#just so I can give a proper response to each question :'D

[nc-vb]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

I just wanted to write something so we could touch his lil hip windows, ok... just once...

pairing -> sampo x gn!reader

warnings -> sfw, no pronouns or names used (reader is called "chief" by the kids), description of frostbite (skin type-inclusive), non-sexual intimacy & non-sexual nudity.

notes -> love me a big n beefy dummy with hip windows. also if anyone’s familiar with salvatore ferragamo’s cologne collection, yeah, this is how i imagine Sampo smells. soooo good. also, frostbite really sucks, so pls always dress according to the weather! (advice i give in the middle of Canadian summer…) -> for most skin types, frostbite will make it turn purplish, so i’ve left things ambiguous as best as i can ;-;

wc -> 4.6k

There’s only so much time in a day you’d ever allot towards thumb-twiddling and pooch-screwing. With all your responsibilities pulling each of your limbs in all different directions at all times of the day, you’d already overextended yourself far past what the definition of “comfortability” supplied— taking breaks? Out of the question. You’d been lucky enough to fit in even five minutes to eat a proper meal or two each day, leaving you little else room to be able to drop the ball.

Life in Belobog already made sure for you that being comfortable was the last item on your daily itinerary to address. Being reliable, being helpful, and supplying for those either less fortunate or less able than yourself, is what has always mattered. And doing so on a timely basis has always been important to you. Natasha’s patients, nor the miners you’d been a ward for, couldn’t afford to wait. And since taking up the mantle, you’d always managed to make good on any promises made, making this the very first time you’d ever been tardy. Five minutes is acceptable. Even a half an hour. But two hours late for your delivery? It certainly isn’t your fault. And anyone who knows you well enough would find only concern for such a change in character.

“… g-gatekeeping c-c-conman… d-damn it.” You dip your chin further into your scarf and blow, the hot air warming your chest for but a moment. “C-Could’ve taken me with him this time, but n-no… Gotta play b-both sides… m-make me wait in the c-cold like this…”

You tell yourself you should’ve known better at least every other time you’re left waiting for him out front your shack of a home— somehow, it’s even colder on the inside, like being incapsulated by one of the ice needles decorating the outskirts of Belobog, and so, you wait for him on your stoop, clad in the thickest clothing within your possession and blowing temporary heat into your bare palms.

It isn’t like Sampo Koski to not show up late to a party, or a meeting, or a goods exchange, probably even to use the bathroom— really, expecting anything different of him so late in your acquaintanceship is no more unintelligent than believing he’d go cold turkey and abandon his usual backhanded underhandedness for tactics a little more honest. Then again, the man still owes you nearly three thousand Shield from almost a month ago, and has almost every excuse in the book prepared in order to stall in paying it back…

He’s always late. He’s never not been late. But he’s never been this late.

Beneath your chilled bones and deep within your chest, something pulses with worry. Worry? I’m worried?

Maybe. Maybe because, with all his usual fooling around done up in the Overworld, he’d finally gotten caught by those Silvermane Guards— a great cause for your concern considering this would mean losing your intermediary between Belobog’s attic and its basement; having Sampo take care of your shipments lifted a massive weight off your back while you managed your other responsibilities, and in exchange, his debts owed to you slowly knocked themselves away. This would be bad news for sure, losing such a valuable partner. But somewhere along the line, things blurred, and eventually, it was no longer just business that you spoke of with him.

A funny joke or two he’d heard while up in the Overworld that he couldn’t not share with you. An incident he’d missed that was too entertaining not to share with him. A new treat you’d made for the kids of Hook’s adventure squad that’d been devoured in seconds, and the fact that you’d managed to save a couple for him to try.

Despite how easily insufferable he could be, he’d become a friend, one you found yourself silently fretting over, even after his return. And losing your friend is not the business agreement you’d made with him.

Or is it more than friendship…

The longer you sit in the cold, the more glaringly obvious the possibility of this actually having happened, is. He’s usually quite cautious, a grand coward if you’d ever known one; protecting his own hide has always been priority number one. So, you know he can run away just fine; you know those regular old Silvermane Guards wouldn’t be able to get him on their own, so was it Gepard? Or that Bronya woman? Sure, Sampo’s strong, himself, but against either of those two?

Your stomach clenches at the thought.

What if the half-hearted promise of being careful was the last thing you’d heard from him, after all? What if you’d never get a chance to have his infectious enthusiasm rub off on you, or never again hear about a business venture gone hilariously wrong? No more little bags of your favourite Overworld bonbons brought back as a souvenir, the ones the two of you would share together before the fire, and fight over when it came time for who got to have the last of the best kind?

“Sampo…” You pull your knees a little tighter into your chest, lips tucked into them and trembling into a frown.

Inhaling deeply, you release the breath just as fast, appearing as a white cloud before your lips. The frost that normally seeps through the border between Belobog’s two worlds is bitter enough, but on either end, all its people suffered from the unavoidably devastating chill contained within its atmosphere during the more wintery months. It says a lot considering it’s practically winter all the time, only less so in certain regions. But no one would be spared by it, and no amount of extra layering could possibly quell it— this, you learned quite quickly as a child.

Before Belobog’s Supreme Guardian made the decision to split apart the world into two hemispheres, your family had been prominent figures of Belobog society, known of in equal regard by those in the Overworld and those in the Underworld. Even after the Fragmentum managed to take the lives of those in your family —sparing you, for no easily explainable reason — you swore to honour them and the people of Belobog through provisional access.

When an entrance was found not too long after the segregation process began, additional supply trading reopened past what the Overworld provided— unliveable quantities of food and medical supplies that had innocents suffering. Despite your, at the time, young age, you’d realized that if you hadn’t survived the Fragmentum attack, this trade opportunity might not have been possible. “There’s power in a name,” Sampo once told you. “That’s why I’ve never lied when asked about mine!”

Now, you huff out a laugh at the memory of you asking if he’d been sure it wasn’t actually his ego, and pause upon recognizing how off-course your thoughts had gotten. Your point is, back when life was more comfortable and of less ache and agony, you could afford to fuel your fireplace, and there was no shortage of warmth. The arms of your family that would hold you were hot to the touch from having stood only a couple of feet from flickering flames; blankets were whole and left unpatched and thereby let no cold in— things are different now. With the last of your available firewood, your makeshift campfire stopped burning about an hour ago, and your last blanket, barely left in one piece, absorbed too much chill in the air and barely served well enough as a cushion beneath your frozen rear, you’ve been sitting for far too long, waiting for someone who might not even be coming back…

“… tired,” you mumble to yourself. You can feel yourself slipping, not just along the blanket, but into what your brain manages to suspect is hypothermia. “Sampo…”

Before your body completely gives out on you and your eyes shut all the way, you hear fast-moving scuffling coming from behind you — footsteps — that reaches you in time to catch you by your shoulders.

You jolt, from the contact, and from the pain the contact brings— like you’d been pricked by a handful of Natasha’s syringes, or like being electrocuted, all in one concentrated area. A sound no less like a yowl of a cat escapes you, and your glossed-over eyes widen as far as your face’s frozen muscles allow.

“I’m… really late this time… aren’t I,” a familiar voice realizes, tone unquestioning of his words. He doesn’t have to be in your vision to know whose voice it is, but he graces you anyway, leaning over and around your shoulder so that him and his head of violet hair take up almost ninety percent of it.

You’re stiff. If not for the cold freezing your frown in place, you don’t think you could muster a glare for him otherwise. Stare lidded and eyebrows furrowed; cold-paled, downturned, chapped lips spread thin into a line so taut, a split of red forms down the middle of them. His own lips part, his grimace deepening.

“Bit,” you answer, and the blanket wrapped around your shoulders falls away, your fingers finally too burnt to hold it up any longer. Beneath it, you’d been wearing a thick, woollen sweater, with two other layers under it, and two pairs of pants. Your scarf hadn’t nearly been as thick as your sweater, nor did it really do its job of keeping your neck warm, and your winter socks had been worn out from use for almost two seasons now. You suppose that’s what happens when you become your last priority.

Sampo winces when his gaze falls on the fingers poking out from the sleeves of your sweater. Purpling, ashy skin, particularly on the backs of your hands— he watches you struggle to unclench them, to try to straighten them out, only for your skin to pale from a lack of blood flow. Instantly, Sampo is down on a knee, his own chilled hands coming up to stop you from making yours worse.

“Easy there, pal,” he says, a nervous chuckle slipping past cheshired lips. “I think you have frostbite.”

“Prob’ly,” you murmur. “Hurts to move.”

His swallowing is harsh, eyes filling quickly with guilt the longer he stares down at you. Several times, he has to shake himself from his stupor after deciding to tend to you. It startles him to be able to feel the chill through both his gloves and your sweater, and both absentmindedly and instinctively begins rubbing from the tops of your shoulder and down to your elbows.

You bite out a gasp, one of pain when it finally sinks in that maybe, you’ve been outside for even longer than you should’ve been, and raise your hands to grab his, but even this sends a pain rippling from the tips of your fingers and into your wrists—

“Ouch, S-Sampo… Hurts.”

“Huh? It hurts? What hurts?” And he rubs your one arm once more. “This?”

“M-Mhm,” and you knock his touch away with your shoulder. He sighs, sounding almost nervous or aggravated, and drags his fingers through his bangs.

“If I stand you up, do you think you’ll have the energy to stay on your feet?”

You hum, but it isn’t a positive noise.

“Then are you okay with me carrying you? It’s probably gonna hurt again. Not like we’ve got much of a choice here, though…”

“Carry me,” you say. “Carry me to Nat’s. Don’t worry… about the pain.”

“You got it.”

Somehow you thought you’d be more frustrated. You definitely are frustrated, but for now, you find yourself blaming your lack of an explosive response on the fact that you’re numb nearly from head to toe. If you still have any ears, you wouldn’t know it since you can’t feel them. You aren’t even able to smell your favourite of Sampo’s cologne he always wears, even with him being as close to him as you are after being rewrapped in your blanket and swept up into his arms. Even your hearing is slightly dulled; you swear you can hear humming, as faint as it is, and you can’t pinpoint where it comes from— with no one else around, you easily suspect Sampo as the artist. You shouldn’t have such drastic symptoms for your senses.

“What time is it?” you finally remember to ask, albeit in a croak, your throat suddenly dried out.

“Ah, well, it was around two when I got back, and that was a half an hour ago, so… a little after two-thirty?”

You manage to sigh without making a sound.

“Thought I was outside for two hours,” you start. “I think it’s… been four hours.”

Being mostly numb, you can only tell Sampo holds you a little tighter, a little closer to him as he walks because the skin on your back prickles.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Looking up, you see his own eyes cast forward down the cobbled road— avoidance. More guilt? “I’m not trying to make an excuse, but something did happen to make me late. It wasn’t just me this time, haha…”

Another of the blurred lines. A long while ago, Sampo stopped lying to you. A funny little declaration from “business partner to business partner” until “no longer lying” turned into secret-sharing and line-crossing honest— you’d wish he’d dial it back sometimes with how honest he could be. Even now, as he tells you it wasn’t entirely his fault why he’d left you waiting out in the cold, in spite of your pain and frustration, you give him the benefit of the little doubt you held onto.

“… tell me about it later,” you say, voice only just slightly higher than a whisper. “… ‘m so cold.”

Sampo is warm. Well, warmer than you. You don’t recall there ever being a time before now that the two of you have been so close, but he radiates heat like hot coals. There’s no doubt that he’s feeling cold, himself, wearing his half-sleeved jacket and a shirt that exposes his sides so easily to the elements. But he feels warm to you; you can feel it through even your blanket as you shiver.

“Don’t you worry; Sampo’s gonna get you warm and toasty in no time.”

The rest of the walk to Natasha’s clinic is completed in silence. With you living so far away from the displaced residents of the Underworld to maintain the safety of your supplies, it’s a walk that makes avoiding curious eyes impossible, and especially those of the children who recognize you upon reaching your destination in Boulder Town.

“Ah, h-hey, kiddos!” Sampo’s greeting is shaky, and for the briefest of moments, so is he. “What’s goin’ on?”

Wary of him from your past warnings from when you and he had just been acquainted a couple of years back, they regard him with the same disdain you once did— with little Julian at the helm, they stand before the steps to Natasha’s clinic with their arms crossed and eyebrows downturned, barring his path.

“Where are you taking the chief!?” Julian demands, craning his neck to glare up at Sampo, who only blinks back.

“The… chief?”

“Chief of sweets,” you answer. “I make them sweets a lot.”

“Gotcha… Well, I’m bringing the chief to see the good doctor! We’re feeling a little under the weather, see?”

“Look how much the chief is shaking!” one of the other children exclaim. Sampo nods quickly, and attempts to shuffle up the stairs.

“That’s right! Waiting out in the cold for a long time will do that! So will you let me through?”

Julian huffs at him. “Fine! But I’m telling Boss Hook about this, and she won’t be happy about it.” Without another word or a moment of hesitation, Julian runs off, his friends in tow toward the Great Mine.

Sampo sighs, carting you up the rest of the steps in his arms before pausing.

“I gotta set you down for a sec, okay?” You nod, your body jittering in his firm hold when your feet finally touch the ground. Still cradled by his one arm and balancing you against his hip, he shoves open the door to the clinic and helps you inside by lifting you past the threshold and into his arms once more.

It’s already even warmer now, your muddled brain manages to conjure; you can’t help yourself when you snuggle back into his chest. Sampo looks to you, lips pursed, and pale cheeks reddened, before shouting away from you for Natasha. Off to the side, the door to the second floor infirmary opens, and Natasha appears, slightly breathless.

“Sampo?” she says, glancing between the two of you. “What’s with all the shouting?”

“Sorry, Nat— bit of an emergency,” he says, nodding down at you, the “emergency” in question. A single-toned note escapes you in greeting; you’d been winded after the sudden moving around you’d just done. “You got a bed?”

“I-I do, right upstairs; first to the right—” He’s quick to pass her, and even faster in climbing the staircase. Over his arm, you see Natasha following after him, her skirt hiked up half-past her calves in an attempt to keep up.

But really, you’ve never seen Sampo Koski move this fast unless he’d been running away.

You’re jostled once more, and in feeling your body separating from Sampo’s, you brace yourself for the pain that eventually comes from being lowered onto one of the clinic’s cots. Like falling dominoes, the blanket on the cot rubs into yours, which rubs into your sweater and other under layers and into your skin.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

Sampo’s muttering doesn’t go unnoticed by Natasha. For as long as she’s known him, she can’t recall a time that he’s ever behaved so… docile? In the stress of the moment, she’s not quite sure if that’s the right word to use for him, so it would have to do for now.

“So, would either of you care to tell me what’s happened, then?” she says, and pulls on a pair of dark gloves.

“I’m pretty sure it’s frostbite,” Sampo says, awhile helping to unravel your blanket off of you for her. “You were out in the cold for hours…”

Natasha gasps. “In this weather? At this temperature?”

“They’d been waiting for me, but then that happened!” he spits out, panicked. “It wasn’t my fault!” In her flurry of grabbing clean towelettes, she manages to shoot him a look of frustration.

“You did a good thing by saving those kids, Sampo, but you can’t forget your other priorities.”

“I… I didn’t!” he tries swearing. “They helped me out, so I couldn’t just leave them like that! Ahh, I’m so sorry…”

Natasha sighs, placing the collected cloths next to you on the bed. “Apologizing isn’t going to help us here, so while I get these clothes off, can you go heat up a basin of water?” He nods, almost too enthusiastically.

“A hot basin of water, got it!”

“A warm basin.”

“A warm basin of water, r-right—“

He toddles off, rounding the bed from your right and crossing the clinic with a flat bucket in hand. A deep sigh from you has Natasha glancing back at you.

“I’d apologize for him, but I’m sure you already know just how aggressive he’ll be in making it up to you once you’re better.”

Your nodding shifts the pillow beneath your head.

“He… wouldn’t have been late for no reason,” you reason. “I should’ve just come here when I realized… he wouldn’t be on time.”

“Yes, you should have.”

You clear your throat a little. “Respectfully… I don’t need a lecture about it, Nat.”

“Good.” She turns around completely and begins helping to remove your three upper layers. “You’ve lived here long enough to know the consequences of being outside in this weather— if not because of Sampo, it would be because of someone else.”

“O-Old habits die hard,” you grumble, hissing as she decides to be quick in sliding off the lower two pieces of clothing, leaving your chest exposed.

