#or is this meant to be some sort of ''consequences of your actions'' thing...

[silver-horse]

also kinda dumb that when astarion can't stop drinking from Tav/Dark Urge, they can be resurrected. but when we play Astarion origin, if we drink a companion dry, they suffer permadeath. I get that the protagonist needs to stay alive but for the sake of consistency, I feel like there is no reason why we shouldn't be able to resurrect a companion. Or during Tav/Dark Urge origin failing the persuasion roll could result in a "game over" screen. But they didn't do that so I just wish it was logically consistent

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory. 

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus. 

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…? 

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you. 

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way. 

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…” 

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips. 

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home. 

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts. 

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night. 

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8. 

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on. 

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it. 

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens. 

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?” 

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?” 

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.” 

“...What’s that?” 

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one. 

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through. 

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?” 

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh. 

“Why not?” 

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back. 

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it. 

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him. 

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him. 

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world. 

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?” 

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap. 

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being. 

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you. 

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain. 

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one. 

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.” 

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves. 

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground. 

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance. 

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe. 

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need. 

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place. 

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one. 

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.” 

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt. 

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants. 

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size. 

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood. 

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back. 

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured… 

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose…. 

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart. 

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead. 

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.” 

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

[bigassmoonchild]

night team here

can we request ghost with a daughter that is the mini verison of him like soap thinks shes gonna be sweet and nice and she bullies him worse than her father does

bonus points

price already knew ghosts daughter was a complete savage but soap annoyed him that morning and price decided the consequences of his actions was being brutally roasted

(daughter is gonna be leaning teens just bc i said so. also, thank you so much for the request!! love the night team 🫶🫶)

soap wasn’t supposed to know. this wasn’t something anyone was supposed to know, but simon was decently okay with price knowing. price knew to keep secrets, hell, price had his own.

but simon accidentally let it slip.

‘i’ve gotta get home, early morning,’ he’d told the 141 when they wanted to go out for drinks after a successful mission. they gave him odd looks (one of them was a knowing one, but he’d ignore price being offered to come watch a recital).

soap didn’t let it go, no he didn’t. ‘got the missus waiting back there?’ and simon was exhausted, it was a long mission and all he wanted was to sleep in his own house.

‘kids got a recital,’ he’d muttered and had walked away. what he didn’t expect was to find a huge amount of messages from soap the next morning. most consisted of the same things.

kid??

who’d have a child with you??

what’s the mother look like?

what’s the kids name?

son or daughter?

maybe i wanted to come watch too

i’m technically their uncle

and simon had to leave, collected you from your grandmother and took you to the recital. you were beautiful, the pride and joy of his life. someone he’d never thought he’d ever had, someone he never knew he could love more than anything.

it took months for simon to wear down enough ti even allow any of them to see a picture of you, let alone know your name.

‘beauty, that one is. you sure she came from you?’ simon shoved soap off the chair for that comment. soap continued to rave about being an ‘uncle’ and as much as simon didn’t want it, he had to tell you.

you looked at him weird when he admitted he’d spoken about you to the 141. you knew, generally, what he did but you didn’t get details.

‘ok and?’ you’d asked. ‘what’re they gonna do? it’s not like they’re gonna do something behind your back, not like price has said anything,’ and he worried. maybe he coddled you a little, but you were his girl.

and you’d agreed to meeting them, but told simon you didn’t want to know when. ‘i’ll be thinking about it too much,’ you told him.

simon finally dropped a few names for you, late one night when he’d finally relaxed with some whiskey (he didn’t mention the watered down taste).

‘what kinda name is soap? he drop it or something?’

it took some time before simon had grown any sort of comfortable letting anyone but price be around you. it wasn’t common that you stayed by price when simon was out on a mission, but the occasion happened when it was possibly a fatal one.

it was early morning when you’d sent a text to simon, he hadn’t meant to go to the compound at all that day but had made a lunch. it was a picture of the lunch, still sitting in the fridge with the caption ‘you forget something?’

and he’d groaned, mentioning to price in passing that he forgot his lunch at home. soap and gaz had been there, and a little smile came from soap.

‘just have the lass bring it ‘round, i’m sure she’s dying to meet her uncles,’ price gave a little grimace. ‘what? she’s probably a sweetheart, i cant imagine a girl like her would turn out like ghost,’

you’d relented to bring it around, especially after price messaged you about soap not being able to shut up about meeting you.

he’s pressing me for information. -john

if you bring the food, i’ll give your dad an extra day of leave. -john

please, i’m about to make him run. -john

you always laughed a little when he signed off after each text. it was his own little thing, and you secretly enjoyed having a fatherly figure text you more than three words.

when you got to the compound, you found price waiting outside for you and you waggled the bag of food at him. he let you in, guiding you through the halls to where simon and the others were.

‘try not to forget it, next time,’ you told simon. he gave you a small grunt, one that sounded like his ‘thank you’.

soap walked up to you, giving you a cheeky grin and swinging his arm around your shoulder. ‘how’s it been, lass?’ he asked you and you shook his arm off.

‘you know it’s not the 80’s anymore, right?’ he blinked at you. snorting softly with an eye roll, you sat down in the nearest chair. ‘mullets back in style, you know. might fit you better,’ you commented.

soap was left with his mouth open, gesturing faintly to you then to simon. ‘she can’t be like you,’ he nearly hissed.

‘don’t act so surprised, she said damn near the same thing to me,’ price lamented, thinking back on his first time meeting you.

‘you from the 1800’s? christ, i haven’t seen anyone willingly have that beard,’ you’d told him oh so long ago.

you looked around, leaning towards him. ‘who else am i supposed to be like? i’m pretty sure he’s my father,’ you hissed back.

all soap could do was blink. a little ghost? no, he couldn’t believe it. he saw simon give you a little fist bump, almost saw a few dollars being passed between you two.

simon pulled his mask off to eat and you looked at him closely. ‘you get a haircut?’ you asked, squinting your eyes suspiciously.

‘nope,’ he responded. ‘got ‘em all cut,’ and you snorted a short laugh. soap couldn’t do much but watch the interaction, realization slowly settling in.

‘that’s why you tell those shitty jokes?’ he announced. ‘you’re actually a father telling dad jokes,’

you gave a little smile and he could see the admiration in your eyes. god, you were just like your father but the confidence came off of you so easily.

