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notlongtolove · 6 months ago

Text

a perpetual possibility

your whispered confession is barely loud enough for you to hear yourself, soft enough that he won’t catch it. your words cut through you, a blade sharp and merciless. you’ve always known you loved him—but you’ve never said it out loud. the knife twists deeper, making a home in your chest, right through your heart. this work is part of the burnt norton series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst...

content: mentions of a crime scene, blood and knives. brief metaphorical mention of self harm, no actual self harm. situationship core. again. very avoidant. reader cries in spencers bed.

word count: 3.6k

note: part 2 to time present and time past, but i guess it could technically be read as a standalone. this wasn't what i originally had in mind so that may be saved for a part 3. i don't know if spencer is actually allowed to show crime scene photos but lets ignore that shall we. a line: Your eyes dart from one thing to the next as though they might offer some insight, some answers. But you know you’re just trying to piece together a puzzle he’s never invited you to solve.

What might have been is an abstraction Remaining a perpetual possibility Only in a world of speculation. What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. - t.s. eliot

In all the months you’d known Spencer—takeout dinners, movie nights, shared silences—you’d never once seen the inside of his bedroom. The late and long nights that inevitably ended in bed always unfolded at yours. Tonight had been no different, at least not at first.

The rain had been relentless. You’d tried to call a cab, even as the downpour soaked through your resolve. He’d said he could drive you himself, a half-hearted suggestion with a casual shrug. But then, when the thunder cracked again, he’d offered to let you stay instead—offered, not insisted. There was a sharp distinction, precise and piercing, a clear-cut difference that’s not lost on you.

“This okay?” he asked, holding up a shirt with a faded Caltech logo. It was too big for you, clearly, but it would have to do. You hovered in the doorway of his bedroom, awkward and uncertain, like a child unsure of what to do with their hands.

“S’fine,” you murmured.

He set the shirt on the bed with a nod. “Right, well, do you wanna shower first?”

“You go,” you said quickly, cutting him off before he could object. “You’re tired.”

“Okay,” he said after a beat, the word gentle, his footsteps already headed toward the bathroom. “Just—call out if you need anything.”

You gave him a faint smile in response, waiting until he was gone before stepping fully into the room. It was heavy with his presence, even in his absence. You stood there, unsure if you were looking for something or hoping not to find it. His walls were dark, so unlike yours. A book sat on his bedside table, and you wondered if it was the one he’d mentioned last week.

You’re no profiler, but your gaze sweeps the room all the same, catching on every detail. The file on his desk—was that why he seemed so drained tonight? The handle of the left drawer, more smooth from use than the right—what was in there that could be so important? Your eyes dart from one thing to the next as though they might offer some insight, some answers.

But you know you’re just trying to piece together a puzzle he’s never invited you to solve.

So instead, you watch as he tosses his shirt into the hamper from behind the bathroom door, his movements practiced, deliberate. Nobody else gets to see him like this. You trace the corners of his dresser, run your fingers along the edges of his space. Nobody else has ever been this close. Not like you. You tell yourself it’s enough.

It feels like progress, though you know better than to call it that. A weak flutter of hope stirs, something small and fragile, and you try to stamp it out—not progress, no progress to be made here. But still, the voice in your head whispers: it’s something, at least.

You hadn’t planned on staying, truthfully. That was a hope you’d long since buried, a privilege you’d relinquished without ever quite consenting to its loss. Spencer had always been better at boundaries than you—he’d flirt with their edges now and then, but he never let them fall quite like you do. You’d learned not to expect him to.

That’s why you’d stopped asking questions—the what ifs and the if onlys—stopped trying to claw your way through the walls he kept so carefully intact. You’d used to push harder, searching for a reaction, any sign he still cared, that he could still feel, still hurt with the same intensity you did. But at some point, the not-knowing had become easier to bear than the risk of knowing. Because while you’ve made your speeches more times than you can count, you know if Spencer ever said he was done, he’d mean it.

You on the other hand, had tried to walk away more times than you cared to admit, each time thinking it was the last, that maybe it would finally stick. But it never did. Your words always faltered, teetering between resolve and hesitation, walking that razor-thin line between staying and leaving but never fully committing to either.

Your friends had their opinions—you didn’t need to hear them to know. You’d stopped willingly bringing Spencer up in conversation a long time ago. It was a quiet betrayal of silence, slowly keeping pieces of your relationship tucked away from them. Relationship, ha. Could you even call it that? You never thought you’d be the type to settle for something undefined, falling into the well-worn cliché of excuses: he’s different when we’re alone, it’s complicated, they don’t see what I see. You’d always promised yourself you wouldn’t be the girl who believed that the good moments could somehow outweigh the bad. But in the silence of moments together, when his walls softened just enough, it was impossible to believe this was anything other than love.

Even if he couldn’t say it. Even if you’d both agreed to be ‘just friends’. You knew.

It was in the way his hands lingered at your waist now, pulling you closer, his damp hair curling against his forehead.

“Put a towel in there for you” he murmurs into your neck, “Think you’ll look good in my shirt.” Your heart stumbled at the casual intimacy of the words and you forced a playful shove, masking the hurt in your chest with a coy smile.

Spencer’s bathroom is nothing like his bedroom—The walls a cold, clinical white, pristine in a way that makes the small space feel even more like a shrine to order. Every surface is perfectly curated, free of clutter or unnecessary items—Spencer’s bathroom is most definitely nothing like yours either.

As you reach for the towel he’s left for you, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The signs of a long day are evident on your face. You can see it in the fatigue in your eyes, in the smudged eyeliner that’s long since run. Your fingers reach out instinctively, brushing away the evidence of weariness before you step into his shower. Huh, who knew Spencer Reid was a cotton chamomile kind of guy?

By the time you’re out of the bathroom, the room is already casted in a muted glow from his bedside lamp. Spencer is propped up against the headboard, engrossed in the case file you’d spotted earlier, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose—an uncommon but always welcome sight. A rare treat for you.

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, towel in hand, your hair damp and tangled. You let out a small, uncertain cough to draw his attention, “Um, hey, Spence?”

“Hm?” His voice is soft, distracted.

“We forgot one thing.”

He looks up, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What’s that?”

You tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up against your thigh. The movement draws a teasing glance from him as you add, “Kinda need pants.”

A smirk forms on Spencer’s lips, playful and a little wicked. He stretches out the sheets from his legs and swings them aside, the cool air brushing against his skin as he walks across the floor toward you. There’s a teasing lilt in his voice as he steps into the space between you, his fingers brushing yours as he reaches for your hand.

“You know, in the old days, they just used leaves,” he says, his voice low and warm as he leads you toward the dresser in the corner.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking despite yourself, “In the old days, they also worshipped dung beetles.”

He chuckles, the sound low and amused, and opens the left drawer. “Red or blue?” he asks teasingly, his eyes expectant as he waits for your answer.

“Red,” you say, with a playful nod.

Spencer’s hand moves to retrieve a pair of red plaid boxers. So that’s what’s in there. You take them from him, your fingers grazing his. He watches, a subtle smile playing on his lips as you slip into them. Your damp hair clings to your face as you try to keep his shirt from falling off your shoulder. He leans against the dresser, eyes warm with a hint of amusement.

“What?” you deadpan, fully aware of how disheveled you must look.

“I was right. You do look good in my shirt.”

You scoff, pushing the wet hair out of your face, “You should know that flattery gets you nowhere, doctor.”

His fingers brush your shoulder as he helps you by gently tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “It got you here, didn’t it?” he said, eyes bright with that teasing spark as he leads you toward the bed.

“Technically, the rain did.”

He chuckled, a low sound that resonated through the space between you, “Hey, I offered to drive you home,” the grin on his face daring you to find fault.

You bristled at that, even as you knew he was teasing. There was an edge of truth to it that you couldn’t ignore. The rain really had been the only thing that had brought you here, with him, in this moment. This was the game you both played—one that kept the lines blurred, that kept you both on this side of real. And as much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, you knew nothing would change. Not really.

You clambered onto his bed, trying to distract yourself. The mattress dips under your weight. His side of it was scattered with case photos—splotches of red, maroon streaks, the cold glint of a knife. Spencer followed your gaze, his hand sweeping across the bed to flip the photos over, stacking them into a precise, face-down pile.

“Mm, don’t look,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

“M’fine, show me,” you countered.

“It’s pretty gory.”

“I can handle it.”

There was a pause. He hesitated, considering, before sliding the first photo into view. You exhaled. It wasn’t as bad as you’d expected—red smeared across a wall, stark against the sterile background.

The next one was harder: a close-up of a hand, blue and lifeless. Your stomach turned, but you pressed your lips together and didn’t look away.

Spencer hesitated again, his fingers hovering over the next photo. "Oh, come on. It’s not like I don’t know what you do," you said, voice laced with mock impatience. He’s not convinced. "Spencer, I’ve quite literally fallen asleep to you describing how Marquette dismembered his victims. In detail, might I add.”

With a reluctant sigh, he handed it over. It landed like a punch: A knife, buried hilt-deep in a chest, blood pooling in wide, dark circles. Your breath hitched. Okay, maybe this one had a little kick.

“Stabbed himself,” Spencer said, breaking the silence. “His wife was there. Saw the whole thing.”

“God,” you murmured, horrified. “That’s awful. Didn’t she try to help like, pull it out or something?”

Spencer turns to you, frowning like you’d personally been the one to stab the poor man. “You don’t pull the knife out when you’re stabbed. You’ll bleed out. Everyone knows that.”

“Oh.” The word slips out, small and hollow.

You sit there, feeling a little sheepish, like a student who’d just answered wrong in class. Moments like these always reminded you that you lived in two entirely different worlds. You’d never know the things that came second nature to him. You weren’t built for his world, and you knew it. You couldn’t help but think back to the pretty agent he’d mentioned once—She’d probably know better than to say something like that. She belongs in his team, in his world. She’d fit.

You know all about his team, or at least the fragments he’d shared with you. There was Penelope Garcia, endlessly chirpy and endearing. Derek Morgan was hard to forget, he teased Spencer relentlessly but loved him all the same. And of course, Aaron Hotchner, whose clipped, commanding voice you’d overheard in late-night phone calls that always seemed to pull Spencer away from you.

You wonder if your naive questions ever made their way into their office—the bullpen, he called it—as anecdotes. Maybe they’d laugh, just a little. But even that would surprise you. You doubted they even knew you existed. Probably not. Probably better that way, you told yourself.

“Enough of that,” Spencer says, cutting clean through your spiralling thoughts. He shuffles the photos into a neat stack and sets the last of them on the nightstand, “Get some sleep. I’ve gotta be up early.”

“Early?” you repeat, drawing out the word. You tug the blanket up over yourself, settling into his bed. The sheets are colder than yours, smooth in a way that feels unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“You can stay, though. Let yourself out whenever—you know where your key is.”

Your key. You’d never taken it back the last time you’d tossed it at him in a fit of rage. He hadn’t offered it back, either. Still, something warms in you at the fact he still acknowledges your past claim on it.

“How early is early?” you ask, peeking at him in the dim light.

“Six,” he says simply, settling into his pillow.

You glance at the clock, its green numbers casting a faint glow in the room. “Spence, it’s one. You have to leave in five hours?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, already tinged with regret.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Why?”

You hesitate, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” you admit softly. “I just thought we’d get to talk or something. I saw this video the other day, wanted to, show you…”

Your words taper off as he leans over and flicks off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. For a moment, the only sounds are the muffled patter of rain against the window and the faint rustling of sheets as Spencer adjusts his position. You stare into the darkness, blinking as your eyes struggle to adapt. The sudden shift is jarring.

“Send it to me,” he murmurs, his voice already softened by exhaustion. “I’ll watch it on the jet tomorrow. Promise.” Then, he leans over and presses a light kiss to your temple, warm and fleeting. “Goodnight,” he says, his breath brushing against your skin.

“G’night…” you reply, though it’s more reflex than anything else.

He’s already drifting off, his breathing steady and even, and you’re left alone with the rhythm of it. You try to follow it, to let it lull you into sleep.

You roll onto your side, facing away from him, and pull the blanket tighter around yourself. The video you’d seen earlier—the one about that experiment with memory or maybe the one about the stars—floats back into your mind. You’d pictured showing it to him, watching the way his brow would furrow as he concentrated, the slight tilt of his head when something intrigued him. You’d imagined him asking questions, diving into tangents, his words spilling out in that way only he could manage.

But now, in the silence, it feels like a small, insignificant thing. Not worth sending. Not worth saving. You feel like a small, insignificant thing.

Your chest tightens, and before you know it, tears start to spill over. They carve silent paths down your cheeks. You clench your jaw, willing them to stop, but it’s no use. The ache has grown too deep, too wide. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to contain the sob that threatens to break free, trying to force it back into its corner.

You let out a sniffle.

Spencer shifts beside you. “Hey, what—what’s wrong?” His voice is low, rough with sleep but laced with concern.

You shake your head instinctively, but in the dark, he can’t see you. You take a ragged breath, fingers brushing against the dampness on your cheeks, and will yourself to speak, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “I’m fine,” you say, a little too cheerily.

But then his arm is around you, pulling you closer, and you know he doesn’t believe you. You feel the warmth of him press into your side. He lifts a hand, tracing the edge of your jaw before settling it lightly against your cheek.

“You’re not fine,” he says. “You’re crying”. The words so simple, so obvious, that they shatter you.

You swallow hard, forcing a weak, half-hearted smile. “I yawned,” you try to joke, but the lie sounds thin. Even to you, it sounds pitiful.

“Why are you crying baby?”

The nickname stings. It’s tenderness wrapped in barbed wire. A small sob escapes before you can stop it, raw and sharp.

“Oh, baby.” His voice cracks just enough to make your chest ache. If it weren’t for the tears streaking your face, you might believe he was the one with a breaking heart. “Tell me. Please?”

A hundred reasons run through your mind, but each one is too tangled with a hope you’re too afraid to voice. You search for a response that doesn’t carry the vulnerability of everything you feel. There isn’t one.

“Nothing,” you whisper, though the tremor in your voice says otherwise. “I just… I’ll just really miss you.”

His thumb brushes against your skin as his hand shifts from your cheek to the back of your neck, the other hand gently tangling in your hair. “I’ll miss you too,” he says, the words a balm to the sting in your chest.

Not like how I miss you, you think. Never like that.

Spencer might miss you when he’s on a case, when there’s no one around to laugh at his inside jokes or split a pizza with him the way you do—You take his pineapples, he takes your olives.

But you? You miss him even when he’s right there, in the space between his bedsheets, breathing beside you. It’s the kind of yearning that doesn’t go away with proximity. Outside, the rain only grows heavier. You wonder if this is how it will always be—him moving at a pace you can’t quite match, leaving you behind in the moments you most want to hold onto. You wonder if he notices the distance growing, or if he’s already made peace with it, content to live in two separate orbits that only sometimes, briefly, collide.

He shifts, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is that really why you’re crying?” The stroking of his fingers in your hair has stilled now, his breathing evening out as his eyes begin to drift shut.

The question pricks at you, guilt twisting in your chest. He has to be up in five hours, and here you are, clinging to the last moments of the night and keeping him from sleep. You feel stupid, selfish even.

“Yeah, really. Just… got a little emotional—cause, I’ll miss you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a second, you’re sure he’s going to press further. But instead, he just shifts closer, his hand settling more firmly against your neck. His lips finds yours in the darkness. It’s a kiss that’s slow and deep, a rare kind of intimacy that stuns you into silence. You freeze, breath caught, heart drumming against your ribcage. It’s been weeks since you felt a kiss felt like this, something unhurried. But before you can process it, he’s already pulling back.

“I’ll be back on…” He pauses, his eyes drifting slightly as the exhaustion begins to pull at his usually sharp focus. You can almost see the effort it takes to keep his words clear. You picture his expression in the darkness—a little weary, brows furrowed. “Thursday. We’ll do dinner then, okay?” He continues, “We could go out—”

Your heart leaps before you can stop it.

“Or just stay in—”

Oh.

“Whatever you want, your choice,” he adds.

You know it’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s just that he’s so used to this. Still, the casual tone, the gentle shrug of an offer, it makes your chest tighten once again.

Before exhaustion fully takes him, his eyes find yours one last time, “you know you can tell me anything.” It’s a warm sort of reassurance that only threatens to bring more tears to the surface. You nod, blinking rapidly, willing them to stay hidden.

You make out a faint smile from him, and his hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers tightening around you. His thumb brushes against your skin, soft and tender, catching the last of the tears that dare to fall.

“Thursday, yeah?”

“Okay.”

And then he’s settling back into the darkness, his breathing deepening as sleep claims him. The silence that follows is absolute.

He’d said you could tell him anything. But how could you possibly explain anything when it feels like everything?

I’m crying because I’m sad that you’re always leaving me, again.

I’m crying because I’m angry that it took a storm for you to let me in.

I’m crying because I’m scared that whenever you go, it won’t be me you come back to.

I’m crying because I’m sad, angry, and scared—because I love you. And I know you don’t love me.

“I love you.”

Your whispered confession is barely loud enough for you to hear yourself, soft enough that he’s lost in sleep and won’t catch it. Your words cut through you, a blade sharp and merciless. You’ve always known you loved him—but you’ve never said it out loud. The knife twists deeper, making a painful, familiar home in your chest, right through your heart.

Your hand searches for Spencer’s beneath the sheets. The knife in your chest shifts with each breath.

Spencer’s right. You can’t pull it out, or you’ll bleed out.

So you decide you'll stay. In the silence, in the longing.

Because it doesn’t hurt as much if I don’t move, you think as you wrap your hand around his.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: j's lullaby (darlin i'd wait for you) by delaney bailey ceilings by lizzy mcalpine

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst

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brookghaib-blog · 13 days ago

Text

Silence between hearts - IV

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: After Project SENTRY fails, Robert Reynolds is declared dead and sealed in a glass coffin to be hidden by O.X.E. Y/N, a doctor who secretly fell in love with him after a complicated path between them, refuses to believe he’s gone—fighting to save what’s left of him while grief and denial consume her, the path to look for him would ruin her, but to what extreme.

Word count: 7,1k

Warning: self-esteem issues, parental negligence, death

Chapter III

Y/N had barely slept.

She’d left Bob’s room without another word. Just a soft parting glance. The kind you give when you’ve already said too much, and anything more might make you crumble.

Now, she stood in the sterile bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, her toothbrush hanging loosely from her mouth. Her lips still tingled faintly. Not from the pressure. From the meaning.

She turned the faucet on too hard. The water splashed.

She told herself to stop thinking about it. About him.

But the lie didn’t stick.

He’d held her like she was something he’d never been allowed to touch before. And it wasn't lust—not the kind she was used to. It was... longing. Slow, cautious. Honest.

It terrified her.

Bob hadn’t slept either.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall like it might provide some answers. His shirt was on now. Pants too. But he still felt bare. Exposed.

She kissed him.

And he kissed her back.

His heart had hurt. Not in a bad way. In a way he hadn’t let it feel in years.

No. Longer.

And now?

Now he didn’t know what the hell to do.

They saw each other again just after seven.

Y/N entered the lab with her tablet in hand, her hair tied back, white coat buttoned up to the collar like usual. On the surface, everything looked normal.

But the second their eyes met, something invisible passed between them.

Bob was already seated on the medical bed, legs swinging slightly, waiting like he always did for the morning checkup.

“Morning,” she said, casual. Maybe too casual.

“Hey.” His voice was low, quieter than usual.

She looked down at the file in her hands. “You slept?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

A pause.

She stepped closer, reached out to take his pulse like she did every morning. Her fingers touched the inside of his wrist, and for a second, it was like last night had never ended. Her hands stilled.

He looked at her—not intensely, but gently.

Like he was asking: Are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?

But Y/N didn’t meet his gaze. Not yet. Her throat tightened slightly. She cleared it and moved to take his temperature instead.

Bob said nothing.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he knew. If he said the wrong thing now, she might retreat completely. And she was already slipping into her walls again.

Instead, he offered her something soft. Something careful.

“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I liked talking with you last night.”

That was all.

Her hands paused. A beat of silence.

Then she finally looked up at him. And she nodded—just once.

“Me too.”

The day moved on. Tests. Readings. Silence broken by clinical terms and scribbled notes. But every now and then, something shifted:

—She handed him a glass of water and their fingers brushed just a little longer than necessary. —He cracked a joke about the ECG machine stuttering whenever she got close—and she didn’t deny it. —She sat closer than usual during their conversation at lunch. Not touching. Just... there. Present.

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

But everything had changed.

Their laughter was warmer. The silences were heavier. The space between them—the physical distance—felt charged now, like the air between magnets waiting to click.

And maybe they didn’t know what they were yet.

But they were something.

It began with a kiss. And then it kept going.

Not in declarations or confessions—those were too loud for the world they lived in. Their affection became a shadow, slipping between the cracks of duty and responsibility. Quiet, but constant. Never acknowledged in daylight, but always there—undeniable.