“… it definitely looks like the beginning of stage three frostbite,” Natasha says, agreeing with Sampo’s earlier prognosis. “Any longer waiting out there, you might’ve needed surgery.”

“Surgery,” you repeat. “Sounds painful.”

“It is. Especially since we’re out of the usual anesthetic.”

You neglect to tell her that you likely have hypothermia, but without announcing it, she’s already assumed this just by just your symptoms— shivering, drowsiness, the pure exhaustion reflected in your lidded gaze; in the stress of the moment, she still manages to find amusement in the way your eyelids struggle to raise when Sampo returns with the basin.

“Is this good?” Sampo asks, head inclined toward Natasha. “Is it too warm?”

“It’s good,” Nat nods, having stuck a finger in to test it. She gestures at an empty tabletop. “Go ahead and put it there.”

“Sure, okay—” Sampo pauses, eyes wide with his gaze focused to the corners, at you. Slowly does his head twist toward you, lips parting until his jaw drops, and, like earlier when he’d been running around in the cold with you, his cheeks burn with rouge. Oh, right. My clothes are gone.

Natasha’s own eyes widen in realization. She’s quick to drop your clothes to the side and step towards Sampo, and even quicker to begin shoving him out of your presence.

“H-Hey, Nat! Hold — hold on a second!”

“You can wait outside, okay?” she tells him, her voice sickeningly sweet with the tone she only ever uses when needing to be firm.

“Hey, okay, okay! I won’t look! Just—” you hear him sigh from the other side of the partition. “Just let me wait here, on the other side, alright? Please?”

“… ’t’s fine, Nat,” you pant out, your once calm heart now startled into a steady rhythm. At any rate, apparently having Sampo see you half nude on a medical cot works as a warming tool. “H-He can wait there…”

Nat relents with a sigh, with Sampo groaning in relief from the other side of the partition. You take a breath of your own, unheard over the sound of something metal dragging across the floor of the clinic— another partition.

“Just in case,” she adds.

Besides any general noises you’d often heard from within the clinic before, and the gentle of sloshing of the towelettes being rung out after being dipped into the water in the basin, there’s silence between the three of you. Natasha’s brow is is slightly furled when she carefully lays the cloths along your cold-burnt skin— like your fingers, purpling had started stretching out across it, and in more exposed areas, you’d even begun to blister. Bringing your surface temperature back up safely and slowly is the goal, she’d told you. Upon covering your chest, she clears her throat. “Sampo.”

There’s a slight squeak from the other side of the wall. “I-I wasn’t looking?!”

“Whether you were or weren’t, I need you to now. Come back in here, please.”

“Huh? W-Why?”

“I need you to handle the rest of this for me while I go look for some medicine.” She looks to you with a frown. “You aren’t feeling it now because your body is in shock, but you’ll be in a lot of pain when your temperature returns to normal. You’ll want to be asleep when it finally does.”

“Oh… okay.” The partition creaks, and Sampo slips between the two, careful not to let any other prying eyes see you. You peer down past your feet at him. “Hi.”

“… h-hi.”

Gently still, Natasha pats an unaffected part of your arm. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Take your time,” you say. “’s’not like I’m going anywhere.”

Her smile is soft; you watch her go, listening to the click of her heels until they disappear through the same doorway as earlier.

Surprisingly, Sampo is already to work— his regular gloves pulled off and shoved haphazardly into one of his pockets, he dons a pair of the clinic’s medical ones that, despite being an average size, manages to squeeze his hands almost uncomfortably so.

“You… don’t have to wear those,” you tell him. “Just Nat’s habit. You’re only putting towels on me.”

He looks down at his hands, lips pursed and his cheeks still pink. You manage a dry laugh at his expense.

“Or are you suddenly feeling self-conscious,” you muse, thinking back to earlier. “Not like anyone saw you half-naked.”

Sampo huffs at you. “J-Jeez…”

This time, you smile at him. “Is it nerves? Or guilt? Don’t feel guilty. You… you saved some kids?”

“… yeah,” he mumbles, and tears off the ill-fitting gloves to throw in the trash. “Had to help them out after they saved me. You know me,” he sings half-heartedly. “I never leave a debt unpaid…”

“Sampo, I-I’m not mad at you,” you swear. You watch him avert his gaze and pick up a towel. “Sampo. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

His eyes widen before he turns back to you. “Huh?”

“That whole time… I was worried you were hurt… or caught. Four hours is… a long time. But I was happy when you finally showed up. I was so cold that… I couldn’t tell you this… And now, I’m so sleepy that I… I just hope that what I’m saying makes sense.”

Those blurred lines… are really getting a lot clearer now, you sluggishly realize, the longer you stare up at him. His own concern for you… the way he looks at you when he does… It can’t be strictly because of his “never leave a debt unpaid” policy he just reminded you of. He’s never looked at Natasha like this, nor any of his other customers or clients.

You suddenly chuckle to yourself. “I’m not drugged up on Nat’s medicine yet, so before I take it… let me say this.” He swallows. “Your debt to me… is clear,” and his eyes widen, “as long as you stop being so reckless… and as long as we can keep helping each other… and if you can… stay with me more. Even if you’re late… I always want to see you. Always… okay?”

The towel slips from his hands. You watch him inhale, his chest seemingly puffing up with the trapped air, and drop the towel.

“W-Was… Is th-that a…? Was that…?”

“Mm… a confession,” you finish. “Yeah. It was. Been simmering on it for a while now, I think. Is that okay?”

Hand on his hip, he finally exhales, flossing through his bangs with his fingers again.

“I-I mean… yeah!” You hold in another laugh at how high his voice had broken to. “Totally fine.” He grabs another towel and throws it in the slightly steaming basin.

Sliding it from the bed, you reach out your hand for him.

“Sampo,” you call, urging him to take it. When he doesn’t, and returns his attention to the water, you reach out a little further, and instead reach for his exposed skin beneath his coat. A small yelp of surprise escapes him the second you trail your finger along his hip, and instinctively, he goes to grab your wrist to stop you until spotting how dark the flesh of your fingers has become from the cold.

“H-Hey!” he hisses lowly, face quick to become splotched with rose.

“… you’re still cold, too.”

“Sampo…”

The man jumps at Natasha’s return, careful to turn on the spot when your hand had still been resting on his one hip, even minutes later and at your insistence at warming him up.

“I at least did one, it’s not my fault!!”

© nc-vb 2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[giggly-squiggily]

Challenge Accepted (Buddy Daddies)

*runs in and cartwheels into a candy apple display* HI-*crashes* I'm a little sleep deprived as of writing this intro but we're gonna run with it! Heyo everyone! I bring you today some good ol' Buddy Daddies! Besides writing sentence starters and dabbles for them- I haven't had the chance to write a full fic yet. That changes today!

Huge huge thank you to @thatbigbisexual29 for this brilliant idea- Thank you for giving me the inspo I needed and patience to finally write this thing! :D I hope y'all like it!

Summary: Miri comes home and asks a world changing question: Which of her two Papa's is tougher? Kazuki comes up with a grand plan to find out!

~~~

“Which one of you is tougher?”

The question made both men pause, Kazuki standing by the counter while Rei sat comfortably against the couch. Sharing a look, the blonde turned to their daughter with a huffed laugh. “What do you mean?”

“Taiga said his papa was super tough! He said both his mama and his papa are tough!” She stood up, raising her arms over her head in emphasis. “I told him my papa’s are tough too, but then he asked which one was more!”

“What did you tell him?” Rei asked. Kazuki shot him a look. They really shouldn’t encourage this-

“I told him Papa Rei’s tougher!” She beamed, making her other papa gap in shock. Rei barely fought down a smirk.

“What? Papa Rei? Tougher? I’m so much tougher!” Kazuki scurried over, flexing his biceps. “Your Papa Kazuki can carry both you and Rei whenever we need to get somewhere quickly!”

“I can do that too.” Rei pointed out, earning another look.

“Plus, who’s the one who gets all the critters out when they wander in?”

“Papa Rei.” Miri said just as Rei said “Me.”

Kazuki blanched. Okay- maybe Rei was better than him at catching bugs. “Well…I can cook!” “And we have stomachs of steel because of it.” Rei shrugged. Miri patted her belly in emphasis.

“Oh you- You love my cooking!” Kazuki rolled his eyes. “We’re not getting anywhere with this. What we need is a proper competition.”

“Oh?” Miri and Rei asked at the same time, one more tired than the other.

“Yeah! A challenge to see who’s the toughest papa!” The blonde grinned, rolling up his sleeves. “And I know just how we’re gonna figure it out!”

~~~

“Come on, Rei- you know you wanna break.” Kazuki cooed with devilish delight down at the squirming brunette beneath him, fingers creeping up his shirt and trailing along the curve of his belly. “Just say you give up, and it’ll all be over.”

The assassin merely flattened his lips in response, raising his quivering chin against the relentless waves of sensitivity threatening to drown him. “N-No! N-Never! Mmm!” He arched, the arms behind his head flexing but never quite dropping.

It was admittedly rather childish; the whole tickling thing. Still-There wasn’t much more the two could compete on given the circumstances. Both were similar in terms of speed and agility; and testing things like defusing a bomb and firing aim were simply undoable with Miri in the picture.

And yet- it was effective; Kazuki could feel Rei’s resistance slowly melt away with each flick of his fingers, the way his muscles tightened like bowstrings as the blonde traced over a particularly ticklish spot. He could have ended it all there- gone straight for Rei’s armpits and had him shooting his arms down with a shriek.

But that wasn’t much fun now, was it?

“So stubborn~ What a tough guy you are.” Kazuki cooed, giggling when Rei tried to glare. “Nah ah ah- no faces like that!” He raked his fingers higher, giving his bottom ribs a scratch. “Give me a smile.”

“Mmmph!” Rei’s eyes widened, cheeks puffing as he arched. Behind him, Kazuki could hear the sound of shuffling feet as Rei dug his heels into the sofa cushions.

“What? Nothing to say, tough guy?” Kazuki grinned, widening his fingers and slowly walking them up and down Rei’s ribcage. “Cat got your tongue? Or are you just scared when you open your mouth you’re gonna be laughing? I’d laugh too- especially with these tickly fingers walking up and down my ribs, getting closer and closer to my armpits but nooooooot quite touching them.” He prodded along the brunette’s upper ribs, nearly making Rei shoot his arms down. “I can feel them pounding against your chest- the laughter within you. They’re gonna burst out soon- might as well let it go~”

Rei shook his head, eyes squeezed shut as his arms twitched, the veins in his neck strained with effort. His hair had fallen into his eyes, hiding the mist forming in the corners. He was starting to rival a tomato in color. For a moment, Kazuki was worried he’d actually explode.

Well- better help him let it out before he does.

“And a one, and a two and a-” Kazuki lifted his hands up for dramatic pause, giving Rei a second to breathe. Once he was normal colored again, he shot his hands into his armpits.

“GEHAHHAHAHA!” Rei all but shrieked, arms shooting down to block out Kazuki’s hands.

“Oo, we’re halfway there! Tickle tickle tickle Rei!” Kazuki cackled, hanging on for dear life as the brunette thrashed and twisted beneath him, feet kicking and knees banging into his back. “Do you give in? Huh, do ya, do ya?”

“Ahehahahhahahahahahha! F-Fuuhuhuhuhuhuhu! Screehhehehehhw yohohohoohohu, Kahahhahahahzukihihihihiihihi!” Rei howled, covering his face with his hands as he howled in mirth. Tsking, the blonde snatched a wrist, easily pushing it back above Rei’s head as his fingers carried on wiggling into his armpit. “NO FHAHHHAHHAHAHIR!”

“Say you give up! Say it! Say it!” Kazuki teased. “I won’t stop until you do!”

“AHEHHEHHEHHEHEHE!” Rei made a whining sound at the threat, his free hand coming up to loosely grab Kazuki’s shirt. The older hitman was starting to feel a tad guilty- Rei was too stubborn for his own good. He was about to pull back and let him breathe when he finally heard it.

“FIHIHIHIHINE! FIHIHIIHIHNE YOU WIHIIHIHIHHN!” Rei cried out, tapping against Kazuki’s chest. “I GIHIHIHIVE UP!”

“Ha-HA!” Kazuki cheered, releasing Rei from his tickly attack and throwing his arms up in glee. “Take THAT! I win! I got you to give up!” He looked over, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you see that Miri? Miri…?”

The little girl was no longer by their side- at some point she had wandered away to doodle. Currently she was passed out against her artwork, snoring softly with her blue crown clutched in her little hand.

“Oh man, and after I put in all that effort to beat you!” Kazuki pouted, letting out a sigh. He was so put out by the lack of his audience he failed to feel Rei sitting up.

“Who said anything about beating me?” He growled, making the blonde squeak with wide eyes. “YOU haven’t gone yet.”

“Oh- oh no- I shouldn’t- Miri fell asleep you know? I should take her to bed-” Kazuki went to run, but Rei was faster, grabbing him and shoving him into the cushions. Immediately fingers were against his belly, making him arch and squeal like a pig. “Rehehehehehehehhei plehahahahhahahse!”

“Please what? Keep tickling you? Okay.” Rei jeered, eyes dangerous as he attacked every soft spot he could reach. “I won’t stop tickling you until you give up!”

Miri snoozed on, a little smile on her face as her dreams became ones of her and her papas, laughing as they ran through a field of tickly flowers.

Thanks for reading!

[house-of-lovin]

am I crazy or is everybody very focused on R’s exes? Very interesting asks at first but now I don’t really see very much questions here that aren’t about that ? Come on bros what about the other kinds of relationships in R’s life ! I’m so curious

(Just my assumptions, I say think a lot sorryyyy)

At what age did R meet Link? I know he’s her best friend and he’s known her since before R had her legal separation from parents at 18!

Also does Link ever feel like he’s more of her caretaker than her best friend ? I know he cares about her but I was just wondering if part of the reason he doesn’t leave even after she’s so difficult is because he feels like he owes R so it’s not necessarily always out of love. (I remember you mentioning R employing him and he brought up how all the money is sent to provide for his grandma)

I know R is close to J’s family now but who is she closest to and why? I can imagine J’s family being the kind of people to wanna care for R as if she was one of their own.

I’d personally assume it’s J’s parents! It sounds as if R’s never experienced a genuine paternal nurturing presence before (I know there’s been mentions about Link being that but I see his presence as brotherly) and J’s family is so family oriented, because of the lack of knowledge they have about R’s family that’s something they’d recognize immediately; R doesn’t talk about her family much.

I would guess they naturally slipped into that role for R, R and J’s parents love language seems to me as if it’s acts of service and quality time for not only giving but receiving. I can imagine there’s things they do for R that catch her off guard

(Ex.

R not mentioning she’s hungry because she doesn’t wanna be a bother but her stomach grumbles. Nat asks R about the last time she ate, R’s response makes Nat concerned so she not only tells R that she needs to eat more but makes her some food. Nat tells R that she has to sit at the table and wait for the food but it’s just so she can talk to R, in passing Nat mentions what she’s making is something her own mom made for her family and that she loves making for her family.

Ed asking R if she wants to go for a drive sometime after she fixes the car. For awhile they’re just aimlessly driving around and getting to know eachother a little better, Ed tells R about the memories each spot they pass by has.)

I think they’d be able to sense these aren’t common occurrences for R and her own family because of how caught off guard she is and how R beams with appreciation of it afterwards, they get to see the little soft kid in R whenever that happens and I think it’d make them a little sad that so little seems like so much to R.

I think because they’re parents they’d see the three consistent people in R’s life Link, Jake and Liz as people who are only there because they work for R (even if it’s not true). To them R really has no one in her corner and she’s been facing everything and everyone with no consistent genuine support from anyone, I’d think this is why they’d be more worried than angry/disappointed about the headlines she’s been making lately. Because to them even if it’s true it’s always been R against the world and thats too much for someone to handle on their own, of course she’d break eventually- she’s never been given a proper chance to breathe.

hope you’re having a lovely day :D

love answering questions like these!

I imagine Link and R grew up in the same neighbourhood, so they'd have met in elementary/primary school.

Interesting take about Link feeling like R's caretaker. I don't really see that tbh (although yes, R is very difficult) this is a friendship that's lasted probably 20+ years (or close to).