‘yknow he came to my parents job show and tell once,’ you told everyone and simon stared at you. almost daring you to finish. ‘he didn’t take the mask off and had to leave, he scared too many of the kids,’

you spoke so fondly of him.

‘but he’s a prick, so he just left,’ simon lightly kicked your leg and you made a big show of it. you might be his kid, but you had your own personality in there.

and simon would be dead before anyone took that from you.

[dsybouquet]

.. so what if u actually texted ceo! ellie ?

(read how it started here !<3)

you only left the bar after all chairs have been put up the floor was mopped cleanly and all customers have been (more or less) kicked out. your leather jacket covered the short work clothes you wore as you walk through the dark streets.

you for sure were freezing, but your home isn’t all too far. the empty streets where some what soothing. it was peaceful and quiet with only a couple of cars passing by.

when you entered your apartment, you dropped your little bag to the ground and took off your shoes. of course you had a long day ahead at uni and you knew for sure that if you don’t fall asleep right away, you will simply ignore 99% percent of your lectures. why, out of all mayors, did you choose psychology?

quietly, you dropped onto your couch and turned on the tv. with family guy playing in the background, you mindlessly scrolled though your social media accounts - despite you knowing that being sleep deprived will literally be the death of you.

all of the sudden you thoughts started to run. why did that ellie woman have such a chokehold on you? it’s not like you didn’t have plenty of people right on your doorstep. being a young barkeeper already arranged you all types of things and plenty of numbers.

but something about was different. she was so.. different.

or maybe it was just you being delusional about a woman a bit too beautiful. or maybe it was her flirty behaviour that made you nearly lose your mind.

either way she was all you thought about, and you only knew her for a couple of hours. you threw your phone aside covering you face with your hands.

“get a hold on yourself, ______.”

you told yourself. you were so delusional.

ellie was probably just a woman with too much money that went around and tried to be some what kind. but why was she being so.. gentle?

calling you a pretty girl and dear..

god you were losing your mind over her.

your eyes landed on your phone. the bill with her number on still plugged into your see-through case.

maybe you could try your luck..

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

“are you kidding me?”

ellie exclaimed when she entered her office the next morning and found one of her managers sitting in front of her.

“jesse, what the fuck?!”

she took off her coat and put it on her hanger.

“calm down.”

jessie tried to help ellie contain her anger, but the young woman was about to snap.

she woke up late, she was still tired, spilled her coffee on her way to her car and was stuck in traffic. and now jesse is trying to tell her that one of his agents fucked up with one of her most important clients? leaked confidential data?

she was not having it.

“calm down ? oh i am calm, jesse.”

ellie pulled a cigarette out of her pockets and light it up. she knew the consequences, the visits with her lawyer. and she knew she had to kick this agent out. slowly, she blew out the smoke of her cigarette.

“action plan, now.”

jesse lifted his hands up in air, trying to defend himself.

“kick h-“

“exactly. i will remove all his accesses. i will call our lawyer and he needs to someone, and i don’t care who but i’d prefer authorities, to check all of his private devices for internal information.”

while she was talking, she unlocked her computer and got onto work. ellie exhaled the smoke of her cigarette and looked at jesse.

the man in front of her sighed. jesse was sad to let this agent go, but after all he will be heavily impacted either way.

“what are you waiting for?”

“aye. see you for a coffee later?”

though ellie was his supervisor, they still were sort of friends.

ellie just scoffed - which in her being stressed language basically meant “yeah. now piss off.” - and waved goodbye before putting herself onto it.

hours and hours passed by, phone calls with her lawyer, phone calls with the client, phone calls with authorities - she was so sick of it by now.

leaning back in her overly comfortable office chair, she turned it to the window. she may be owner of one of the most important business on the market right now, but she’ll never get over the view of her top floor office.

she sighed and took it in, watching the sun slowly set. the buzz off her phone ripped her out of her thought.

a unknown number ? texted her ? did this idiot agent now got a hold of her number and is threatening her ?

ellie was quick with unlocking her phone only to see..

‘hey ! it’s your bartender from yesterday !’

she almost couldn’t believe that you actually texted her. after all she was a complete stranger. but then again - you were a university student working in a kind of run down bar.

anyways, she still remembered your name and saved your contact - and good lord she was quick with texting you back.

and good lord you texted back and forth for long, ellie didn’t notice that the sun was down by now.

she should leave the office and probably go back to her penthouse apartment and get some sleep.

damn it, why did you have to text her that you’re still in your universities library studying for your upcoming exam.

and why did she have the urge to pick you up and take you out for dinner ? what was it about you?

usually, ellie picks easy-to-get girls. a quick one night stand with not a lot of talking, maybe giving them a lift home in her bentley - if she was being nice.

she didn’t even know why she wanted to treat you better.

before ellie knew she was sitting in her white bentley, on her way to pick you up.

and you didn’t even realise she was actually doing it until you saw her. until you saw the woman exiting her beast of a car.

your eyes got so wide when you saw her with that sleek black coat, white turtle neck and black suit pants. she looked so good.

„hello beautiful.“

ellie smilingly said before opening the car door on the passenger side door for you to enter. you hesitated for a second, being kind of overwhelmed to get picked up from university like this.

however, you greeted her back and entered her car.

„getting shy now?“

she joked, starting the engine and pulling out of the study property. her smile was wide when she looked at you.

„no. i‘m just not used to getting picked up with this kind of service.“

ellie smirked. she knew her cars and her money was impressive. after all, it is exactly what most girls are after so she stopped bothering. she had it, so why not make good use of it?

„wanna go grab a coffee? i know a nice cafe around here.“

she suggested, already driving in the direction before you could answer.

obviously you agreed with the idea. spending hours studying and beating up your brain made you deep fried and having coffee with a stunning woman like she is exactly what you need.

her car stopped in front of an overly fancy building. for a second you thought she took you too a designer shop if some sort, but when you glanced out the window it was an actual cafe.

you felt out of place looking at the business men inside. with your hoodie and skirt. basic university fit - comfortable and chill.

ellie looked at you, noticing the slight uneasiness in your body language and look.

"don't worry, you'll be fine, dear."

you exited the car and entered the fancy cafe. chandeliers hanging from the top, covered in golden paint. the walls were painted in a a dark green shade.

it seemed so royal.

apparently ellie was a regular there. the waiter already knew her and greeted her with her name before leading the two of you to a place a bit away from the other people.