For days on end, Y/N and Bob carried on their secret like glass between their fingers.

It started subtly: she’d check his vitals longer than she needed to, her fingers brushing over his skin like she couldn’t help herself. Bob’s eyes would follow her when she walked across the room, his gaze soft, reverent, like she was some painting he was still trying to understand. At night, when the lab was dark and cold, they began to meet in secret.

Y/N had quietly programmed a five-minute camera loop override. It wasn’t perfect. It was dangerous. But it gave them enough time.

She never said why she did it.

And Bob never asked.

The first few nights, they only talked. Sitting across from each other, knees barely touching. Her hair would be down by then, her face stripped of the formal steel mask she wore during the day. Bob always looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like if he blinked, she might disappear.

Sometimes he would just stare at her in silence, then apologize.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t,” she always said. Even if it did. Even if the way he looked at her made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel here.

One night, she turned off the cameras and walked into his room, and instead of sitting on the couch, she sat beside him on the bed. It was small. Cold. Not built for comfort.

But it became theirs.

He reached for her hand like he’d done it a thousand times. Her fingers hesitated—then laced through his.

No words.

They weren’t ready for words. They didn’t talk about what they were doing. Not really.

To speak it into existence might make it too real—might make it vulnerable, and they couldn’t afford that. Not when everything else in their lives was clinical and cold. Not when the world around them was full of white walls and threat analysis and the smell of antiseptic in the air.

So they built a world inside the silence.

In that world, he told her things he didn’t know he remembered: about the time he was six and fell off a tree and cried because his dad didn’t care, about the first time he tried meth in a motel bathroom. About the months before Malaysia when he’d stayed in an abandoned building, waiting to die, waiting for his powers to consume him or the drugs to finally dull it all for good.

And she listened. She didn’t look away. She didn’t flinch.

She held his hand tighter.

She told him things too—though never as easily. She told him about the university lab where she used to work, where her theories got mocked until her father stepped in and suddenly everything she did was "a gift from a legacy." She hated how they never saw her. Just a replica of a man she didn’t even trust.

“I didn’t want to use his methods,” she whispered one night, curled under a blanket beside him. “But I didn’t believe in my own enough to stand on them.”

Bob touched her hair, brushing it behind her ear like it was instinct. “Then why did you keep going?”

Her voice cracked when she said it: “Because when I found you, I had a feeling I wasn’t wrong.”

During the day, they went back to playing roles. Doctor. Subject.

Cold. Professional.

But it wasn’t clean anymore.

Sometimes her hand would linger just a little too long when checking a reading. Sometimes he’d lean too close when answering a question. Sometimes they’d lock eyes in the middle of a room and both forget where they were for a split second.

Dr. Ilari noticed the change. He never said anything directly, but the way his eyes lingered on her longer than usual after team briefings told her he was starting to suspect. One afternoon, he passed her in the hall and said, “You seem… lighter.”

She only nodded. Didn’t offer more.

He didn’t press.

But she could feel the edge of danger now. The tightrope between what was growing and what would happen if anyone found out.

And yet she kept going back.

They were sitting in his bed again. No camera, no clipboard, no reason. Her head was on his shoulder. One of his hands played absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt. Neither of them had spoken in almost ten minutes.

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asked softly.

She lifted her head. Looked at him. “I don’t know.”

He turned his face toward hers, so close now their noses brushed.

“I think I do,” he whispered.

Their mouths hovered.

He kissed her again. Slower this time. Gentler.

The kiss deepened, and time lost all meaning.

Bob's hands, careful and trembling, held the back of Y/N’s neck like he was afraid she’d break—or worse, pull away. But she didn’t. She leaned in. Pressed harder.

Her shoes had already dropped to the floor, and now her fingers were splayed across his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin shirt the lab had issued him. She could feel his heartbeat—it wasn’t steady. Neither was hers.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence was heavy. Not awkward. Just... fragile.

Bob searched her face like he was trying to read a language he didn’t speak.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered, voice rough with something that wasn’t just shock—it was self-doubt, buried shame. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Y/N exhaled shakily. Her fingers lingered near the collar of his shirt.

“I know,” she said softly. “I wanted to.”

He stepped back slightly, like he needed to be sure. “Why?”

Her voice caught for a second. Then, after a pause:

“Because I think I’m starting to feel something. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Bob blinked.

“I understand,” he said. “I thought after a couple days you go grow tired, part of him thought that maybe this...was just another psychological experiment from you.”

She shook her head. “I was scared.”

His brows drew together. “Of me?”

“No. Of this.” She gestured between them. “I don’t know what we are. I don’t know what this means. But… when I’m with you, I feel like myself. And I don’t remember the last time I felt like that.”

He looked at her, stunned. Like someone had handed him something too valuable to touch.

“I thought I ruined it,” he admitted quietly. “After what I did that day. Hurting you.”

“You didn’t,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “That wasn’t you. And I knew that. I just didn’t know how to separate the parts yet.”

He stepped closer again, cautiously. “And now?”

“I see you, Bob,” she whispered. “And you make it easy to forget everything else when I do.”

Something shifted in him. His hand found hers again, tentative and reverent. “So what do we do?”

She let out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “We keep quiet. We don’t name it. We don’t plan ahead. Not yet.”

“And if it grows?” he asked, almost afraid to ask.

“Then we let it,” she said. “One moment at a time.”

He nodded, then leaned forward again—his forehead gently resting against hers.

“I’ve never had anything like this,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed to.”

Y/N’s hand slid up to his face, her thumb brushing across the stubble on his jaw. “Me neither.”

And then—slowly, tenderly—they kissed again.

How could everything go down so easily.

2 weeks after - New York

The heavy oak door creaked closed behind her, muffling the hum of the Manhattan street outside. The air inside the townhouse was still—unchanged from her childhood years. The scent of aged books, old leather, and her father’s cologne clung to the air like ghosts she never quite escaped.

She walked slowly down the hallway, her heels echoing against the hardwood. Every step forward brought memories she had long buried—standing by the doorway after school with trembling hands, waiting for him to ask about her grades, to see if she had earned his approval or punishment. The hallway was still lined with framed articles, academic degrees, newspaper clippings of her father’s accolades. Not a single photo of her.

“Y/N.” His voice rang from the study down the corridor. Crisp. Controlled.

She straightened her spine, walked through the doorway of the room that had once terrified her, and saw him—Dr. Marcus L/N—sitting at his desk, papers spread before him, a glass of scotch half-full in his hand. He didn’t rise to greet her. He never did.

“Father,” she said curtly.

“About time,” he muttered, not looking up yet. “You were supposed to be here yesterday.”

“There were weather delays in Singapore,” she lied. “I came as soon as I could.”

His eyes flicked up at her then. Piercing, familiar, and devoid of warmth. “Excuses. You always had those.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed. She walked forward and placed a black folder on the desk between them.

“These are the results of the latest testing. Neural response time, muscle adaptation, cognitive expansion. He’s stabilizing. The uncontrolled episodes have decreased in frequency and strength since I took over the project.”

Her father snorted, flipping through the pages with practiced speed. “Stabilizing,” he repeated mockingly. “After how long? Two months and he’s still barely showing what the serum was designed for.”

“It’s not just a serum. It’s psychological conditioning. Emotional triggers. This is a different approach.”

“A soft one,” he muttered, setting the folder down. “That’s what I read between the lines. You’ve been coddling him.”

“I’ve been rehabilitating him,” she said firmly.

“And how does sleeping in his room fit into rehabilitation?”

Y/N froze.

Her breath hitched—barely, but enough that he noticed.

“I have eyes everywhere, Y/N,” he said, with a smug look. “You really thought Valentina wouldn’t mention the inconsistencies in your schedule? The missing footage logs? You think you’re smarter than us now?”

“No,” she said, calmer than she felt. “I think I’m better than the methods you forced down everyone’s throats. You turned every subject into a corpse. I'm trying to create something alive.”

“You were always too emotional,” he said. “Too delicate. You want them to like you. That’s your weakness.”

She felt her fists clench at her sides. “He’s not just them. He’s not like the others. He’s surviving—he’s responding to this. He’s not disposable.”

Her father stood up, slowly walking around the desk. Towering, still. His voice lowered.

“And what happens when he turns on you again? When he snaps your neck in his sleep? He doesn’t love you, Y/N. He’s addicted to whatever comfort you’re giving him. You’re playing nursemaid to a weapon.”

“I don’t want him to love me,” she lied, trying not to let it crack in her voice. “I want him to live.”

Her father scoffed. “That’s why you’ll fail. Again.”

She bit down on the anger. The shame. The way his words always cut too deep.

“I’m going back in a few days,” she said. “I’ll be done with the supplementary files and analysis by then.”

“Good,” he replied coldly, already walking back behind the desk. “Try not to lose sight of your purpose, Y/N. You weren’t hired to fix broken men. You were trained to make them useful.”

She didn’t answer.

She turned and walked away, her chest tight, heart heavier than when she arrived. The house felt smaller now. Colder. She passed by the childhood photos stored in drawers.

Y/N moved up the familiar staircase slowly, her fingers trailing over the polished mahogany railing. Her father’s words still echoed in her head—cold and clinical, weaponizing every inch of her life’s work and threading it back to her old insecurities. But it wasn’t over. Not in this house.

She hesitated outside the guest room at the end of the hall—her mother’s room now. A soft classical tune filtered through the door, piano-heavy, somber. She raised her hand to knock, but before she could, the door flew open.

“Y/N!” her mother cried out, eyes wide, arms outstretched.

Y/N didn’t have time to prepare. The woman nearly crushed her in a perfume-heavy embrace—familiar and suffocating. Her mother’s touch had always been too much, clinging like guilt.

“Oh my baby, finally. I was told you arrived hours ago! You didn’t think to see me first?”

Y/N gave a tight, awkward smile, her arms barely reciprocating the hug. “I had to meet with Dad. Project work.”

Her mother pulled back, holding her face between her manicured fingers like she was inspecting a glass figurine. “Mmm. You’re pale. Not sleeping, are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Her mother clicked her tongue, eyes trailing down. “Your hair’s dull. And what are you wearing?” She stepped back slightly, waving her hands at Y/N’s plain blouse and slacks. “You look like a secretary. Not a researcher.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes a second time. “I didn’t come here to walk a runway.”

“Well, clearly. You could’ve at least done your lips. Or something with that hair.”

“Mom,” Y/N sighed, shifting her weight. “Can we not start this?”

Her mother blinked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, you used to be so pretty when you tried. You used to turn heads in this house.”

Y/N gave a dry smile. “Yeah. I remember. It’s probably why Dad ignored my science awards and only mentioned my prom dress.”

Her mother laughed lightly, missing—or ignoring—the venom in the words. “He’s old-fashioned, you know that. But you were always my little star. You could’ve done anything with that face. TV, fashion, even modeling.”

“I didn’t want to be looked at,” Y/N said under her breath, almost too soft.

Her mother didn't hear—or didn’t care. “But now?” She touched Y/N’s shoulder lightly, like she was brushing off dust. “There’s still time. You just need to take better care of yourself. A few spa days, maybe a personal stylist. You could still be stunning.”

Y/N stepped back, her smile completely gone now. “I'm working. I’m building something. That’s what I care about.”

Her mother tilted her head. “Working so hard you forgot how to be a woman?”

Y/N clenched her jaw and looked away, biting back the sudden rise of heat in her chest.

She’d come here for a week. A handful of days. And she was already fighting the ghosts that raised her.

“I’m going to bed,” she said abruptly.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive—”

“I’m not,” Y/N cut in. “Just tired. Of being dissected like one of my subjects.”

And without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out of the room.

The sun hadn't even reached its peak when Y/N sat curled on the old study chaise, papers spread around her like fallen leaves. Her laptop hummed quietly as she updated her final findings to send to the board—gene response patterns, neurological baselines, all the data from the last month. Her fingers moved mechanically over the keyboard, but her mind was elsewhere. On gold eyes. On the way his voice changed when he was tired. On the way they hadn't said a single word about what was happening between them, but couldn't seem to stop touching.

Then the screen lit up.

Dr. Ilari - Incoming Call

She blinked. Clicked. “Doctor?”

His voice came in strained, shaky. “Y/N. How fast can you get back to Malaysia?”

She paused, blinking. “Uh, I don’t know—maybe two or three days. I’m finishing the reports now—why?”

There was a long, breathless silence on the other end. Then—

“Bob lost control.”

Y/N froze.

Ilari’s voice cracked through the line like broken glass. “It just—happened. We don’t know what triggered it. Two of the doctors are dead. He—Y/N, he tore through the lab like a storm. We barely got him contained. He’s locked in his room. Still not responding. His vitals are erratic. Whatever’s inside of him... it's awake. We need you here now.”

She was already moving before the call ended.

Y/N slammed her laptop shut and scrambled to her feet, swiping all the papers off the table into her bag. Her mind was racing. This couldn’t be happening—not now. Not after everything. You promised to keep this one alive.

She grabbed her phone, throwing open her bedroom door.

Down the hallway—her parents' voices.

“Y/N?” her mother called as she appeared in the doorway, startled. “What’s going on?”

“Why are you packing like this?” her father followed behind, voice sharp. “What happened?”

“I have to go. There was an emergency—back at the facility,” Y/N said, yanking open drawers, stuffing clothes into a suitcase with frenzied hands. “Something went wrong. Bob—he—” Her voice caught for a second. “He lost control.”

Her mother gasped. “Isn’t he the subject you said—?”

“I don’t have time,” Y/N snapped. “I have to be there. Now.”

Her father stepped into the room, arms crossed. “You’ll send me the research before you go, then.”

She stopped, mid-zipper.

“I’ll email it to your lab by tomorrow. I’m done here.”

“You know that’s not how we do things. I expect a full debrief. In person.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes blazing. “You want me to sit across from you while you rip it all apart? While you tell me I failed—again?”

“You can’t run every time—”

“I’m not running,” she snapped. “I’m choosing. For once.”

He glared at her. She didn’t care.

“You’ll get your report. You always do,” she said bitterly, hoisting the bag onto her shoulder. “But this time? I’m not giving you the satisfaction of killing it in front of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” her father said, exasperated.

Y/N looked him in the eye. Cold. Certain. “And you’re still pretending you understand what I’m building.”

She turned to the door.

“I’ll tell you I failed over the phone. That’s what you want anyway.”

And without another word, she pushed past them and ran down the stairs—out of the house, out of her childhood, out of the old world that never saw her worth—and into the storm she was now part of.

Bob needed her.

She doesn't recall how many hours she was there stuck on that plane full of anxiety, her gut was telling that everything would be okay, but at the same time, she had only gone by two days how could this happen, she would only be gone by a week.

Her mind is foggy, going on autopilot, doing all of her ride and hours it took thinking about Bob and how he's suffering. Her team had received strict orders on what to do, but she had only schedule some trainning for him, knowing even if they wanted, they could hurt him, but could understand how to make his powers manifest and how strong he was getting.

The car ride from the airstrip blurred past her window like a dream she didn’t want to remember. The moment the vehicle stopped outside the hidden entrance of the facility, she was already sprinting. Her ID badge barely scanned before she was storming through the corridors like a hurricane, ignoring greetings, ignoring protocol, ignoring everything.

Lab coats turned as she passed. Some stepped back. They knew better than to get in her way.

“He’s in Operating Room 3,” a nurse called out. “Still unstable.”

Y/N’s throat tightened. Her legs pushed harder. Faster.

When the automatic doors hissed open, her heart nearly stopped.

Bob was strapped to the operating table, wires and sensors taped to his chest, arms, and head. His body was shaking—convulsing—his veins glowing faintly gold like molten cracks in stone. His skin was slick with sweat, chest heaving erratically. He looked half there. Half gone.

A team of doctors stood around him, frantically typing into tablets, adjusting IVs, shouting measurements. Panic radiated through the room.

“What the hell are you doing to him?!” Y/N screamed.

Heads turned. Her voice cracked the sterile silence like lightning.

She stormed across the room, pushing through the cluster of scientists without care.

“Move! Move!” she shouted, yanking a man away from Bob’s side. “You’re scaring him! You’re hurting him—get the hell away!”

“Y/N, he’s seizing—” someone said.

“He’s confused!” she barked. “None of you even know what’s happening—he’s not a machine! He doesn’t respond like one!”

She grabbed Bob’s face with both hands. His eyes were fluttering open and shut, dazed. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’m here. I’m here now, Bob. You’re okay.”

She stroked the side of his cheek. “I got here as fast as I could.”

His fingers twitched.

Then—

Flatline.

The monitor behind her let out a sharp, deafening wail.

A long, straight line stretched across the heart rate monitor.

“No.”

Y/N turned, frozen.

“Get the defibrillator!” someone yelled.

People rushed forward—but Y/N held up a hand, stepping between Bob and the rest.

“Don’t touch him!”

“Y/N, we have to restart his heart!”

“No!” she screamed, her voice cracking in agony. “He’s in there—I know he is. Just—give him a second. Please.”

“His heart stopped—”

“I SAID WAIT!”

She turned back to him, leaning down until their foreheads touched. Her tears slipped onto his skin.

“You promised me,” she whispered. “You told me I gave you a reason to live. You don’t get to leave me now. You don’t.”

She pressed her lips to his temple, desperate, trembling. “Come back to me, Bob. Please. Please, come back.”

A cold, crushing silence fell. Time seemed to freeze.

“Bob... no.” Her voice was barely a whisper, broken.

Tears welled unbidden, blurring her vision.

The team scrambled to restart him, but Y/N felt frozen, her hands still on his cold skin.

He was gone.

The man she had begun to care for, the man she promised to keep alive... was dead.

Y/N’s world felt like it shattered into a thousand pieces, the sterile walls closing in around her as she stared at Bob’s lifeless form. The frantic beeping of the defibrillator ceased, replaced by an eerie, suffocating silence.

Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open with a sharp clang.

Valentina entered, her presence commanding and cold, eyes scanning the scene with clinical detachment.

She had arrived just as the finality settled in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, slicing through the heavy air.

Dr. Ilari had called her as soon as Bob spiraled out of control, and now, standing before the still form of the man they all feared and pitied, she wasted no time.

Valentina’s voice was low but sharp, slicing through Y/N’s panic like a blade.

“Protocol 6X. Initiate termination.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her body trembling with disbelief and rage.

“No,” she whispered, her voice cracked and desperate. “You can’t just—he’s still—”

Valentina’s eyes narrowed, her tone unwavering.

“Bob is unstable, uncontrollable. The risks outweigh any potential benefit. You know this, Doctor. The project’s safety comes first.”

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, fighting the overwhelming wave of helplessness crashing down on her.

Tears burned her eyes, but her voice was steadier now, fierce with unspoken defiance.

“He was more than an experiment. He was a person... someone I cared about.”

Valentina’s gaze flicked coldly to Y/N, unyielding.

“Feelings don’t change facts. The termination will prevent further loss.”

The lab team moved quickly, cold and efficient, beginning preparations to remove Bob’s body from the room, as if he were nothing more than a failed project to be discarded.

Y/N stumbled back, her heart breaking anew with every step they took away from her.

She wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of the moment pinned her down, crushing hope beneath the sterile lights.

She runs, trying to stop everyone, someone, took him away from them, there's no way Bob was dead.

The glass was thicker than it needed to be. Reinforced, sealed with polymer layers, and bolted into an alloy cradle designed to survive a small war. But none of that mattered to Y/N. All she could see was him inside it.

Bob.

Still.

Cold.

Lying there like a man who’d simply fallen asleep with no promise of waking.

The O.X.E. lab—once bright, bustling, and full of scientific ambition—now reeked of sterilizer and silence. They were shutting everything down. His project had failed, they said. Too unstable. Too dangerous. Too powerful. And now—too dead.

“Project SENTRY has been terminated. Containment protocol 6X is in effect,” droned a voice over the speakers. The kind of voice that never wavered. Not for ethics. Not for grief. Not even for love.

Y/N stood frozen as technicians fastened the final clamps onto the glass coffin. Her coat, still stained with dried blood from trying to stabilize him, hung limp around her. Her hands trembled. Her face was pale. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no sound came out.

Two security guards hovered behind her.

“Dr. L/N,” one of them said gently. “You need to let them take him.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she stepped forward, eyes locked on the body within. Bob’s chest didn’t rise. His face was pale, serene—eerily calm for a man who had been made of light and rage. His golden hair framed a face that once radiated warmth, now drained of it entirely.

“No,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like splintered glass. “You don’t get to box him up. You don’t get to just erase him.”

“Doctor—”

“He’s not dead!” she snapped, finally spinning on the guards. Her voice echoed through the corridor, sharp and broken. “He’s not dead, he’s not—he’s not—”

But her knees buckled before her words could finish. She collapsed to the floor, her hands catching her barely an inch above the cold tile. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one scraping her throat like rusted nails.

The guards hesitated, unsure whether to comfort her or restrain her.

Valentina didn’t.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she approached—always polished, always calculated. “This isn’t a romantic tragedy, Doctor,” she said, arms crossed. “This is containment. He was compromised. If you’d like to keep your clearance and your career, I suggest you walk away now.”