Idk if you guys have ever had adult friendships that started when you were very young and lasted into adulthood but those friendships are HARD TO BREAK. It doesn't matter how much you fuck up, that person will always be there for you. (it's a very special kind of bond)

My bsf and I have been friends for like 13+ years and best believe we don't always agree with each other's actions/decisions but that person is... your person. (in chapter 7, Link refers to himself as R's person.) No matter how much they fuck up, you'll always be there for them. I think I lowkey based R and Link on me and my bsf LOL.

I agree with your analysis of R's relationship with J's family and her parents.

I would imagine when R and J are finally dating, she'd be SO close to J's parents. THEY FOR SURE WOULD TAKE R IN AND MAKE HER PART OF THE FAMILY 🥹

J's dad taking R for a drive🥹 (yes for me)

J's mom feeding R cause R probably can't cook, too busy yk (ANOTHER YES FOR ME)

I like how you said they'd be more worried than angry about the headlines... I can def see that👀

(we're gonna see more interactions with R and J's family dw. I dont want give anything away but 👀)

THANKS FOR SENDING THESE ANON! So fun to answer and I love how deeply you thought abt your questions (v refreshing to answer something different lol)

hope you're having a lovely day babes♥️

[cuervolyx]

Oh, almost forgot. Also 18. for Eunkyu. XD

18. What is their opinion on paramilitary service (mainly mercenary? Why do they hold said opinion?

How could you almost forget my best boy 😤. By the way, I’m joking (I try to joke around sometimes but I sound so neutral that it makes it hard for others to tell).

Also, I don't really mention paramilitaries. Only mercenaries. While I do like getting ideas from history, I only know paramilitaries from Northern Ireland. However, the Troubles (which is described as an era of conflict that lasted 30 years. There is way more to this era than that small brief explanation), is still a recent event. Many people are still alive to tell their stories of those times. I want to respect them by not using their trauma for some extra points of making my story dark.

——————————————————————————

"...," Eunkyu did not say anything. Rather, he kept quiet. He began to reminiscence his life in Athia. His parents always warned him and his sister to avoid mercenaries. After all, they brought more trouble than solved. Especially for those from Nisara. He hated them and they hated him as well. Eunkyu always wondered why they never joined the military if they liked going to battles and hurting others. Then again, he can see why. After all, why do all of that if you can't get richer or more power.

"Mercenaries," Eunkyu whispered. "I hate them," he hissed. No matter how hard he tried to forget, he could never forget the harassment and humiliation such groups put his family and his people through. He remembers how he would be working on the farm and those damn mercenaries would show up only to ruin his day. They even often stole from them and of course the police did not help. They never did.

"They even killed my parents... they did nothing wrong. Just some Athians getting angry at Nisarans and other foreginers because of misunderstanding by the Athian government. A huge riot occurred that night and many were killed. That massacre took everything that my sister and I had away. We had to flee the country to avoid being killed as well," Eunkyu explained. He rarely talked about this as it still traumatic to think about. He will always remember the fear he felt and saw in his sister that night. He will always remember running and being attacked. Nothing will ever heal those wounds.

"But, despite that. I still like the mercenaries from Nisara and Esmyae. After all, it is thanks to them that my sister and I escaped the country alive. Well, Eunyeong would be alive if she... hadn't been killed. Either ways, they were so kind to me," Eunkyu said. He will always be thankful for their help. Especially since they barely understood one another due the regional dialect he spoke being different from standard Nisaran. It was only a luck that Esmyaen mercenaries were with the Nisaran one.

"To give a proper response to the question, I am mixed on them. It really depends on what they do and how they act. Weirdly enough, maybe I would have joined if it wasn't for the fact that I was put undr heavy supervision from the Nisaran military due to the fact I was still from Athia," Eunkyu said. He sighed as he smiled. He hopes that the mercenaries in Nisara will always be good and do what is best for the people. He will always be thankful for their help.

-------------------------------------------------------------

I have finished all of the asks that I have received. It has been so fun to respond to each and every asks. I got to really explore my character's personalities and get to see where I want to take my story.

I want to post something soon about Eunkyu and probably some random facts about the trio. Like for example, Eunkyu cannot drive and "Haoyu" cannot teach. Siwoo is still tired.

Of course, I also want to post biographies of all my characters. Which would make it easier for y'all to know my characters without going to all my post and trying to figure out what I am doing (cause I don't know what I am doing either :D)

[found-wings]

Soooo. I had a thought that I can’t quite explain and I kind of just threw a bunch of things together.

This is the result, though it is more of a concept than anything :D

I hope you enjoy it, it‘s slightly longish so lmao

The wings of Death welcome everyone beneath it‘s feathered blanket of safety.

Always has and always will, so it goes.

And Phil is no different as the messenger of Death, an angel of the deepest void of what comes after.

Even as the angel that watches over the mortal realm for the Goddess herself, even he knows that eventually he has to give way to his life too. He knows that he too eventually has to part to go back to where he belongs and leave this world in the hands of another, no matter how long or how little it takes.

So every hundred years or so he holds a tournament for the strongest of the best.

People of all kind and from everywhere come every time, ready to take on what it means to be chosen by Death herself, worthy of her grace to ascend to the ranks of higher ups.

Phil has lost count on how long it‘s actually been, thousands of years mashing and blurring into each other with no chosen to be found.

He didn‘t mind and he knew Death was patient, she trusted him with everything. This wasn‘t a simple matter of being able to go back, so choosing someone to step up to his place - not to replace, but to honor and follow his steps as a bringer, a messenger of Death herself..

It was no simple decision, no simple matter of trying out.

Phil has never found anyone particular, no one catching his attention for long enough to even consider.

It was frustrating, in a way.

.

"Phil?" He can hear Techno call out, voice echoing through the halls as the piglin makes his way to their shared room.

When Techno enters the room without as much knocking, Phil is sat quietly on the edge of his self made nest. The blankets aren‘t properly tugged in, feathers scattered on the ground along with the gold accessories he is usually seen wearing and a bunch of pillows underneath the dropping wings settled behind the crow.

Phil was, least to say, not ready.

Techno stays silent in his approach, stepping past Phils unmoving figure to grab one of the bottles of water and another blanket. As he returns back to his friends side, he kneels down in front of him and slowly guides Phil into holding the bottle.

Once he‘s assured that Phil won‘t just drop it, he uses the blanket to wrap it around him, being extra careful in tucking away the wings despite their size. With his hands he starts rubbing the blanket against Phils arms, a low rumble escaping him.

"Something is gonna happen," Techno says. It‘s not a question because he knows Phil. He knows Phil is not one to sleep in, to let himself be sat somewhere and lose the fine gold accessories Techno had made him on the floor, to grasp at his feathers until even the healthier ones come out - unless something deep within his mind violently screams and claws at him until that‘s all he can focus on.

Phils movement is steady and gentle when he lifts the bottle up to take a sip, visibly relaxing at the cold temperature of it.

A couple of moments hurry by and Phil sighs, leaning forward to bump his forehead against Technos. "I haven‘t felt this shitty since.. you know."

"Good or bad?" Simply comes from Techno, watching as Phils eyes slip shut.

He takes a few more seconds to either brace himself or to observe his own feelings so he can give a proper response, even if Techno would be content with even no answer at all.

"Not as bad as the last time someone tried to assassinate ya. But not good," Phil hums.

Receiving messages of the higher ranks is exhausting, even as a chosen. Techno had a bit of an easier time because luckily his connection and culture worked differently, however Phil was hit with it like a train driving in circles again and again, chipping at his physical and mental health in repeating manners.

"Todays the tournament," Techno notes and fully wraps the blanket around Phil, scooping him up in one of his arms before organising the stray blankets and pillows. "You think someone’s tryin‘ to go for you today?"

Phil chuckles, followed by a long drawn sigh afterwards. "As in for my title or for my head?"

"Title. Tryin‘ to kill you is a pain," Techno responds with a snort, a silent I‘d know tacked on behind it.

Once the bed is done, he walks over to the closet and is extra careful in not knocking anything down with the feathered tail that is poking out of Phils blanket burrito.

While Techno goes through the varying outfits, Phil watches with a soft smile playing on his face. "I hope not. I’d miss you."

.

It‘s loud.

The arena is filled to the brim and probably overflowing, but Phil chooses to ignore that.

"I recognise a few people," Phil hums as he gazes down at all the competitors that are entering the fighting area. It was still the beginning, which meant all fighters were to gather where they would be fighting and introducing themselves to each other.

They could talk, spar with any brought weapons they had, or just spend it on their own until the actual fights began. It was Deaths original suggestion, because it would form new bonds and make everything feel more real, more familiar.

Phil couldn‘t help but agree, maybe he is a bit biased though considering he met Techno in a similar way. Not fortunate enough to willingly participate, but similar enough at last.

"Any nether folk?" Techno asks, curiosity laced between his seemingly uninterested tone as he glances up from the book he‘s reading.

Phil reaches out for his spyglass and mutters about why their personal seats had to be this far up again, taking a closer look at all competitors.

Most people are hybrids, yes, but generally only overworld ones were seen around here. It was most common. "A few, but not many. Even less end folk, as usual."

Techno mumbles something and Phil knows he’s already back to focusing on his book. Which he can‘t be blamed for, this tournament was held with Phil in mind and not for Techno.

A sigh escapes the crow and just as he‘s about to avert his attention from the group, something catches his eye.

Literally, as the sun blinds him for a brief second and forces him to squeeze shut his eyes until the flash of light disappears - and then he sees it.

Within the many people is someone holding what appears to be a sword that Phil has not seen yet, tainted at the edges with a green. The handle is black and a couple of green gems adorn it - however as Phils eyes lay on the owner of the weapon, his eyes widen.

He watches the white haired man take a swing with his weapon, the green skin occasionally broken up by a few white bandages wrapped around it. The black jacket is tattered and patched up in a couple of places with star shaped cloth, a backpack draped across their back with an oddly shaped and colored shield attached to the side of it. The belt from the slightly baggy pants holds a few potions and smaller tools from what Phil can see, everything needed for surviving within the damned places of the mortal realm.

His breath catches and he feels.. Death.

This is it.

That is the person he‘s been waiting on for as long as he can think when Death had first brought up having to choose someone at the right time.

The person to offer a wing and guide on learning the duties of what it means to be Deaths messenger, what it means to be bound to Death for thousands of years to come.

He can‘t quite explain the pull he feels, but he just knows this is right, this is his warrior.

"That‘s them," Phil whispers, leaning even more over the railing he has been standing at.

Techno glances up once more, offering Phil nothing but a confused gaze when the crow doesn’t say anything more. "Heh?"

Phil however whips his head around to Techno, eyes wide and the piglin can practically see the sparkles in his eyes.

"That‘s them," he repeats. "I found the one."

It takes a couple of seconds before it sets in what Phil means and Techno is standing beside his friend without a second thought.

He watches Phils gaze and pointing at an almost isolated figure, directly picking out one of the couple people who aren‘t socialising with any other.

"Them?" Techno asks to confirm and Phil nods immediately, watching the person with an odd sense of admiration. Techno hums and smiles a little at Phils reaction.

Phil is not one to be easily impressed by someone he hasn‘t met, hasn‘t heard of or anything of that sort, so to get this reaction means it’s a feeling send by Death.

Techno nods and grins.

So be it.

.

"He hasn‘t even met them at all and Phil thinks they‘re the one?"

Techno waves off Wilburs concerns as they follow behind the giddy crow, who is basically bouncing with every step they take within the arena.

"I trust him," Techno simply counters.

Wilbur huffs, clearly annoyed by the lack of consideration from the emperors side. "Phil doesn‘t usually act like this."

"Exactly," Techno shoots back again. "That‘s why I trust him."

There is no reply to that comment for a little while and Wilbur sighs, taking out a notebook and starting to note down some things - or to go through the many pages of trying to find something.

As they make their way out the gates and onto the field, the conversations from the competitors quiet down when they walk past. There‘s a couple of greetings that range from cheerfulness to suspicion all the same, but Technos attention is mainly on Phil and occasionally Wilburs words.

"His name is Etoiles. We’re not sure on his past, where he currently lives nor his species, but we do know that he’s a hunter." Wilbur writes down another thing as he explains to Techno.

A hunter. That‘s.. interesting, least to say. "Hunter of?"

"Elytrians and Avians, according to multiple sources we’ve found. One of the top rankings."

Techno halts and stares at Wilbur, who is wearing a similar expression - distrust bordering on disgust.

"How did he get in?" Technos tone is low and his stare is redirected towards Phil, the crow already having approached this 'Etoiles' person with a little too much curiosity for his liking.

Wilbur takes a few moments to collect any written down information before giving a response. "We have sources and words of other kingdoms that he no longer hunts those. He has a few friends now who are avians, apparently."

Wrong. That has to be wrong, he will not let any hunter get Phil again.

"Tell the guards to take him out or I will take care of him myself."

[tazzy-ace]

For the 3 things Tazzy would never ever write: 1 - Liu Sang hating and despising Xiaoge for real, at point of not even stand to work together without taking a deep breath - and Pangzi supports whatever is his reason for hating Xiaoge 2 - Luo Fei and Luo Fusheng heavily making out in the morgue, while Ben is busy upstairs, dealing with Savoy's complaints about Luo Fei (and that boy) 3 - Da Qing is giving up on Zhao Yunlan, he can't stand that idiot anymore and that's not a joke, he's leaving. Shen Wei is not trying to stop him.

Good luck, sir ;D

Ah you got me with details on (1). Pangzi on Liu Sang's side over Xiaoge? Oh the mess I would have to make for that. You trying to get me to hurt Yunlan via his cat dad. So rude. Da Qing, my bestie, would never. He's such a good cat dad. So here ya go, you get more 2Luo with (2). Maybe I should be saying good luck to you now before you read? :P Here's the reader's discretion that I have not yet watched GYADL so apologies for any ooc from Fusheng. I only have fandom exposure for his character.

---

Luo Fei and Luo Fusheng ran into the morgue hand in hand, barely containing their laughter as they ducked behind one of the slabs. The sudden intrusion brought Ben Jieming's attention from the paperwork on his desk to his best friend and the young man that had become a near constant fixture in the detective's life recently. Fusheng's head was ducked down, but his shoulders shook, giving away his muffled laughter. Luo Fei's eyes met Ben's unamused look and eyebrow raise. 'Savoy,' he mouthed with a grin, causing Ben to groan in frustration. The duo had caused more chaos yet again and now Ben was dragged into it.

The pair had barely contained their laughter when the doors to the morgue opened again. Luo Fei's hand quickly covered Fusheng's mouth to trap any lingering laughs from escaping and exposing them. He looked over at Ben, with that silent begging look that his friend was somehow still weak to after all these years. "Yes?" Ben asked the officer that walked in and was glancing around.

"Um, sir. Superintendent Savoy would like to speak with you ... and Luo Fei if he's here?"

Ben didn't even glance to the hiding spot to expose them. "I'll be right there."

The rookie officer seemed nervous as Ben stared him down in question when he didn't leave. "And Luo Fei, sir?"

"If I see him I'll pass along the Superintendent's request." That seemed to satisfy the officer, because Luo Fei could hear him turn on his heel and walk back out of the morgue.

"Do I even want an idea of what trouble you've caused this time?"

With a grin, Luo Fei answered, "Depends, do you want to not go to talk with Savoy?"

"Pretend I didn't ask. I know nothing. Better for me that way." Ben shook his head as he stood up and made his way to leave.

"Just reassure him that I know what I'm doing."

"I always do." Luo Fei couldn't help but grin more at his best friend's response.

As the doors swung shut, Fusheng finally pulled the hand away from his mouth. "A-Fei," he said slightly out of breath from all the laughter, "you know I haven't caused trouble for police quite like this before."

Luo Fei shrugged at the comment as he stood up and reached a hand down to help the younger up off the floor. "It's more just causing a nuisance than actual trouble. They can only be so annoyed at you when you're proper help to me solving things. Results speak for themselves."

"And Xiaoman is left with the paperwork?" he teased as he took Luo Fei's hand and pulled himself up, easily invading the detective's space without a care. "Such a trouble maker. And to think I once thought I was the troublesome one between the two of us."

"Don't lie, boy. You know how much trouble I bring since the first night you met me." Luo Fei didn't move away, even when their noses barely brushed against each other.

(This got longer that expected and they start making out here so just putting the break for read more here. Enjoy!)

Fusheng hummed appreciatively as he tilted his head. "Maybe that's what drew me to you? Such a sharply dressed man down in the dark corner of a dock that neither he nor I had any excuse to be at." His words were spoken into Luo Fei's skin as he moved closer before whispering his last comment in his ear, "The perfect alibi just waiting for me."