"what do you want ?"

she asked after you received the menu. all types of coffees, teas and cakes where listed on it, with prices far beyond your imagination

"a simple cappuccino."

ellie nooded, smiling and passing the order to the waiter, along with ordering a latte for herself.

"don't worry, it's on me."

you smiled and thanked her. when she told you she'd pick you up, you expected everything but not.. this. you'd be happy with getting some takeaway coffee from a local bakery. apparently ellie wasn't.

the coffee came anfd you carried on with you conversation. talking about your interestes, hobbies - everything but not work and uni.

suddenly, her phone rang. it was ellies lawyer.

"excuse me, love. i have to answer this call. i will be right back."

she got up and walked out of the front, looking kind of nervous.

you watched her pass by the window, walking back and forth. her expression changed from anxious and nervous to furious. sipping your coffee, you tried to figure out what was going on but eventually dropped it.

after a while she returned, sitting down again.

"i'm so sorry, but i will have to go back to the office. it's quite urgent."

she emptied her latte and waited for you to finish just as well.

"don't worry, ellie. i get it !"

with an apologising smile, she payed the bill for you two and left the cafe with you by her side.

"may i still drive you home? it'll start to snow soon and i rather have you safe inside before you have to walk and freeze."

a smile painted on your face. to be exact, you weren't used to this kind of princess treatment. but you didn't want to be a burden.

"it's okay, really. i don't want to take more of your time."

"no really, i want to do this."

eventually, you gave in and agreed. the second ellie started the engine, snowflakes started falling from the sky.

„see ? it‘s good than i‘m giving you a lift!“

you quickly typed your adress into her navigation system anf let her drive off. 80s rock music played from her radio as she drove to your home. you enjoyed every second - even tho it was silent between the two of you. both of you enjoyed it.

ellie placed her hand on your thigh and had her other one on her steering wheel. you glanced over. she looked ethereal. her green eyes pierced the snowy streets and her head slowly bopped to the music playing.

a beam of light from the warm streetlights illuminated her face whenever she drove past them and you felt like you‘re in some weird fifty shades of grey fanfiction.

she stopped right in front of your apartment building, glancing over at you.

„i‘m sorry, really.“

„don‘t worry.“

a bright smile was painted onto your face, causing ellies stomach to almost drop. you were such a sunshine on a snowy evening like this. before you could exit your car, she got out, opening the door for you.

„thank you, ma‘am.“

you said and took the hand she help out for you to help you get out. did you need these type of gestures? no, but you certainly enjoyed it. you never were treated this nicely.

she even went to the door with you, watching you unlook it.

„drive safe okay? snowy streets are dangerous.“

the concern in your voice and the worrying look of your eyes almost caused ellie to get a heartattack.

„and thank you. for this afternoon and the coffee, i enjoyed it a lot.“

you added and ellie nodded.

and she did something she never thought she would do - she opened her arms to give you a hug. and you accepted it.

it was a overly long hug and it was so comfortable. you took in her scent, the smell if her very intense and expensive perfume and the warmth of her body.

„i‘ll text you, pretty girl.“

she said, still holding you there. ellie didn’t even want to let go, but eventually had to.

before you went inside, she eyed you again. so pretty even tho you looked tired and wore a normal, casual outfit. you probably were the prettiest girl she ever saw.

„please do. would love to see you again.“

ellie smiled before adding a simple:

„trust me, you will.“

and watching you go inside with a ‚goodbye‘.

and she didn’t know yet that if she would fall for you, she’d fell hard and could never get up again.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

there we go !! thank you for your endless support on what i suppose is part 1 - which was just a brain rot of mine haha. i hope you enjoyed it!

let me know if you want me to keep this going ! xx

update: here goes part 3!

people asking to be tagged:

@harrysslutsstuff @vwonnie @mikaaj

[belovedcloud]

Regret | Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

✎ REQUEST: i absolutely love ur writing!!! just read ur latest fic with plagas leon! if i'm not bothering would you ever write a slightly angsty fic where you get into an argument with leon and where u exchange harsh words to eachother? and maybe leon slaps the reader in the heat of the moment? and it turns into makeup sex (hopefully it's not too much qwq)

✎ Notes: Thank you Anon for the request! Hope this is what you wanted :) I absolutely love the idea of a heavy argument turning into makeup sex, Leon is the perfect man for this I love him sm. This is again really short and rushed because I've got a lot of work to do.

➤ WC: 1.64K

➤ CW: Leon being mean, Angst/Smut (Comfort during sex and at the end) Leon slapping reader, cunnilingus, fingering, P in V (unprotected sex), creampie, dumbification of some sort.

MINORS DNI!

It was never meant to be like this, the argument with you and Leon went too far. You knew Leon's job was out of the ordinary but was it wrong of you to want to spend more time with him? Caring for a person like him is so painful, the constant worry of him being safe and the monsters he faced hurt you like no other. However, Leon didn't see what he was doing wrong, why you were so angry about him not spending time with you. Mission on mission, things get worse - he never meant it to affect you though. His actions had consequences.

It began with Leon coming home, the putrid smells of death and blood splattered all over his body. A deep sigh escaped his throat as he threw his duffel bag somewhere alongside the hallway, walking into the kitchen seeing you on your phone. He didn't say anything, no hello or goodnight came from his lips. Dropping his keys on the counter to head upstairs for a long awaited shower. Washing off the feeling of murder that hung low on his shoulders, he comes downstairs to see you eying him weirdly.

"What?" Leon grumbled out as he took a water from the fridge, gulping it down. "It's nothing..." A hushed voice came out of your mouth. Was it that much to ask for a kiss or even a hug when he came back home? Weeks of distance made you crave for something. Someone. That someone was Leon, but looking into those dull blue eyes made you believe he didn't reciprocate those feelings you had for him. "Can you cut the bullshit for once?" A stern tone laced in Leon's voice as he threw the bottle in the bin, slamming his hand on the counter. "What the fuck is your problem?!" You couldn't help but snap back, was he being serious right now? Thoughts flooded your brain and not once could you remember when he last kissed you, let alone hug you.