Y/N lifted her head slowly, tears streaking her face.

“I don’t care about clearance,” she hissed. “I cared about him.”

Valentina’s expression didn’t change. “Then you’re a liability.”

The moment stretched like wire pulled too tight.

And then, Valentina gave a cold nod.

“Seal it,” she ordered.

Technicians obeyed.

Y/N watched as a final hiss of hydraulic steam sealed the edges of the glass. The lighting inside dimmed, bathing Bob in a faint blue glow, like he was being buried beneath a glacier.

They strapped the coffin to a magnetic dolly, preparing to roll him out—out of the lab, out of history, out of her reach. Like he’d never existed. Like the nights they’d spent in quiet corners of the lab, whispering about the sky and everything he’d forgotten about being human, had never happened.

Like she hadn’t kissed his trembling hands after his first breakdown.

Like he hadn’t told her he was scared of the darkness inside him.

Like he hadn’t looked at her the night before the meltdown and said, “If I lose myself, don’t let them lock me away. Just tell me you loved me once. That it mattered.”

She scrambled up, stumbling toward the coffin, arms outstretched. She never told him that loved him. Once.

“Wait!” she cried.

The guards tried to intercept her, but she ducked around them, slamming her palms against the glass.

Her voice cracked as she spoke, forehead resting against the cold surface. “Bob. I’m here. I didn’t leave. I—I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry. But I remember you. Do you hear me? I remember everything. I do love you.”

No response.

She pressed her hand over his heart, her eyes tracing the shape of his closed eyelids, the curve of his lips. She could almost believe he was sleeping. Almost.

“Please,” she whispered, softer now. “Please come back. Just open your eyes. Just—just breathe. I’ll take all of it, everything I did to you. Just come back to me. I'm sorry I went away, I'm sorry I wasn't here, I'm sorry I never told you.”

Silence.

Valentina made a gesture. The guards pulled her away, gently but firmly.

“NO!” Y/N screamed, kicking and fighting. “You don’t get to take him! He’s not—he’s not a thing! He’s a person! He was mine! He didn't get to live what...what I promised, no, we didn't have our time yet Pleasee!”

But Bob remained still, and the glass began to fog slightly with the temperature shift as the containment unit rolled toward the freight elevator.

Valentina didn’t look back.

And Y/N—struggling in the arms of men who didn’t know who Bob was, what he had become, what he meant—finally went limp.

Her voice, barely a breath now, rasped, “Please don’t leave me here without you…”

The elevator closed with a heavy clang.

Then he was gone.

The days after Bob’s death passed like smoke. Thick. Suffocating. Fleeting. Y/N found herself moving through them without weight, her steps soundless on the cold tile floors of the lab, her hands numb even as they gripped report files, tablets, clipboards—anything to feel tethered to something.

His room remained sealed, but sometimes she still stood outside of it, pressing her fingers to the keypad even though she knew the access had been revoked, even though she knew he wasn’t inside. Not anymore. The air still felt like him. The silence was heavier than when he was there. And every time she blinked, she could see his face again—bright-eyed the night she’d kissed him first, tired and grateful the mornings after their stolen moments, hollow and terrified in that final room.

She didn’t sleep. Nights had become tormenting. The moment the lab’s synthetic lights dimmed and the halls emptied, her mind rushed back to them. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, laughing about stupid things. Her curled under his arm while they watched old movies from a pirated USB. Him whispering into the shell of her ear that he didn’t deserve her, and her telling him to shut up and just let it be good for once. Just let it be soft.

The bed was too big now. She hadn’t noticed how small she was until she tried to lie still, pretending it was his arm wrapped around her waist. His warmth. His breathing slowing. Her hand still clutched the bracelet he gave her one night—a silly little leather band he found during one of their “raids” of the storage closet, where they'd been looking for snack rations and instead ended up wrestling on the floor like teenagers. She had scolded him for acting like a child. He had kissed her like it was the last time.

But she hadn’t told him she loved him.

And now it was too late.

Every hallway held a ghost. Every chair, every lab monitor, every sample. There were notes in her drawer still written in his handwriting, things like: Don’t forget your coffee, boss. You get mean without it. She used to roll her eyes. Now she kept that note folded in her pocket, as if maybe, by having it on her, she could pretend he was still here. Still smirking behind her.

Dr. Ilari had tried to talk to her. Repeatedly. She hadn’t said a word. Not since the day of Protocol 6X.

Valentina had stood over Bob’s body like it was a failed machine. Cold. Ready to dispose. She hadn’t cried then. Not in front of her. Not even when she’d screamed that he wasn’t an object to terminate—that he was a man. That she loved him.

The tears only came when she was alone, curled in front of the door of Bob’s room, replaying the sound of his heartbeat disappearing from the monitors. Now she uses them to help her go to sleep, listenning to them as if he's there, somewhere. A sound that cut through her more violently than anything she’d ever known.

She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

She would never again hear him laugh. Never again feel his hand in hers. Never again hear that shy, broken voice asking her, “Why would you care about someone like me?”

And now, all she had was the answer she never got to give him. That he made her feel alive. That he reminded her she had a heart. That maybe, just maybe, broken things could still love, and be loved, and heal.

She didn’t tell him. And she would regret that for the rest of her life.

The lab hummed around her like a distant storm. The world was moving on.

But she wasn’t.

And she didn’t know if she ever could.

The lights in the lab had never felt so sterile.

Y/N stood in the same office she had once stormed into, full of confidence and bright-eyed ambition. The walls hadn’t changed. The old monitor still flickered faintly on the far desk, and the whiteboard behind Dr. Ilari was still covered with scrawled calculations, doodles from late nights when they’d been too tired to keep their minds on science, but too stubborn to give in to sleep.

But now, all of it felt like an echo of someone else’s dream.

Dr. Ilari leaned back in his chair, watching her. He wasn’t smiling this time. His usual warm humor was gone, replaced by something quieter. Sadder.

“So,” he said, softly, “you’re really leaving.”

Y/N nodded, arms folded across her chest like she was holding herself together. “I already booked my flight. I should be back in New York by tomorrow evening. My father... he’s expecting me. There’s a position open in his lab.”

Ilari sighed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course he is. And I’m sure he’s thrilled to hear his daughter’s project failed. He always struck me as the ‘told you so’ type.”

A hollow smile tugged at her lips. “He said he’d keep the seat warm.”

“Is that really what you want, Y/N? To go back to him? To... that lab?” Ilari’s voice was still gentle, but the concern in it was unmistakable. “After everything, after what you built here... you’re really going to let him pull you back?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers dug into her sleeves as she looked down at the floor, her voice strained. “The project’s done. Labeled ‘infeasible’ and ‘dangerously unstable.’ It’s over. And honestly, I can’t... I don’t have it in me to start over. Not again.”

Ilari’s brows knit. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I do,” she replied quickly. “I know.”

He waited. Gave her space to speak if she wanted. And for a moment, she almost told him everything. About the nights. The stolen time. The kisses, the laughter, the soft way Bob used to look at her like she was the only person on earth who hadn’t given up on him.

But instead, she only said, “He was the first subject I chose myself. The first time I felt like the project was mine. And I ruined it. I used my father’s methods. I treated Bob like a blueprint, not a person. I was so focused on proving myself that I forgot he wasn’t just data. He was...”

Her throat closed. Her eyes burned.

Ilari didn’t push her. He just waited, his silence louder than anything he could have said.

Y/N turned away from him, pacing toward the window that overlooked the jungle canopy outside. She watched the birds in the distance—free, weightless. The opposite of everything she felt. “Bob made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time,” she said, finally. “Alive. Like I wasn’t just surviving for someone else’s legacy. Like I mattered. To someone.”

Ilari rose slowly from his chair, stepping around his desk. “You loved him.”

She turned to him. Didn’t confirm it. She didn’t have to. Her eyes did the talking.

“I suspected,” he added quietly, “when the cameras started glitching every night at the same time. I didn’t say anything because... I figured it was the only joy either of you were getting in that place.”

She let out a soft, broken breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He placed a hand on her shoulder—steady, kind. “I just wish you’d told me sooner. I wouldn’t have stopped it. Hell, I might’ve encouraged it. God knows that man needed someone in his corner.”

Y/N’s lip trembled, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“Yes, it does,” Ilari said firmly. “Because you loved. You risked it. That’s more than most people can say by the time they retire. And it meant something. Even if it ended.”

Y/N dropped her eyes. “It didn’t just end. It was ripped away.”

She hadn’t cried in front of anyone—not since the room. Not since his body went still under the operating light, while she screamed for someone to do something. But now, in front of Ilari, the tears came. Silent, hot, unapologetic.

Ilari wrapped her in a gentle hug, like an older brother or uncle—safe, understanding. “You don’t have to go back to him, Y/N. Not your father. Not that place. You can do something else. Something you want. Anything. Just... don’t let this grief turn into a cage.”

She nodded into his shoulder but said nothing.

When she pulled back, she wiped her face and gave him a crooked, sad smile. “You were always the best part of this lab.”

“Damn right I was.” He chuckled, but his eyes were misted, too. “You’ll always have a place here. If ever you decide to stop letting your dad control your career—or your life. Just say the word. I’ll make room.”

She laughed softly. “If I ever come back, it’ll be for the mango tea and your terrible jokes.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He grinned, but it faltered at the edges. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Ilari.”

She turned toward the door, suitcase in hand. But before leaving, she paused in the hallway, just once, and looked back over her shoulder—like maybe, just maybe, he’d come walking through one more time. Laughing. Teasing. Kissing her softly like the world outside didn’t exist.

But it was just silence.

And she left.

Back to New York. Back to the city that raised her. Back to the legacy she never asked for. But this time, something in her heart had changed. Because even if she never said it out loud, she had loved someone—truly, deeply. And now that love would live in her like a scar.

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unforth · 1 year ago

Text

Danmei and Baihe C Novels and Manhua Officially Licensed in English

Things are getting licensed fast enough that keeping a list like this up-to-date is basically impossible, but I saw someone asking in the tags so I figured I'd try. All titles are danmei unless otherwise noted (very little baihe is licensed so far). I've included Chinese titles, but sometimes publishers change the original titles so much that I can't track them down, apologies. I've hit the link limit on this post so I've had to remove NovelUpdate links, but they're still in the version of this post on Wordpress. Note that Taiwanese titles are not included on this list.

This is everything I know of as of December 11, 2024. There might be more. I tried. Resources used to compile this list: Danmeinews.com; this Carrd, last updated in March 2023; this other carrd last updated October 23 2024; list of danmei with official licenses on NovelUpdates; a similar list on Goodreads; danmei-specific list on Reddit that to my eye looks accurate for the larger publishers but isn't thorough for some of the smaller ones.

Seven Seas:

The full list of danmei novels licensed by Seven Seas is here. The full list of danmei manhua licensed by Seven Seas is here.

These titles are in various stages of publication, from "entire series released" to "license literally announced less than a week ago." As far as I know, all Seven Seas titles are available world-wide, through major distributors and libraries, and in e-book and print formats. Seven Seas translation quality varies but the editing is general strong and the editions are sturdy and nice. Note that Seven Seas isn't without controversy, especially for treating their contractors poorly resulting in them unionizing. Some people have also been unhappy with the fidelity of their translations compared to the original Chinese (I've been satisfied personally but ymmv).

Mo Xiang Tong Xiu titles:

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (Ren Zha Fanpai Zijiu Xitong)

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi)

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi) manhua

Heaven Official's Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu)

Meatbun Doesn't Eat Meat titles:

Case File Compendium (Bing an Ben)

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun (Erha he Ta de Bai Mao Shizun)

Remnants of Filth (Yuwu)

Meng Xi Shi titles:

Thousand Autumns (Qian Qiu)

Peerless (Wushuang)

priest titles:

Guardian (Zhenhun)

Silent Reading (Modu)

Stars of Chaos (Sha Po Lang)

Fei Tian Ye Xiang titles:

Astrolabe Rebirth (Xing Pan Chongqi), written under the pen name Arise Zhang

Dinghai Fusheng Records (Dinghai Fusheng Lu)

Dinghai Fusheng Records (Dinghai Fusheng Lu) manhua

Joyful Reunion (Xiang Jian Huan)

Legend of Exorcism (Tianbao Fuyao Lu)

Mu Su Li titles:

Copper Coins (Tong Qian Kan Shi)

The Unseen Immortal of Three Hundred Years (Bujian Shang Xian San Bai Nian)

Lv Ye Qian He titles:

The White Cat’s Divine Scratching Post (Shenmu Nao Bujin)

The Wife Comes First (Qi Wei Shang)

Other titles:

After the Disabled God of War Became My Concubine (Canji Zhanshen Jia Wo Wei Qie Hou) by Liu Gou Hua

Ballad of Sword and Wine (Qiang Jin Jiu) by Tang Jiuqing

BAIHE: The Beauty’s Blade (Meiren Jian) by Feng Ren Zuo Zhu

The Disabled Tyrant’s Beloved Pet Fish (Canji Baojun de Zhangxin Yu Chong) by Xue Shan Fei Hu

I Ship My Rival x Me (Wo Kele Duijia x Wo de CP) manhua by PEPA

HET: Love Between Fairy and Devil (Cang Lan Jue) by Jiu Lu Fei Xiang

Mistakenly Saving the Villain (Lun Jiu Cuo Fanpai de Xiachang) by Feng Yu Nie

My Husband and I Sleep in a Coffin (Wo he Laogong Shui Guancai) by Wu Shui Bu Du

Run Wild (Saye) by Wu Zhe

There’s Something Wrong with the Chief (Du Zhu You Bing) by Yang Su

Thrice Married to Salted Fish (San Jia Xianyu) by Bi Ka Bi

The Villain’s White Halo (Fanpai Baihua Guanghuan) by Hao Da Yi Juan Wei Sheng Zhi

You’ve Got Mail: The Perils of Pigeon Post (Fei Ge Jiao You Xu Jin Shen) by Blackegg

Rosmei:

Rosmei licenses are Singapore distribution rights only. There is a list of international partners organizing group orders here. I've personally placed my orders through Yiggybean, as discussed in reply to this ask. Most of these titles are only being released as print editions, tho titles that weren't originally on JJWXC (of which there are several here) WILL have e-book editions. My first book from Rosmei arrived, and I found the translation and editing to be very strong. I can't speak to how accurate it may be to the Chinese original, but it read smoothly and had very few errors. Overall, though they've made some mistakes, they've been communicative and responsive.

Huai Shang titles:

Breaking Through the Clouds (Po Yun)

Hunt for the Leviathan (Po Yun 2 Tun Hai)

Ning Yuan titles:

BAIHE: At the World's Mercy

BAIHE (I think???) The Creator's Grace

priest titles:

Coins of Destiny (Liu Yao)

The Defectives (Can Ci Pin)

Drowning Sorrows in Raging Fire (Lie Huo Jiao Chou)

Other titles:

Albert, from Earth (Aerbote Laizi Diqiu) by Jie Mo Jun

Art Thou Ailing? (Jun You Ji Fou) by Ru Shi Wo Wen)

The Bat (Bian Fu) by Feng Nong

Beyond the Snowstorm: A Windborne Love (Wo Cheng Feng Xue) by Qi Wu Gou

Don't You Like Me (Ni Shi Bushi Xihuan Wo) by Lv Tian Yi

The Earth is Online (Diqiu Shangxian) by Mo Chen Huan

Everyone Loves the Cannon Fodder (Chuan Cheng Wan Ren Mi de Paohui Zhuma) by Qie Zai Shan Yang

Global Examination (Qianqiu Gao Kao) by Mu Su Li

Gold Class Enforcers (Jinpai Dashou) by Pao Pao Xue Er

How to Survive as a Villain (Chuanyue Cheng Fanpai Yao Ruhe Huming) by Yi Yi Yi Yi

Kaleidoscope of Death (Siwang Wanhuatong) by Xi Zi Xu

The Killer of Killers (Sha Qing) by Wu Yi

Love at First Thaw (Wang Chun Bing) by Fu Li

Nan Chan by Tang Jiuqing

Obsessed (Ki Ma) by Wu Chen Shui

Tailhook (O Gou) by La Rive Gauche

Tales of Zijin Temple (Zijin Si Ye Hua) by Yun Tun Tun

Wine and Gun (Jiu yu Qiang) by Mengye Mengye

You're Too OP! (Nimen Nansheng Da Youxi Hao Lihai O~) by Yi Xiu Luo

Peach Flower House:

Unfortunately, Peach Flower House has gone out of business. Peach Flower House titles were primarily for sale through their website and through some distributors, such as Amazon.com. Whether titles are e-book only, print only, or both varied by title. In my opinion, Peach Flower House has inconsistent inconsistent editing quality, but the books are very readable.

Da Feng Gua Guo:

The Imperial Uncle (Huang Shu)

Peach Blossom Debt (Taohua Zhai)

Other Titles:

Golden Terrace (Huang Jin Tai) by Cang Wu Bin Bai

In the Dark (Zai Hei An Zhong) by Jin Shisi Chai

Little Mushroom (Xiao Mogu) by Shisi

University of the Underworld (Yinjian Daxue) by Ziloi

Via Lactea:

The partial list of danmei novels licensed by Via Lactea is here, but there are titles I've seen them selling that aren't on this list.

Via Lactea titles are primarily for sale through their website and through some distributors, such as Amazon.com. All titles are either print-only or e-book + print. Only a handful have actually been released, the rest are licensed and presumably in progress. I've now read three titles published by Via Lactea and while the translations are decent I could wish the editing was more consistent. Everything reads as if it would have been improved by one more thorough proof read.

Jing Shui Bian Titles:

Salad Days (Jing Jiu)

Silent Hearts (Mo Mai)

Qing Lv Titles:

Painting Against the Natural Grain (Huahua Ben Shi Ni Tian Er Xing) by Qing Lv

Raising Myself in 2006 by Qing Lv

Other Titles:

Apocalypse (Quanqiu Jinhua Hou Wo Zhan Zai Shiwulian Dingduan) by Qi Liu

As I've Told You Before by Sheng Jiang Tai Lang

Dawning (Liming Zhihou) by ICE

Embrace You Till the End of the game by Hu Yu La Jiao

Euthanasia (Anlesi) by Feng Su Jun

The Fall of Summer (Ting Shuo Ni Hen Nan Zhui) by Jue Chu

Falling (Luo Chi) by Yu Cheng

I Can't and I Won't (Zhen Bu Xing, Zhen Bu Ke) by Yan Gui Kang

Psycho (Feng Zi) by Xiao Yao Zi

Limerence (Wo Xichen Ni Nan Pengyou Henjiule) by Jiang Zi Bei

Lingering Game (Chanmian Youxi) by Tao Bai Bai

Lip and Sword (Chun Qiang) by Jin Shisi Chai

May I Touch Your Spirit? by Qing Mei Jiang

The Missing Piece (Maoheshenli) by Kun Yi Wei Lou

The Omega Who Wants His Baby Back by Yao Yao Yi Yan

Rose and Renaissance (Wo Zhi Xihuan Ni de Renshe [Yule Quan]) by Zhi Chu

Killing Show (Sha Lu Xiu) by Fox

Soul Vibration (Linghun Saodong) by Dr.solo

To Rule in a Turbulent World (Luan Shi Wei Wang) by Gu Xuerou (pen name of Fei Tian Ye Xiang)

A Tyrant's Cover-up Plan by A Ci Gu Niang

Was I a Scummy Bottom? by Cheng Zi Yu

Aloha Comics:

A tiny, Hawaii-based press focusing on manhua. Titles are available through major retailers such as Amazon and Bookshop.org. I've purchased one of these titles - Nirvana in Fire - and was please with the quality despite a couple minor errors.

All these titles are manhua!

Day Off by Qing Cai

Heaven Official's Blessing Animation Manhua by Bilibili and Mo Xiang Tong Xiu (this is a manhua made based on the donghua, using donghua art)

Here U Are by DJUN

Link Click by Li Haoling and Haoliners (not technically danmei!)

Nirvana in Fire (Lang Ya Bang) by Hai Yan (not technically danmei!)

Monogatari Novels:

Monogatari Novels is based in Spain. These titles can also be ordered from at least some major retailers. Note that there has been some controversy about Monogatari Novels. I'm personally not ordering these works until more information is available.

Due to a lawsuit between Monogatari Novels and BLoved Publishing, How to Survive as a Villain and The Legendary Master's Wife are currently on hold.

BAIHE: A Clear and Muddy Loss of Love (Jing Wei Qing Shang) by Please Don't Laugh

BAIHE: Female General and Eldest Princess (NuJiangjun he Zhang Gongzhu) by Please Don't Laugh

How to Survive as a Villain (Chuan Yue Cheng Fanpai Yao Ru He Huo Ming) manhua by Yi Yi Yi Yi

The Legendary Master's Wife (Chuanshuo Zhi Zhu de Furen) by Yin Ya

The Silent Concubine (Ya Nu) by Qiang Tang

BAIHE: Soulmate manhua by Wenzhi Lizi

BLoved Publishing:

ngl I can't figure out exactly what is up with this, and there seems to be some controversy related to them and their relationship with Monogatari Novels. Their website is depressingly low on details. However, this list is for completeness, so here we are.