Luo Fei closed his eyes to focus just on their closeness and the way Fusheng's words and breath ghosted over him. "You made the first move that night. Pinning me against that wall as the security came around the corner."

"Hmm, do you want me to make the first move here too?" His hands rested on Luo Fei's waist, waiting patiently for a signal. All it took was a subtle nod for Fusheng to shift and capture the other's lips with his own.

One of Luo Fei's hands found the back of Fusheng's neck while the other trailed up to his hair. He always loved curling his fingers into those loose locks and knowing just how much Fusheng enjoyed the feeling only made Luo Fei love it more.

Fusheng didn't break the kiss even as he pushed Luo Fei to take a few steps backward until the back of his legs hit the slab behind him. He rested a hand on it, caging Luo Fei in slightly and leaning more of his weight against him until their fronts were flush, drawing out a muffled moan from both of them.

Luo Fei smiled into the kiss as he felt the hand going to the back of his legs, moving to help him sit back on the surface behind him. He helped by getting up onto his toes so that Fusheng could guide and push him into a sitting position. With the slight change of angle, Fusheng's attention shifted as his kisses wandered from Luo Fei's lips down his jaw before attacking the sensitive skin of his neck. The fingers in his hair tighten, earning a slight groan from the younger but it doesn't deter him. Luo Fei knew he wouldn't leave any marks, they had talked about that before with their boundaries. "So good," he whispered the praise as Fusheng settled into his place between Luo Fei's legs. His own hands kept Fusheng close while the other's wandered lazily up and down Luo Fei's side and back.

He realized that his eyes were still shut but he had no reason to open them, he could feel every contact from Fusheng and every sweet movement made him melt. Luo Fei let the younger have his fun for a bit before pulling his head back to capture his lips again, desperate for more. "Just like before," Fusheng teased, making Luo Fei blush as he thought back to their first meeting. Fusheng had kissed him first for them to pretend to be a couple trying to find a quiet spot away, but Luo Fei had pulled him back into another kiss even after the security had passed by them.

"Hush," he whined before kissing Fusheng more. Just like that night, Fusheng didn't fight him, meeting the kiss with the same passion that Luo Fei was giving him. Luo Fei wasn't sure exactly how much more time had passed when Fusheng pulled away, making him grumble in protest and tighten his hold on the younger's hair.

"A-Fei." The scolding was half-hearted as Fusheng smiled at him. "It's probably long enough that Savoy is distracted with Ben and we can slip out of the station."

"Hmm, what if I don't want to?"

"If we leave, ... we can go home. Then there will be no Ben eventually coming back to be even more annoyed at you on top of having to hear complaining about you from his Superintendent all the time." Fusheng really could be a persuasive guy when he wanted to be.

Luo Fei let his hold on Fusheng loosen and his hands fell to rest on the other's shoulders. "You know it's not just me he's complaining about."

Fusheng smirked, "Obviously. We're not partners in crime for nothing, right?" Luo Fei leaned forward and gave him one last peck before standing up and taking Fusheng's hand in his yet again. Their exit from the morgue was very different from their entrance, looking the picture of composed and unbothered as if they hadn't been in trouble not too long ago. Well, composed if you didn't count Luo Fei's handy work of absolutely wrecking the careful part in Fusheng's hair and how red both of their lips looked.

---

Well there you have it. It got a little away from me and long but snippet (Mini fic? Just straight up fic? It's like 1.2k words 😂😅) complete! I might end up posting this on ao3 eventually but for now this is it's home. Hope you enjoyed Hyde (and are still with us :P )

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Since you are a professional working with abuse victims, I have a question. I read a study that found that most child abuse victims were wanted/planned pregnancies. No amount of abortion and birth control can fix that, unfortunately. So in your professional opinion, how do we address that? When people plan to have kids and to treat them horribly? I think funding education, mental healthcare, and parenting classes/resources would help but I’m curious if you have anything to add :)

Hey there,

Yeah, so I don't know about statistics on this, but no matter what, there is definitely a baseline reality that people frequently have wanted, loved, existing children with an abuser and still (obviously) need safety and freedom.

I mean the unfortunate thing is that every family dynamic is different and has different needs. Every abuser's abuse comes from somewhere and different causes require different interventions. Similarly, different victims have different needs, reactions, and trauma responses as well. These are going to vary based on age, location, cultural background(s) and values, class background, religious beliefs, intersecting marginalized identities, and prior experiences of abuse or other trauma, to name a few besides just each individual's personality.

I think the biggest struggle is coming up with systematic responses at a macro level that are actually responsive to these myriad of individual needs and unique situations. Flexibility for courts to decide matters in a way that is tailored to the family in question also widens the margin of error and gives judges a lot more room for bias, no matter how unintentional. Rigidity of precedent and bright-line rules creates formal equality in the sense of everyone who is similarly situated receiving the same remedy, but denies courts the ability to respond to unique situations where the result, although the same, is inequitable for one reason or another. Balancing these factors is not easy and courts, legislators, and advocates (many of whom are dedicated to creating safe, healthy families, and protecting women and children and other abuse victims from further abuse) still struggle to prevent at-risk families and especially children from falling through the cracks.

And then there's the ethics piece of it, wherein you HAVE to do your due diligence in investigating these cases to ensure that you don't have (a) a toxic but not necessarily abusive in a power differential sense relationship occurring (different resolutions are necessary there), (b) an abuser beating the actual victim to the courthouse and using the system to flip the narrative before the victim can get help, (c) a non-victim attempting to get a leg up on what is bound to be a brutal custody battle, and/or (d) other family members pushing the issue or just a full-fledged, multi-generational family feud. I have seen all of these personally.

You can't just take people's word for it, because that's how well-spoken, educated, and/or savvy abusers can work the system and conflict out DV providers from the actual victims. But on the other hand, evidence? Is fucking hard oftentimes. Not everything that is legitimate abuse leaves cuts or bruises, and many abusers are smart enough not to say their death threats or other serious verbal abuse in front of anyone or to write it down. Even if you have messages and/or photos saved, what happens when the abuser breaks your phone? Or goes through it and deletes stuff? What happens when they use apps to mask their number or calling private so that you can't prove that it was them harassing you? Or they use an app to make it look like you sent them horrible stuff back? What happens when you can't prove that it was them circling your house because the camera doesn't reach that far or they're riding in a friend or family member's car? Do you know how hard it is to get proper evidence from a child, especially a young child? Testimony about abuse sucks enough as an adult.

It's a horrible catch-22, because you have to investigate to decide cases based on the real facts, but oftentimes the evidence doesn't exist or is suspect. And no matter how trauma-informed you, as a professional, are, the process is inherently and inescapably retraumatizing.

And none of this accounts for the fact that sometimes shit is just complicated. Plenty of abusers are also victims. Plenty of victims desperately want their abuser to just be a good parent separately and leave them alone. Some spousal abusers are actually perfectly good parents, sometimes even better than the victim for one reason or another.

So as to answers, honestly? The longer I do this, the more I learn, the fewer answers I feel like I have.

Definitely having counseling, advocacy, and other resources readily available is critical. If I could triple myself, I would. Hard agree on the education and parenting classes, with the caveat that a lot of the time, mandatory attendance is usually unsuccessful in the long run. Unfortunately, abusers tend not to give a single shit about improving themselves or taking any responsibility for their actions until they have to face serious consequences, and even then, a lot of the time it's a means to an end, not a genuine effort.

I think early education of children on healthy relationships and age-appropriate sex ed/consent education starting very young would be a very helpful start. And then of course, continuing that education throughout school age years, and providing additional free resources for adults. As a huge cause of stress that leads to abuse is poverty and/or marginalization, these are issues that, while separate, make a major impact on how much abuse occurs and how easily victims can escape. Efforts to address them can and will help prevent abuse and lessen the severity of ongoing abuse.

We obviously need to keep talking about this as a society, and keep trying to aim for that right balance. We need to keep assuming there is always work to be done, that we haven't gotten it perfect yet. And compassion. Lots of compassion and listening and seeing things through others' eyes.

[caffeinated-problem-solver]

Byron Lennox

I've been meaning to write a backstory for my current D&D character. I am currently running him in "Out of the Abyss" which is being run by @msterdoctorman. Potential spoilers for that campaign (but probably not since we're not very far into the campaign). I figured if I'm going to write prose I might as well share it. I hope you enjoy.

Byron Lennox, in the course of his life, had never been missed; that is, until he was missed for exactly 3 hours, 24 minutes, and 19 seconds. Since then he has worked very hard to not be missed again, ever present and responsive. He has become the misser, professionally even. Byron fills his life with the death of others: grave digging, undertaking, and (most importantly) eulogizing. He can tell you a half dozen stories of any of the people occupying graves under his care, many of whom he buried himself. Yet here he sits, his back to a cave wall thousands of feet below the people he's missing.

He scratches away at a journal, his wiry frame lit dimly by a glow coming from his ink well. It's a neat trick he picked up some years ago, casting a light spell on the ink means he can write fairly comfortably in very dark spaces. The page fills with light as his well-practiced hand passes over the blank space; the script, tight and neat, seems to belong more to an expert scribe than a dirt-crusted man with a shovel. As the ink leaves the pot and subsequently the quill, its light slowly dies out as it leaves the source of magical luminescence. Byron expects this and doesn't mind. It merely tells him the ink is dry enough to turn the page.

The faint light shines in the deep dark of the cavern, the group has called it a night, not that that means anything down here. Byron volunteered for this watch as a chance to clear his head and do some writing now that he has his journals again. The shadows he casts on the wall blending almost seamlessly into his long, dark brown hair, pardon the few individual lines of silver that have grown in. His face is motionless apart from his cold, icy blue eyes, which dart across the page making sure every paragraph flows into the next. He looks over at the group of people he'd just escaped prison with, they were his to miss now too. Chronicling that many lives would take many, many "nights" like this. Even elves, with their hundereds-years lives didn't give him pause. The only life that he questioned could fit in his pages, is the one he doesn't think he'll ever write, the story of Byron Lennox.

Many years ago

Byron was the oldest of six children, with all the responsibilities that holds. After his father passed, he was offered a job at the local church, keeping the grounds. He managed to make enough to keep his mother and siblings fed. He began working on the headstones himself and eventually he became THE person to go to to make sure your dearly departed was treated well.

It was during one of his rounds of the cemetery that he met the new cleric, from one of the big seminaries near the capital. Percy was bookish with high flying ideas and a more novel approach to the rituals. Full of life and bright, Byron was drawn to him like a moth. Percy, too, for his part found Byron's words exhilarating compared to the boring verse from school. They fell head over heels for each other.

Things started to change when the traveling merchants started to tell stories about the roads getting more dangerous. Too afraid to camp in the woods, they refused to seek trades any further than a day's ride. Within a month, they refused to travel at all. Hobgoblin raiders were cutting off supply lines into and out of the town. They didn't ever pass the stone markers into town, but without supplies from the nearby villages and farms, famine spread.

The elderly and the young were the first to succumb. The deaths were so frequent Byron was running himself ragged trying to supply a proper burial to each soul. Percy finally convinced him that the need was for a mass grave; Byron shuddered to think of the piled corpses rotting together, but Percy swore he was going to do something for the dead.

More time passed and Byron had now buried each of his siblings and his mother. Alone in the world, apart from Percy who had become obsessed with finding an end to this siege and justice to the dead, Byron seldomly saw him out of the church library buried in tomes older than the cornerstones themselves. One night Percy declared that he had found a way, It'd take some careful study and math more akin to wizardry than divine rite, but he could undo it all. Byron had no idea what he meant.

It didn't matter, though, during the night the alarm bells sounded. The hobs had breached the borders and were sacking the town. Byron quickly threw on his long leather jacket and picked up his shovel, far from a knight in a armor with a trusted blade, but no less on a mission; Byron would not lose Percy. Percy was already in the library gathering ingredients and herbs that hadn't been fit to eat during the siege. Byron would make sure the invaders didn't make it onto the consecrated grounds of the church and yard.

The town burned, brightening the night. The church was safe for now, dark save for the amber stained windows into the library burning with candle light. A sign to Byron that his beloved was safe and alive. Turning from the warmth and hope of one light to the heat and desolation of another, Byron looked towards the town. A band of the attackers was now headed up the hill towards the church.

Byron was not an experienced fighter, but a shovel doesn't require an experienced hand. It came down hard against the skulls and ribs of the hobgoblins. Byron fought in a sort of fugue, having taken several slices across his body from their blades. It wasn't until he felt a heavy blow crack through his ribs and puncture the tissue he'd promised to Percy that he froze. A sudden recollection flooded through his mind as all heat left his body, each tender moment he'd shared with another. Each person he'd touched had died by now, Percy was the only person who would remember him, could remember him. In the windows above Percy, taking a moment to check outside, let out a wail that turned into a sob.

Darkness overtook the hill that Byron laid on, the invaders were in the church. As the creatures ransacked the reliquaries the light in the library grew brighter and brighter, eventually bursting out, shattering the windows. Silence filled the void left by the slaughter, fires burned down, the monsters, sated, left to wherever monsters go when the nightmare is done. The sun came up and with it, a staggered breath.

Byron bolted up from the ground, covered in blood, disorientated to say the least. The only thing on his mind, the only thing that could be, was Percy. Rushing into the ruins of the church, Byron found himself in the library. Circles and sigils that made his eyes blur were spread all over the floors and walls. In the middle of the room, prone and unmoving, was Percy. A knife stuck out of the robes he'd been wearing, he hadn't stopped the spell until his dying breath.

Byron stayed there, beside the vessel of Percy, for a long time. He wasn't sure how long but he'd noticed a sunset or two. He hadn't even realized he wasn't hungry, he felt nothing in those days. There was suddenly, at least to him, the sound of talking, shouts, and horses. An ironclad knight walked into the library, calling out, surprised to have found a survivor. He had been appointed by the church in the capital to retrieve a relic the church had housed. He surmised it must have been taken during the raid and asked several questions to the almost unresponsive Byron. Having gotten as much information as Byron had, he and his compatriots mounted their horses and headed of into the forests to seek what they saw as prey.

Shaken out of his stupor by the event Byron returned to what he knew best, preparations for the dead. The mass grave had made it simpler, as Percy had told him. Byron couldn't bring himself to put Percy there though. He spent hours carving a stone, more hours still a fine pine casket, and the longest time digging the grave, deep and even. A town, buried: a gravedigger, finished.

Byron walked out of town, intent on never returning. The walk to the shore wasn't exhausting like Byron used to think it was, instead it was meditative. As he heard the distant crash of waves on the stones, the sound of time wearing everything away, he felt peace. As he flung himself from the cliff face he felt a rush of wind. As he hit the waves and rocks he felt a now familiar rush of cold as life left his body. Hours later, as the sun set, he felt panic grip him as he jolted up: wet, sore, but alive.

Years passed and while it never made sense to Byron, things started to be clearer. Percy must have accomplished something that night, but certainly not what he'd meant to. Byron could never rest with his lover or his family. He'd never need someone to dig for him as he'd dug for others. The fear that had licked his mind that night so long ago would never come true. He'd always be able to tell the stories of others and ensure their immortality with his own. He began taking up the same work he had performed in his own town. Working there just long enough to not draw any attention.

Decades passed and Byron's body was much the same as it had been when he would lay in bed beside Percy, Percy's body had long since formed a rich soil that plants grew over. Byron had filled innumerable volumes with the stories of the dead. He'd studied and practiced the funerary arts of a hundred customs. On one day, which felt like any other, he dug a grave and as he dug the earth shifted and opened. He fell, a familiar rush of wind; thousands of feet below the surface, he stopped, a familiar rush of cold. He awoke, a familiar panic, in a dark cave, unsure if he'd see the sun again.

[solemnrosary]

1, 11, 20, and 25?

Thank you for asking!~ Oh you chose all the long ones okay we’ll be here for a while so buckle up :’D 

[1] If someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to? 

Hummm…Hercule Poirot, in any medium. I just adore that genre and Poirot crystallizes the positive aspects of it to me, he represents this patient and elegant guile that fascinates me to no end. I’d love to embody Poirot in that sense. I am a fan of Sherlock and miss Marple and such, but Poirot takes the cake. I also want the moustache. ALSO! Nick and Nora Charles from those old old black and white movies. They are adorable. Umineko no Naku koro ni is also, and amazing and aggravating and hilarous and heartwrenching mystery that I’d recommend. It’s hard to sit through, but I loved it and cried my eyes out at the end. As far as books go, similar vibe but more fantasy. I still love Runemarks by Joanne Harris (available in finnish too btw) because I laughed heartily at Loki’s introduction. Loki in general, when it comes to Prose Edda and such, really vibes with my life. 

