to contain Z-8 as it is impossible for the subject to stay dead.

You’re not exactly sure what to say to all of this. Sebastian is being much quieter than usual too, not even closing the document when you sat back. You look up at him, building up the courage to speak.

“So that’s what they meant when they said they owe you…”

“They don’t owe me anything,” his voice lowered into a growl, “It was their choice to stay much like that shark,”

You look down at the document again and sighed, “Kinda feels like there’s much more than that,”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

You sighed again as you stood up to leave. Sebastian watches you go and looks back down at the document, then closes it without another word.

#🌑 // the moon provides #i actually dont know how the science works #just pretend that i do lol #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian solace #roblox pressure sebastian #roblox #roblox pressure #pressure #pressure sebastian

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un-petit-sanctuaire · 8 months ago

Text

Night Ride

Pairing: Sylus x f!MC

Genre: Fluff

Rating: General

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You were stressing out over your work, so Sylus decided to take you on a joyride on his motorcycle that night.

Author’s Note: It’s my first Love and Deepspace fic! I’d say it’s set not long after around Nightplumes. Anyway, I haven’t written in a while, so please excuse any rustiness. Also, English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes kindly. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ Constructive criticism and feedback are very welcome! I’d really appreciate them to help me write better in the future. Last but not least, happy reading. ♡

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

You were pacing back and forth in Sylus’s living room that evening, a bunch of files and documents spread around you on the floor. The owner of the house himself was sitting in a nearby armchair, his hands nonchalantly flipping today’s Linkon newspaper you brought him. On his shoulder, a familiar mechanical crow sat, glancing between the newspaper and your restless movements.

Two days ago, the Association assigned you and your team a mission. The assignment was broken down into smaller individual tasks and divided equally among your team members. Yet, somehow, you felt your part was very challenging to figure out. Your assigned location was close to the N109 Zone, though—you weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Feeling that your brain might explode for working outside alone, you decided to grace a certain white-haired man with your presence in his vicinity.

And that’s how you found yourself stressing out at Sylus’s home.

“That’s it,” his voice thundered, making you jump on the spot after what seemed to be an endless staring contest with the papers in front of you. Even Mephisto let out a sharp caw, flapping its wings as it flew off, startled by his master’s sudden break from the silence. Sylus rose from his seat, turning towards where he kept his keys before adding, “Let’s go, kitten.”

“... What?” You turned your attention from your papers towards him, eyebrows knitted.

“You should see the agitated look on your face. Your task isn’t going to resolve itself unless you have a clear mind.” With a casual flick of his finger, he sent his motorcycle keys spinning into his palm. “Let’s head outside.”

“But—”

“Do I look like I take no for an answer?”

Given how much time you’d spent together lately—no thanks to the energy linkage—you seemed to understand there was probably no room for debate with him under these circumstances. “Wait, where are we going? Can’t I just stay and do my work?” Despite your protests, you found yourself trailing after him, half-running to keep up with his long strides as he headed for the door.

“Somewhere to get some fresh air,” he replied without looking back at you. With another flick of his fingers, his jacket effortlessly landed over his shoulder. “I could use some too. Your little pacing game made my head spin.” He stopped outside in front of his bike, finally turning around to hand you your usual helmet. “And no, you’re still going whether you like it or not,” he declared. His sentence sounded like a threat, but his tone was somehow gentle.

You considered for a moment. He might have a point; you wouldn’t make any progress with your head clouded by frustration. Besides, your task wasn’t due any time soon, and after working on it all day long, you desperately needed to clear your mind. Normally you would argue, but your energy had already been drained from all the thinking. Sighing, you took the helmet from his hand and slipped it on. Your fingers fumbled, trying to fasten the buckle. Sylus let out a small scoff, stepping forward to help you click it into place.

As you settled behind him on the motorcycle, his eyes found yours in the reflection of the side mirror.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. Hold on to me.”

You hesitated for a bit and ended up gripping his jacket, not quite fully clutching onto him. “Ease up on the speed, though,” you remarked, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Oh? You get to tell the driver how to behave, now?” he shook his head, a subtle smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Sure, I’ll keep it civil,” he replied, though you weren’t sure if he was being genuine or merely teasing you.

With a rev of the engine, he drove out of the side street and onto the main highway. The night sky above the N109 Zone hung in its usual dark and misty state, but the city lights gradually sprung to life around you. You inhaled the cool evening air, soaking in your surroundings. You were a biker yourself, but for once, it felt refreshing to be the passenger—especially since he always took the reins when the two of you rode his motorcycle.

You slowly became aware that you were heading towards Linkon. The highway stretched before you, nearly deserted, and the night enveloped you in a hush. The breeze rustled past, making your hair dance behind you.

The bike was gaining speed.

“Sylus,” you called, yanking his jacket lightly.

“Hm?”

The teasing tone in his hum was now evident.

“Don’t pretend that I don’t notice what you’re doing,” you retorted, the wind whipping fiercely around you.