Due to a lawsuit between Monogatari Novels and BLoved Publishing, How to Survive as a Villain and The Legendary Master's Wife are currently on hold.

How to Survive as a Villain (Chuan Yue Cheng Fanpai Yao Ru He Huo Ming) manhua by Yi Yi Yi Yi

The Legendary Master's Wife (Chuanshuo Zhi Zhu de Furen) by Yin Ya

Chaleuria:

As far as I can tell, Chaleuria has not updated their webpage since April 2023, so the current status of in-progress titles is unknown. All titles are digital and/or e-book, and I'm not sure how to purchase them as I haven't tried.

The Complete Guide to the Use and Care of a Personal Assistant (Zhuli Shiyong Zhinan) by Why Radiance

Deep in the Act (Ru Xi) by Tongzi

Fake Slackers (Wei Zhuang Xue Zha) by Mu Gua Huang (no longer available)

From Body to Love (Leng Yan E Nan: Xian Shenhou Ai) by Wan Wan Yi Xia

Interstellar Power Couple (Xingji Qiangli Lianyin) by Kun Cheng Xiongmao (no longer available)

Intoxicated Friends (Zui Qing Zhi Pengyou) by Ye Shu Ying

The Long Chase for the President's Spouse (Zongcai Zhui Fu Lu Manman) by Three Thousand Crow Language

No Money No Divorce (Mei Qian Lihun) by Shou Chu

Reborn into a Hamster for 233 Days (Chong Shengcheng Cangshu de 233 Tian) by Yi Shu

Records of the Dragon Follower (Cong Long Ji) by Yueren Ge

Urban Tales of Demons and Spirits (Dushi Yaogui Lu) by Qie Er

World Hopping: Avenge Our Love (Ni Wufa Yuliao de Fenshou, Wo Du Neng Gei Ni Song Shang) by Xiaomao Bu Ai Jiao (no longer available)

Webnovel:

When I first made this list, I heard that Webnovel had a few titles but couldn't actually find them - but now I've found them, thanks to a list someone else put together. I'm including direct links to them, since I had so much trouble finding them at all.

Comrade: Almost a Cat-astrophic Love Story (Jintian ye Yao Nuli Dang Zhimao) by Demonic Fire (link)

My Boyfriend is a Dragon (Nanpiao Shi Tiaolong) by Chubby Strawberry Sauce (link)

The National Sweetheart Livestreamer is a Pro! (Quanmin Zhubo Shi Duiba) by Mo Shang Wang (link)

Honorable Mentions:

There are a handful of titles I know of that are official translations of C Novels. These are not books with contextual queerness, but for folks with an interest in Chinese history and culture, they are worth checking out anyway, especially because understanding these stories can help understand the above books. Also, some have active shipping fandoms (for example, I've written for Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Daomu Biji). I've included two above under the entry for titles from Aloha Comics (Link Click and Nirvana in Fire) and here are a couple others I currently know of:

Dream of the Red Chamber (Hong Lou Meng) by Cao Xueqin, available in translation for free from Project Gutenberg

The Grave Robbers’ Chronicles (Daomu Biji) by Nanpai Sanshu (six volumes are available in English from Things Asian Press)

Journey to the West (Xiyou Ji) by Wu Cheng-en, in four volumes from University of Chicago Press

The Legend of the Condor Heroes (She Diao Yingxiong Chuan) by Jin Yong, in four volumes from St. Martin’s Press

Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo Yanyi), attributed to Luo Guanzhong, available in translations for free from Archive.org

The Seven Heroes and Five Gallants (Zonglie Xiayi Chuan), attributed to Shi Yukun, available in translation for free from Archive.org

Water Margin (Shuihu Zhuan) by Shi Nai’an, from Tuttle Publishing

RESOURCE: List of Chinese speculative fiction in English translation

RESOURCE: More Chinese speculative fiction in English translation

I will add to the "Honorable Mentions" list if I find any other more mainstream titles with official translations.

Rumored Licenses:

Sometimes, I hear rumors about titles being licensed before the license is announced - and thus before we know which publisher has licensed them (assuming the rumor is even true). I thought I should note these somewhere. Titles I know of rumors about currently are:

A Certain Someone (Moumou) by Mu Su Li

Devil Venerable Also Wants to Know (Mozun Ye Xiang Zhidao) by Cyan Wings (a Spanish edition of this has been formally announced, which might account for the rumor)

The Fourteenth Year of Chenghua (Chenghua Shisi Nian) by Meng Xi Shi

Guide on How to Fail at Online Dating (Wanglian Fanche Zhinan) by Jiang Zi Bei

Immortal Koi is Going to Debut (Jinli Daxian Yao Chudao) by Mo Xi Ke

Mist (Bowu) by Wei Feng Ji Xu

A handful of other licenses are mentioned on the Carrd I linked at the beginning of this post; I have no idea the status of those titles and wasn't able to find information on them while putting together this post other than what was listed on that Carrd, so I've omitted them.

Now go forth, and buy some books!

#danmei #baihe #mxtx #priest #priest novels #tang jiuqing #mu su li #meng xi shi #yi yi yi yi #this probably needs a billion other tags but oh well #i've been meaning to write something like this for ages #like there's literally a similar post saved in my drafts #but apparently today is the day i don't have the willpower to not #as also evidenced by my literally buying some of these books while in the middle of putting the post together lmao #i broke a windshield wiper on sunday and SHOULD spend money fixing that instead but here we are #at least it's the passenger side wiper???#anyway as always just tryin to do my part to get people to read more than just mxtx #not that i don't love mxtx #but please guys there's so much amazing stuff out there READ MORE BOOKS

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miniimight · 2 years ago

Note

Gotta admit the way you write midoriya is just so... Literally can't find the words to describe it. I had this scenario I wished to request of you it's okay if you don't want to do it. Midoriya with an significant other that hears people taking about them, not deserving of him and how they are using him for his fame and all, then he teaches them a lesson?

DEFENDING YOU the gossip around the office gets on his nerves a lil bit

with izukuuuuu :heart: + gn!reader

notes absolutely in love with this request ! thanks for reading my stuffs <3

a while after you were revealed as his girlfriend, izuku was faced with many backhanded comments about his relationship. sure, they were few and far between, but when they did happen he felt his self-control diminishing way faster than usual. especially if that person had the balls to say it to his face.

to be completely honest, he thought that everyone else should mind their own fucking business. he doesn't kid around when it comes to the people he cares about. the fact that he wants and needs you is enough.

but, nonetheless. people will still run their mouths.

it was another casual day in the office. you had the day off work and he was stuck at the agency headquarters, flipping through paperwork.

you were excited to see him. izuku had been holed up in work for what seemed like forever, and you were so happy to get the chance to spend time with each other during the coming weekend.

as you walked through the halls, you noticed the eyes following you. they were hard to miss, but they were part of the routine at this point. you soon found yourself in the elevator, head ducked as you pulled out your phone.

izu: you coming up soon baby?

you: yeah, i'm like 5 mins away

you: okay im in the lobby, heading up rn

izu: yayyy can't wait to see you, love :3

you smiled softly to yourself. when you looked up, the elevator was packed; all you could see were the backs of the seven or so individuals in front of you, pushing you into the corner. your stomach felt a little uneasy, thinking about how you'd have to tell these people to move to let you through, but you remembered izuku was on the top floor. there was no way they were all heading there.

the hushed voices of a few employees made your heart pound.

"you're talking about deku's s/o?"

"yeah! aren't they... i dunno. a little out of his league?"

"i'm saying! like i'd get it if they were maybe a model or something. but they're literally just a civilian. how disappointing is that? like uravity is right there."

"i'm sure they're just using him for his fame. he's in the field so much with other badass heroes, they probably barely get to see him. if deku wasn't deku, they'd dip in a heartbeat."

they all laughed.

you wanted to stop listening. flood your mind with meaningless thoughts to distract you. but you couldn't resist tuning in, feeding your insecurities and doubt.

the ding of the elevator saved you. they filed out of the elevator, leaving you with the cheerful jingle of the lift.

you were quiet as you walked down the long halls of the top floor, their words echoing in your mind. you knew they weren't true—and god, would izuku reassure the fuck out of you—but negativity was negativity. and negativity had a way of finding cracks and slipping through.

the giant glass doors slid over the tiled floor soundlessly, yet izuku's head popped up from behind all the papers and files at your arrival.

a huge grin bloomed on his face as he sped over to you, paperwork forgotten. "hello, honey. did you get up here okay?"

"yeah," you smiled and held up a takeout bag. "i got some snacks for us."

izuku's calculating gaze bore into you as he gingerly accepted the bag. "you alright?"

"hmm?" you tilted your head in confusion. of course he noticed. "yeah, i'm good." the last thing you wanted to do was stress him out even more.

his brows furrowed. he stepped closer to you, his hands resting on your waist. "don't lie to me, sweetheart." his tone was scolding but his eyes were gentle. "what's bothering you?"

you pursed your lips, sighing. "just a couple people talking about us, 'n how i don't deserve you—"

you felt him stiffen, his expression going cold.

"how i'm using you for the fame, blah, blah, blah." you forced a smile, trying to play it off in an amusing light. "you know, the usual."

izuku was tightlipped, responding only with a "hmm."

he was staring at the wall behind you, eyes narrowed as if he'd seen a villain or something. you knew that expression well.

you cupped his face, guiding him to look at you. "hey. it's okay, izu, i'm used to it. don't mind them, alright?"

izuku's gaze softened and he leaned into one of your palms, the other lifted off his face by his own hand. he pressed a little kiss to your wrist, rubbing his hand up and down your arm soothingly as you both walked out his office.

he decided to drop it, and just love the shit out of you as an apology for experiencing such disrespect. even if he did everything in his power to make sure everyone knew he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him, he still felt guilty when people attacked you.

he still had many questions: who were they, what floor did they get off, and how can i discipline them? he usually felt sympathy for when employees messed up, but suddenly... he wasn't against firing them all.

the ride down to the lobby was filled with many adoring employees who giggled at the sight of the pro-hero, a phenomenon you were also very familiar with.

soon, you were gliding through the lobby, so close to freedom when he picks up on the idle chatter he hates so much.

"i think that's them!"

"it is. woah, his s/o is way more dull when you see 'em next to each other."

izuku grit his teeth. his eyes glanced down to you, seeing the way you blinked and pursed your lips. he suddenly paused. you walked forward a couple steps before you were tugged back by his stationary hand.

you looked at him curiously. "izu..?" your eyes darted around, lingering on the three that said those things about you.

he smiled, bending over you as he kissed your lips gently, pecking your forehead as well. "why don't you go to the car, love? i'll catch up in a second."

you gave him a warning look, noticing how he was drifting to where the three sat. "izu... really, let's just go."

he kissed you again and your head was swimming. "i'll only be a minute, angel. go on." he pat your back and watched as you left the lobby. when he turned around his expression was completely different.

he walked over to the three people, who instantly straightened at his approach. they shared glances with each other, both a little scared and confused.

"hello." izuku smiled, but there was no indication that he was happy. "i'm deku, and you all are..?"

they meekly listed their names, to which izuku took mental notes and nodded.

"great. uhm, i overheard you talking about my s/o?" he cocked his head to the side. "please, i'd love to hear your thoughts." he chuckles. "i'm kinda obsessed with them, or whatever."

"o-oh..." they stutter and avoid his gaze, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "no, it was nothing, really."

"hmm? nothing?" izuku and his months of public appearance training only made him more intimidating when angry; the joyless smile he wore as annoyance bubbled through him was ten times worse then any outright show of anger. "are you sure?"

"yes! promise." one nods eagerly.

he laughs mirthlessly and the three weakly chuckled along, thinking they were out of trouble. leaning close to them, his voice dropped into a low hum. "i'd like to keep it that way, yeah? let's not make them sad just so you could feel like you have an opinion about something that does not concern you whatsoever."

the three held onto each other, eyes rounded with shock as they listened to the pro-hero before them.

izuku's head tilted ever-so-slightly. "well?"

they began to trip over each other with their agreement, yes, of course! we wouldn't dream of it. consider it done! whatever you say!

izuku flashed his famous smile. "glad we got that sorted out. and just so that we're crystal clear, if i—or anyone for that matter—catch you talking down on my s/o again..." he pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing in thought. "i'd hate to have to terminate your contracts... it's a lot of paperwork, you know?"

they shook their heads, bowing deeply to the pro-hero. "never again, sir!"

"great!" izuku chirped. "bye!"

[]

your leg bobbed nervously in the car, wondering what izuku was doing and if you should go in there and see for yourself. just as you were about to act, you saw his green hair bob over the cars beside you, eventually coming into view.

you exhaled in relief as he slipped into the driver's seat, sighing happily. he turned to stare at you, leaning dreamily over the steering wheel. you smiled, though your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"you're so pretty." he sighed.

"i—" you blinked, laughing. "thank you, baby."

"i'm so lucky to have you..." he continued, leaning over the compartment separating your seats.

you giggled, matching his energy. "mhmm."

he gave you a lopsided smile. "you deserve everything i have and more."

your face felt warm as you shy away from him, knowing why he was spouting all these affirmations. his fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your face. his hair brushed against your forehead as he captured your lips. he grinned at you when he pulled away, staring at you with such adoration.

"so..." you ignore your racing heart and try to regulate your breathing. "are you gonna tell me what happened?"

he squished your cheeks before turning back in his seat, starting the car. "nope!"

you smiled and rolled your eyes, uncertainties gone and doubt erased. in the end, you weren't ever bothered. and strangely, you never saw those three faces again.

#deku x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #bnha x reader #deku fluff #izuku midoriya x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #izuku midoriya #deku #izuku midoria x reader #izuku fluff #izuku imagines

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pretzel-box · 9 months ago

Note

Hello, I’m here now. I just wanted to say I like ur works, I think As Above So Below is my favorite series of yours so far.

And also, I wanted to make a request, cuz it was just my birthday and fuck it why not-

So like. Sebastian with an axolotl experiment reader (fem or gn), cuz Urbanshade was like “You know what would be dope? Regeneration powers” and because of all the injuries reader received, because they were big or very frequent, their body couldn’t keep up and so they are smol

(with a hint of possessive/yandere/whatever-the-fuck, maybe?)

may the tumblr deities guide this ask, that it may not be eated by the ask box, thank you for putting up with my annoying, okay bye :3

-🍪

Tags: Slight comedy, reader and wall dweller eat each other?

Words: 1k

Authors note: Happy Late Birthday! I'm sorry for the wait. I combined the ask with another one!

It was a challenge in itself to keep a close eye on you. At least, that’s what Sebastian thought as he glanced at you from the corner of his shop. He leaned against the wall, trying to focus on the file in his lower hand while his other two arms were crossed.

Earlier, you had quietly assured him that you could handle stocking the shelves and organizing the inventory on your own, despite your slightly smaller stature. You had carried heavy boxes from the back without a complaint, determined to prove you were capable.

Sebastian was surprised every time he saw you in action. Your odd regeneration skills were both a blessing and a strange curiosity he had witnessed more times than he cared to count. If it weren’t for your ability to regrow limbs, your most defining trait would be your absolute innocence. You had no sense of self-defense, no instinct to attack. The only time you’d ever react was to bite—though that was just to check if something was food.

Sebastian couldn’t help but admire your resilience, despite everything Urbanshade had put you through. But it also worried him. The world wasn’t kind to creatures like you, and without him there, it was hard to imagine how long you’d last in an actual fight.

His eyes flicked back to you as you struggled with one of the heavier boxes. For a moment, he considered stepping in, but he stopped himself. You were stubborn in your own quiet way, always wanting to prove you could handle things on your own.

Still, the smallness of your form tugged at his protective instincts. He pushed away from the wall, tossing the file onto the counter as he slithered over.

“Here, let me help,” he said, reaching out to lift the box effortlessly with his upper arms. You looked up at him, blinking in mild surprise, but didn’t protest.

“I was doing fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked any real defiance.

Sebastian smirked. “Sure you were. But there’s no harm in having an extra set of hands—especially when I’ve got three of them.”

You gave a small smile, a soft warmth in your eyes as you watched him set the box onto the shelf. He noticed how you seemed content to let him help, not because you couldn’t handle it, but because you trusted him. That trust was something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he deserved, but he wouldn’t break it.

As you moved to the next box, Sebastian’s mind wandered. He had seen your abilities save you countless times, but each time you regenerated, it chipped away at you. Urbanshade’s relentless experiments had drained your body, and every injury, every regrowth, took more of a toll. He knew you weren’t as strong as you used to be—your small frame was proof of that.

He glanced over at you, your eyes focused on your task. "You know," he started, his tone softer than usual, "you don’t always have to push yourself so hard. I’m here. You don’t have to do everything alone."

You paused, looking up at him again, your wide eyes reflecting a quiet understanding. “I know. But… it’s important to feel useful. To do something.”

Sebastian nodded, respecting your determination. He couldn’t imagine what it was like—to feel so fragile, yet still want to help. His grip tightened on the box he was holding.

“Well, just remember, you don’t have to prove anything to me. You’ve already done more than enough.”

For a moment, there was silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft thud of boxes being set on the shelves. But in that quiet, an unspoken understanding passed between you. You didn’t need to say it, and neither did he—Sebastian would protect you, no matter how much you wanted to prove yourself.

As the last box was finally stacked, Sebastian stood back, arms folded, watching you with a faint smile. “See? Not so bad with a little help, huh?”

You looked at him, offering a rare grin. “Maybe not.”

Just as you finished stacking the last box, a faint noise echoed from the far corner of the shop. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance.

“You hear that?” he muttered, his voice low.

You nodded, your wide eyes darting in the direction of the sound. Before either of you could react, something small and fast darted out from behind a shelf—a wall dweller, skittering across the floor in its typical, chaotic manner. Its pale skin and spindly limbs flashed in the dim light, catching both you and Sebastian off guard.

The wall dweller moved first, throwing itself on you and biting into your arm like a piece of cheese.

Before Sebastian could move to intercept it, your instincts kicked in. Without thinking, you lunged at the creature, mouth open and teeth bared. In one swift motion, you chomped down on the wall dweller’s arm as well—not to attack, but because it was your way of testing if things were food.

Sebastian’s eyes widened in shock. "Hey, wait—"

The wall dweller let out a startled yelp, wriggling in your grasp, while you blinked in confusion, still holding onto its arm with your sharp little teeth. The creature’s skin tasted strange, and you quickly realized it was, in fact, actually edible.

You immediately released it, stepping back with an apologetic look as the wall dweller scampered away, rubbing its arm and glaring at you. Sebastian couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the tension breaking as he watched the scene unfold.

“Well… that’s one way to defend yourself,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Not sure biting’s going to work in every situation, though. But it healed your arm.”

You stood there, blinking up at him, embarrassed but still unsure what else you could’ve done, then you glanced down on your healed limb. “It… wasn’t food,” you murmured quietly.

Sebastian snorted, wiping a tear from his eye. “Yeah, I figured. But maybe next time, let me handle the wall dwellers, alright?”

You nodded, your cheeks warming slightly. Though your instincts had failed this time, Sebastian didn’t seem mad—just amused, and maybe a little impressed.

The wall dweller, still grumbling under its breath, disappeared into a vent, but Sebastian was already back to his usual self, arms crossed and that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Nice try, though,” he teased. “At least you gave it something to chew on too.”

#sebastian solace #roblox pressure #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure x reader

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queenie435 · 1 year ago

Text

THE WORLD'S FIRST ELECTRIC ROLLER COASTER

Granville T. Woods (April 23, 1856 – January 30, 1910) introduced the “Figure Eight,” the world's first electric roller coaster, in 1892 at Coney Island Amusement Park in New York. Woods patented the invention in 1893, and in 1901, he sold it to General Electric.

Woods was an American inventor who held more than 50 patents in the United States. He was the first African American mechanical and electrical engineer after the Civil War. Self-taught, he concentrated most of his work on trains and streetcars.

In 1884, Woods received his first patent, for a steam boiler furnace, and in 1885, Woods patented an apparatus that was a combination of a telephone and a telegraph. The device, which he called "telegraphony", would allow a telegraph station to send voice and telegraph messages through Morse code over a single wire. He sold the rights to this device to the American Bell Telephone Company.

In 1887, he patented the Synchronous Multiplex Railway Telegraph, which allowed communications between train stations from moving trains by creating a magnetic field around a coiled wire under the train. Woods caught smallpox prior to patenting the technology, and Lucius Phelps patented it in 1884. In 1887, Woods used notes, sketches, and a working model of the invention to secure the patent. The invention was so successful that Woods began the Woods Electric Company in Cincinnati, Ohio, to market and sell his patents. However, the company quickly became devoted to invention creation until it was dissolved in 1893.