Music is a bit hard to recommend, because I listen to a massively broad selection? Not kidding I have hundreds upon hundreds of bookmarks in tens of folders just for music alone. I have a larger list somewhere in the ask meme tag, but for short here’s a few I’m in the mood for today

Sting & Cheb Mami - Desert Rose  Martynas - Hungarian Dance No.5 in G MinorKATICA - ANIKÓ- FERENC- CSABA ILLÉNYI - Libertango Dance of the Damned by Peter GundryLindsey Stirling - Mirage (Feat. Raja Kumani)Dark Sarah - “Dance With The Dragon” feat. JP Leppäluoto 

[2] Describe your ideal day

Ideal day begins with a great night. No nightmares, preferably waking feeling refreshed, maybe even a good dream in there? Wake up feeling warm and fuzzy or ready to throw fists with the world! I’d wake up around 9 maybe, and remember to take my medication I’d have taken a shower the previous evening so my hair is soft as heck! I wouldn’t wake up at home, preferably, maybe at a friend’s place? 

I’d brew a strong cup of Assam with a dash of milk, chilling in jammies. Soak in the morning sun, listening to a podcast or some funny show. Maybe it’s a really fresh spring day so we could go sightseeing or visit bookstores or the harbour and cafes, or maybe it’s raining and there’s a huge thunderstorm so we just chill, play games, read, watch movies and joke around. Alot of tea, maybe ice cream, some good foods and great company, maybe dnd? Just, a good stress free day! 

Want to make it even better? Make that day after I’ve gotten rid of dysphoria and throw in some romance and voilà, I am a happy happy pumpkin. 

[3] Would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else?

Hmmm a tough one. Middle Earth is like, amazing but only if you get to choose who you are and when you get to live. And whether you ever encounter the WORST SPIDERS EVER. But that elven architecture has me horny so I’d definitely dig it. Also, hot elves. Narnia is way too meh for me, just, eh? Not very exciting, so nah.Hogwarts, AGAIN WITH THE SPIDERS WHY. Also, I’d want to be a ravenclaw and play with magic and stuff, but also I’d have to live in Britain with absolutely horrible magical ministry of bullshit and just fuck that noise. Also really dangerous and bleak in pretty much every way. Too real and too fucked up with house elves and shit. A big big nah. So woo I guess Middle Earth wins! I’ll just live in Rivendell and hope shit doesn’t hit the fan and I get hot elves to cuddle.

I swear it’s like someone’s baiting me“You get to live in this really cool fantasy” “!!! :D”“but there’s huge spiders in it” “!!! >:U”

[4] could you live as a hermit?

Technically, I could. I just don’t ever want to.

And I’m just gonna throw it out there, no one should. 

You need human interactions to retain a sense of self and sense of a world outside of your own being. 

Granted, you don’t to go out having parties and socialise when you feel like you don’t want to, but I think it’s absolutely vital to one’s sanity that you have the option to. An option to have autonomy in your relations to other beings, as long as it is not harmful. You can live with minimal human contact and a bunch of cats, or move into the mountains by yourself and stuff, but you do need contact. Be it once a week or however long, be communication method whatever it is you can and feel comfortable doing, mulling in only your own thoughts is not healthy. 

We need each other to survive and a community to keep us who we are. 

We exist in the relation to our surroundings, and without each other, we lose a large portion of ourselves and our values in the process. 

I think we all should have autonomy to decide how and when and why we interact with each other, and to correlate it with our own energy and ability to do so, without being pressured into it. So, shortly, to have one friend or a dozen, to speak or sign or nod or smile, do interact how ever and how often you wish, as long as you do, and can, interact. 

I’ve, unfortunately, gained experience into this field during my own life-R

[thebrideofmunson]

Pink Promise

Pairing: Dean Winchester X younger sibling reader(not in an incest way)

Summary: Dean is there to help his younger sibling after they have a nightmare 

Words: 2211

Warnings: fairly angsty, but still very very fluffy, a detailed nightmare, mentions of John Winchester’s parenting style, bad writing?, like one cuss word, a tiny tiny bit of gore

Note about characters: in the present scenes the reader is 16 and in the flashbacks they’re 6 and the reader and Dean have like a 13/14 year age gap so he’s like 19/20 in the flashbacks, there isn’t any gendered terms for the reader so it’s neutral(unless you count hair being braided as a gendered term, but boys can have braided hair cause gender isn’t real), and finally this takes place in season 5

Dean woke up, not for any purpose, just one of those weird moments where you randomly wake up in the middle of the night. He shook his head and began fluffing his pillow, stopping when he heard soft crying.

“(Y/N)?” He softly called out.

You were laying with your back facing out and your face squished into the musty cushions of the small motel room couch, a failed attempt at muffling your cries.

“Y-Yeah Dean? Something wrong?” You tried to play it off.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Were you crying?”

When you guys first got your room Dean cursed the streetlight right outside the window, but now he watched how it illuminated you as you dropped your head down.

“Nightmare?”

You looked up and made eye contact before slowly nodding a yes.

“Think you’re gonna be able to go back to sleep?”

You dropped your gaze again as your face screwed up and you could feel new tears form on your lash line.

“No.” You softly croaked out, barely audible over Sam’s snores.

                                                   ~Flashback~

You couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying quiet to risk opening your mouth. Once the sting in your eyes and the back of your throat calmed down you went back to sleep.

“Sammy?”

You screamed out running through an old grey house.

“No no no please no!” You heard him scream somewhere you couldn’t find.

“Sammy!” You huffed before taking off running down the hall you came from.

As you ran around the house you felt small and helpless, like when you got separated from your brothers in the corn maze at the pumpkin patch in Iowa, the one Dean took you to without your dad knowing.

“Dean?” You desperately called for your brother as your feet pounded against the floor. 

Completely unaware of your surroundings you ran, the only thing on your mind was finding your brother. Not paying attention to your surroundings you tripped, your heart raced knowing how your dad always got on you for that. You got up and looked down to see what sent you flying to the cracked floorboards.

“Dean!” You screamed

You woke up again, heart pounding in your head and toes. You stopped gasping for air when you felt your dad roll over next to you, holding it in again to stay quiet. Collecting your moose and your blanket, the one you got in Oregon when you were 3 and have refused to sleep without ever since, you slipped off of the bed as silently as possible. Your dad and Dean were fumigating a house in a fancy neighborhood so the only hotel available was a little nicer than your usual moldy motels. The vinyl floorboards stayed quiet as you snuck over to the door that joined your brothers’ room to you and your dad’s. You glanced at your brothers sleeping in their beds before moving their jackets off of the chair that sat in the corner. Dropping your blanket on the floor you traded it for the two flannels that were under their jackets and curled up into the chair. Once you were comfortable you finally let the tears flow, crying softly at first and burying your face into Mort the moose as your chest heaved more and more with the weight of your cries. 

 “(Y/N)?” You heard Dean call out in confusion as he shut the drawer of his nightstand. 

 “S-sorry for waking you up.” You tossed off the flannels and picked up your blanket, heading back to your proper room.

 “No, no, hey, hey, come here.” Dean moved over in his bed and opened his arms, lightly flicking his wrist to call you over to him. 

You gingerly padded over to his bed and with a little effort jumped up.

 “I’m gonna guess it wasn’t growing pains that woke you up.” Dean chuckled. 

 “Ok, I’m sorry, bad timing. Now come on peanut, stop giving me that face and come in closer.” He said shifting so he could comfortably open up his arms for you. 

You still continued to pout, but scooted into his embrace until your body felt lighter. 

“Sorry.” You quietly mumbled, it came out kind of funny because of how your cheek was squished against your brother’s chest. 

Dean pulled back and nudged your chin up, signaling you to make eye contact  with him before resting his hand on your shoulder. His comforting softness melted away as he turned dead serious. 

“Listen to me, do not ever and I mean ever apologize to someone because you’re upset. Ok?” He searched your eyes waiting for an answer, which you gave him with a nod. 

“Now tell me why someone broke into my room and stole my favorite flannel.” And just like that Dean pulled you back into him and your softy of a brother was back.

“Dad yells at me when I don’t sleep and when I cry and when I ask him questions, so I came in here to cry” Even your big brother’s arms couldn’t shield you from the sadness that entered your body.

“Well I’m not dad, neither is Mort the moose, and neither is Sammy.” Dean started.

“Sammy snores now, he’s old.” You shot Sam a dirty look even though he was dead asleep.

“Yeah Sammy is old now, he drools too.” Dean joined you in giving his younger brother the stink eye. “Now tell me, what has my peanut so upset?”

“Nightmare.” 

“Nightmare? Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean began playing with your hair as he awaited your response.

Staring up at your older brother’s face you thought about it. 

“No.” You wanted to say what happened, to get it out of your mind, but you didn’t want to tell him about how you saw his still body covered in blood with his stomach in shreds. 

“No? That’s okay.” 

You guys sat quietly listening to the traffic outside and Sam’s snores. After a while Dean assumed you had fallen asleep, but just as he shut his own eyes your little voice stirred him.

“D?”

“Mm, yeah (Y/N)?’

“Are monsters real?”

                                                       ~Present~

Dean watched you hang your head again before scooting to the side and opening up his covers.

“Wanna talk about it kid?”

Even in your sad and scared state a genuine smile broke out across your face, it was small, but still genuine. Without responding to your brother you kicked off the soft blanket that you had fought Sam for and walked over to Dean’s bed. Since motel beds are always oddly tall you had to do a little jump to get onto it, shooting a quick glare at Dean for being clearly amused at your struggle. Tentatively Dean opened up his arms to you and you awkwardly shuffled in until your head hit his shoulder and you instantly melted. The both of you sat there without a word, wondering what the other was thinking, unaware that you were both thinking the same thing. You thought about how long it had been since you two laid like this, both of you becoming aware of how long it had really been since you showed each other affection and comfort, and how after all of these years you two felt so natural. Neither of you took into account how the other’s muscles softened, how the past few years of Azazel, the door to Hell, your dad’s death, Sam’s death, Dean’s death, demons, vampires, and vengeful spirits all released from your guys’ bodies. For the first time in months neither of you cared about Lucifer or Michael or any other dick with wings. 

“Hey Dean.” You finally broke the near silence.

“Yeah?” Your ear being pressed to Dean’s chest made his voice sound deeper and you could feel his jaw move against the top of your head. 

“Do you remember when I was super young and we were staying at that nice hotel in Seattle and I had that really bad nightmare?” You slipped the comforter under your brother’s arm so you could fidget with it.

“Yeah I do actually, but how the hell do you remember it? You were like what, six? So that means it was ten whole years ago.” 

“I don’t think I would remember it if it wasn’t the start of the recurring nightmare I always have.” The first part was a lie. That night had been the first time you ever truly felt like you had a family, the first time you had felt comfort in your life. You could never forget that. 

“Oh.” Dean began to play with your hair, taking three small pieces and trying to see if he could still remember how to braid, something he learned because you hated how John would always cut your hair. 

“This dream,” you started, “it’s bad. It’s always the same house, this weird grey one with cracked floors and for some reason the walls are cement. It’s weird. But in the dream I can never find my way, it’s like a labyrinth and every time I get more and more lost the hallways get darker and darker. It always starts with me screaming for Sammy and he doesn’t respond, but I can hear him. I can hear him.”, Your voice begins to break, “I can hear him screaming no over and over again, like he’s getting attacked and then when I call out for him again he’s silent. So I’ll start running to find him, I guess I’ve always had a hunter's instinct. Then when I’m running around I trip and every time I trip I always get this feeling of fear about dad yelling at me for always being clumsy. But then when I. '' You stop, dropping your head and gaze so far down that all you can see is your own chest. Dean drops the chunk of hair he was twisting in his fingers and looks down at you.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, lightly squeezing your arm to ground you, something he always does when you’re upset. 

His encouragement only made things worse as tears began to fall again. Closing your eyes you take a quick deep breath.

“When I look down to see what I tripped over it’s you. You’re dead. Bloody with your stomach all ripped up, I never see the monster, but it must be something with claws. Then it just ends there. Tonight was kind of different though. Our ages are always different in the dream. Sammy’s voice always sounds like it did when he was 16 so I don’t think he changes, but sometimes I’m a kid and you’re a teenager like when I first had it or we’re both teenagers or we’re the ages we are now or sometimes I’m a kid and you’re an adult. But tonight, tonight I was 16 like I am now and you were a little kid.”

                                                      ~Flashback~

Dean didn’t know what to do, he felt like the deer that stopped in the headlights and actually got hit. He’d been through this before with Sam, but he had been older and wasn’t already upset when they had the conversation. He had felt guilty every time he lied to Sam about monsters and didn’t want to give you that same false hope, but he resented his dad for teaching him about monsters when he was this young. 

“I’m not sure of anything, (Y/N).” It technically wasn’t a lie, while Dean was sure that monsters existed he wasn’t sure of what to tell you.

“Well actually no, I am sure of one thing. Nothing and I mean nothing, no man, no woman, no animal, and sure as hell no monsters will ever hurt you because you are strong and I will kick their butt if they even try.” Dean meant that fully, he’s meant that since the day his dad sat him and Sam down to tell them they have a little sibling.

“Pink promise?” You said looking up at Dean.

“Pink promise?” He pulled back and questioned you.

“A pink promise.” You huffed, freeing your arm out from under Dean’s and extending your pinky finger.

“Oohh, a pinky promise.” Dean held up his arm and extended his own pinky.

“No, it’s pink promise.” You pulled your hand back.

“Ok, I pink promise that nothing will ever hurt you.” And to that you guys joined pinkies.

                                                     ~Present~

You begin to quietly sob into your brother’s chest. Dean put his hand at the nape of your neck and put his cheek on the top of your head and let you cry it out, as you calmed down he pulled back and kissed your forehead.

“Hey look, peanut. Sammy and I are not going anywhere, we will always be with you, ok. A lot is going on right now and it will all be okay, we’ve gotten out of so many situations that we shouldn’t have and this one will be no different. I pink promise.” Dean raised up his arm and extended his pinky.

“Oh fuck off.” You lightly hit his hand. 

Unfazed Dean kept his hand up and smugly smiled down at you. You sigh and extend your own pinky. As your fingers wrapped around each other your annoyed façade broke, your smile was joined by a few tears.

“Pink promise.”

A/N: So hey, your local forest wench here. This is definitely different from other stuff I post. I’ve never written a fanfiction before(so basically sorry if it’s not too good and please be patient with me), but I do read a lot of of it and maladaptive daydream a lot so I always have plenty of ideas. I came up with this idea this morning and really liked it, thought that maybe other people would like it and that it would be kind of greedy to keep it to myself. I’m actually really insanely proud of this ngl. If people like this and I feel comfortable, I might even write some more in the future.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[tobesolonely]

queen anne’s coffee

A/N: hello everyone! I am not D/deaf or Hard of Hearing. However, this was requested more than once I wanted to do my best to provide. In this story, Y/N is a part of the Deaf community. if I have misrepresented the Deaf community in any way or wrote something inaccurate or offensive, then please DO NOT hesitate to let me know (respectfully, of course!) i wanted to fulfill this person’s request and be as inclusive as i could, as i don’t typically see stories with a Deaf!reader. shes short and sweet but i hope you all enjoy anyway! as always, feedback is very much welcomed and appreciated! :)

Summary: Y/N visits Harry’s coffee shop every Tuesday and Thursday and always orders the same thing. Harry HAS to get to know her!!!

word count: ~1.7k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Every Tuesday and Thursday at exactly 3:50 PM, Y/N placed an online order that consisted of an iced chai tea latte with oat milk and a butter croissant from Harry’s coffee shop, Queen Anne’s Coffee.

Y/N never forgot to add, “warmed up pls! thank you :)” in the section for comments, and she always tipped. She would then come into Harry’s shop approximately ten minutes later, walk up to the ‘pickup’ counter, grab her items, smile at Harry, and promptly leave. Harry never even so much as said hello to her, but he was irrevocably captivated––even if she was a complete stranger.

Harry decided that when Y/N came in today for her usual, he’d finally talk to her.