"My problem? You're the one looking at me like I'm some freak! I just got back and- Fuck! It's always this with you!" Leon shouted at you, he never was like this. This wasn't the Leon you loved, it was some new profound one that you didn't recognize. Without thinking, you stood up and approached him. "Maybe show me some fucking attention for once! Instead of moping around." A scream of words thrusted out of your throat as you felt your eyes water, your body full of anger. Leon took a step back, scoffing at your rebuttal and sighed. "Can you just leave me alone? I don't want to deal with you right now." The emphasis on you tore your heart a little, you didn't do anything wrong. Not that you knew of - for him to be angry at you was ridiculous. All you wanted was to be loved, to be appreciated for what you put into the relationship.

"Leave you alone? I've been leaving you alone for weeks! It feels like a one sided relationship at this point, what's the point of being with me if-" A harsh burn spread across your face, the words that hung in your throat went dry. Automatically, your hand felt your cheek. Leon had slapped you. Why? You felt tears fall down your face as it stung the aching pain where Leon's hand smacked. He didn't know why he did it. Ashamed of his actions he took a step towards you, just for you to not return the favour. Your own legs stepping back. "I- I'm so sorry, I don't know-" His voice trailed off as he saw you sprint upstairs, the slam of your bedroom door ringing in his ears. "Wait! Y/N! Please!" His footsteps echoed the house as he ran up the stairs, arriving in front of the closed door. You had your back to it, muffled sobs escaping your lips as you felt your neck get wet. He slapped you.

"Sweetheart.. I'm sorry, please.." He started to knock on the door, until he heard your sobs penetrate through. Fuck. He messed up. Was this going to be the end? Leon couldn't afford to lose you, he loved you too much. His pride and joy, the person he loved the most. The sole reason why he was still here today - yet he hurt you in indescribable ways. Leon felt like a fool as he felt his heartbeat race, why did he have to hurt you? What the fuck was wrong with him? The thoughts dissipated into the air he heard the locked door click. Shaky hands twisted the knob of the door as he slowly creaked it open. Seeing your body slightly shake on the bed, uncontrollable tears dripping down from your chin to your shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry baby.." Leon approached you carefully, trying to not alert you in any harmful way. His gaze wondering all over your body until his eyes reached yours. Pure fear corrupted your eyes as you looked back at him, however the movement of his hands slowly calmed you down. Stroking your back, he whispered sweet nothings into your ears, apologizing for his actions.

"Please, let me make it up to you.." His fingers tugged onto the band of your shorts, a slight blush appearing on your cheeks as you stared at him. "I.." Your mellow voice trailed off when you felt Leon kiss up your thighs, a slight gasp elicited out of your throat. "Wanna show you how much I love you. It's been too long." His hands made quick work of your shorts and panties, your slick covering your clit. "So fucking gorgeous.." He mumbled as he gently nipped at your inner thighs, leaving love bites on them. Quiet whimpers fell out from your lips, your hands tugging at the soft cotton sheets beneath you. Leon looked up at you, you were so pretty for him. His pretty girl. A delighted groan rumbled out of his throat as his tongue slid up your pussy, God you were so sweet. His tongue poked into your entrance, licking up the mess you were making for him as the pads of his fingers rubbed your puffy clit. "O-Oh.. Leon." Moans echoed throughout the room as your eyes rolled back. You tasted so good. A firm grip on your thigh made you shiver as his tongue lapped you up, a rhythm developed as he took his finger off your clit, his nose bumping into it instead. "Mm.. Delicious." A throaty moan left his lips, pistoning his fingers into you. It wasn't long till you felt a burning feeling in your stomach, your thighs starting to shake. "Leon, baby I-" You hiccupped your whines as the orgasm rushed all over you. "That's my girl, fuck.. cum all over my fingers baby." He adored your blissful state as you shook in his touch. Choked sobs and moans slowly died down as he pulled his fingers out of you, his tongue licking them clean.

"Please Leon.." The pleas left your throat too quick, your hands tugging on his sweatpants as you craved him. His love was like no other, giving you that warm feeling in your stomach. "Hm? What d'you want baby?" A soft smile spread across his face as he took your hand into his. "You know what I want.." A mellow whine came from you, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he started to take off his sweatpants. His cock throbbing in his boxers as he looked up at your heavenly body in front of him. "You're beautiful.. y'know that?" His hand traced up your body, gripping gently onto your side as his other hand aligned his hard cock to your entrance. The flushed dark pink tip slowly rubbing up and down your clit. He glanced back up at you, seeing your head give him a nod.

The slow push inside of you made his head spin, a raspy growl erupted from his throat as he thrusted himself fully in you. "So, fuck, tight f'me.." His hips slowly grinded into you, your eyes averted down to the lewd sight infront of you. Watching his cock thrusting in and out of you until the tip hit the right spot, your eyes rolling back. "O-Oh.." You mumbled out, feeling yourself go dumb on his dick. It had been so long that the stretch and pace felt new, it felt like love. Your hands scratching at his back, leaving red long marks. A groan of pain mixed with pleasure made his head fall back in ecstasy. "So good.." He whimpered out, subconsciously his fingers landed back on your clit.

The callousness roughly rubbing your clit, he felt you tighten around him. The wet sloppy thrusts quickened, Leon wanting to make you cum. "Please cum, please I want you to cum on my dick sweetheart." He moaned out, kissing you so passionately as he felt your climax make you go breathless. You gasped for air as he continued to snap his hips into you. "Fuck.. I love you, I love you, I love you.." He chanted as he felt his own high come over him, his cum squirting out of his tip. Filling you up so full, so warm. He panted looking at you, a soft smile spreading across your face. Love was exchanged between the both of you, the skin to skin touch melted you both into one.

"Thank you." A whisper hushed out of your mouth, Leon stared at you confused. "Hm? Don't thank me sweetheart.. here." He plucked a few tissues from the box, wiping you down. Sweet kisses gently tickled your skin as giggles elicited out from your lips. "I love you." Your mellow voice travelled through his ears, a wide grin spread across his face.

"I love you too."

[yestrday]

What if academy!darling thinks that the yandere's behavior is cute, and she indulges it, but she doesn't reciprocate; like " awwww you're so obssesed with me, doing everything for me, you're adorable" but she isn't in love and won't ever give a chance to them

... absolutely pissed off. you think you can trying playing around with his heart? you had him fooled at first, making him think that you actually liked him, but the more he spent time with you the more he could see that he was nothing but a plaything to you. vixens like you have no right to stand on equal grounds with him. he'll make you regret this. he thinks you'll look better crying and screaming and begging for him to let you go, rather than playing coy.