Woods often had difficulties in enjoying his success as other inventors made claims to his devices. Thomas Edison later filed a claim to the ownership of this patent, stating that he had first created a similar telegraph and that he was entitled to the patent for the device. Woods was twice successful in defending himself, proving that there were no other devices upon which he could have depended or relied upon to make his device. After Thomas Edison's second defeat, he decided to offer Granville Woods a position with the Edison Company, but Woods declined.

In 1888, Woods manufactured a system of overhead electric conducting lines for railroads modeled after the system pioneered by Charles van Depoele, a famed inventor who had by then installed his electric railway system in thirteen United States cities.

Following the Great Blizzard of 1888, New York City Mayor Hugh J. Grant declared that all wires, many of which powered the above-ground rail system, had to be removed and buried, emphasizing the need for an underground system. Woods's patent built upon previous third rail systems, which were used for light rails, and increased the power for use on underground trains. His system relied on wire brushes to make connections with metallic terminal heads without exposing wires by installing electrical contactor rails. Once the train car had passed over, the wires were no longer live, reducing the risk of injury. It was successfully tested in February 1892 in Coney Island on the Figure Eight Roller Coaster.

In 1896, Woods created a system for controlling electrical lights in theaters, known as the "safety dimmer", which was economical, safe, and efficient, saving 40% of electricity use.

Woods is also sometimes credited with the invention of the air brake for trains in 1904; however, George Westinghouse patented the air brake almost 40 years prior, making Woods's contribution an improvement to the invention.

Woods died of a cerebral hemorrhage at Harlem Hospital in New York City on January 30, 1910, having sold a number of his devices to such companies as Westinghouse, General Electric, and American Engineering. Until 1975, his resting place was an unmarked grave, but historian M.A. Harris helped raise funds, persuading several of the corporations that used Woods's inventions to donate money to purchase a headstone. It was erected at St. Michael's Cemetery in Elmhurst, Queens.

LEGACY

▪Baltimore City Community College established the Granville T. Woods scholarship in memory of the inventor.

▪In 2004, the New York City Transit Authority organized an exhibition on Woods that utilized bus and train depots and an issue of four million MetroCards commemorating the inventor's achievements in pioneering the third rail.

▪In 2006, Woods was inducted into the National Inventors Hall of Fame.

▪In April 2008, the corner of Stillwell and Mermaid Avenues in Coney Island was named Granville T. Woods Way.

#black history #black history month #roller coaster #granville #Granville T Woods #1910s #circa 1885 #1884

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paluding · 1 year ago

Text

Owned Restaurant Profit Increase

Two versions to download:

-Double profit: SFS / GD

-Triple profit: SFS / GD

Choose only one version!

We all know how hard it is to maintain a restaurant business in The Sims 2, right? You barely make any money and, if you have some employees to get paid hourly, there's a good chance you'll even end up losing money. Well, once again I've been digging through the files for a while until I've found something to fix this issue. I have to say, this is not the ideal solution at all, but it still makes the business actually profitable, so I thought it might be worth sharing anyways. This tiny mod edits just one single BCON value, and it's super easy to tune to your liking! A lot of technical details, a tutorial on how to tune it, and a big testing research under the cut (bear with me please, I promise it's worth reading).

So the way an unmodded game moves money in a restaurant business goes like this: the moment your waiter puts the dish on the customer table, you get a small percentage of the price of the food deducted. Then, once the customer finishes eating, they pay you the full price of that food (based on how expensive or cheap you set your business). Simple enough, right? Ideally, the best solution would be increasing the price of the food, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't find those values anywhere. So what's left on the equation? Yup, that small percentage you get deducted first. I was lucky enough to find that one, so changing it to a negative value means you actually get extra paid first. And that money comes from nowhere, the customer doesn't pay extra, they only pay the price of the actual food. That works for me!

As a quick example, in a new business with 0 stars, if you keep the default price on average, you always gain 28 simoleons for serving a bowl of Mac N Cheese. However, you also get deducted 4 simoleons first, so it's actually 24 simoleons per customer. That's just sad. The Double version of my mod makes it so you get 22 simoleons first, and then the customer pays those 28 simoleons. That's a total of 50 simoleons per customer. More than double the profit, not bad! The Triple version gives you a total of 71, pretty self explanatory. The numbers don’t match exactly with double or triple profits, but I didn’t want to spend that much time finding the exact value to make it exactly double or triple, you know, especially considering there might be other factors that affect your business income. I’m not that good at maths to be honest... orz

So how do you tune this? All you need is SimPe. Open the package, click on the BCON file and edit line number 14, on the Dec box. The default Maxis value was 20. I changed it to -100 to get roughly double the profit, and -200 to get triple profit. If you want to increase the profit even more, make sure you keep it negative when changing the value! Then just click Commit and Save. Done!

One extra note before I continue. The extra money you get with the mod does count for the balance you see on the UI menu for the business on the top right. So if you like to keep track of your income, the mod will take effect on those bars. However, it won’t count for things like the First Simoleon prize thingy. So for now I’m not really sure if this extra money would count for other things such as Lifetime Wants related to gaining money. I haven’t tested it that much.

Okay, now you know almost everything you need to know about this mod. If you want to read some ramblings on how I tested this, keep reading. Otherwise, you’re good to go!

So, let’s talk testing, because that’s something I actually enjoy doing. I built a simple restaurant lot, with about 5 tables available. The conditions were:

-3 Sims from my household to work as host, waiter and chef. No external employees, so I don’t need to keep track of extra salaries to pay.

-Schedule is roughly 15:00 - 22:00.

-New business level 0. Prices were kept at the default average.

-I didn’t use the Basic Sell interaction. If the customer didn’t want to eat at my restaurant, then so be it.

-The chef had 10 points of cooking skill, so I could add any food to the menu. However, I only chose one food to cook to keep the profit numbers as consistent as possible.

For the first case, I chose cooking only Mac N Cheese, a very cheap food that makes almost no money at all. It doesn’t require any cooking skill points. Mac N Cheese gives you 28 simoleons when the Sim pays. -In an unmodded game, you also lose 4 simoleons, so it’s 24 simoleons per customer. After running the business for the set schedule, I got 240 simoleons of profit. Pretty disappointing! If I had employees to pay, I would only have a few simoleons to spare, if any at all. -With my Double version of the mod, you get an extra 22 simoleons, making a total of 50 simoleons per customer. After running the business with the mod in, I got 400 simoleons. Not much, but hey, it’s something.

For the second case, I chose Filet Mignon. This food is pretty fancy, and it requires max cooking skill. Filet Mignon gives you 83 simoleons when the Sim pays. I also noticed the customers take way less time to eat it compared to the Mac N Cheese, so that’s an extra bonus to make the business run faster. -In an unmodded game, you also lose 13, so it’s 70 simoleons per customer. After running the business, I got 630 simoleons of profit. Not bad, but considering you need to max out the cooking skill, it’s almost insulting spending so many hours just to get that… -With my Double version of the mod, you get an extra 65 simoleons, making a total of 148 (!) simoleons per customer. After running the business with the mod in, I got 1036 simoleons. Okay, nooow we’re talking! That's the fancy restaurant status I like to see.

You might be wondering why these numbers are so inconsistent. Well, sometimes my lovely waiter decided to drop the tray on the customers, poor guy. That added to the randomness of how customers decide to enter the restaurant or not, and if the game sits more than one customer on the table or just one of them, if someone gets stuck for a while losing time… all of that can end up making the results a bit inconsistent. That being said, I had better luck when I was running the business without the mod in, yet I still got quite a lot more money with the mod in. I didn’t keep track of the numbers for the Triple version, but as you can probably guess, that one would be even more profitable.

One last case I wanted to test and compare: a completely different type of business, a games and entertainment one using the Bandatron ticket machine. In that scenario, I got 21 simoleons per customer, each hour. So after that schedule of 15:00 - 22:00, I got a total of 789 simoleons! All my sim did during those hours was bartending. That shows how easy it is to run a business with a ticket machine, and the biggest advantage is that you don’t have to pay employees if you don’t need them, and you don’t need any skills at all. Just plop down that machine, put some objects, relax and let the money flow by itself.

So yeah, in conclusion, Eaxis really messed up programming the restaurant businesses, there’s no doubt about it. Hopefully my mod helps balance things out. And if you think it's still too low on the incomes department, you can always tune it to your liking! As far as I know, this should not conflict with anything, but if you run into any issues, let me know and I’ll try my best to fix it asap.

Special thanks to EddySims for their fantastic HQ Icon Pack I used to make the preview pic! <3

#ts2 mod #sims 2 mod #can you tell i had a lot of fun making that preview pic #stonks moment #now i want to run a restaurant business hehe

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cherryredstars · 2 years ago

Note

heyy you said you had made a part 1.5 of job benefits I was wondering if you could post it?

Pairing: Perverted Miguel (xfem!reader)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Reader is only mentioned, Panty Fucking, Male Masturbation, Perverted Thoughts

Summary: Sometime between the events of In The Job Description and Job Benefits

A/N: Guess who’s back! Hint: It's not Slim Shady

Word Count: 1.5K (Barely Edited)

Reverse AU Part 1

It was extremely unprofessional.

Borderline pathetic in all of its honesty. He felt like a little school boy, drooling over the sight of his teacher’s breasts when she leaned over to help. But fuck where you one fucking distraction. He had to stop himself from drooling whenever you walked back into his office after he fucked you over his desk, using a binder or stack of papers to hide your overly exposed chest after the finicky buttons of your blouse failed to do their job. He could fuck his fist to the sight of your shy doe eyes, darting around the room in an attempt to not look at him. It took everything in him to not skip out on his next meeting in favor of pounding that pretty pussy until it match the flush of your face.

But this will have to do. It has to or else he’ll go absolutely mad. A strong hiss escapes his lips, getting lost by the sound of your voice echoing from his car speakers. His phone was connected to the bluetooth function of his car, a voicemail you’ve left him a few weeks ago on a loop. He’s never been more grateful for tinted windows, hiding the view of his head thrown back against his headrest with your panties pressed tightly to his nose. He had been fingering with the material in his suit pocket all day, a cocky smirk on his face as he traced the lace trimmings on the waistband. During his boring ass meeting, he eyed you taking notes besides him, fingers caressing the tacky liquid on the crotch of your panties while replaying the feeling of your cunt around his cock not even thirty minutes ago. He applauded himself for his self control, slightly surprised he was able to be so composed knowing you were sitting right there without any panties on, ready for the taking.

His mind ran crazy with the things he would do with his prize in his alone time. The things he would want you to do after he finished with it. In the boredom of his office, he thought about the way he would fuck into them. Imagining how it would feel to have the head of his cock rub against the area your sweet cunt had been. Could already feel the material wrapped around his cock as he jerked off, his hand keeping it flush to his skin. Wondered how many times he’d have to cum on them until it smelled of him instead of you. Wondered if he could convince you to wear them while they were still sticky with his release, the thought of his cum rubbing and sticking to your pussy lips as you squirmed from the uncomfortable wetness was enough for him to cum in his briefs.

The more he thought about it, the more his cock would throb and weep. It built up to the point that he couldn’t wait until he went to his penthouse. He dreaded the short drive, having to wait for the slow ass elevator to come to the lobby and then back up to the penthouse on the top floor, impatient with the few seconds it would take him to unlock his front door and lock it behind him, the thought of waiting until he got to his bed was laughable. So the second you went home and he finished the last of his work, he got to his car as fast as he could. He instantly pulled the panties out of his pocket the second the door closed, locking it with a single button. His eyes had instantly closed when he pressed them to his face and took a deep breath. The tangy scent of your left over arousal caused him to groan, his hand blindly fishing for his phone and opening up his audio files.

He clicked the single file, your breathy voice filling the car. He had saved it because of the airiness of your voice. He had instantly got hard when he first heard it, shocked when he opened it and was greeted with a breathy whimper of his name. You had made the call after your car broke down and you had to walk the remaining two miles to work. You had struggled going up the slanted walk in your heels, resulting in the most blessed audio. His cock swells more and he throws his phone to the passenger seat. His hand goes to his pants, unbuttoning them before he lifts his hips and pulls them down just low enough to reveal his cock. A pained noise leaves him at the sight of it, his tip red and pulsing. Glossy precum dribbles from his slit, forcing some of it to drip down. He wishes he wasn’t so impatient in his office, maybe then he could of taken the time to fuck into your mouth. Maybe force you to stay quiet all day, his cum pooling on your tongue for hours before he gives you permission to swallow it.

His hand instantly massages the liquid into his skin, thin trails sticking to his skin when he pulls his hand away. His eyes are hazy when he wraps his hand around himself, giving it a lazy tug. If he squeezes his hand tight enough, breathes deeply into your pretty little panties, and focuses on the sound of your voice, he can pretend you’re actually here with him. He can pretend that he’s in the backseat with you, fucking into you as your nails dig into his leather seats. Or, maybe he’d let you ride him in the very spot he is right now, pulling your hair back as he marks your neck. The mental image makes him moan, his hand speeding up around his cock.

“Ahh, fuck. Siéntete tan jodidamente bien por mí, nena.” Miguel mumbles, mind getting hazy as he closes his eyes. The image is so vivid in his mind, can practically taste the scent of leather and cum in the air as he watches himself slide into you.

The audio recording morphs into the pretty moans you gave him today, his pants merging with your winded voice. His hand tightens around himself until it's practically painful, but still not matching the delicious warmth of your cunt. His hand speeds up to the pace he imagines you’d ride him to, occasionally tightening to simulate the fluttering of your walls. It drives him wild, practically suffocating himself with your panties while he mumbles praises in the material. He pretends his precum flowing from his tip is your arousal, his cock getting more and more drenched as he slides in and out of you. He doesn’t stop the bucking of his hips, fucking into his hand and hissing out your name. He can feel his orgasm building up, the muscles of his lower stomach tensing as his hand moves rapidly, desperately.

“Tómalo, tómalo todo como una buena chica.” He cries out, pulling the panties away from his face and wrapping them around his cock.

He works them harshly, his hips arching into the material as he whimpers out. His mouth hangs open as he looks down at his cock, giving it the last few jerks before he covers his tip entirely with your panties, spilling hot seed into them. He can’t stop his hips from bucking weakly, fucking your panties to ride out his release. He lets out small whines, cursing and mumbling your name as the euphoria dies away. The panties grow warm and sticky, and he slowly pulls them away. He groans as the material remains connected to his tip, strings of cum spreading thin until they snap away. His chest rises and falls as he tries to calm down, throwing the panties to the passenger seat and grabbing his phone.

The sound of your voice stops abruptly, and Miguel curses as he drops the phone to his lap and rubs his hands harshly against his face and into his hair. A frustration builds in his chest, dissatisfaction growing in his stomach. Despite his intense orgasm, he still craves more. His skin practically itching to hunt you down and fuck you again. He lets out an annoyed huff, fixing himself before he starts the car and make his pitiful way home where he’ll desperately fuck your panties again. His scowl remains on his face as he pulls out of the company parking lot, driving down the road until a store on his right side catches his eye.

He quickly double takes, his head looking back quickly before the scowl melts away. He quickly signals into a parallel parking space, turning off the engine as he grabs the sticky panties. He finds what he’s looking for, squinting his eyes to read the small text printed under the waistband. With his mood improving by the second, Miguel gets out of his car, subtly checking his pocket for his wallet as he walks towards the lingerie store.

Well look at that, he thinks gleefully, there’s a shoe store next door, too.

Part 2

Join the Taglist!

#cherry's requests🍒#company matters series💎#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spider man 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse

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sofmoth · 3 months ago

Text

i don’t need you to save me

hello goobies♡ new joel series from me??? and you never thought you’d see it smh

thank you so so much @magpiepills and @strang3lov3 for beta reading, your feedback, and your encouragement♡

also posted to AO3 by me (@sofmoth), link here.

MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

don’t make fun of the cover picture. i don’t be making them like that anymore and i’m out of practice.

divider created by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

joel miller (TLOU) x f!OC. WC: 5,051

series and chapter title from ‘Ritual’ by The Devil Wears Prada, parts of the story are inspired by the lyrics of the song. please note: this is the first chapter of an ongoing series. each chapter will be tagged accordingly. speaking of

TAGS: late 60s/early 70s AU, the vietnam war is happening, characters smoking throughout, dark!joel, therapist!joel, POV character is very mentally ill, psychiatric hospital setting, discussions of dissociation, non-explicit descriptions of self mutilation, descriptions of harming others, hypersexuality and homewrecking behavior, disordered eating mention, descriptions of OCD behaviors, descriptions of religious compulsions, medication sedation to quell compulsions, voluntary patient isolation, brief discussion of the aftermath of a failed lobotomy, fear and depression regarding loved ones in the vietnam war, discussion and descriptions of suicide and suicide attempts, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

this is not a jovial or fun fic. it is VERY dark and VERY heavy. this story is based in part on lyrics from ‘Ritual’ by The Devil Wears Prada, the memoir ‘Girl, Interrupted’ by Susanna Kaysen, and my own experiences with my mental illnesses and the behaviors/harm they’ve caused, not only to me but to those i love. please do not force yourself to read anything that may be potentially triggering.

It’s cold in Dolores’s office. The whole hospital is cold, but at least the chair in front of her desk is stuffed and covered in fabric. I finally got unsupervised smoking privileges, so now I sit and smoke and wait.

I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes already, and I’m getting impatient. I consider burning a spot on the lacquer just to see what would happen, but that would be a surefire way to lose my privileges. I’ve been here four months now and smoking with an orderly breathing down my neck has been the second greatest annoyance I’ve encountered thus far. The first being my therapist’s bad habit of showing up late to every one of my mandatory sessions with her. Apparently they want me out so bad they can’t be bothered to help me get out.

I’m trying not to take it personally. Really, I am. Delores is the only therapist on my ward and she sees all of us. And there are a lot of us. So now I sit and smoke and wait, tapping my ash onto the desk in a minute act of rebellion that won’t get my smoking privileges revoked. Delores will be annoyed with me, but I am annoyed with her. I don’t see how she can be late after seeing the previous patient, everyone’s sessions take place in her office. I’m sure my 1:2 partner isn’t exactly pleased to be sitting outside of the office with our companion nurse while she waits for me to have my brain picked again. I don’t like waiting for her either, so we’re even.

There’s a knock on the door, which confuses me. Why would Delores knock on her own door? She’s never given any of us that dignity before. Regardless of this strange new occurrence I don’t bother turning as I hear the bolt click, simply crossing my legs in the chair and tapping more ash onto the desk. Out of the corner of my eye I see a man pass, and then he sits at Delores’s desk.

“Who the fuck are you?” It comes out before I can stop it.

“Joel Miller, MD of psychiatry. Who the fuck are you?”

I am taken aback. Delores would never speak to any of us like this.

“You’re the shrink, you can read my file. Where’s Delores?”

“Dr. Brannock is taking an… extended leave of absence.” I roll my eyes.

“Great. Been here four fuckin’ months, and just when I was starting to get used to her. I hope you’re not expecting me to just bend over and take whatever you think you’re gonna give me.”

He laughs at that. Delores would have shit herself if I said something like that. The first time I told her about some of my sexual odysseys– after she insisted– she turned white as a sheet and typed so loud I don’t think she actually heard a word I said.

“Since you didn’t answer my question, got a nickname I can call you?”

“Only if you don’t make me call you “doctor.””

“That’s fine. You can call me Joel.”

“Good. You can make something up, I don’t care what you call me.”

“Suit yourself, Shakes.”

Ouch. He took a cheap shot at my medication-induced tremoring, but I shouldn’t have given him the opening. Joel watches me tap the last of my ash onto the desk before dropping the butt into the crystal ashtray.

“Next time you light up, I’d appreciate if you used the ashtray the whole time.”

“Or what?”

“I did read your file. I know you just got unsupervised smoking privileges. How’d you like to go back to no smoking privileges?”

“What fuckin’ for?”

“Intentional improper disposal, cannot be trusted due to the possibility of intentional or unintentional fire-starting.”

Now I’m fuming. I didn’t hate him right out the gate but now he’s really pissed me off. I turn in the chair and swing my legs over the side of it, crossing my arms over my chest. I do hear his voice but I don’t bother to listen, if he wants to play that game he can start at square one with me. File be god damned. I close my eyes and let him talk at me; I have nothing to say.

I allow myself to dissociate for the remainder of the hour until a knock on the door startles me. Joel laughs across the desk.

“Good nap?” I don’t look at him.

“Wasn’t napping. I was just tuning you out.”

“Either way, that’s the hour. Same time next week?”

“If you mean you’ll be 15 minutes late, don’t bother. You fuckin’ people are constantly telling me you want me to get better but all you’re doing is making me talk at you and that’s not fuckin’ helping me. So either you’re here on time or don’t bother with me at all.”

I see Joel look me up and down through the corner of my eye. He crosses his arms and leans back.

“Alright. I’ll be on time next week and we’ll have a productive conversation. No more of that mopey tantrum shit you did today. We’re gonna get you better and you’re gonna get outta here. Deal?”