Business had been unusually slow for a Thursday afternoon but Harry didn’t mind–when Y/N came in, he’d be able to have a proper chat with her without having to rush the conversation along to help other customers. His gaze kept floating up to the cat-shaped clock hanging above the door, anxiously awaiting 3:50 PM when Y/N’s order would come through on the iPad and he got to read the words, “warmed up pls! thank you :)”

Harry didn’t know why he was so nervous to speak to her. As the owner of his very own coffee shop (and it’s only employee), he got to know the people who came in regularly well, even developing genuine friendships with some. It bothered Harry that this beautiful person gave him business two days a week and the only thing he knew about her was her name, which is only because he can see it when she places her order online.

When the iPad Harry keeps plugged up atop the counter chimes, he doesn’t even have to glance at it to know it was Y/N but he does anyway, feelings of excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He was finally going to talk to her! Harry contemplates scribbling his number on the side of her cup as he’s writing her name but decides against it, not wanting to be too forward before they even formally meet.

When Y/N comes in ten minutes later, Harry can immediately sense something is wrong. She hardly looks up once as she shuffles from the door to the counter, hoodie pulled up and drawn tight over her head.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N doesn’t look up or even acknowledge the fact that Harry spoke. Even though there’s only two other people in the shop besides them, Harry figures she might think he was talking to someone else and addresses her by name.

“Y/N?”

She still doesn’t address Harry as she gives him a small smile before hurriedly exiting the shop, the bell above the door signaling her exit.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

When Tuesday comes, Harry’s out of bed before his alarm jolts him from his dreams.

He thought about Y/N all weekend as he impatiently awaited Tuesday’s arrival, excited over the prospect of finally seeing her again. He hoped she was doing better today than she was last week, and he really hoped she was in the mood to chat with him today.

Harry’s grateful the shop is busy today. It helps to keep his mind off of Y/N, and his eyes off the clock. When the iPad chimes at 3:50 on the dot, Harry decides he’ll wait until she comes in to prepare her order. It didn’t take him over two minutes, anyway. He figures this will give him a bit more time to chat with her, at least say hello and see if she’s doing better.

Much to his pleasure, Y/N has a big smile on her face when she bursts through the door ten minutes later. She floats to the pickup counter, then furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she looks up at Harry.

“Sorry, I’m working on your order right now,” Harry grabs a purple marker off the counter, scribbling Y/N’s name on the cup used for iced drinks. “How’s your day so far?”

Harry watches as Y/N cocks her head to the side in confusion, then pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. She quickly types something before holding her phone out for Harry to take.

“I can’t hear you! I’m Deaf.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he reads what she said. He now understood why Y/N didn’t answer him when he tried speaking to her last week, and he’s secretly relieved that she wasn’t ignoring him because she hated him or anything like that.

“I know a bit of sign!” Harry types before handing Y/N back her phone. He watches as her eyes skim his words and she looks up, a toothy grin plastered on her face.

“Great! This is much faster.” Her hands move quickly as she signs. “Did my order work or not? Wi-Fi is bad at home today.”

Harry realizes he doesn’t know as much sign language as he thought he did.

“OK. I am rusty.”

Y/N smiles at this and pulls her phone back out, typing what she just signed to him before passing it back to him. A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he learns she was just asking if her order came through alright, seeing as it was not yet ready. Too embarrassed to tell her he intentionally waited until she arrived to prepare her order, he just nods.

“I’ll have it ready in no more than two minutes… and refund you, too. I’m sorry for the wait.” Harry looks up at Y/N as he passes the phone to her, eyes not leaving her face as he tries to gauge her reaction.

“No!” Her head shakes as she signs. “Happy to pay. Thank you.”

Harry understands Y/N but refunds her, anyway.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Why do you always come Tuesday and Thursday? Same time?”

“Exams every Tuesday and Thursday.” The look of obvious dissatisfaction on Y/N’s face makes Harry laugh. “Your chai and pastries cheer me up after.”

Harry’s face turns red at Y/N’s admittance, so he instead looks down, pretending he’s distracted by something on the iPad. He decides at that moment that he will no longer charge Y/N for her oat milk latte and croissant. She was a college student after all––if her financial situation was like Harry’s in any way when he was in college earning his business degree, it would probably be beneficial for her to save her money, anyhow.

Ever since Harry and Y/N’s first real interaction, Y/N had been coming into Queen Anne’s nearly every day, school supplies and laptop in tow. She always sat at the table closest to the front counter, directly in Harry’s line of vision so they could sign to each other.

Y/N provided Harry with some much needed (and enjoyed) company when business was slow, and she was helping him brush up on his sign language. Harry learned that Y/N is Deaf; her hearing is completely gone in her left ear and almost completely gone in the right. She’s the only person in her family who is Deaf. She also hated eggs, is lactose intolerant (hence the oat milk), has two older siblings, is a master’s student, and a plethora of other things that Harry had committed to memory.

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoy.”  

“Who is A-N-N-E?”

Harry grins. “My mother. Back in London.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “London? Amazing! You must have an accent.”

It dawns on Harry that Y/N has never heard his voice before. “Yes. Are you from here?” Y/N nods in response.

“Whole life. Small town, but it’s home.” Her pinched hand moves quickly from her mouth up to her ear.

“Sorry. What?”

“H-O-M-E.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he nods in response, signaling for Y/N to give him a moment as the bell above the entrance jingles. It seems as if the few people who walk through the door act as a catalyst for others to enter, and soon Queen Anne’s is at maximum occupancy and Harry is trying to make several drinks at once while taking orders. He locks eyes with Y/N a few times and she gives him a sympathetic look, not able to do much to help him out.

Harry decides that once business dies back down, he’ll find out if Y/N is interested in a part-time job.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N was interested in a part-time job.

She was a fast learner and a hard worker. Harry was more than delighted to show her how to make every drink on the menu, and consume her failed attempts. It was nice having someone else behind the counter with him––he wished he’d gone about hiring someone to help him much sooner, but he was glad to now have Y/N by his side.

“So much chai! I thought only I drank this stuff.”

Harry’s gaze lingers on Y/N for a beat too long, causing her to shift slightly. Harry’s hand moves to scratch the back of his neck. “Yes. I like chai. With milk.” His hand forms a ‘C’ then closes to form an ‘S’ twice for the word “milk”.

“Regular?” One of Y/N’s eyebrows raises as she asks her question, setting a hot chai latte atop the “pickup” counter.

“S-O-Y.”

Y/N lets out a quiet snort of laughter as she shakes her head. It was the first time Harry ever made her laugh out loud. After hearing her laugh once, he never wanted to stop––it was music to his ears. “Not surprised!”

Harry’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Why?” His eyes remain on Y/N as she walks around the small area, cleaning up a small coffee spill she had earlier.

“You just are a S-O-Y boy, H. My S-O-Y boy!”

Harry’s cheeks immediately turn pink as they did the first time Y/N said something that flustered him, but he doesn’t look away.

“You’re my O-A-T girl.”

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Thank you everyone for reading!!! This is only the beginning of Y/N and Harry I think <33

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

F*cking up the friendship

Word count: 3501

Genre: Angst and fluff

Pairing: Wanda x Natasha x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol (let me know if I need to add any)

Summary: You sometimes forget Nat and Wanda are dating each other but when they go off on a date you feel sad and add alcohol to the mix, unable to fully control your words around them when they come back.

A/n: I’ve been in a huge wandanat x reader mood recently so you’re probably going to get spammed with a lot of these. Originally this was supposed to be a 1k words get together fluff fic that was suggested to me but then I added angst and other stuff so I decided to make the fluffy get together fic separately. Anyways I hope you all enjoy this, I spent hours yesterday writing so I could finish it in one day. 

You sigh loudly as you flip through Netflix, finding nothing interesting to watch. Usually on a Friday night you would be doing something with Wanda and Nat but today they had told you they had a special date planned so you haven’t seen them at all. It was a completely horrible idea to fall in love with your two best friends who happened to be dating each other but your heart betrayed your brain and now you were stuck in this situation, finding it impossible to get over the two most amazing women you had ever met. Spending nearly all your time with them did not help and everyday you feel your heart break a little when they kiss each other in greeting but only give you a smile. You know you should be thankful for their friendship, and you are, but it also pains you to know that there can never be more. 

You imagine what it would be like to share kisses and wake up wrapped in their arms. One time when you had fallen asleep on the couch after staying up late watching movies with them Natasha had carried you to bed and tucked you in and Wanda had said goodnight with a kiss on your forehead. You never talked about that night because you had pretended to be asleep but you replay it over and over in your mine, wishing that it wasn’t a one time thing. They are so strong, so kind, so smart and just so amazing in every possible way. It’s fitting that they are together but it also sucks to have to watch the perfect people have a perfect relationship while you pine silently, always trying to be a supportive friend. 

You try to think positive thoughts but you can’t help but wonder what they could be doing now which ruins your mood. Nothing on Netflix looks good to watch by yourself with nobody to make fun of cringy rom-coms with or to hide your face in during horror movies. It’s almost scary how much time you’ve spent with them recently and how reliant you’ve come to be on it. Come to think of it you can’t remember the last time they went on a proper date and you start to wonder if by watching movies with them you were actually intruding upon their alone time. You hope they would have been honest and told you if you were but they have always been nothing but nice to you so it’s possible they just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. 

Giving up on watching altogether you throw the remote aside carelessly, wincing when it bounces off the couch and hits the floor with a bang, and stand up. Making your way out of the living room and over to the room where the mini bar is you push all the thoughts from your mind, focusing only on the fact that you really need a drink right now. You don’t bother to turn the lights on when you enter the room, heading straight for the bottles and pouring some whiskey into a glass, much more than a recommended size. 

Sitting down on the couch you take a gulp. It burns and tastes disgusting, you’ve never been one for drinking but tonight you enjoy the feeling, not drinking for pleasure but drinking to hopefully forget. It takes about an hour before your thoughts get all muddled and you feel more relaxed. You slowly start to close your eyes and drift off to sleep when you are woken suddenly by a thump and a stream of curse words. You startle and your hand jerks spilling the rest of your drink all over your lap. 

Natasha and Wanda are standing a few feet in front of you. Natasha is looking at you with an expression you can’t recognize in your inebriated state and Wanda is clutching her foot, looking darkly at the leg of the coffee table. 

“Shit.” You mumble loudly, both at spilling your drink and at seeing them while drunk. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to still be gone and now you’ve just embarrassed yourself completely in front of them. 

“Hey, Y/n,” Natasha is at your side in an instant, cupping your face in her hands, “let’s get you cleaned up okay?”

Wanda is there a second later, hovering. “And then maybe you could tell us what’s wrong.”

“Nothhhing’s wrong.” You slur, standing up. “Goodnight.”

“No no no, you’re not going anywhere by yourself right now.” Natasha tells you firmly, grabbing your arm. You don’t protest, partly because you know they are both stubborn and will always win and partly because you secretly want to spend as much time with them as possible. 

“Listen to Nat,” Wanda advises, “can you walk?”

“I can walk.” You say, crossing your arms and trying to look serious

Natasha raises an eyebrow, doing a horrible job at stifling her laughter for a spy. “Show me then.”

You take a few steps forward, looking triumphantly at Natasha before you stumble, arms flailing out and grabbing Wanda to prevent yourself from falling. Wanda helps pull you back up straight and kisses you on the forehead.

“I think the correct answer to the question is no.” She tells you amused. “Let me help you.” 

She doesn’t wait for a response and hooks an arm underneath your shoulders to help support your weight. You lean into her and match her steps, frowning when Natasha hurries away in front instead of walking with you.

“She’s just going ahead to grab something.” Wanda whispers, noticing your expression. You feel your entire body shiver from the sound of her whisper in your ear. Luckily she doesn’t mention it and just tightens her grip around you and continues until you’ve reached their shared room.

You stare at the door in confusion. “What are we doing here?”

“Did you really think we would leave you alone when you’re drunk and obviously upset about something?” She asks rhetorically. “We want to take care of you.”

You’re glad she’s holding you up otherwise you’re afraid you would have melted to the floor from her words alone. She pushes the door open and leads you inside. Natasha is waiting and hands you a pile of clothes. You recognize the bottoms as Wanda’s favourites and the top as Natasha’s shirt. 

“For me?” You ask, confused. She had handed them to you but maybe she actually wanted to give them to Wanda seeing as it’s their stuff.

“Yes for you silly,” she says smiling, “are you able to change by yourself in the bathroom?” You nod, feeling slightly more sober now.

“Okay just be careful and call if you need us.” Wanda tells you before stepping away from your side. You already miss her warmth but you pretend to be unaffected and head into the bathroom to change. 

It takes longer than usual, in part because you accidentally tried to put both legs in the same hole at first, but you managed to undress and put the pajamas on. They’re soft and smell like a mixture of them and you will deny it if asked but you hold the shirt up to your nose and breathe it in before realizing how weird that is. Walking back out of the room you shift nervously, unsure of what to do with both Natasha and Wanda staring at you intently.

“Come here sweetheart.” Natasha says and you immediately comply, heart pounding at the endearment, sitting down beside her on the bed in between her and Wanda. “Do you want to tell us why you got drunk now?” You shake your head furiously, only stopping when it starts to make you nauseous. 

“No, I don’t really-” You get cut off by your own yawn, suddenly very tired. 

Wanda giggles. “Let’s get you to bed now.”

You start to pout, upset that you have to leave and go back to your room but before you can move she uses her powers to gently float up the bed to the pillows, pulling you with her. Natasha joins you and cuddles you from behind so you’re pinned between them. Your eyes feel so tired but you try to fight sleep, wanting to stay in the moment forever. 

“Goodnight Y/n.” Natasha says and you stop resisting and start to relax. 

“Night Tasha I love you.” You tell her sleepily. “I love you too Wanda.”

“Sleep well Y/n.” Wanda replies, giving you a short kiss on the top of your forehead. You feel so warm and safe between them and it only takes another minute before you’re fast asleep.

---

You try to move but something strong and warm is holding you down. Your eyes fly open and the first thing you see is Wanda’s face, inches from your own. Natasha must be behind you because you can feel her wrapped around you and her small breaths blowing the back of your head. It’s nice but you can’t remember how you got here so you wrack your brains, ignoring your headache. You were sad so instead of watching a movie you started drinking, then they found you and then they took you back here and after that-SHIT. Shit shit shit shit shit you had told them you loved them. 

You aren’t naive enough to believe they think you meant it in a platonic way, you never tell your friends you love them and Natasha and Wanda are both really smart and can easily tell what you’re thinking. You just hope that they don’t tease you about it because you don’t think you could handle anything but being let down gently. 

“What are you thinking about?” Natasha asks from behind you. You hadn’t realized she was awake already but somehow she noticed you are, she’s scary with how much she knows sometimes. As much as you know this conversation will be awkward and painful you know there’s no point in delaying it and it’s best if you have control over it. 

“That I’m sorry.” You tell her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She says gently, sitting up, understanding what you’re referencing. 

“No I do, I made things weird and I didn’t want to do that.” You say, hating yourself for the lump that forms in your throat. You start to untangle yourself from Wanda, trying hard not to wake her. This conversation is difficult enough with one person, if Wanda wakes up you’ll most definitely start to cry and the last thing you want is for them to feel bad or to pity you. 

“Y/n-” She starts but you interrupt her, not wanting to hear it. 

“I hope we can still be friends.” You say making your way to the door before pausing. “Please tell Wanda I’m sorry and that I need some time to myself for the day but after that I will pretend nothing happened.”

“Y/n, please-” 

This time you cut her off by closing the door. You run to your room. You don’t think she’ll try to follow and catch up with you but you don’t want to take any chances and you certainly don’t want the others to see where you’re coming from and your shame to get deeper. You are stupid, so stupid, you shouldn’t have gotten drunk and you should have kept your stupid mouth shut. Their friendship means everything to you and although Natasha didn’t seem like she would stop being friends with you over it things will definitely be awkward for a long time and you’ve seen friendships crumble because of it. 

Luckily you make it to your room without anybody noticing and you take a few breaths to calm yourself, closing your eyes. It helps for a second but when you open them again you’re looking straight into your mirror and you can see yourself wearing their clothes and immediately feel the tears start to come. You jump onto your bed and bury yourself fully under the covers, trying to stop crying because you don’t deserve to, it was your fault, and crying only makes everything worse, including your headache. 

---

Natasha shakes Wanda awake only to hear her groan and shift, attempting to fall back asleep. 

Rolling her eyes she tries again. “Wanda. Wanda. Wanda wake up.” Wanda moves slightly and lets out incoherent mumbles before waking up more and sitting straight up.