“And what is it that I’m doing besides taking you for a ride?”

And as if on cue, the motorcycle roared, surging forward with a sudden burst of speed. The unexpected acceleration forced you to cling onto him for support to the point you were practically hugging him from the back, your fingers intertwined just below his stomach. “You’re doing this on purpose!” You half-shouted, your voice barely cutting through the rush of wind. “This was supposed to be a joyride, not a race!”

You couldn’t quite discern his response, but the side mirror reflected another smug smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You rolled your eyes. Oh, how you longed to wipe that smirk off his face. Speeding could be dangerous; what if a cat or some other creature suddenly crossed your path? You had no doubt he was far exceeding the speed limit. Luckily, the road was now completely empty. It also dawned on you that you weren’t heading into the center of Linkon, but rather veering towards the outskirts.

He slowed down as the bike left the main road and entered a slightly narrower one. “Don’t tell me Miss Hunter herself never accelerates?” he finally said, amusement lacing his tone.

“I’m a law-abiding citizen,” you rebutted, not quite answering his question. You did, in fact, once or twice speed up when you needed to arrive early for urgent missions. However, you were sure as hell it had never been as fast as Sylus was driving just now. “I mean, it was thrilling, but—”

“A-ha.”

He snickered, cutting you off. “I think someone is enjoying the ride more than they’re letting on,” his sing-songy tone made you roll your eyes again. “She’s practically holding onto me for dear life.”

Looking down, you realized your arms were still encircling his waist.

You quickly let go, straightening your posture behind him. “Because I was afraid I would be thrown off with that speed of yours, that’s why,” you said, pinching his side in an attempt to hide your own fluster at being caught off-guard. “It just seemed dangerous,” you mumbled.

“Careful, sweetie, no pinching the driver now,” he teased. As if reading your mind, he added with unexpected seriousness, “Your safety always comes first. We’ll be fine as long as I have good reflexes and solid bike-handling skills, which, lucky for you, I actually do.” Another smirk was visible from behind his visor, reflected in the mirror. “Besides, did you forget that I can use my Evol to secure you in place?”

You decided to ignore his remarks. Pretty sure the more you took the bait, the more amused he would be.

You noticed the road ascending towards the hill, and soon you found yourselves leaving the city behind and entering a somewhat wooded area.

“You’re not kidnapping me, are you?”

Your question elicited a chuckle from him. “You are powerful enough to knock me down when I’m distracted, and you could easily run off with my bike, leaving me here alone,” he said casually. “What makes you think I’d be kidnapping you? No, kitten, I’m not. Aren’t you curious to know what I have planned?”

He sounded almost giddy that your brows furrowed, half-annoyed.

“Very, actually,” you snorted, growing impatient. Was teasing you his way of taking your mind off work? “But as if you’ll actually tell me what it is.”

Sylus cackled. “Correct. You’ll have to suffer with anticipation, just like always.”

You restrained yourself from launching a punch at his shoulder. The area around you grew darker, with hardly any light in sight except for Sylus’s motorcycle and the occasional flicker from the lampposts. “Well, the breeze is getting rather cold,” you complained. You were only wearing your trusted white cropped jacket, while he was comfortably clad in leather.

There was a pause before he replied rather thoughtfully, “Stick close to me.”

You scooted forward, inching slightly closer to him. You heard him add, “We’re almost there.”

The bike eventually came to a halt a few minutes later. You dismounted, placing your helmet on the seat. Sylus followed suit, ruffling his silver hair back into place. You were probably going to involuntarily stare if the landscape before you didn’t capture your attention.

“Oh, wow...”

You took in your surroundings as you stood at the top of a hill, gazing out over the twinkling city below. The sky was a deep, rich shade of navy blue, dotted with shimmering stars. Linkon was clearly visible from up here; the illuminated skyscrapers flickered like fireflies, casting a warm glow against the darkness.

“Impressed?”

Sylus’s tall figure towered beside you. You glanced at him, expecting to find a smug expression there to show you an I-told-you-so look. However, while the corners of his lips did curl upward, his gaze remained soft, overlooking the gleaming city.

You were about to pester him, ‘Oh, even the big, scary leader of Onychinus can get sappy over things like this?’ but somehow the words stayed lodged in your throat.

“I am,” was all you could manage to utter. “I never knew we could see the entire city from up here.”

“I come here a lot whenever I need a break or want to be alone,” he nodded. “Just looking down at the city makes me feel at ease.”

Were you hallucinating, or did he seem a bit more sentimental than usual?

You felt his red irises shift from the scenery towards you.

Quickly, you turned your head away from him back to the view stretched beyond. “Oh, well,” you cleared your throat. “I didn’t know you could feel stressed too. You always seem... collected.”

Sylus laughed heartily. There was a pause before he replied, “I only do what I need to do.” He slid his hands into his pockets as if his words held no weight, leaving you to ponder for a moment.

The cold wind swept between you once again, prompting you to inch a little closer to him. It was really not that bad, but you hugged your arms for some warmth.