I stand and push the chair closer to the desk.

“Fine.” I walk to the door and rest my hand on the knob. “Joel?”

“Yeah, Shakes?”

“I don’t like you.”

“Don’t need you to like me. Just need you to cooperate with me.”

I roll my eyes and walk out, my 1:2 partner and our nurse rising at the sight of me. A girl we call Train Tracks raises her hand a little at me as she enters the office. She’s a sweet kid with a severe snaggletooth and a mouthful of metal, she can’t even be 16. She asked us to call her Train Tracks, but I only call her Titi. None of us know exactly what’s wrong with her. Clearly nothing major, or she’d be in maximum security. Our ward is Elysian compared to max.

My 1:2 partner isn’t that bad. I may have misrepresented her. Most of the girls in the ward took to calling her Toto, but her real name is Dorothy. I call her Dory. She’s a lot taller than me, five or six inches, and she keeps her hair cut in a smart French bob. She would be beautiful too if not for the horrific mass of scar tissue where her left eye used to be.

Our first night together I asked her about it, to her surprise. Dory told me most people tend to pussyfoot about it, then told me she has something her doctors call “scrupulosity.” I asked her what that meant, and she told me when she was 17 she had caused an accident in which a boy from her neighborhood lost his left eye. It didn’t matter that it was completely unintentional, she had to be punished, and her bible told her– very literally– exactly what needed to be done. She didn’t want to go to Hell, so she made it even. She’s been here for four years so far.

I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans and Dory hooks her right arm through my left as we walk down the halls to the living room. She leans a bit closer to my ear.

“You need to spill about that new shrink we got. He’s cute.”

“There’s nothing to spill, Dory. I looked at him for about two minutes and I didn’t talk to him for the entire session.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not lying. He told me he’d take away my smoking privileges entirely and that pissed me off, so I ignored him the whole time.” Dory sucks her teeth and leans away.

Joel isn’t bad-looking, I do have to concede that. Probably middle-aged, hair and beard going salt-and-pepper. He’s certainly much older than almost every girl in the ward except for a few of the catatonics. If he really read my file like he says he did, he’ll know he’s the type I’ve been known to chase. He’ll know I have no concept of respecting authority, and I’ll treat him like any other older man whose marriage and life I’ve made the decision to smash apart. I wonder if he’s married, and does he have children? I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.

“I will tell you one thing.” Dory takes a seat in the hard plastic chair next to me and raises an eyebrow.

“Please do.”

“Joel gave me a nickname. He’s fuckin’ calling me “Shakes.”” Dory laughs and then clears her throat, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Well shame on him, that’s not very nice. But his name is Joel?”

“Mhm.” I pull my cigarettes and matchbook out of my sweater pocket, lighting one before I speak again. “Dr. Joel Miller. He told me I could call him Joel if he could call me by a nickname, so I told him to make one up. Bastard just had to go for the low blow.”

Dory squeezes my hand sympathetically. In about an hour it’ll be time for dinner and I’ll have the opportunity to gather some information in the cafeteria. Surely someone from the men’s ward, patient or staff, will have some information about Joel. The best part about our facilities is that they’ve yet to catch up with most of the country, and we have no surveillance cameras anywhere except the front doors. Really, all that does is force the crazies to get creative. And we are good at it.

An extra serving of Jell-O and one blowjob for a less-than-ethical orderly later, I learn that apparently Delores had some kind of nervous breakdown. I actually feel a bit offended. She won’t be stuck in a hospital like this one. She’ll have a private psychiatrist to come to her house where her stuffy husband will sit with his ear to the door, trying to glean an ounce of information on what about us rubbed off on his wife to make her go fucking batty.

The orderly tells me that Joel is permanently on the women’s ward now, but he was originally on the men’s ward. The hospital’s board is just going to be looking for another shrink so the same doesn’t happen to Joel. My sickest part tells me to break him, make it happen. I know I don’t have that power, but I can annoy the hell out of him. I don’t know why I want to, what it is about him that teases this pettiness out.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s made it as far as he has, and we’re all so young. Maybe it’s the subtle frown under his mustache, the furrow of his brows. I don’t believe he’s a miserable man, but he’s certainly not very happy with something. I never got a word of personal information out of Delores, but if I play my cards right I might be able to learn a little something about Joel.

I retake my seat between Dory and one of the binge-eaters, tapping with my nail on Dory’s wrist to let her know I have news. For a girl who’s so afraid to sin she carved out her own eye, she does love to gossip. But this isn’t gossip, not really. This is our life. Nobody told us anything was changing, and if we’re going to have every moment of our lives scheduled and dictated for us, we have the right to know when something as big as our therapist leaving happens. The orderly told me they were hoping to do it quietly, spring it on everyone. What a bunch of fucking idiots.

I’m sure Joel will be answering the question of “Where’s Delores?” more than he’ll actually be treating anyone for the next week or so. But I get to see him again on Wednesday, and he told me we would have a productive conversation. I don’t know how productive it’ll be; I’m already imagining what I’ll have to do to make him give it up. He’s nowhere near as uptight as Delores and that’s throwing me for a loop.

He laughed at me. He swore in our session. I’m used to straight-laced teachers and managers and businessmen, men who I make swear to me up and down that they’ll leave their wives even though I know they won’t and I don’t actually want them to. I just like knowing I can do that to a man. I don’t even know if Joel has a life I could ruin, or at the very least a marriage I could dissolve.

I don’t do it out of wickedness. I just get so bored sometimes.

TV time after dinner. There’s never any good programming on. Linda suggests we play Old Maid. I hate that fucking game. But it’s between that and the 7 o’clock news, and I can’t bear to hear about the lottery again. I don’t want to know if my brother is going to Vietnam, so I join Linda and Dory and one of the nurses and I play Old Maid.

At least Joel didn’t have to go to Vietnam. I wonder if he has a brother in Vietnam, if he has any family at all. I don’t want to keep thinking about it, so I suggest Euchre to the girls. The nurse, Randi, sighs in what I assume is relief. She grabs a normal deck of cards off the all-plastic activity cart and returns, shuffling them in her hands. Linda puts away the Old Maid deck, Dory shuffles the cards again, I cut them. I’ve never been good at Euchre, but I’ve gotten much better since I got here.

Lights out at 9 PM, and fifteen minute checks all night until 7 AM. Dory is technically on 30 minute checks, but I’m still new and she’s my roommate, so she is also on fifteen minute checks by default. I’ve been here long enough now that I am used to it though, and I don’t find myself waking up when the nurse pops her head in and softly announces her presence. Of course tonight is the night Dory decides to have a fucking episode.

She must have been holding it in, because in between one check and another she started furiously praying. I hear her mumbling and that is out of the ordinary, so of course it does wake me. As I roll over I see her furiously rocking on her knees, hands clasped on the edge of her bed. I rise, making sure to approach from the right on the off chance her eye is open. I don’t want to startle her. I rest my hand gently on her shoulder, softly petting the back of her head.

“Dory? Honey, I’m gonna go get the nurse. Do you need anything?” She shakes her head, eye squeezing shut even harder than I ever thought possible.

I sigh, lighting a cigarette as I pad barefoot into the hall. I look up and down and don’t see a nurse, so that means I’ll have to go to the nurse’s station.The hospital is almost too quiet at night. Like I said, our ward is Elysian compared to max. It’s never quiet over there, especially not at night. I hear a man’s voice as I approach and I’m confused. Maintenance only comes during the day and the only man who works in this ward is Joel, but he should have gone home hours ago.

“Cynthia?” I say it tentatively, and the man’s voice quiets.

“That you, Shakes?” Fuck.

It is Joel. What he’s doing here at this hour, I don’t want to know. All I know is that he’s effectively broken into my home in the middle of the night.

“Yes, Joel. Is Cynthia there too, or are you allowed to dispense Quaaludes?” I lean against the counter and Cynthia rolls out on her chair from behind a shelf.

“Why do you need Quaaludes?” She looks, very rightfully, confused.

“Dorothy is having an episode. Do you just want to bring them when you do checks? I thought you were the only one here, so I didn’t want you to have to fuck with the paperwork and worry about making your rounds on time.”

“I can dispense and distribute. You worry about your checks, Cynthia. I’ll go take care of Dorothy.” Fuck you, Joel.

“Oh, I don’t want to keep you. You’ve already been here all evening.”

“Nonsense. Besides,” he lowers his voice but I can still hear him, “I haven’t had a session with her yet. This’ll help me gauge what I’m workin’ with.”

I still lean on the counter, tapping my ash into the ceramic tray to my left.

“Am I gonna get an answer or should I just tell Dory help isn’t coming?”

“Fine, Shakes. I’ll get her dose, just hold your horses.”

I do whinny, perhaps a bit too loud because Cynthia’s eyebrows knit together and her lips purse. Joel coughs to cover a laugh. I watch him unlock a door and enter, returning a moment later with two small paper cups. One for pills, one for water. Cynthia opens the gate for him and he steps up next to me.

“Lead the way, Shakes. I’ve got paperwork to fill out.”

“Fine.”

I stub out my cigarette and turn, walking back down the hall to my room. I can hear the small heels of Joel’s dress shoes hitting the linoleum and it’s driving me even crazier. I stop short, pressing my knuckles to my temples.

“Can you please walk a little quieter? Jesus, it sounds like I’m being followed by a fucking herd of elephants.”

“Well I apologize, I can’t exactly control the volume of my goddamn shoes on the floor.”

“Whatever. Some of these girls can’t even get rest at night, have a little courtesy for your patients.” I spit the word at him.

I can see his jaw tense in the moonlight filtering through the chicken-wired windows, and then he drops about a third of an inch as he removes his shoes. He raises his eyebrows and gestures me onward. I sigh through my nose and continue. Dory is still praying fervently when we return, but she’s at least stopped rocking. I kneel next to her.

“Dory? Dr. Miller is here, he’s gonna give you something. Here, let’s get back in bed.”

I take her hand gently, lifting slowly, and thank fucking God she rises. I tuck her in, leaving her arms free as Joel hands her the pills first and then the water. She only stops praying to swallow, and she never opens her eye. Her volume has lowered to near-indecipherable, and I hope she won’t be put in isolation tomorrow. Maybe she’ll ask for it, if only to get everything out. Joel sighs as she finally stops mumbling, and I move to climb back into my own bed. He grabs my bare ankle before I can hide it under my thin blanket and my head snaps up at him. He shuts our door softly, sitting at the foot of my bed.

“You’re breaking a lot of rules right now, Joel.” Dory is asleep, but I whisper anyway.

“Yeah.”

He looks me over before shaking his head slightly, patting my leg and rising.

“Night, Shakes. I’ll see you Wednesday.”

He leaves quietly, and I am left wondering. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he chickened out. Maybe he didn’t have anything to say at all and I’m just reading too much into the way he looks in the night. How I would enjoy seeing him in the night again. Whatever it was he wanted to say and didn’t, I’m going to make him say it. One way or another.

————

Dory does ask to go into isolation Thursday morning, after breakfast. I don’t blame her. She can’t do any harm to anyone or anything in there, and if she needs to be alone with her thoughts to somehow get rid of them, who am I to judge? She comes out a few hours later, looking more serene. When I ask her what happened she just smiles and shakes her head.

Our days are structured a bit painfully. Wake up at 7 AM, line up for meds, breakfast at 8. After breakfast there’s an occasional outing, or we can rest in our rooms, and sometimes those of us with grounds privileges will take a walk with our nurses. Some girls go to individual therapy until noon, then lunch. After lunch, group therapy until 2. We’ll have exercise and art and music classes while more girls have individual therapy until dinner at 6, then TV time at 7 PM. Night meds are dispensed starting at 8, and then it’s lights out again at 9. Dory has therapy on Fridays, so I hope she can hold on to her episode until then. I’m sure Joel will want to ask about it.

I doodle with a waxy crayon absentmindedly. I wish they’d give us real colored pencils, but they can’t risk someone going ballistic from the monotony and stabbing another patient. Apparently it’s happened, but I think they just don’t want to deal with the pencil shavings. It’s not like I can ask anyone about it anyway, the only people who would remember it would be the catatonics. I’ve been here the shortest at four months, the longest anyone has been here is thirty years. Julia. She’s 60, had a botched lobotomy. Only her daughter visits, and I’ve heard her say to a nurse that the only reason Julia is even still here is because her scumbag husband keeps paying the exorbitant bill. I worry about what’ll happen to her when he finally eats it.

“You feel okay?” I blink hard.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“What about?”

“I’ll save it for Wednesday. Thanks, Titi.”

I don’t need to burden a child with my fears.

————

Friday and the weekend pass without any major incidents. Monday morning we even got to take a field trip into town to visit the library, and thank God we did. I’m fucking sick of reading ‘Wuthering Heights.’ I was allowed to check out one book, so I chose ‘The Outsiders.’ It seemed fitting, but so far it isn’t anything like I’d imagined.

On Tuesday I got a letter from my parents.

Hello Peanut. We’re sorry we didn’t call, it’s just been too hectic here at home. We wish we could all come and see you, especially Ace. Peanut, he’s going

I stopped reading there. I knew what the rest said. I didn’t want to know whether or not he was going to Vietnam, but now, with the rest of the world and the flow of information totally out of my hands, I have found out regardless. I am angry. I am a lot of things. I suppose I will have a productive conversation with Joel.

I take my book with me to therapy, hoping that he won’t be late but making sure I won’t be bored stiff if he breaks his promise and is. Janice nods at me as she leaves his office and I enter, preparing for the worst. Maybe he dipped out on her early and isn’t even in the office. To my surprise, as I shut the door and turn around, I see him sitting at the desk locking up Janice’s file. I sit quietly in the chair, tucking my book to the side. I don’t have the energy to argue with him, cause any fuss. My heart is breaking and I don’t know how to express it to him.

“What’s goin’ on, Shakes?” I keep my eyes down.

“My brother is a dead man. He’s going to Vietnam.” My voice shakes almost as hard as my hands.

“God damn,” Joel whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” I have to whisper too, or I feel like I may start crying.

Joel rolls up his sleeves before fishing around in his pocket for a moment. He pulls out his wallet, sliding a small photo card free. He holds it delicately between two fingers, facing me. The man I see bears enough resemblance that I know what he’s telling me without a word spoken.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Like you said, not your fault. Tommy’s infantry. Your brother gets lucky, he won’t see a day of combat. This thing’s ending soon, I can feel it.”

“I hope you’re right. Does he write you?” Joel nods.

“Every week. That’s what I look forward to every week, Tommy’s letter. Just to tell me he’s okay. Best case scenario, he’ll tell me he’s got himself hurt just bad enough that he has to come home and can’t go back.”

“Fucked up thing to hope for.”

“Yes, it is.”

Joel allows us to sit in silence for a few minutes, and I’m grateful. I can regather my bearings, get my head back on as straight as the circumstances allow.

“I heard y’all went to town Monday, got to visit the library? I see you picked something out.”

“Yeah, it’s called The Outsiders. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.”

“Tell me about that.” I don’t really want to.

“Have you ever been on the other side of the table, Joel?”

“Whad’ya mean?”

“In the book, there are Greasers and Socs. I know I’m from the wrong side of the tracks, but you look pretty Soc-y to me. So, have you ever been on my side of the desk?” Joel sighs, crosses his arms and rubs a hand over his beard.

“You probably won’t believe me, but yes I have.”

“When?”

“1955. I got sent to Korea and when I finally came home I was just… ate up with everything that happened. Everything I saw over there, it was just too much to bear. So…”

He manipulates the hair near his temple until I can see part of a very round, slightly indented scar. The bastard had tried to blow his own brains out.

“I tried to take care of things, but I didn’t get the job done right. Spent a few months in a place a lot worse than this, and when I got out I decided I had to do better by everyone who went after me. Sittin’ on your side led to sittin’ on mine.”

“So what are you saying?” My voice is very soft.

“This ain’t the end.”

I know Joel read my file. Surely he knows I tried to kill myself too, and that’s why I’m here. How foolish I feel about my own attempt knowing now what happened to Joel.

“Hey.” I look up at him. “I know what you’re thinkin’. Suicide ain’t the most rational thing in the world. I know why you tried it, and in the moment it felt like the only thing you could do. Hardly anyone ever has a good reason for trying.”

“You did.”

“Maybe so. But I coulda talked to someone before I got there. And I know you tried to talk about it, so you’re one step ahead of me.”

He stands and walks around to the front of the desk, leaning against it and crossing his arms.

“Only reason you’re here now is because no one would listen. Shakes, I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

I finally collapse, sobbing pathetically into my sleeve cuffs. I feel the air shift as Joel moves closer and suddenly my forehead is against his stomach. This is highly abnormal and absolutely in violation of some dozen rules but I truly don’t care. Clearly he doesn’t either. I don’t know what game he’s playing, and as much as that bothers me, for now I just want to cry.

His hand on the back of my head feels large enough to crush half of my skull, the other on my spine rubs a gentle circle. Eventually I manage to calm myself down and he hands me a few tissues. I wipe my face and blow my nose, tossing the spent tissues into the wastebasket. Joel leans back against the desk again, I see his cheek move as he bites the skin inside.

“We’re gonna get to the bottom of everything, Shakes. Don’t you worry about that.”

I can only nod. I have nothing to say. I keep my eyes down and pluck the ashtray off the desk before picking up my book, lighting a cigarette and tucking my legs under myself as I lean as far into the chair as I can. Joel sighs through his nose and walks around the desk, back to his chair. He picks up a pencil and begins writing, most likely notes from today’s session. The clock indicates we have about 20 minutes left. I’m content to sit quietly, to smoke and read. I just hope Joel felt the conversation was productive.

I’m lost in my book when Joel clears his throat. I look up, blinking slowly.

“Got about three minutes left. Any last-minute thoughts, questions?” I shouldn’t, but I’ll ask anyway.

“You have a brother. Do you have any other family? Kids? A wife?” I can see a small smile trying to break through.

“I’ve got a daughter, she’s probably about your age.” This information stirs something up inside me.

“But you’re not married?”

“Not married.”

I nod, marking my place in my book and standing to replace the ashtray on the desk. I sincerely feel he knows what he’s doing. I must now ask myself the question of whether or not to attempt to pursue. I’ve fucked around with plenty of men with daughters my age, but none who were unmarried with daughters my age. That’s half the thrill. A knock on the door tells us our hour is over.

“Same time next week?”

“Sure. Have a good day, Joel.”

I stop with my hand resting on the doorknob, just as I did last week.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, Shakes?”

“I changed my mind about you.”

“That’s good to hear. I’ll be seeing you.”

Dory and our nurse rise to greet me as Titi waves, entering Joel’s office. I can’t help the slight grin that dances over my face. Dory raises an eyebrow and I wave my hand. Of course I’ll tell her all about it later.

#joel miller x f!OC #joel miller fic #dark!joel miller #therapist!joel miller #dark fic #dead dove fic #DDDNE #moth hollerin

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lonelydreams-world · 7 days ago

Text

Raf's Notes as originally presented on The Hub's website.

TRANSMITTING FROM INSIDE AUTOBOT HEADQUARTERS

What if you could have secret access to the Autobots' base, getting the inside scoop on their latest missions and battles with the Decepticons? Well, that's Raf! He's got full access to all things Autobots, and he's taking notes.

We've gained access to his laptop, so now you can peek over his shoulder and see what's really happening behind the scenes. (Just don't tell him we gave you the secret password, or he might hack our system.) Check out Raf's Notes every week -- EXCLUSIVELY--here on HubWorld.com!

THE NOTES SO FAR

Gotta keep track of all of this ACTION! This is my stash of all my entries--super-encrypted so that Megatron and his boys (or Agent Fowler) can't get to the goods!

ENTRY # 1

This Is NOT a Diary!

OK, not sure where to start, since a LOT has happened, but I figure I better take notes, cuz ... well, let's just say, life's been pretty different lately. And I want to remember as much as possible, cuz if someone else said all this happened to him, no way would I believe it. I'm saving these notes as a triple-encrypted file in my laptop, so no one will ever see them. I'd do hex-encryption, but who has the time?

AUTOBOTS!!!

Where was I? OK. Autobots. My life hasn't been the same since I met them. They're these huge autonomous robotic life-forms who came to Earth to protect us from these other huge guys called Decepticons. Optimus Prime is the leader of the good guys, and Megatron is the really bad Bad Guy. (Except they used to be friends ... but that was a REALLY long time ago.)

They're all after this stuff called Energon, which is kinda like food and gas and blood and electricity all mixed into one. (Note to self : Eww.) They used to live on a planet called Cybertron, but they destroyed it by fighting for, like, forever. Optimus says he's trying to make sure that doesn't happen to Earth next. They've been here in secret for a while, but since me and these other kids Jack and Miko accidentally saw them and discovered their secret, they're protecting us ... in case the Cons come after us.