“Where’s Y/n?” She asks alarmed, remembering you were here when she fell asleep.

“That’s why I’m waking you up; she left.” Natasha tells her and Wanda frowns.

“Why?”

“Because we messed up and now she thinks we don’t love her.” Natasha explains. “She thinks that she ruined our friendship by telling us she loved us last night since we didn’t say it back and she left before I had time to correct her.”

“Oh crap.” Wanda says, thinking about how things seemed for you. From your point of view you had drunkenly confessed your feelings to people in a relationship before falling asleep with them not saying it back. 

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees, “I know we weren’t planning on doing the thing until this evening but I think we should do it now, we can’t let her be upset for any longer.” 

“You’re better at talking so you should get her while I set it up.” Wanda says and Natasha nods in agreement.

“Be as quick as possible, we will hopefully be there in ten minutes.” Natasha tells her before giving her a quick peck. Wanda sighs dreamily, imagining what it’s going to be like when she is dating both you and Natasha (provided you say yes of course but Natasha is certain you will and she trusts Natasha). 

Leaving her room Natasha quickly makes her way to yours and knocks on the door. 

“Go away.” You say and she can’t stand how sad and self loathing you sound just from those two small words.

“No,” she replies, “I need to talk to you.”

“Please.” You beg, your voice cracking in desperation. You can’t see her right now, not like this. She doesn’t listen, hating to ignore you but knowing that if she talks to you she can hopefully make it all better.

“Oh Y/n.” She sighs upon opening the door and seeing your lump under the covers. “Sweetheart it’s going to be okay.”

“No it’s not, I fucked up our friendship Nat!” You cry out, still refusing to show your face.

“No baby you didn’t.” She tells you, the endearment accidentally slipping off her tongue in her attempts to comfort you. “Please just give me a minute to explain some things.”

“Okay.” You sniffle, both confused and curious. You hate that you’re even a tiny bit hopeful at her words and you attempt to squash those thoughts down to spare as much of your heart that hasn’t already been hurt. 

“I would love to see your pretty face when I talk to you.” She prompts, gently lifting the edge of the covers. You slowly peek out of them like a turtle, well aware and slightly embarrassed of the fact that you look like you’ve been crying (which you have but it’s still embarrassing).

“There we go, that’s much better.” She tells you smiling. Even though you’re upset you can’t help but crack a wobbly smile back at her, her happiness really is infectious. She stares at your shirt as you pull more of yourself out from under the covers and you flush when you realize that you had never bothered to change and are still wearing her shirt. 

“It looks nice on you.” She says softly, reaching out to touch the hem before clearing her throat and switching into business mode. “I think you got the wrong impression.”

“I know I never should have-” You start to apologize, scared of her shift in mood. 

“That’s exactly what I mean.” She interrupts. “You seem to think that you’ve ruined our friendship by telling out how you feel but I can assure you that’s not the case at all and we are actually both extremely happy about your feelings.”

“Why isn’t Wanda here then.” You ask skeptically. 

“Because she’s in the living room where I’m supposed to bring you.” Natasha replies. “Will you come?”

“I don’t know,” you say nervously, “are you sure that…” you trail off, unsure of what else to say. 

“Y/n,” Natasha says and suddenly you’re all too aware of how close she is to you, “it will be good I promise.” 

As soon as she finishes speaking she leans in and her lips are on yours. It’s better than any of the times you’ve dreamed and it’s the perfect mix between hard and passionate but also soft and sweet.

“Wow.” You breathe when she pulls away after a few seconds, unable to think of anything else. 

She laughs. “Wanda’s going to be jealous that I got to do that before her and as much as I’d love to kiss you again we shouldn’t keep her waiting for too long.”

You nod silently and take Wanda’s hand when she offers it as she stands up and starts to walk out of the room.

“Wait,” you say just before you leave, “maybe I should change first.”

She looks over your (well technically their) clothes. “You are not changing, I like you wearing our stuff.”

You’re surprised to hear the slight possessive growl in her voice but it makes you incredibly happy. The start to this day had to be one of the worst in your life but it’s quickly becoming the best. Feeling as though you’re floating you allow her to pull you through the halls into one of the living rooms, the one you usually use for watching movies.

Wanda is sitting on the couch looking at the door when you come in but what catches your eye is the sheer amount of stuff around her. There are heaps of all your favourite candies and chips all around her and there’s a cute stuffed bear.

“Do you like it?” She asks and instead of answering you let go of Natasha’s hand and throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her waist tightly.

“I think that means yes.” Natasha says, laughing at your enthusiastic reaction.

“I love it,” you tell them, “I love-” You stop yourself before you tell them you love them again because even after all this you’re still not sure if that’s what they want to hear. 

“We love you too Y/n.” Wanda says and you sigh in both happiness and relief at her words. “Nat do you want to give her the thing now?”

You pull away from Wanda to look over at Natasha, curious as to what the thing is. Natasha picks up a small red jewelry box from the table that you hadn’t noticed earlier in your excitement and hands it to you. They both watch as you open it, suddenly nervous that you won’t like it.

You open it up to see a necklace with two charms on it and two charms that are identical lying beside it. Upon closer inspection you gasp, recognizing the the letter charms n and w as the same ones Natasha and Wanda wore on their necklaces, reminding them of each other. The charms lying beside it are the first letter of your name, presumably for them to add to their necklace. You feel yourself tear up at how sweet and thoughtful this gesture is. 

Wanda breaks the silence first. “This is what we were doing yesterday and it took all day because they were custom made so we wanted it done by the same person so it would look the same. We thought it would be nice for us to give you this when we officially asked you out so you don’t feel like an outsider or anything because we really like you and want things to go well.”

“What she’s trying to say is will you go out with us.” Natasha says, halting Wanda’s rambling. 

Wanda smiles sheepishly. “What she said.”

You slowly look up, careful not to let any tears fall and launch yourself into their arms, pulling whatever part of them you are holding towards you. 

“I think you already know the answer by now but I would love to.” You say, still trying to get as close to them as possible. They wrap their arms around you tightly and moving together they lift you a few steps to the couch and plop you down, sitting and cuddling on either side of you.

“Today’s movie day and we’ll take you on a proper date tomorrow.” Natasha promises and you hum happily in reply. You don’t care at all about what type of dates you go on or even if you go on them at all because you’re dating the two most amazing women in the world and that’s a high you’re going to be riding for a long time, possibly forever.

---

Taglist: @cherryblossomskye @aaron-despair @thewidowsghost @nyx-aira @stephanieromanoff @stop-drop-and-drumroll @peggycarter-steverogers @casperlikej @redswing​ @mxxnmocha​ @king-star​ 

[honeytae]

if you’re open for regular requests i’d love to request lil scenarios of the boys learning english alongside their english-speaking s/o! this is totally self-indulgent i’m doing the TEFL program and i’m going to south korea next year to teach :)

first of all, that’s amazing omg!! congratulations my love, i hope you have the best time over there and please don’t be shy in sharing your stories with us!!! i tried to stick to the boys actually learning english with their s/o but i strayed from that with a few members just bc i ran out of ideas lol but i hope you still enjoy!

fair warning....i’ve never ~seriously~ tried to learn korean, so i’m not entirely certain of the parallels between korean and english. i just hope these are wholesome enough to override that lmao

namjoon:

“You know,” Namjoon looked up from his phone, “I understand expanding your vocabulary, but why are there so many weird slang words?”

“Kids these days?” You shrugged, the man chuckling in response before flipping his phone around to show you what had puzzled him.

“If something slaps, that’s...good?” He wondered, watching as you suppressed a smile at the tweet he was showing you.

You could tell by the profile picture that the user was an ARMY, one of the many fan profiles on the platform, and the tweet was written completely in English.

Although there was a ‘Translate to Korean’ option readily available with just a tap of his thumb, you knew Namjoon never missed an opportunity to challenge himself to be able to fully comprehend what a native English speaker was trying to say.

You nearly snorted at the tweet’s content, smiling as you read it out loud.

“The Dis-ease bridge just saved my life. Seriously, this song slaps.”

Glancing at Namjoon, he raised his eyebrows, eagerly waiting for you to translate and explain what that could equate to in Korean.

“It’s definitely a good thing, Joon. They love it.”

At your interpretation, Namjoon grinned, nodding to himself as he pulled his phone back in front of his face to scroll through more reaction tweets to the new album release.

seokjin:

“What the hell is that?”

You picked your head up from your sketchbook when you heard Seokjin whine from beside you, eyebrows knitting together at his distressed tone. Taking a glance over at his laptop screen, you found his mouse bouncing from letter to letter on one of his weekly english lessons.

“What is that, like 15 letters? How do you even use that in a sentence?” He went on, obviously flustered by the word on the screen.

Pulchritudinous.

You placed your hand over his to stop his panicked counting of the letters, causing him to look over at you with a sigh as he frowned.

You nearly giggled at his reaction, but the genuine fear in his eyes made you stifle it as you soothingly held his hands in yours. 

“It’s just an over complicated way of saying beautiful. I don’t know why they’re teaching you that, nobody ever uses it.” You assured him, his eyes going down in size a bit at your words before he nodded.

Watching as a smirk tilted his lips, you raised your brows at the sudden expression.

“What?”

“Well like, I could say I’m...that?” He said, eyebrows raised cockily as he gestured to the long word stretched across the screen.

“Well it’s actually not used like,” you paused, giving in with a shrug as you grinned back at him.

“Sure, love.”

yoongi:

“Why did I skip English class all the time?” Yoongi sighed, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers as he plucked at the skin in frustration.

“Because you were trying to be a rebel.” You answered without looking up from your phone, the man obviously not liking your answer as he reached over to where you were laying beside him to pinch at your hip.

Yelping, you scooted across the mattress to get away from his hand, whining his name with a scoff before looking over at his notepad.

“What are you doing, anyway?” You asked, leaning on your palm as you scanned the rows of scribbled English letters written on the page.

“I’m trying to get better at writing.” He admitted shyly, a small grin on his face to match the fond one on your own. 

“Aw,” you pouted, Yoongi raising his eyebrows at your tone, “but I like your chicken scratch.”

“You’re such a brat.” He chuckled, adjusting the velcro on his brace with a grunt.

Since Yoongi’s shoulder surgery took away obvious straining activities like dancing and performing, he’d turned to studying English from the comfort of your bed during his recovery as one of the only safe activities he could partake in for a while.

It was now one of his favorite past times, learning new words and phrases he could potentially use in the future. It worked for you both because it took his mind off the pain and kept him motivated, and since you could speak both his and your language, you could help him out whenever he got stuck on something.

Usually he did lessons verbally on his phone, but it seemed today he had taken the old fashioned route.

“Your handwriting really isn’t bad, Yoongs.” You observed, the carefully placed tails at the end of each ‘a’ making you smile out of fondness for the man.

“My man has the prettiest handwriting.” You cooed, pushing a strand of his stark black hair out of his eyes as he blushed down at his notebook.

“Stop that.”

hoseok:

“Hey, babe?” Hoseok called for you, listening to your footsteps growing closer before you popped your head into the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m having a little trouble.” He gestured to his open laptop on the counter, you recognizing it as an assignment from his English course.

“What happened?”

“Pronouns. Pronouns happened.” He pouted, his disdain for the new chapter quite obvious as he stared down his computer screen.

“What about them?” You asked, stepping closer to the man sitting at the kitchen island and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I need to make ten sentences using proper pronouns and I feel like I’m doing it all wrong.” He explained, causing you to hum as you looked over his sentences.

“These look great, Hobi.” You smiled as you glanced over the first three he’d written, flawlessly executed on the document.

“Can you help me with the next one?” He wondered, you nodding your head as you took a seat on the stool next to his.

“What do you want the next one to say?” You asked, watching as he glanced off to the side in thought, slightly squinting his eyes at the tile floor beneath the sink.

“My house is next to,” He spoke in English, pausing as he searched his brain for what pronoun to put next.

“Theys?” He answered as more of a question, then shaking his head as he switched back to Korean, “wait, no.” He sighed, placing his chin in his hand in thought before glancing over to you.

“I know it’s wrong, I just don’t know what the right answer is instead.” He explained, you shooting him a loving smile as you pushed the dark raven hair off his forehead and pressed a kiss to the newly revealed skin.

“I’ll help you, Sunshine. No worries.”

jimin:

Flopping onto the bed, you let your tired body fall on top of Jimin’s hoodie clad chest, his arm encircling your body as he mumbled a soft greeting to you.

“Hm, what are you learning about today?” You nuzzled into his chest, peering at his phone propped up on his thigh.

“Animals. Birds, mostly.” He answered, briefly turning from the screen to press a kiss to your head before focusing back on the row of English words matched with pictures of popular birds glowing from the device.

The first was a robin, the next a blue jay, and then a dove.

You listened as the virtual instructor prompted Jimin to repeat after her, spelling out the letters before stating the whole word. You smiled as your boyfriend followed instruction, pronouncing the words the best he could after the microphone chimed for him to do so.

“D-o-v-e. Dove.”

“Dove.” He repeated, smiling to himself as the app announced he got the point with a little heart.

“That’s cute.” He went back to his native language, you humming in confusion as you lifted your head up off his chest to look at him.

“The heart?” You asked, reaching up to twist a stray strand of hair out of his eye as he shook his head.

“Dove.” He said again, making you tilt your head, not knowing what he meant.

“It sounds like ‘love.’” He connected the two English words, you smiling fondly at him in response before scooting up the bed to kiss the tip of his button nose.

“You’re so cute.”

taehyung:

Three knocks at the door announced someone’s arrival to your bedroom, causing your head to lift from the novel you’d been so immersed in. Taehyung was home, but you’d wanted to give him space because you knew he needed to work on lyrics for his mixtape in order to submit them on time. 

“Hey,” he poked his head in with a small smile, “can you help me with something?” He asked sheepishly, stepping further into the room when you nodded.

“Of course. What is it?” You set your book down, marking your place before closing it to pay full attention to your boyfriend.

“Well, I’m trying to write this verse in English and,” he trailed off with a shrug, “you know.” He finished, you nodding in response with a gesture for him to come sit next to you.

He eagerly walked over to you with his notebook in hand, lowering himself to the mattress before rolling his way over to where you were leaning against the headboard.

Honestly, Taehyung’s English wasn’t bad at all. He was insecure about it, but you’d never really understood what the reason for that feeling was. His vocabulary was more than decent, his comprehension was good, and his pronunciation was great for having such a thick accent.

But there were many times where Taehyung came to you for guidance, as you were a native English speaker yourself.

And so, as he rested his head on your shoulder confiding in you about everything he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it, you patiently took him through what would work and rhyme best, smiling as he hummed the melody to himself to see if the phrases would work in his creation.

jungkook:

“Baby, can you read it to me again before we go on? Just one more time.”

You glanced over at your boyfriend in his makeup chair, several employees bustling around the man as they attempted to get him ready to go on stage while they had him seated.

With his arm extended backward to where you stood behind his leather chair, he offered his phone to you while shooting you a grin through the reflection in the mirror.

Taking the device from his hand, you opened it to the notes app where he’d written what he wanted to say in his statement on stage in just a few minutes.

You were in London tonight, which meant that all of the boys had been rehearsing their English so that they could communicate easier with their audience.

Jungkook, ever the over-achiever, was determined to do the toughest English tongue twister he could possibly find. Not only that, but in a British accent for his British ARMY’s.

“Betty bought a bit of better butter to make her bitter butter better.” You read from the phone, barely able to read the sentence yourself before you glanced up at Jungkook through the mirror again.

You watched your boyfriend nod as his brain took in the words you’d just said, taking a deep inhale before he began speaking the phrase back to you.

You gawked as the man effortlessly repeated after you, a few of the makeup artists stopping as well as Jungkook raised his eyebrows back at you.

“Was that okay?”

[donald4spiderman]

The City

masterlist

-

Summary: Reader is thinking about moving to California. Spencer’s determined to get her to stay.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Category: Fluff (angst if you squint)

**Inspired by Ben’s poetic confession in Parks and Recreations, S3E14**

Here’s a draft i forgot to post

-

**not edited yet**

Spencer’s POV

As a profiler, I’ve mastered the observation and analysis of behavior— we all have.

Picking the minds of serial killers is second nature— so why is it so hard for me to figure out why (Y/N) is behaving so strangely?

In the recent months, her witty and charming energy has dwindled into a lethargic imitation. Whether she’d admit it or not— (Y/N) can be extremely enthusiastic about certain things— especially our job.