SCARAMOUCHE, zhongli, ayato, cyno

heartbroken. he thought all your indulgences meant that you liked him back, but you were just toying with him all this time? his sanity deteriorates when it sinks in that not once have you ever taken him seriously. he doesn't want to hurt you, he really doesn't, but what choice does he have? he can't imagine a life without you, so he has to take drastic measures to make you realize that he's serious. dead serious.

KAZUHA, thoma, ITTO, DILUC, xiao

he does not take a hint at all. actually, it'd be more accurate to say that he's absolutely turned on by this sort of behavior from you. giving him a sip of the forbidden nectar before leaving him out to dry... that is so fucking hot. it makes him like you even more. of course, you can't actually reject him. he likes playing this game between the two of you, but he's confident that he can win you over in the end. or, i don't know, just kidnap you. he'll cross that bridge when he gets there.

CHILDE

amused. he's known from the beginning that you've never actually looked at him like that, but he continued to pursue you just to silently laugh as you continue to act like you're the predator. you're so silly! he's lulling you into a false sense of security, making you think you actually have a choice when you never had. don't worry, he'll take goo~od care of you once he takes you for himself. he'll savor the shocked and defeated expression you'll wear when you realize that he's had the upper hand all along...

ALBEDO, XINGQIU, baizhu, TIGHNARI, kaeya, ALHAITHAM, venti, aether, AYATO

disappointed in you. love is supposed to be taken seriously, yet you treat it like a game? this course of action may or may not decrease their affection for you. some of them will overanalyze and think that maybe some troubling past has you acting so capriciously. the less delusional ones will see you for what you are— an asshole. nevertheless, you won't get away with this. you don't toy with a yandere's feelings and assume that there's no consequences, after all. (you'll most likely end up dead)

thoma, cyno, xiao, KAVEH, chongyun, GOROU

you've scared them off! they feel utterly humiliated, and they can't blame you. after all, why would you wanna be with them anyway? he's crying in his room 24/7 or sulking about it. whenever he sees you, he just runs away to the opposite direction. you haunt his mind, even as he tries to forget about you. even when you're not mocking him to his face, you're still playing with his mind... he's gotten crazier, and maybe that's not a good thing for you. (you'll also most likely end up dead)

MIKA, razor, BENNETT, KAVEH, gorou

[anghraine]

This is unnecessarily long, but: I was just thinking about Wickham's predation on fifteen-year-old Georgiana Darcy and then, almost exactly a year later, Wickham's predation on sixteen-year-old Lydia Bennet.

There are obvious parallels between the two incidents. In fact, they're so obvious that I think the incidents are sometimes treated as equivalent, with the consequences only differing by happenstance. I don't think that's true, personally.

There are some mechanistic sort of differences—Wickham put a lot more effort and planning into the Georgiana situation. He wanted to marry her for her money and to make her brother suffer. She had to be isolated from people who would look out for her interests, he had Mrs Younge in place, he had known Georgiana as a child and was able to exploit his own previous kindness to her as her father's godson, etc.

And Georgiana, despite all of this, and despite being swept away by a teenage infatuation with an extremely attractive man, was still uncomfortable with it. She was worried about disappointing a brother who raised her and whom she deeply loves and admires. When her brother actually showed up by surprise, she decided to tell him everything; Darcy takes pains to give her credit for this. Adaptations generally downplay Georgiana's active decision-making here, but the only element of chance is Darcy deciding to go to Ramsgate at all. He insists that he was only able to act because Georgiana chose to tell him what was going on.

This isn't meant to be an indictment of Lydia, though. Does she admire the parents who raised her? No. But why would she? Especially why would she admire a father who treats her mother and sisters and herself with profound contempt and no sense of responsibility? Why would she ever confide in him?

It's not like Lydia doesn't confide in anyone. In fact, she too confides in an older sibling, her sister Kitty. And in one sense, her trust in Kitty is not undeserved. Kitty does keep the secret. Presumably, she does this because, despite her occasional annoyance with Lydia, she is very much under her influence and goes along with whatever Lydia does. Regardless, she is trustworthy in that sense. Moreover, we see at the end of the book that Kitty is easily improved by being placed in better environments and taught how to behave. She just didn't know better.

How was she going to judge Lydia's situation correctly? Who was teaching her to judge anything correctly? Certainly not their parents.

If Mr Bennet had bothered to interest himself in his younger daughters and try and influence them for the better, impressionable Kitty is probably the one who would have benefited the most. The whole Lydia/Wickham thing would have fallen apart before it went anywhere if all the girls had been been properly raised, even if Lydia did exactly the same things.

And Lydia likely wouldn't do the same things if she'd been brought up properly and, you know, treated with a baseline of respect rather than being openly mocked by her father, the person most able to affect her development. Instead, at barely sixteen, she's been continually rejected by her father, over-indulged by her mother, and flattered by adult men (28-y-o Darcy says he and Wickham are nearly the same age). And she still tells someone what's going on, even though she doesn't care about her parents' opinions or the consequences of her actions. And she was under the protection of a colonel and his wife at the time, who also could have told someone or acted, and didn't.

It's not that nobody could have done anything about the Lydia/Wickham situation. It's that nobody did until Darcy found out and tried to extract her. But it was, in one sense, too late. To Lydia, he's just some unfun acquaintance who says boring things like "go home to your family and I'll do what I can to cover for you." That is, he tries to do what he did for Georgiana.

But Lydia is not Georgiana—she did not choose to tell him about any of this. She did not want to be extracted because she didn't know and couldn't be quickly made to understand what marriage to Wickham would mean in the long term. And she didn't care what her family thought because she had no reason to, pragmatically or psychologically.

Georgiana, otoh, did care about her family's welfare and the good opinion and affection of the head of her family. But despite their radical differences in personality, the most fundamental difference between the girls IMO is that Georgiana had every reason to believe that disappointing Darcy and losing his respect would be a change from the norm.

Normally he is affectionate and attentive towards her. They write each other long letters, he defends her to other family members, and praises her frequently. Georgiana, quiet and intimidated though she may be, talks more when he's around. Disappointing him had actual stakes for her.