Bumblebee's my buddy. Mostly cuz I'm the only kid who understands him. Not sure why ... he makes perfect sense. He just doesn’t use words. Might be the same reason I could understand digital code, even when I was three years old. Anyway, most people talk too much. Best thing? Bee's an awesome muscle car, and he’s my friend.

Arcee is Jack's partner, and Bulkhead watches out for Miko. I guess I should point out that Jack and Miko go to my school, and normally we'd never even talk. But lately, nothing's normal, so the three of us hang out at the secret Autobot base a LOT. It's awesome, cuz they have the sickest computers and other way-cool tech.

My mom asked where I was going after school all the time, so I told her I joined the Computer Club. Which is kinda true.

ENTRY #2

The Bigger They Are....

Woah, what a week! Looks like Megatron, the main Decepticon, went down for good this week, out in space. Lucky for Earth! Most of us felt like cheering, but not Optimus. He never likes it when a spark gets extinguished, no matter whose. A spark is like a Bot's life spirit, more or less.

Game Over?

After that, we were all thinking Game Over. No more Megatron, no more trouble. So we got busy with our science fair projects. I have to say, it was pretty cool getting science help from the Bots. They have so much data to work with, and all that amazing hardware.

But it never stays quiet for long around here. Optimus and Bee went to go check out a blip on the Energon grid. It's how they keep track of all the Bots and Cons everywhere -- like a radar screen for the whole universe. They figured it was probably Cons, but had no idea who or what they were headed for. But soon as they saw Skyquake, it was like -- GO time.

Turns out these other Cons, Starscream and Soundwave, had come to Earth just to find and reanimate this massive guy. Bee said Skyquake made Optimus look small! Even worse, his whole mission was to destroy Optimus, under ancient orders from Megatron. They'd faced off on Cybertron before, but that was forever ago.

Bigger AND Badder!

Thing is, big as Skyquake was, he wasn't as swift as the Bots. Our guys had him down and pretty much out.. until good old Agent Fowler came along in a plane. Skyquake scanned the plane, and then it was ON again. But, then snap -- the GUY BECAME THE PLANE!!! (btw, scanning sounds awesome. Like instant cloning.) Wish I'd seen that!

Anyway, in the end, our guys nailed Skyquake, and his spark went out. Huge relief in some ways, but Optimus was sad again ... he always hopes he can bring the bad guys around to being good.

Meanwhile, Ratchet seriously messed with my volcano project for Science Fair. I will NOT let him help again. I had to stay late at school and try to repair the Energon damage in the auditorium. Which took more than a little explaining.

ENTRY #3

Scraplets Scare!

OMG. What an insane week! We had a Scraplet infestation at the base. Imagine raccoon-sized termites wired on too much coffee! Or zombie dogs on candy! Or ... well, I'll explain.

It all started when Bumblebee and Bulkhead were scouting for Energon in the Arctic. They found this big metal egg/pod thing and brought it back for examination. No one knew what it was. But by the time it thawed, it was too late!

Here's what happened: Once the pod thing was in the lab, Optimus and Arcee went back to the Arctic for more recon while Bee and Bulkhead thawed out. Turns out they get frostbite too, almost like us. Miko and Jack were playing a video game ... and since there's only two controllers, I was like, No, you go ahead. (Mr. Nice Guy. As usual.) So I was just hanging near the lab when I saw the first Scraplet.

It was kinda cute, for a bot. It was like ... well, like a dog, like I said. But a friendly dog. They only eat metal, see, not organic material -- so when it saw me, it was like: "Hmmm. Not tasty."

But then it followed me back to the main area and BAM! It attacked Bee like mad. I had to smash it with a pipe to make it stop. Bulkhead seriously freaked. Never seen him like that before. And then we knew it was an infestation. There were like HUNDREDS of them, all inside the walls, chewing up the pipes and cables! Which explained the Comm-Link and power failures. Optimus and Arcee were out there freezing, but Ratchet couldn’t activate the GroundBridge to bring them in.

Since us kids weren't Scraplet food, we went to fix the hole in the Energon pipeline -- just in time, too. It was scary, but way more scary for the Bots. For once, WE got to protect THEM! It was cool and all, but still ... I'd rather not do it again.

I'm not so much the Protector type. More the Defensive Crouch type. Still ... it's good to know I can work it if I have to.

ENTRY #4

Don't Judge a Bot by Its Cover

I learned something new about Decepticons this week. Something huge happened -- a Bot made contact with us! Wheeljack. He's an old friend of Bulkhead's ... this big soldier Bot guy who just roams the universe solo. Or that's who he was supposed to be.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It started when we got a friendly Bot signal from deep space this week. Bulkhead was psyched to see it was Wheeljack, cuz they used to be best buds, back in this elite fighting unit called the Wreckers. (Sounds like a reality show, right?) When he showed up, we kinda had a party. They played this game called "lobbing" which is basically playing catch with the biggest things they can find. Miko jammed on her guitar (I think she may be getting better), and I showed Bee how to do the Robot. It was awesome.

But then Bulkhead started getting suspicious, cuz he said Wheeljack wasn't acting like himself. Turns out it wasn't Wheeljack at all! It was just a Decepticon pretending to be the real Wheeljack, who was imprisoned up on the Nemesis -- that's the Cons' ship.

That's right! We actually had a REAL LIVE CON inside the base!!! Gives me chills just thinking about it. Bet Miko gets worse chills -- when Bulkhead blew the Con's cover, he took her hostage. She was pretty cool under pressure, I gotta say.

Anyway, thanks to some quick thinking and awesome fighting, we got the real Wheeljack back. He actually busted out of the Nemesis himself! Way cool. So then we had another party. For reals. We all kinda thought Wheeljack would stay, and we'd have another Bot here on Earth ... but he took off soon as Ratchet fixed up his ship. Everyone was bummed that he left.

Bots aren't always what they seem. Maybe that's true about people too. That's why I like computers! Cuz you can always just reprogram. Simple. Elegant. No surprises.

ENTRY #5

One Laptop, Over Easy

Whole new thing this week. The Bots had to fight humans AND Cons!

Agent Fowler was taking this radioactive device called a Dingus across the country when Cons attacked him. That's what he thought, anyway. So he asked the Autobots to GroundBridge it out of danger, but it's too risky to transport radioactive devices that way. So Optimus and the other Autobots had to roll out and form a convoy to take it over land.

I stayed at the Base with Ratchet and watched everything on the grid via Comm-Link. The attackers were in fast attack cars and totally harassing the V-mode Bots. That's when we found out they weren't Cons at all -- they were humans working for a crew called MECH. Then, as if being chased by a bunch of heavily armed flesh and blood criminals wasn't enough, six Cons showed up out of the blue.

We had to protect the Dingus, so I got to hack into the rail system and divert a train. Highlight of my week -- GroundBridging Jack and Miko onto a moving train! Ratchet didn't think it was possible, but I got the train's coordinates online and zzzoom -- off they went! But then MECH hacked into the same system -- and they fried my laptop! Not sure how, but major bummer. Good thing my files were backed up.

I guess Miko and Jack were pretty freaked by how serious it got on that train. It almost derailed, and Optimus had to stop it with his bare hands. Kinda wish I'd been there. But mostly? Glad I wasn't. Not that I'd say that out loud.

Optimus was bummed, cuz the Bots blew their cover in front of MECH when they transformed to fight the Decepticons. And we're all pretty sure MECH will be back. But at least the Dingus didn't blow up or get stolen.

After all that, Ratchet sort of helped me fix my laptop ... even though he kept saying how lame it was. Well, now I've gotta figure out a better firewall. Still can't believe I got counter-hacked! Very embarrassing, actually. Hoping everyone forgets really soon.

ENTRY #6

Breaking and Energon

This week, we got to break into a museum! But it was for a good reason.

It all started when the Autobots saw an Energon blip on the grid over in Greece. Bulkhead was trying to help Miko see how homework can be cool, so he took her with him to Greece. So there they were at these excavations, when they found a mosaic showing an ancient Cybertronian Energon Harvester. Pretty unexpected!

Miko took a snap and showed it to Optimus, who said the mosaic was a signpost for the real thing. So I did a quick image search online and found this ancient Greek statue on display in a regular museum. We knew the Decepticons were after it, so we had to snag it first ... which meant breaking into the museum. Like Optimus said: We were only breaking a law to save lives.

Here's why lives were at stake: Not only can a Harvester suck Energon out of the ground -- it can pull it right out of a living Autobot! That'd be like a vampire sucking all the blood out of you just by pointing at you. No way did Optimus want the Cons getting that thing.

So we planned this total heist, like in the movies -- only with a forklift and us kids. It would've worked, too, but then these Cons Breakdown and Knock Out showed up, and there was a massive Bot brawl in the parking lot.

During the fight, Jack and I came face-to-face with Soundwave in the museum! That is one scary guy. But he was so focused on the Harvester, he left us alone. Lucky!

The Autobots were bummed he'd snagged it, but they eventually got it back over in Greece. Took more fighting, and Bulkhead lost some Energon, but it worked out.

Oh, and Miko got caught by a museum guard, but for once Agent Fowler was pretty cool. He came in, flashed his badge, and then just sent her on her way. Like, Yo, there's Bulkhead. Go.

I guess we have friends in high places now.

ENTRY #7

Playing the Race Car

Wild week. Jack pretty much got everyone in trouble, but gotta say ... we were all kinda responsible. Mostly cuz we didn't really step up and help him resist temptation. Optimus wasn't happy with any of us.

According to Jack, it all started when this girl at school asked if she could have a ride on Arcee. Of course, Arcee was like no way, that's against the rules, and it's not happening. But then this dumb bully from school who drives a street racer talked some smack about Arcee -- I think he called her a moped?! -- and she was like, OK, that's it. (She takes that kind of thing personally.) So she and Jack smoked him right there. The bully guy wanted a rematch, but Arcee said nope -- we're not breaking the rules again.

So here's where I came in. Jack didn't want to look like a chicken in front of that girl (he likes her!), so he asked if Bee would help him win the race. That didn't seem like a good idea to me, but I'm all for taking down a bully. And besides, Bee was really into the racing part. So he and Jack showed up at the race. But then ... so did a Decepticon! It was one of the car Cons we saw at the museum ... Knock Out? Anyway, as soon as he saw Bee, the Con got violent. Bee said it was scary. And Jack couldn't understand what Bee was saying, so it was like total chaos.

It's weird: We all basically broke the rules and then, boom -- the worst-case scenario happened. What were we thinking? Optimus totally went out and tracked everyone down and saved the day ... but he wasn't happy about it. Then he gave us all a serious talking to. Sounds corny, but I think we all learned our lessons.

In the end, Arcee did let Jack give that cute girl a ride ... and now he won?t stop talking about the girl. Or about Arcee.

ENTRY #8

Bugging Out

Jack and Arcee had a wicked time out in the forest this week. They were looking for an Energon signature, but turns out the blip was this super-creepy Decepticon called Airachnid. (Like "arachnid," which means spider.) She has eight limbs, spits webbing, and likes to hunt. Creepy! I wasn't there, so all I have to go on is what Jack said, but sounds like it got super hairy out there.

He says he's never seen Arcee that afraid before, and it's cuz she has history with Airachnid from back on Cybertron. She wouldn't give him deets, but it must've been bad for a Bot that fierce to get that scared. And her Comm-Link wouldn't work, so she couldn't call the Base for backup.

Jack ended up running, since Airachnid was actually hunting him! She travels the universe looking for different species to add to her "collection." Kinda like a big game hunter. I think hunting's gross enough already, without humans being the prey. Too bad she didn't land her ship in the middle of one of those controlled hunts, where people "hunt" captive lions and tigers. Yeah, that's a fair fight.

Anyway, Jack was pretty swift. He tried setting traps, which didn't work, but then he actually went into her spaceship and started a fire in her ship?s leaking engine thrusters. That messed her up just enough to let Arcee get up on her. Then Airachnid just fled. Took off. Adios.

Arcee's been quiet since they got back. Big and tough as they are, I forget how vulnerable Autobots can be. Bumblebee says she's not talking to him either. Not sure what she's going through -- and I'm not asking -- but she and Optimus took a couple long drives this week.

OTOH, Jack's all puffed up now, cuz Arcee finally started calling him her "partner." Miko keeps reminding him he's just a kid, but seeing what he just went through, I'm OK with letting him feel whatever he wants. Not that he wants to know what I think.

Anyway, I feel like we're all partners here.

ENTRY #9

Inside Megatron's Mind

I don't know what was a bigger deal this week -- Optimus Prime nearly losing his spark, which was huge, or Bumblebee going INSIDE Megatron's mind. Yes, INSIDE it! And we thought that guy's spark WAS out.

Here's how it started... Out on a recon mission with Ratchet, Optimus Prime caught Cybonic Plague, a deadly virus Megatron invented on Cybertron. It looked like he was a goner. But Jack figured that if Megatron invented it, he must have invented an antidote too. Luckily, the Nemesis's cloaking tech was down, so Ratchet was able to bridge Arcee and Bumblebee up to the enemy ship to search out the cure.

But they couldn't find it, so Ratchet said they'd have to enter Megatron's mind through a Cortical-Psychic patch -- using Decepticon medical tech. Arcee was like "Are you out of your fragging mind?!" but then 'Bee volunteered to enter Megatron's mind. I was proud... and terrified.

Us kids stayed at the Base, of course, but we got to see literally inside Megatron's twisted mind through a comm-link. That guy is wacked out. I translated for Jack and Miko while Bumbleee scouted -- and then Bee met Megatron in the guy's own unconscious -- and totally stood up to him -- IN HIS OWN BRAIN! He even outsmarted him by saying that if the plague virus destroyed Optimus, Megatron would never get to do it himself. Which Megatron -- whose fantasies are all about obliterating Optimus -- totally bought.

So Ratchet grabbed the antidote formula via comm-link, and our Autobot pals bridged back. Optimus is fine now, but Bee is acting a little strange. Spending time inside such a sick mind must leave some weird aftereffects. Hope he feels better soon!

ENTRY #10

Out of My Comfort Zone

Up on the Nemesis, Megatron snuck into Bee's brain using the same Cortical-Psychic patch that Bee used to get into his. Then he hijacked Bumblebee. What a nightmare. To think we actually had Megatron inside the Base! Good thing he was more into getting revenge against Starscream than infiltrating our systems and defenses. He did nearly nail Bulkhead with a metal basketball, but that didn’t seem so weird at the time somehow.

But I should have known what was up when Bee forgot to pick me up for school.

Funny. The base's defenses are all physical, and Megatron exploited the groundbridge using kind of a mindbridge. Well, never judge a 'Bot by its cover.

The scariest part of all was watching Bumblebee's mind struggling to control his own body. I knew he wouldn’t let Megatron hurt me. At least, that's what I hoped. So in a way, by forcing Bumblebee to stay focused on me, I was our best defense against Megatron. And it worked.

Wow. I stood up to Megatron. I’d do anything to save Bumblebee ... and that's pretty much what I did. Went waaaay out of my comfort zone to help my buddy. But hey. We're family. We were tight before, but we're even tighter now.

ENTRY #11

Zoned Out

This week, Miko got us kids into big trouble. As in, Terrorcon-sized.

It all started when the Autobots rolled out, and Miko made a break for the Groundbridge! Me and Jack tried to stop her, but we got pulled in too.

The Bots thought they'd found Megatron trying to raise more dead Decepticons (Miko calls 'em "zombie Cons"). But it was actually Starscream. He fired a missile and almost hit us. Yikes! Then Optimus shot off Starscream's arm.

Something went wonky when the Autobots 'bridged us back. We stayed put, but they couldn't see us. It's like we were ghosts. Creepy. Ratchet said we'd gotten sent to the wrong place, but I realized we really went into a different dimension. A shadow zone. Never figured I could think quicker than an Autobot. I was pretty proud of myself! And pretty terrified.

Worst part? Miko got her zombie Con: This massive Terrorcon called Skyquake was with us in the Shadowzone. Wow, I can run a LOT when I have to!

Starscream's arm was in the Shadowzone too. I figured out how to launch its missile. (More pride. More terror.) We actually knocked off Skyquake's arm ... but the ARM CHASED US TOO! It was like, game over. Thankfully, the Autobots 'bridged us out.

Miko actually told Optimus it was her fault! Jack was like, can you repeat that about a million times? But I was remembering how we three had to work together to escape. What if she HAD gone in by herself?

Scary thought. Weird to say I'm glad I was there, but ... I guess sometimes being in the worst place is the best place you can be.

ENTRY #12

Nervous Breakdown

You'd never expect Bulkhead to say no to a rescue mission. But this week, he told Optimus he wasn't gonna do it, no way no how. Not even for the "greater good."

I get it. The Autobots were rolling out to save a Decepticon. How weird is that? And the Con in question was Breakdown -- Bulkhead's archenemy.

I wasn't there, but I got the deets from Bumblebee and Miko. Bulkhead and Breakdown were having a smackdown, and Bulk got pretty messed up. (Note to self: Never ask Miko if Bulkhead was LOSING, 'specially when I'm in arm-punching range. Ouch.) Then those spooky techie guys from MECH showed up and captured Breakdown. Optimus knew it could be bad for humankind if MECH learned the secrets of Cybertronian biology.

Amazingly, Optimus was OK with Bulkhead flat-out refusing the mission. But not Miko! She acted super-angry about it, but I knew she must've really been massively disappointed. Either way, she talked him into going. How? She said, "No rescue, no REMATCH!" Yeah, they totally speak the same language.

I almost wish I'd seen Bulkhead and Breakdown team up. Except, 'Bee said Starscream and his troopers showed up, so I'm glad I didn't. Starscream creeps me out.

Anyway, pretty soon Bulkhead and Breakdown were back to fighting. But Optimus was proud that Bulkhead rescued his rival. Strange but true: Sometimes you can be totally selfish and still end up serving the "greater good."

Pretty sure Miko was just glad Bulkhead got his rematch -- and won it!

ENTRY #13

Mom Meets MECH

OMG HUGE NEWS! This week, Jack's mom found out about the Autobots! She even came to HQ with him and Arcee.

Me and Miko couldn't even believe it when we saw them riding into base. But by then Jack's mom had been through so much, meeting Autobots was practically no big deal.

I mean, no big deal compared to being KIDNAPPED by MECH and webbed-up high on a ledge by Airachnid, who I guess was working with those techie soldier guys. Silas, MECH's leader, didn't even care about hurting Jack or his mom. He just wanted to get ahold of Arcee. The Autobots would never harm anyone for their own gain. Does that make them more "human" than Silas?

Anyway, Jack's voice got kinda shaky when he told us how Airachnid and Silas made him race against time to save his mom -- alone, while MECH was trying to take Arcee apart. Scariest! Can't even think about it.

Good thing Jack's smart (don't tell him I said that) -- and tricky. He tipped off Agent Fowler, but Airachnid and MECH got away. I can only imagine how upset Arcee must be ... no way am I actually gonna ASK her.

Jack said Airachnid scanned Agent Fowler's helicopter and used it for her new vehicle mode. Now she can travel under the ground OR in the sky. Great. Just what we needed.

It's been tough to keep the Autobots a secret. But Jack really didn't have a choice. Family's more important than secrets, and his mom is all the family he's got. Well, except for me, Miko, and the Autobots.

ENTRY #14

Stuck With It

Sticky situations this week! The Autobots had a close encounter with a weird magnetic weapon -- and we all got stuck with Jack's mom.

Remember last week, when she found out about the Autobots? I kinda thought she'd just tour the base and leave. But she started hanging around, like, every day. Jack's pretty used to his mom worrying about him, but Miko's totally bugged about how things have changed.

It IS weird. Ms. Darby makes us feel kind of embarrassed or something, like we have to explain what we're up to. Everything's awkward, instead of fun. But I still felt bad when Miko said that Arcee's as bad as Jack's mom -- just cuz Arcee sent Miko back to base to keep her safe.

I mean, it WAS dangerous when Arcee and Bulkhead took on Airachnid and Breakdown over this "Polarity Gauntlet" thing. It makes metal stuff stick together -- metal stuff like, well, Arcee and Bulkhead. They got unstuck, but Airachnid and Breakdown got away with the gauntlet. Ratchet seems to think it could be a game-changer -- and not for our side. That makes me pretty nervous.

But what's that thing people say? Change is constant, right? I guess it doesn't have to be bad. But this thing with Jack's mom is still gonna take some getting used to.

ENTRY #15

A Hard Place

Seems like Jack and Miko always get to be in the middle of the action! But this week, I really didn't mind. I mean, would YOU want to be stuck in a massive cave-in with Starscream AND Megatron? Yeah, no way.

Jack actually came face-to-face with Megatron! Even trapped under tons of rocks, that guy is ultra-terrifying. Can't believe Megatron dared Jack to finish him off. Jack said he was really tempted to take a shot, but he knew Optimus wouldn't want him to destroy a helpless opponent. Not even the baddest Decepticon ever. Optimus was proud of Jack for that. Me too.