So, when I watch her drag her feet, inch by inch, into the BAU each morning, It’s hard to contain my concern.

I know Morgan has noticed, and I’m sure everyone else has too. They’re probably just too scared to say anything. (Y/N) doesn’t enjoy people prying into her private life, so we all stay a comfortable distance away.

I watch her a lot... more than I’d like to admit. It’s hard to be unaware of her nervous behaviors— the nail biting, hair twisting, skin picking— I practically have enough data to make a correlation graph. I can tell when she’s upset, and it’s happening more than usual.

(Y/N) has always been kind to me. Even when I was at the peak of my stammering, slicked-back hair phase, she treated me with more respect than I deserved. I can only imagine how awkward I must’ve been (or, still am), and I thank her for not belittling me.

I guess I’m validating the Benjamin Franklin Effect when I say this— but I feel like I owe it to her to ask what’s wrong. Over the years I’ve built up (arguably) the closest friendship with her, so it only makes sense for me to bite the bullet for the team.

It’s partially due to the fact that I’ve developed a slight (if not major) crush over time, but who wouldn’t? A gorgeous, intelligent, quick-witted women is kryptonite for any person. Our conversations are always stimulating, she gives the best advice, and she’s always there to comfort a team member.

So, it pains me to see her struggle through a paperwork day. I wish she would reach out to anyone for help, but it’s not in her nature.

“H-Hi.” I smile as I approach her desk. Her tired eyes look up at me, and she smiles back.

“Hey, Reid. What’s up?

I rub the back of my neck nervously. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Morgan and Emily watching me struggle to form a sentence. They giggle as they watch.

“I-I was... um. D-do you want to get coffee with m-me? Not now! I mean— after work!” Morgan stumbles out of the bullpen, barely containing his laugh. I must sound pathetic.

(Y/N) nods hesitantly, “S-sure. I don’t know why you want to get coffee with me, but I’m free.”

“Really?” My surprise shocks her. “T-that’s gr-great! I can drive you!”

She chuckled, “I think I’d rather drive us. I’m pretty sure you can’t drive a mile without hitting a curb.”

I nod fervently. “Sounds good.”

As I make my way back to my desk, I send a glare in Emily’s direction as she continues to smirk at me.

-

(Y/N) grabs an empty table in the café, and we sit down, huddling close to our warm drinks. She orders a cinnamon latte, I order a black coffee with an unhealthy amount of sugar.

I place the drinks down. “Did you know that cinnamon is shown to reduce systolic blood pressure. It’s commonly used in South Asia and works by dilating blood vessel.”

She nods, “Surprisingly, I did know that. You’re gonna have to teach me something else, Doc.” I laugh in response, enjoying the relaxation that radiates off of her.

“I feel like we don’t get to, um, t-talk as much as I would like to.” My words get caught in my throat and she gives me a lopsided smile.

“Well, we don’t exactly have the most leisurely job.” She states, sipping her drink.

I bite my lip, she looks down. I convince myself that my mind is playing tricks on me, because there’s no way (Y/N) would glance down to watch me pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

“I know... but you used to talk more.”

“I’ve been busy lately. Tired too.” She mumbles.

I mean forward slightly, my voice is a hushed whisper. “A-are you... okay?” I’m anticipating an defensive response, but all she does is sigh.

“I’m alright. I just... I’m getting tired of being here— in D.C.”

My eyes widen and my brows knit together. “W-What! Why?”

(Y/N) shrugs, “I don’t know. I just expected to feel... really, really attached to D.C when I first moved here. I love my job, and I love you guys— but nothing’s keeping me here.”

My face drops. My disappointment is adamant because she scrambles to reassure me.

“It’s not that I don’t absolutely love working with you guys. You’re my best friend, Spencer. But... I came to D.C to... I don’t know... settle down.” It comes out as more of a question rather a statement. “It’s sounds weird, right? Me, settling down?” She laughs. “I-I don’t mean a husband and a family necessarily. I moved here because I wanted to belong somewhere.”

“You don’t feel like you belong?”

“I feel... I feel like everything I have right now is temporary. It’s not the feeling I expected to have. I just want to have something permanent in my life for once.”

I remain silent, lacking the proper response.

“Please don’t tell anyone!” She pleaded.

I smile solemnly, “I won’t. I promise.”

In that moment, I make another promise. Not just to (Y/N), but to myself. I’m going to show her how many things she has here for her in D.C.

I’m going to prove how much I believe she belongs.

-

I started by bringing her coffee each morning— a cinnamon latte from the same café we went to.

The first time she seemed pleasantly surprised. I sped through the doors of the bullpen, my coat and slacks absolutely soaked due to the rainy D.C weather. She giggled at the sight of my hair plastered to my forehead. I was certain that I looked like a wet dog.

“Morning!” I greeted, placing down both cups of coffee on her desk so I could fix my hair. “I-uh-I got you coffee. A cinnamon latte, of course.”

(Y/N) smiles brightly, “You’re the best. Thanks, Reid. I definitely needed this.”

Hotch and Rossi are watching me curiously, pretending not to look up from their files. At this moment, I could care less.

“It’s n-nothing.” Suddenly I’m blushing furiously under the weight of her stare.

“Thanks, again.” She clears her throat, “Y-you’re a really good friend.”

She smiles. And I smile.

-

In the next three weeks, (Y/N) and I grow closer at a rate faster then ever. I try to do something small for her everyday. Finishing up a file for her; Bringing her coffee or water; Sitting next to her on the jet. It appears to be working— she looks much more relaxed and happy. Her sarcastic humor is back and she engages more with the team.

We’ve decided to hang out after today. I find myself enjoying every minute with her, even if all we do is talk, eat, and walk around aimlessly. I’m sure she’s tired of me, but my infatuation with her only grows.

Tonight, we’re sitting at the park, watching people on their late night jogs, dog walkers, babysitters. We finished eating Indian food at a local restaurant. Turns out we’re both regulars at the same place, it’s a shame we haven’t run into each other.

She’s sitting criss-cross on the bench, her elbow rested on top of her knee. “You know,” She starts, “D.C is pretty great. I don’t think I’ve felt this... content in a while.”

I smile, even if it’s too dark for her to see. “Th-thanks. D.C is a great place, despite averaging 39 inches of rain annually.”

She means her head back against the bench. “I still don’t know. I feel like I’m just waiting for something. I don’t even know what that something is... a sign maybe?”

“A sign?” I laugh.

“Y-yeah... a sign. I’d usually make a pros and cons list and research the differences between the two places but... this decision feels too personal to look at it as just statistics.”

In this very moment, I decide to toss all my concerns, questions, what if’s, into the wind. This is my final move; my last resort; my Hail Mary.

My hands are trembling, and it takes me seconds to force the words out of my throat.

“W-well, besides the higher cost of living and considerably gloomy weather, D.C can be a p-pretty great place to reside. It has a busy political culture and is one of the most diverse states in the country.” I pause for a little longer than necessary.

“But, besides statistics and facts, if w-we look past objectivity, to me: D.C is where my friends are, and my friends are my family. Um... I like The City because it’s home to so many great people. A-and I know it’s hard to see the good in things considering how much violence we see on a daily basis, but certain people make me believe that things aren’t all that bad.”

(Y/N)‘a listening attentively, making me even more nervous than I thought possible. “D.C— The City— is beautiful. It’s charming. It’s a warm, cinnamon latte on a rainy day, o-or a late night walk in the park. To me, it’s home.” I catch her smirking a little bit, and I can only hope that she understands what I’m trying to say.

“Plus, The City is really good at her job. The City’s an excellent profiler. But, the city’s an even better friend, and an even better person. It doesn’t hurt that The City has great hair, and gorgeous eyes, and a perfect smile. And, she does this cute thing where she twists the ends of her hair, even if I keep telling her to stop. The City’s beautiful and definitely out of my league. She probably wants nothing to with me now, but I don’t care. I really like The City. And, even if she doesn’t like me back, she should stay, because there are so many people that like and love The City. ‘Cause who wouldn’t.”

(Y/N) is full on grinning right now, and it’s hard to stay patient when so much is on the line.

“Wow.” She giggles. “You really like The City.”

I chuckled awkwardly, “Y-yeah. I really do.”

“I mean, if you think The City’s so great, maybe I should stay. Plus, I’m sure The City likes you too.”

I feign confusion, “Really? I don’t know... The City can be kind of closed off sometimes.”

“Trust me— The City definitely likes you back. And I don’t think The City appreciates you saying that about her”

“Oh really?” I gasp. “Let’s ask her.”

I turn my head around, then proceed to look back at (Y/N) in the most dramatic fashion.

“Hey.” I laugh.

“Oh, Hi Dr. Reid!” She feigns surprise to match my frivolousness.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, b-but I really like you. And, a little birdy told me that you like me back.”

She laughs heartily, “Well, that little birdy is a pretty reliable source.”

Soon, her head is resting on my shoulder. My body’s stiff and the air is caught in my lungs, but I feel more content than I have in years. Somehow the weather is warmer, and the sun is brighter, and things just seem... better.

“This is a great city.” She mumbles, peering up at me in the most adorable fashion.

“Yeah,” I smile, “It really is.”

-

“Pawnee’s a really special town, I love living there. And, I look forward to the moments in my day where I get to hang out with the town, and talk to the town about stuff. The town has really nice blonde hair too. And, it’s read a shocking number of political biographies for a town, which I like.” - Ben Wyatt

[raggaraddy]

Say Please

Summary: When he's not giving you the attention you want, purposefully trying to provoke Taehyung might not be the smartest idea.

Trigger Warnings: Smut, spanking, BDSM themes, D/s themes.

Taehyung

Yandere! Taehyung Dom! Taehyung

You're not a child. You don't demand attention. You don't pout. You don't throw tantrums. You're an adult and a mature one at that. If you want your Dom's attention, if you're frustrated because he has been working so much this week, you know the best thing is to sit him down and tell him. Explain that you miss him and that you would like for him to make just a little more time for you.

At least, that's how it worked in your previous relationships.

But unfortunately, Taehyung doesn't accept that type of approach. You know what he thinks; that you should be waiting on him. That you should be patient and ready for him when he is available. And while you completely respect and understand how demanding his job is, you honestly hate having to take second place to every meeting, every phone call, every single little thing related to his work.

The only time you ever seem to get his undivided attention recently is when you do something bad. And then he puts everything aside to remind you of your place.

Sitting at the dining table, you're waiting for permission to eat. Permission you're not sure is coming. With one hand on his laptop, the other on his fork, Taehyung seems to have forgotten you're sitting with him. He has been giving the same kind of obsessive focus to his computer all day, and it's driving you mad.

"Go ahead," he finally says several minutes later, not looking up.

"Thank you, Sir." You mumble from the side of your face. Not really hungry for the now cold dinner that you made.

"How much," the words disappear in a whisper. You couldn't think of a way to phrase the question without seeming demanding, so you give up on requesting an estimated time that he'll be finished.

But after 15 minutes more of pushing your food around your plate, you're bored and frustrated. You're aching for any kind of attention at this point.

You stand, collecting your glass and plate. You know you're supposed to ask for consent before you leave the table, but you intentionally don't.

Although, your disobedience goes unnoticed by the distracted Taehyung. He only nudges his empty plate towards you. "This one too," he grunts while in the middle of typing.

Fine. If he isn't going to even notice you aren't following your rules, you'll give him something he will notice.

"Say 'please'." you retort snarkily.

He stops cold. It takes a second for Taehyung to realize that what he heard is what you said. Looking up at you his brows are furrowed, certain he must have misheard you. "What?" he questions, giving you the opportunity to correct your smart-ass challenge.

"If you want me to take your plate, say 'please'." You double down, focusing hard to stop your face from slipping. Either into a smirk or into a nervous laugh.

"Ah," he clicks his tongue. His eyes narrow a little, sitting straight he leans back in his chair. "You must really want my attention." Staring at you up and down, he can see your attitude on full display. Your hip jutted out, head tilted to the side like you're actually waiting for him to follow your demand. "Are you sure this is the way you want to get it?"

His question and firm tone makes you hesitate and think for a moment. But you've already played your card, so you're not going to back out now. Not when this is the longest he's talked to you all day.

"I'm just telling you to use manners." You shrug, your stomach filling with a tension that is somewhere between giddy and anxious. You can't remember the last time you were this intentional cheeky.

Pursuing his lips he nods slightly to himself. "Okay, little girl." He leans forward, closing his laptop. "Please," he sarcastically stresses the word pushing the plate in your direction, "take these dishes and put them in the kitchen." He orders through a restrained smile. "Then get your ass back here and I'll give you all the attention you need."

Your stomach flutters. Nearly skipping you hurry to the kitchen and back, fighting to hide a smile. You know you're in so much trouble, but god you're excited.

You come back to the dining room and Taehyung has cleared the chairs and decorations from the dining table. He calls you to him with a gesture.

Silently, slowly and gently he starts to remove your clothes. First your shirt, then your bra. Then your skirt and underwear in one. He leans you over the head of the table, pushing on your back until you are bent over flat.

He leaves for a moment, not needing to tell you to stay, you know better than to move.

Returning, he crawls under the table, working a length of rope around your wrists, tying them together. The restraint is tight underneath keeping you held flat on your stomach. Next, he moves to your ankles binding each one to the legs of the table. He pulls it so firmly that you need to lean further forward to stop yourself from falling off balance. By the time he is done, you are stuck with your legs and arms spread. Eager and anticipating, but completely helpless.

Swiftly, his open palm comes down on your ass. The sensation right away shoots tingles around your thighs and to your core. You let out a delighted giggle, for the first time in days getting exactly what you want.

Again and again Taehyungs large hand spanks you. Paired with the rub of the ropes, the excitement of being naked and exposed, and the way he gropes his hands down your butt and thighs between each strike, you are overflowing, nearly moaning. You're eyes watering with how good and needy you feel.

"Do you like this baby girl?" he asks. His deep rumbling voice flowing through you, only worsening your arousal.

"Yes," you whine. At this moment, part of you is wishing for him to just hurry up fuck you, and the rest of you is not wanting him to stop smacking you just yet.

"I know you do." he snakes his hand between your thighs. Your head jerks back in reaction, yelping at the sudden touch. Crying out as his fingers rub and stroke your dripping opening. "Do you think you deserve to feel good y/n? Do you think trying to aggravate me should be rewarded? Hmm?"

You can't think of what to say. You don't want to say anything right or wrong and risk him stopping.

His fingers come away and you can't help but whimper, nearly begging him to keep going.

Suddenly another smack follows. One that isn't like the previous. This one rocks you forward. And it's not done with his hand. You can right away tell what it is. From the sound, the way it stung. It's his wooden paddle. As hard and as unforgiving as it ever was.

You know this paddle too well. It's so hard and solid. It leaves massive bruises and welts and hurts so damn much. It's something Taehyung brings out when he wants to leave an impression that lasts weeks.

Moments ago you wanted him to play with you so badly, but right now you're regretting your decision to be disrespectful just a little.

Taehyung spanks you again, the hollowing thud not fully doing justice to the heavy blunt throb that accompanies it. He falls into a rhythm beating your ass with the paddle over and over. Alternating between left and right, but striking the same places.

No matter how you struggle against the rope you can't get any leeway. In a meagre attempt at relief, you would normally kick your legs or pound your fists, but this time you can't even do that.

Your ass is on fire. Too quickly it hurts too much and you start to cry. Shrieking with every hit.

"Sir-sir," you call back, too out of breath to make a full plea. However, to your momentary reprieve, he finally gives you a break. Setting down the paddle next to you. He circles the table and your despair flares up again. He is coming to you with a ball gag.

Your eyes go wide as you realize that despite the pain already being tremendous and you closing in on your limit to it being truely unbearable, he's only getting started.

"Too loud," he smirks, forcing the gag between your lips. He pulls the strap firmly catching a few stray hairs in the buckle.

He goes out of your sight again, picking up the plank. He brings it over your abused skin and your body begins to heavily cry in response. Your sobs coming out muffled as he swats you over and over. In spite of the attempt, you can't move your tongue or your mouth wide enough to speak or cry out through the gag.

Your ass is throbbing. The skin is hot and raw, and the muscles are deeply bruised. This crossed the line from fun to a proper punishment a dozen hits ago.

Chuckling behind you, Taehyung can see the gag working exactly as he wanted. "If you want me to stop little girl, just say 'please'."