Put another way, the potential loss of his good opinion mattered to her because he's gone to the trouble of raising her as well as he can and forming a good relationship with her. She chose to tell Darcy the whole thing because he had earned her affection and trust in a way that Mr Bennet has utterly failed to do. Even Darcy happening to visit Georgiana at Ramsgate comes from his affection and attention to Georgiana's welfare, even if he couldn't have known what would follow from checking on his sister at that particular moment.

Chance is always part of life, and it's part of the novel and these situations. But a lot of how these scenarios wound out was not determined by chance but by long-existing patterns in these girls' educations and relationships.

[mncxbe]

nsfw prompts 2+8+9 with Mori please 🥺💜

2– they're your superior (teacher, boss etc tw: power imbalance)

8– cuffing you to their bed (tw: bondage)

9– they buy you lingerie

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: he punishes you for stepping out of line

"Now look at you, darling. You're gorgeous" mused the man in front of you, his piercing gaze taking in your pretty figure.

You were cuffed to the railing of your boss's bed, wearing nothing but a lacy set of lingerie he'd so generously gifted you a few hours ago. When you found the package on your desk along with a note that instructed you to come to his quarters that evening, you knew you'd be in for a long night.

Mori walked to the side of the bed, taking a seat next to you. The mattress sunk under his weight as he leaned closer to your body, his fingers ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Tell me, my dear, what shall I do with you? I heard about your little trip to the Ada's office today. What made you think it'd be a good idea to schedule a meeting with Fukuzawa without consulting with me first?"

"Sir, you see... I know you were busy so I thought it'd be useful if I–"

"If you act on your own accord. You can't possibly be this stupid." His words were harsh, contrasting with the gentle caress on your thigh. His digits dipped under the wristband of your panties, slowly spreading your slick folds.

You swore you could die of embarrassment as you fumbled for words, trying to find some sort of justification for your reckless actions. Now that you looked back to it, meeting with the enemy by yourself wasn't the greatest idea.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again." you apologised, earning a low hum from your boss. "I'm sure it won't, my dear. It's important that you don't forget your place in this organisation."

His thumb circled your needy clit, making your body jolt in pleasure. The handcuffs dug into your skin as you squirmed and you let out a whimper, your brows knitting together.

God, you were just begging to be ruined. You looked so pretty in this new set, the fabric hugging your curves so beautifully. For a moment, Mori almost forgot that this was supposed to be a punishment. Leaning over your body, his lips hovered over yours as he pulled down your underwear. You lifted your hips to aid him, your eyes never leaving his.

"Y/N, you're lucky you're so special of me, otherwise your actions would've had more severe consequences" he said shortly and you could tell by the certainty of his words that he meant it.

Before you had the chance to reply, Mori lowered himself between your legs and licked a stripe of your cunt from your hole to your clit. When he looked up at you again you felt the arousal pooling in your core. He looked so painfully handsome.

"If you behave, I might let you cum tonight." he spoke in a velvety voice as he placed kisses along your inner thigh, gently sucking on your plump skin, marking you as his "So be a good girl and let me eat you out, understood? You have to make up for a lot of things."

[little-tainted-angel]

๑ Realizing love is there...

Xiao x male!reader, Venti x male!reader and Kaeya x male!reader (separated)

Category: [Fluff/sfw]

Warnings: Mention of Zhongli (Xiao's part). Zhongli calls Xiao "child". Mention of Kaeya (Venti's part), mention of Diluc (Venti's part), Venti is drunk for half his part. Mention of alcohol. Mention of Rosalia, Klee, Jean, Diluc and Lisa in Kaeya's part. Reader is mentioned but doesn't actively participates in it.

Request: Yes / No | From: 🕸️ anon.

«Hello, you can call me 🕸 anon! Can you write Xiao, Venti and Kaeya realizing they have a crush on the reader? Ty !»

Waaa! My first emoji anon! 🥰 I'm so happy- welcome!

「 ✦ XIAO ✦ 」

Xiao had been an adeptus for longer than he could properly remember, and the feeling of «love», in romantic contexts, wasn't something he was familiar with.

He's seen countless couples in his years of existence, but he never quite grasped the concept of what it meant to love someone outside of family.

That human desire to kiss someone? That need of multiple actions he could not wrap his head on? He was clueless.

Perhaps that was why he didn't know what that heat on his chest meant. That feeling of something tugging at his heart and filling him with that sort of anxiety that left him on guard.

What confused him the most was that you were the cause of it. Had you cursed him some way without him realizing?

He even managed to believe you were a threat.

Of course, confused as to why the ever so calm adeptus was acting on edge with you, Zhongli decided to ask Xiao what was happening.

The god found himself amused when Xiao explained the situation to him.

"Ah, my dear child. I believe I know what id that you're feeling." Zhongli hummed, muffling a small chuckle that dared escape his lips. "Fear not, as it is not dangerous."

"Huh? If it's not dangerous, what is it?" Xiao asked, frowning slightly at the consistent incognita of what was that feeling you caused.

"Mm, I believe the simplest term of it would be «love», Xiao."

Safe to say, if his entire life didn't already gave him existencial crisis on a daily basis, trying to come to terms with the idea of falling in love was surely passing with five stars its debut.

From that day, he started to study you. Trying to figure out if what Morax explained to him was accurate, and if so, how.

And soon enough, he found himself admiring little things you did. How you acted around others, how your personality was like.

So this was what love felt? To wish to admire you, close or from afar, as long as you kept being true to yourself?

If that was it... Love might not be that bad after all.

He wouldn't confess though, not until he manages to understand better how to process his feelings. Just because he understood what love felt like, didn't meant he understood how to act with it.

It would probably take a while, but he was patient. He just hoped you could wait for him too.

「 ✦ VENTI ✦ 」

The God of Freedom had been a free soul his entire life. And while he had experienced the cons and pros of it, the lost and happiness of friends and people he could even consider family, he never had fallen in love with someone.

And oh dear archons if he had fallen hard for you.

The wind was free, yet somehow he had never felt as free as when he was with you.

As a Mondstadt citizen, he would usually see you as one of his children. But he couldn't help but see you, not as his child, but as a companion to his free life.

"Isn't he divine?" The god murmured softly as he watched you from afar.