“... Thanks for bringing me here,” you muttered.

He noticed you creeping towards him, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, without averting his gaze from the city lights below, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and gently pulled you closer to share his warmth. You were surprised you didn’t object or retreat—his presence felt oddly nice and comforting.

“You’re welcome, kitten.”

There were a few seconds of comfortable silence between you. Linkon was rather quiet that night—whether it was because you were quite far from the city center or because everyone else was already in a deep slumber. The only sounds that reached your ears were the delicate breeze rustling through the bushes and the distant hum of car engines.

“You’re right. This place is perfect for clearing your mind,” you spoke after what felt like a pregnant pause.

“It indeed is,” he replied. “You know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

The air felt warm, a stark contrast to the cold wind earlier. Or perhaps it was just your cheeks? “Not even Luke and Kieran? Or Mephisto?” You quickly covered it up and asked rather amusedly.

“Especially not the twins,” he chuckled. “Last time they discovered my hideout, things went chaotic. I take it you know them well enough now?”

The corners of your lips twitched upwards.

He then continued, “Mephisto would be a great companion, yes, if only he didn’t get too territorial and challenge the local birds to a boxing match. You saw how he was last time during our video call when I was in the park.”

You laughed—a genuine laugh after waves of frustration throughout the whole day. It felt warm and fuzzy, but it didn’t quite fight another blow of the cold gust. Up here definitely felt colder due to the high elevation. You fully folded your arms this time.

“Cold?” you heard Sylus ask.

“A little,” you allowed yourself to approach him closer. Half your back was now covered by his towering frame. You noticed him shifting, positioning his body to block the chilly breeze, his arm still wrapped around your shoulder.

You tilted your head upwards slightly to see his face. He wasn’t looking back at you; his eyes seemed glued to the illuminated city below. Only then did you realize how soft he looked, a striking contrast to the way he had presented himself during your first encounter. You couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind. Was he thinking about...?

“You know, most people would be enjoying the view from up here,” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “But someone would rather stare at my face, apparently.”

This was the second time that night you realized you were staring at him. You turned your head, frantically searching for something else to look at from the glimmering Linkon.

“Yes, sweetie, the scenery is over there.”

You could feel he was grinning.

“Shut up.”

Perhaps it was another gust of wind that made you press your back against his chest, closing the distance between the two of you. He didn’t move, but his arm was still protecting you—practically hugging you from behind now with his hand reaching across your neck. A light chuckle escaped his lips when hearing your response, and you could feel his head leaning downwards. “No denying?”

“Not answering,” you muttered. You tried not to turn your head towards him, knowing that your faces would be only inches apart.

There was another chuckle before he called you in a low murmur.

“Kitten.”

His free hand glided from his pocket to your chin, delicately coaxing your head to face him. His touch felt so careful—so cautious as if he feared you would push him away or break or explode. You could even barely feel his finger graze your skin.

“... Hm?”

Once again, somehow, you obliged without protest. You looked at him; his face was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. His crimson eyes locked onto you, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze this time. Only a few centimeters separated your face from his. You could feel your cheeks flush once again, your heart thumping faster than usual.

“I was right,” he uttered quietly. A smirk adorned the corner of his lips, but his eyes were tender.

Your answer was barely audible when you murmured, “About what?”

“I knew you were staring at me and not the city view,” he spoke in a soft whisper. His face was very near now that you could feel his nose lightly grazed yours, his breath warm against your skin. With such closeness, you realized how nice he smelled, how the faint radiance bathed his face, how his silvery strands fluttered and danced with the breeze.

You glanced down at his lips for a split second before darting your eyes back, locking them with his again.

“Three times now,” he breathed, catching you again. “Admit defeat, kitten...”

“... Fine.” You swore you could hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears by now. One small move forward and—

“Fine, you’re right,” you repeated.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath—your mind hazy from his proximity.

“Kitten?”

“... Yeah?”

His fingers still held your chin in place, his eyes never left yours, and his other arm remained wrapped around you. Perhaps it was his body acting like a shield, or perhaps the cold breeze ceased to exist, but you were almost sure you felt blanketed with warmth. You could feel your heart quicken, the anticipation hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

“May I...?”

Very subtly, your head nodded, and your eyes gave him the signal.

With that, Sylus closed the distance between you, and your lips met delicately. The world around you faded into a gentle hum, the city lights twinkling like distant stars as you closed your eyes. His lips were surprisingly warm, a tender caress you never expected from someone like him. The warmth radiating from him enveloped you, making you forget the chill of the night air as you melted into his kiss.

For the first time in two days, you gladly decided to ignore your work.

And perhaps scheduling future night rides with him wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lnds fic #sylus #sylus x you #lnds ff #lnds sylus #sylus ff #sylus fic #lads #lads ff #lads sylus #sylus fluff #lads fluff #love and deepspace ff #sylus fluff ff #sylus x f!mc

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