But wow, poor Miko. She and Bulkhead were in a bad sitch when Jack found them -- with Starscream. Miko was totally dealing, as usual ... until Bulk made Jack get her out of there. Jack said she got so worried about Bulkhead, she was CRYING. Still trying to picture that. Kind of sweet that she cares about the big guy so much. Not that I'd actually TELL her that. Hmm, hope she never sees this!

Anyway, at least they all got out OK -- except Starscream and Megatron. Even Optimus drew the line at actually digging them out. Maybe they'll stay buried ... at least for a while.

ENTRY #16

Split Decision

A Decepticon, changing sides? No way, right? Especially not Starscream. That doesn't even make sense, but this week it almost happened. Sort of.

Us kids stayed behind when the Autobots rolled out to track a Decepticon signal. Good thing too, since Airachnid totally ambushed them with this weapon that freezes Bots in their tracks. Cool part was, Bumblebee got to be the hero. Airachnid stopped Optimus AND Bulkhead, but my buddy faked her out and saved the day. Sweet!

Anyway, about Starscream. The Autobots found him in one of Airachnid's webs, and he completely shocked them by asking to JOIN them! Sounds like a trick, right? And I guess it was. But you know Optimus. He wants to believe that anyone can change, even Starscream.

Pretty sure Arcee didn't give a scrap about redemption when she figured out Starscream's the one who snuffed Cliffjumper, her old partner. She nearly extinguished his spark! But Bumblebee stopped her. I couldn't see why getting rid of Starscream would be so bad, till 'Bee explained that acting out of revenge only makes us weaker. Cuz it's not right.

But I get why Arcee lost it. If anything ever happened to Bumblebee, I'd feel just as awful ... and just as mad. It reminds me again that Autobots are more like us than we think. Even they have to learn stuff the hard way sometimes.

@mk-wizard @escapistsatellite @vitamaeternum @mimitus @kitgirl91 @mokabeanzz @iggyfing @its-elioo Tada! Straight up from TF Wiki! @inexorableone @batstickblog @jazzimena @betaplatina-135

#tfp raf #tfp jack #tfp miko #tfp fowler #tfp starscream #transformers prime #tfp skyquake #tfp megatron #tfp optimus prime #tfp bumblebee #tfp bulkhead #tfpbooksandnotes #tfp june darby

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sunmoon-starfactory · 8 months ago

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New Feature - Story Mode

Moving forward, we are unlocking the "testing options" that beta users and ourselves use for various cheaty testing quickness. This should make it easier for everyone to get into the" supply chain" aspect of Sun&Moon sets.

We are dubbing it "Story Mode". Mostly because cheating sounds icky, but the Sims 2 is a single player game...so no one should care if you cheat anyway but also there is no need to make a player feel called out if they used a shortcut to get to the good parts of a single player game am I right?

Sun&Moon was always a project meant to simulate realistic supply chains. As we made more sets, things have become more intertwined than ever. We get that this is confusing for newcomers and truthfully, it can sometimes complicate testing. Story Mode can make it easier to get into the gameplay and get your supply chain started, or allow you to skip that entirely and still enjoy the sets.

Please note this is intended for sets from September 2024 forward. There are still intentions of updating older stations to the Crafting Points system and as that is done, this feature will be added in. A proper update notice for each set will of course be announced.

Options that can be found under the Story Mode pie menu option will include:

Fully Stock Station - This will stock the station with everything needed to make a product, no need to direct a sim to stock or even have the items gathered. Your sims will still need the proper skill levels, writs, or traits to complete the task.

Receive All Products - Don't want to even go through the manufacturing motions? Or wait for a timer to run to get to the end products? Or build up skill levels/have writs in your inventory? This action grants all end products to the sim's inventory, no fuss. This will include any Skill Level reward, such as Writs of Mastery. Warning, this can result in cluttered inventories.

Spawn - This is to force a spawner to reproduce or summon the attached item, bypassing timers in items like hunting spawners, or self propagating plants.

Action! - Makes a sim complete the animations associated with a station, but results in no ingredients needed, and no products made. Just for the looks and photoshoots really.

Of course as things develop, more options may be added to Story Mode. Note, that Decoration options are not part of Story Mode and will stay on the standard pie menu.

Turning On Story Mode

Story Mode is OFF by default, and can be activated by one of three ways:

Trait Restrictions - Built into the code already, if you use traits and don't mind adding one more into a sim's inventory add in the Story Mode trait and these menus will auto show. This method allows you to restrict by individual sims.

Lot Controller Object - Built into the code already, if you place the Sun&Moon Lot Controller Object on a lot then all the menus will auto show. This works on all sims per lot.

SimPE Edit - In the object you want to turn Story Mode permanently on; Navigate to the TTAB, select the Pie Menu Functions resource, and select a story mode option you wish to edit. Select the Pie Menu Option you wish to enable, select all numbers/text in the Guardian BHAV box and hit delete to clear the box. Commit and Save.

Recompress.

Lot Controller Object & Story Mode Trait

Including these two files here, as they directly affect this feature. Both can be found in the Misc>Misc category for $0.

Using the trait is simple, just put it in a sim's inventory and forget about it.

The Lot Object Controller however, has had several features coded into it so it's not just useless deco. More features will be added as they come up.

Hide/Show all Blocks of Blocking and Mini Blocks of Blocking

Hide/Show Sun&Moon made specific OMSPs

Inventory Transfer tool between sims. Code taken the original by mike_1102, using the mesh and texture features of Fractured Moonlight's version. Also has an invisible option.

Download

View Use/Instruction Manual

#ts2 #s2cc #sims2 #sims 2 #custom content #mod #sun&moon #star factory

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feveredvisions · 2 months ago

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Doubt

(Tommy Riordan Conlon x Reader)

Here's my Masterlist if you want some more filth or some fluff. I'm open for requests too. Just drop by an ask xxx

Summary: No one can hate a job faster than you can. Just three weeks in, everything wrong was unveiled. A toxic scheming cheapo boss, overworked and underpaid managers and other employees, being a newbie who trains the tenured managers on a new software you googled the manual for, disorganised system that makes you strangle yourself every shift. Your boyfriend, Tommy Conlon, catches you in the middle of strangling yourself. You spiral and he lets you until you drop another break up bomb to which he takes his time to unwind you and remind you who you are and what you're capable of. And that breaking up is never an option to solve a problem that can easily be chucked down to hell. Author's Note: I dedicate this imagine to anyone who hates working and only does it for the paycheque and to settle their debts and build their savings. Fuck this job and fuck y'all, *I mutter my mantra as I log in on the dot.* It's been a rough ass week y'all. Needed me some Tommy for comfort. I'm dropping an emo Harry Da Souza x Jan Da Souza blurb next xxx Also tysm @saradika-graphics for the cutesy dividerss Pls forgive any grammatical errors. Your author is deprived of sleep and freedom from the corporate shackles and intense hormonal imbalances. But fuck it;s finally the end of the week. My suffering ends. It makes me happy that I get to share my writing with y'all. I hope you enjoy this one. Would love to hear your thoughts and everything in between.

Three weeks into her new job (actually three days in, she's already had a bad feeling,) and she already feels like she’s swallowed something rotten. The shine of working at her new job had rusted, souring her stomach.

At first, it was oh-so perfect. She gets to work at home, not having to wake up hours earlier to prepare for the commute, and no office politics to deal with everyday. Or so she thought.

The delivery day of her shiny brand new equipment was like Christmas day. Her boyfriend, Tommy helped her haul everything inside the house and turn the spare room used for storing unused seasonable clothes into a cosy li’l office. Unboxing and peeling off the protective plastic seal from the fresh equipments felt like opening gifts on a Christmas morning.

“Look at you,” Tommy teased you with a cheeky grin as he ruffled your hair. “Fancy corporate shit.” You swatted him away, laughing

Now, the same room felt…disgusting. As if she were a corporate war veteran stepping into the familiar landmines of corporate bullshit, mixed with the ghostly stench of coffee breath and the musky damp air conditioned smell of the room that’s as cold and empty as a corpse’s. She tried to change it a bit and make it better in her own home which she shares with Tommy. Opened the windows to let fresh air in. Letting the sunlight in where like a cat, she liked being under. Even brought in a little succulent desk plant that came in robust and fat, but was now already dying because she kept forgetting to water it. She thought it was self-sufficient like the seller said and didn't need to be watered too often as it could drown.

Apparently, no, the rot was deeper. She'd probably sucked the life out of it.

Seven months of unemployment had felt like an eternity. Her five years at her last corporate gig which filed for bankruptcy? Gone in a blink. Now here she was, back in the trenches, except this time, the battlefield was in her own damn home.

And her new boss? A fucking small business war criminal in a stupid polo shirt.

Tommy noticed the changes before she could say anything. He always did.

At first, it was little things—her griping about the eight-hour workday so passionately she could be in a BBC live interview, the way she’d passionately flip off at her monitor with both fingers almost every five minutes. Then come the muttered cuss under her breath (“yeah go fuck yaself, buddy”).

Today, after his rigorous training, Tommy caught his girl mid-performance. Fresh off a call and faux-strangling herself with both her hands wrapped around her neck, eyes rolled back and her tongue stuck out grotesquely as she let out a guttural whine, "Guh— just fucking diiiiieeeeee."

Tommy wasn't sure whether to laugh or be actually concerned. He walked to the doorframe leading to your office and leaned beside it with a curious frown on his face. A white towel wrapped around his neck, his shorts hanging low on his hips. His hair and body were drenched and glistening in sweat. White sando soaked and stuck to his skin. "The hell was that?"

She froze, hands still locked around her throat. Slowly, she peeled them away like she’d been caught mid-crime. Tommy had seen her do far worse shit than this even in her sleep. Nothing could embarrass her in front of this Adonis sculpted by the gods. "...Stress relief?"

Tommy’s mouth twitched. "Looks like a bad porno gag."

She groaned, slumping back in her chair and rubbing her temples. “Forget you saw anything, babe."

But Tommy didn’t move. He just studied her—the way her fingers drummed too fast on the desk, the way her knee bounced like she was revving for a fight. He wasn't letting this shit go anymore. "You’ve been like this for days," he said. “What’s goin’ on?"

“Nothing. Just work shit." She waved a hand, forcing a laugh. "The usual."

“Uh-huh." He pushed off the doorframe and walked inside until he was standing before her.

She could feel his radiating body heat on her face and his delicious post-workout masculine sweaty musk mixed with a hint of Irish spring filling her nostrils. God, she adored how good he smelled after fighting the heavy bag for an hour. It was the smell of heaven on earth which worked better than any calming sniffing stuff.

"Try again." He challenged. His tone was a low, steady I’m not fucking around tone—made her chest tighten. And like a dam breaking, it all pours out.

“My boss—” Her voice cracked. “He’s trying to fire this woman he introduced to me as ‘Bitch,’ told me to watch her on Zoom and document if she cusses so he can ‘build a case.’ So I called her instead. Know what she said? Poor woman has had four heart attacks, Tommy. Four. Last one landed her in the hospital with a bill she couldn’t pay because payroll held her check.” She dug her nails into her palms. “And that’s just the warm-up. He’s canning the entire senior staff to outsource cheaper labor, had me train managers on software I Googled and watched on YouTube yesterday, and now he wants my five-year plan because I’m ‘ambitious’ which just means he’ll work me to death for half what I’m worth.”

Tommy's jaw twitched. "Jesus."

"And get this,” she grins emptily. “Exactly a day after he laid out his grand plans of butchering up his company, his wife miscarried their baby.” She clapped her hands together like a magician. “Talk about karma biting him right in his anus. Who would want to have a father like him who exploits people for CHEAP, anyway?!" She choked on the guilt, hands flying up to cover her face. “I fucking celebrated his tragedy, Tommy. I'm a fucking monster!”

“Nah. Makes you human, babe.” Tommy gently peels her hands away from her face and puts them flat on his chest as he squatted down to her level.

She barrels on, voice cracking. “It’s a disaster, Tommy! The managers I ‘trained’ are supposed to train me now, except it’s been delayed for a week because they’re too busy doing payroll, HR shit, dispatch, and setting up hardwares for his three other failing businesses. There is nothing in between to fit me in for training. I'm fucked. And I actually have no faith left that it's ever gonna get better. This is a newly bought company, and he's handling everything so poorly. Expecting people to work on what's lacking and outsourcing manpower when he can't even pay proper professionals to get work done.”

Tommy stared. “That’s not a company. That’s a pyramid scheme.”

“I know!” She nearly screamed it. “But I can’t quit. Seven months of rejections. Seven. Now I’m here, and I wanna vomit every time I log in, but walking away means admitting defeat to every smug asshole who said I was too picky.”

Tommy continued to listen. He lets his girl spiral, lets her rant, lets her self-destruct in front of him like a building collapsing in slow motion.

"Maybe I should just snort ashwagandha up my ass, you know?”

Tommy's brows furrowed, “The fuck?”

“Numb myself to submission just until the year ends and I've settled my financial goals for this year. Suck it up and take it in the ass. For a fucking year. Just a year.” She ends up mumbling to herself as if she was brainwashing herself.

Her heart was pounding in her chest wildly. Thoughts completely scattered. Running like a Tasmanian devil without a sense of direction. Vomiting her words. “And I'm thinking that, maybe if this doesn't work out, then maybe I should be on my own and really focus on figuring things out myself, you know? Without inconveniencing others. Just me. Maybe that's what I need.”

Tommy stared at her like she’d just spat in his face. The rest of her rant he can take but bringing up another breakup over a stupid job that pisses her off? Hell fucking no.

"You done?" His sharp tone cut clean through her rant like a blade. “You really think you’re a burden to me?”

She opened her mouth, then shut it. Her jaw clenches to keep herself from crying like a kid.

“You don’t get to bail on us over some fuckin’ sleazebag CEO with a power complex. You’re smarter than that. Stronger than that.” His hand curled gently but firmly around the side of her neck, not squeezing, just holding. Steady. Keeping her head straight. “You’ve kept me alive, remember that? You held my drunk ass together after Iraq. You dragged me outta bed when I couldn't fuckin' move. So don't you dare act like this ain't worth my time.”

“I just—” she started.

He moved his hand from her neck to squeeze her cheeks lightly. Little puffy rabbit throwing a tantrum, he thought to himself. Resisting the urge to laugh and squeeze your cheeks some more and play with it.

“You just got your head so far up this job's ass you forgot who the fuck you are. My girl doesn't break up with me 'cause some fuckwit can't run his company."

She averts her eyes away from him, lightly pouting as she listens to what she already knows but somehow always manages to go over her head.

“Look, babe. You want money? We've got our savings. And I'm winning that damn fight and laying you down on our winnings. You want purpose? I’ll help you find it. But you don’t get to act like I picked the wrong girl. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And I’ll be damned if I let you forget who the fuck you are.”

She looks up at him, her brows furrowed, eyes thickly glazed with tears about to pour down her face and her mouth quivering until a tear spills. The fuck was she thinking she'd be better off without him?

Tommy thumbs them away. His girl slightly leaning into his calloused touch against her warm soft face. “C’mon,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You think I don’t know what it’s like? To hate yourself for needin’ help?”

She shakes her head, but he doesn’t let her look away.

“After Paddy died,” he says, “I drank ‘til I couldn’t stand. You remember?”

It still stings her heart as she remembers. The nights she’d find Tommy slumped against the bathroom door, the way he’d snarl at her to ‘leave him the fuck alone’ right before he’d collapse into her arms.

“You stayed,” he says simply. “Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Her throat burns. “That’s different.”

“Bullshit.” His grip tightens on her face just enough to make her focus. “You think I give a damn about your paycheck? I slept in my car for two years before us. We’ll survive.”

Her heart warms.

Then he chuckles as one of his many favourite memory of theirs surfaced his head. “You remember how we met?”

She blinks. “Yeah. The office parking lot. You in your rusted-out Charger and me always parking my Honda near yours just to take the chance at you finally robbing me, then slashing me to death before I make it inside the building.”

-----

Flashback:

It was an ungodly hour past midnight and it was cold as hell and lightly snowing. Her fingers are numb. She rushed to her car which was the only one remaining at the parking lot along with the other banged up Charger that lives on the same spot. She turns her in the ignition which only gave her—ticktickticktick—but the engine won’t catch.

She banged her forehead against the steering wheel out of frustration—“Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuck!”—just hard enough to feel the poking sting in her already pounding head, but not hard enough to deploy the airbags. A knock on her window nearly launched her into orbit.

The hobo, the one who lived in the rusted-out Charger two spaces over, was crouched beside her door, his scowl visible through the glass. Up close, he was younger than she’d thought. And bigger.

Jesus Christ, those shoulders...

She rolled the window down a millimetre. “If this is a robbery, I’ve got $12 and a granola bar.”

He blinked. “Your battery’s dead.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Fuck my fucking life.”

“Pop the hood.”

She hesitated. “...Are you gonna harvest my organs?”

“Lady,” he deadpanned, “if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t see me comin’.”

Fair point. He sounded smart and experienced enough for it, so there's always a chance then...

Ten minutes later, after expertly jury-rigging her battery cables, her car roared to life. She stared at him over the hood, snowflakes catching in his dark hair. “Thanks,” she muttered.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Get a new battery.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” she simply said, and drove off before she could say something stupid.

The next morning, she woke up extra early to prepare and pack breakfast for two with a thermos of coffee. She drove to work and parked across his car. Wordlessly handing him through the driver's window her offering and token of appreciation in the form of a bag filled with packaged homecooked meals for the day on his windshield the next morning. He drinks and eats them all and doesn’t say a word but that evening.

Her wipers are cleared of snow when she left the office building late at night.

-------------------end of flashback-------------------

His thumb traces her jaw. “Then you started leavin’ cooked meals in my car. ‘Accidentally’ buying two coffees. Naggin’ me to get my shit together like a pissed-off fairy godmother.”

She snorts. “You hated me.”

“Yeah and you didn’t give up.” His grip tightens. “So why the hell would I?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but he cuts her off with a kiss. Hard and tenderly scalding. Her heart grew tender as she kissed Tommy back. Too tender that it ached. She questioned if it was possible to love someone too much.

Indeed, it was.

“Quit the job. Or not, but always keep the fight.” He pulled away, his forehead pressed against hers. “Just stay, okay? Don’t act like I’m doin’ you some favor by toleratin’ your ass. You’re it for me, baby.”

For a moment, she settles. Slumping towards him, letting out the heaviest sigh she's ever let out in a while. It felt good to lean onto Tommy's unit of a body and have him hold her. Warm and strong. All hers. "God what the hell was I thinking saying all that shit. I'm sorry, baby”

Tommy exhales through his nose, the fight draining out of him as she slumps against his chest. His fingers thread through her hair, blunt nails scraping lightly against her scalp in that way he knows settles her. Her eyes rolling back from the hypnotic sensation.

“You weren’t thinkin’,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”

She lets out a muffled weak laugh. "Oh really? I must’ve made all of my meltdowns up for fun then."

“Nah. Just somehow always forgettin' who the fuck’s in your corner.”

"I hate that you're right."

"I know."

------original end but here's an extended cutie pie version--------

She tilts her head back to look at him. Admiring her past, her present, and her future. “These thoughts got mean hands sometimes. Or I might be two days away from my period. God, I haven't even checked my calendar.”

Tommy’s mouth quirks. “I'd give it an early jumpstart if you want.”

She snorts, swatting his shoulder. “You’re disgusting and a freak.” Then she leans in to plant a brief kiss on his mouth. “And I'm the luckiest girl to have you.”

Tommy doesn't let the kiss end. He deepens it, biting her lower lip just hard enough to make her gasp, then sweeping his tongue against hers like he's chasing the taste of her guilt and turning it into something sweeter. When he pulls back, her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed with sweetness. It made Tommy's heart ache too in the most pleasant way. All that he sees and holds right now-- all his. Forever his.

"Shower," he orders, already hauling her up by the thighs.

She yelps as he tosses her over his shoulder, her office chair spinning away behind them.

"No!" She kicks halfheartedly. "Put me down, you sweaty caveman! I didn't even get to properly sniff you!”

Tommy barks a laugh, swatting her ass as he carries her toward the bathroom. "The fuck's wrong with you?"

“You smell good," she grumbles, nose pressed against his damp shoulder blade. "Like... salt and violence and man."

"Yeah?" He kicks the bathroom door open. "Tell me that when I'm elbow-deep in your pussy. Fuckin' weirdo.”

“Oohh now we're talking.”

—FIN—

A/N: OOOHHHH DAAAAMN CAN I HAVE THIS SHIT TOO PLS T_T sooo anyway I've got a smutty alternative of this bc Tommy after training is charged to the heavens and he's got a lot to give especially to his girl. Lots of discipline and lots of load. I'll publish it a bit later for the freaks xx Just gotta sleep first.

Thanks so much for reading my stuff <33

#tommy riordan conlon #tommy conlon #warrior #tom hardy #tommy riordan x reader #tommy riordan x you #feveredvisions SFW #warrior tommy conlon #tommy conlon x reader #tommy conlon imagine #tommy conlon fanfic #tommy conlon fluff

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