Kaeya hummed with humor as she watched the Anemo Archon look so helplessly in love while he was drunk in the Angel's share.

"I suppose he is," Kaeya replied, amused.

The god knew what love meant. What it implied.

He also knew what it implied for him to fall in love with a mortal that wouldn't be able to live more than a few decades.

But as he watched you from afar; the man that managed to get his full attention like the best wine, he decided that the consequences were worth it.

"If you like them so much, why don't you go ahead and confess?" Diluc replied as he cleaned one of the glasses.

"Eh? But what if he rejects me Master Diluc?" Venti pouted as he rested his head on top of the counter.

"Then it wasn't meant to be." Diluc's replied calmly, a small frown on his face as he watched the drunk bard. "Now stop drinking before you embarrass yourself more than average."

"Master Diluc is cruel."

"So I've been told."

Needless to say, to confess to you he had to be:

Drunk.

He had to count with someone's (Diluc's) help.

It's a miracle he managed to get you to date him.

「 ✦ KAEYA ✦ 」

He was quick to realize he liked you. The Calvary Captain of the Knights of Favonius could be slightly flirty if he wanted, and therefore knew how exactly certain feelings felt like.

But realizing he was in love for you, that had been a rollercoaster for him.

You were an incredible man. And the times he caught a glimpse of your smile he couldn't help but feel like he was just falling harder for your presence.

He smiled at the slight mention of your name. And would try to take care of you when you needed it the most.

Of course, this also meant he got free teasing from Lisa, Jean and Rosalia.

Also Klee's questions about if you were his boyfriend, or husband, or if you were already dating.

He might have heard Lisa laugh more times in his crushing-for-you time than in the whole time he had met Lisa.

"If you know you like them, why don't you confess already then?" Rosalia asked him while they were getting drinks at Angel's share

"I want it to be a more perfect moment."

"When it includes you? I doubt that's possible," Diluc commented as he served another client.

"That's a bit cruel even for you, Master Diluc."

So he does try to plan for it to be perfect. He slowly manages to get stuff you like, wanting to be a good time between both of you.

He almost messes all of it up (Diluc has premonition powers now???), but was able to not mess it up at last minute.

Perhaps Barbaros was on his side that day.

[ettelenethelien]

1st age Beleriand dashboard Simulator

🌫️ mithrim-noldo following

Yeah, Thingol kind of flew off the handle with banning Quenya and all that, but why on Arda are people now justifying the Kinslaying in response?? have some nuance and also, that's just plain horrible.

✨ btw-this-is-hopeless following

hope it's fine to copy your tags, mithrim, because they're great:

#I mean I know this is probably because they've taken part in the kinslaying themselves #but #can't you just admit you did wrong and move on? #in so far as it is possible because of course forgetting would be disrespectful and unwise #because the consequences are with us still #but it should be way more comfortable than being on your defences all the time #always ready to rationalize or deny #with a conscience you cannot silence

✴️ eightpointedstar83

I am tired of typing this out again and again but Alqualondë could have been averted had the teleri been less self-centred and readier to cooperate. Thingol is just another example of this attitude. But of course, please deny that the third clan is what it is and pin the blame on the people who saved everyone's skins.

We have done nothing wrong and yet our own people are turning on us. One day you will rue this.

Long live the house of Fëanor!

💝 heart-in-a-box

This is just the sort of behaviour OP was talking about.🤦‍♀️

🌫️ mithrim-noldo following

Admittedly, this seems to be a fanatical Fëanorian and more committed than the average apologist of his/her own actions - but yes.

#current events #thingol's quenya ban #my post

11,062 notes

🧝🏼‍♂️maglorfeanorion following

finished another canto of the noldolante today

🌖 hunters-moon

you have a tumblr account??!

🧝🏼‍♂️ maglorfeanorion following

do I know you?

🌖 hunters-moon

yes :)

🧝🏼‍♂️ maglorfeanorion following

wait - yeah, I do...

which of the twins are you?

🌖 hunters-moon

how did you know😮???

👨🏻‍🦰red-haired-twin

he looked through your blog, nitwit :)

🧝🏼‍♂️maglorfeanorion following

I guess I shouldn't be surprised to find you two out of all possible people on here...

so - which is which?

36 notes

🌸 a-flower-in-the-snow following

himring winters are horrible and I hate my parents for bringing me to middle-earth

#rant #children of exilse #i meant #children of exiles #coe

4 notes

🏞️ the-wide-earth-unexplored following

Y'all weren't joking when y'all said the Sirion is impressive...

(more photos under cut)

read more

#photography #nature photography #nature #sirion #falls of sirion

213 notes

🖼️ wonder-the-earth

is it still a secret city when everyone is talking about it?

👰🏼‍♀️ celebrin following

that's a good question

21 notes

👤 incessant-leaves following

It makes me sick to see all those positive nostalgic posts about the Mereth Aderthad. How pretty the pools of Ivrin were or weren't doesn't change the fact that THE NOLDOR WERE HIDING THE TRUTH ABOUT THE KINSLAYING THE WHOLE TIME. Yeah "everyone was kind" back then. You were feasting together with people whose cousins you had killed and have the audacity to complain they don't like you as much anymore. I don't care if you're a Sinda or a Noldo who "didn't take part in it" - if you say anything positive about it I'm blocking you.

#mereth aderthad #the truth about ivrin

159, 307 notes

💎 lord-maedhros-is-the-true-king

Things they don't want you to know about Fëanaro:

read more

157 notes

🏹 huntingprincess following

with all due respect, gondolin is the most boring place in the world.

🌼 golden-flower

it's not. but you're entitled to your opinion.

🌌 daughterofdoriath following

if only all debates on here were as civil...

👤 incessant-leaves

OP is a kinslayer apologist. Didn't you check that out before you started praising them?

🌌 daughterofdoriath following

*throws hands up*

I was admiring that one exchange.

(and this was actually more about @golden-flower's response than about OP)

*sighs*

#this site...

2009 notes

image used for Sirion: link

[sapphos-ode]

Little Cat

Part 10

Larissa Weems part 9 | part 11 | ao3

I’m… not sure about this chapter but I think I’ve added enough fluff to make up for the last one, as per the usual. Just gonna release it into the wild tbh. Hope you enjoy tho :)

~

The cacophony of the fireworks fell on deaf ears as Larissa stared down at you in shock, the skin where your lips had just touched felt as if it were on fire and she was desperate to feel them on her again. She had leaned in as you pulled away. Hopelessly chasing for more which you seemed to be cruelly denying her. Her heart runs after you tirelessly from within the ivory restraints of her ribcage.

“A-Atikah?” it came out as a breathless whisper, carried away in the gentle breeze that had picked up.

You tuck a strand of silvery hair that had escaped her immaculate updo behind her ear.

The cheers and festivities sounded muffled, as if they were underwater, the surges of people were blurry at best and to be honest, Larissa cared very little about anyone else but you. Right now, her universe consisted of you and only you. She looked at you as if you had hung the moon and the stars and all the countless ever expanding galaxies in the sky.

Painstakingly slowly you meet her eyes, a cavernous hunger behind them. You look at her, as if silently telling her everything your heart felt but she can’t decipher it. Something in her mind wouldn’t let her.

The eye contact is brief as you burrow your face in the crook of her neck, not wishing to face the consequences of your actions. Not yet at least. For a short few moments you can hide back against her and live blissfully ignorant to the real world, letting Larissa’s existence consume you.

“Thank you,” you speak so quietly she almost doesn’t hear you over the rushing of blood in her ears. Almost.

Larissa holds you in some sort of deathgrip, her head still reeling… your lips were so close to hers, and she was agonising over what you meant by it.

You reach up a little and speak, your voice still low as you murmur in her ear, “You mean a lot to me Larissa.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes into the back of her head at the sensation of your lips grazing over her skin.

The Principal sits back so she can look at your face, and she’s astonished at the look of unfiltered admiration in your eyes. She holds your face with both hands and continues searching your eyes. “What do you mean?”

You cover her hands with your own, enjoying how soft they are, “I mean what I said, you mean a lot to me,”

Larissa can tell you’re sidestepping something, and she wants to press you on it but before she can you’re speaking again.

“Come, let's enjoy the rest of the night.” You take her hand in yours as you dive back into the masses. Leaving her no opportunity to rebuke.

Just in the nick of time she manages to pluck the stuffed cat from the table before she's dragged away, Marilyn or Alice must have taken it from the haunted house. In the heat of things Larissa had forgotten all about it.

From afar a young girl with jet black hair styled in pigtails had bore witness to the kiss and the aftermath. She gagged. Then turned her back on the pair of you, seeking out her own blonde companion. If she had to be burdened with whatever that spectacle was, then so did Enid.

~

Larissa resigns herself to not knowing what was going through that sweet head of yours, she wasn’t one to give up, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to piece you together just yet. So rather than boiling in confusion and jumping to conclusions, she let herself live in the moment with you.

The pair of you try a plethora of games, winning some and losing miserably at more, although neither of you really care, as long as the other one is laughing you're both happy.

You're back to wandering through the stalls, still holding Larissa’s hand, she’d won a bear plush at a basketball game, she had a knack for it, and the image of you're oh so elegant and classy boss shooting hoops like Lebron James had you in a fit of giggles.

“For you,” Larissa presses a small polar bear plush into your hands, she catches the way your eyes spark up.

“Really?!”

“Really,” Larissa can’t hide the amused lilt in her voice.

“Thank you,” you squeeze her hand.

You falter mid step at the wave of emotions you absorb from the blonde, at your stumble her free hand is around your waist to steady you in a flash. You’re left breathless as you spin around to face her. She almost walks into you.

With your bodies pressed against each other you have to really crane your neck back to look into her eyes. The staggering height difference between you is becoming so much more obvious than it normally was. And you loved it. Loved every inch of her.

You can feel her chest move as she breathes. Her face strewn in confusion, brows taught and raised, eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

Whatever she’s feeling radiates off of her and it has you floored, it feels like a punch to the gut and it’s tearing you up because for once, you can’t name it.

‘What are you feeling?’

You say it aloud without realising.

Larissa’s mouth opens and closes multiple times, akin to a goldfish and you find yourself falling a little more for her.

Finally she finds her words, “I don’t know,” she sounds a little scared.

You swim in her eyes, fruitlessly searching for something. But just drown in the flurry of nameless emotions and feelings.

“Tell me what it feels like then, I’ll help you name it,”

At her hesitation to reply you give her an understanding nod. She looks so vulnerable, and it makes you want to just bundle her up in your arms and shelter her from the world.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be all ears,”

A metallic crash snags your attention, drawing your eyes to the age old Can Knock Down game. Something at the stall seems to catch Larissa’s eye as she starts power walking over with you in tow - your legs having to work overtime to match her strides. Damn her and her stupidly long, mouth watering legs.

It wasn’t the game itself that had caught her fancy, there was a particularly handsome looking raccoon toy prize and some primal instinct in Larissa told her that she needed it. She had always had a soft spot for raccoons.

The first ball bounces off the tattered can, the second almost topples the top one over but it seems to right itself against all laws of physics. At this Larissa lets out the most guttural growl from her throat and as it vibrates through you a heat pools in your abdomen. You have to bite your tongue to withhold the moan. The way you’d let that woman have her way with you in an instant.

“Last ball, or do you just not have what it takes,” you feel like you’re poking the bear, probably because you are, but you want to see her anger. See her let loose in all her feminine rage.

Larissa looks down at the third and final puny little foam ball, the muscles in her jaw tightens as she picks it up, her hand dwarfs it. She regards it with contempt before putting her entire heart and soul into the throw.

You’re in a trance as you watch the way her clothes twist and contour to her body, they seem to wrap tighter and you gladly drink in the curves of her body, the way her muscles ripple.

“Dear Lord have mercy on me,” you whine under your breath.

Flawlessly all the cans are sent flying off the little podium, clattering to the ground. Larissa - of all people - fist bumps the air yelling in triumph. Her face animated with pure delight. You watch her dance about, biting your lower lip as a carnal hunger floods your expression.

“Yes!!!” She’s not too far off from patting herself on her back.

As she’s busy celebrating you notice how the man at the stall looks at her with the same hunger in his eyes as you. A sharp pang spreads through your chest as you close the gap between you and Larissa, one hand falls to her hip, pulling her impossibly close to you as the other caresses her face, she stills instantly, eyes zeroed in on you.

You lean in close, sending a cursory glance at the man, he’s now looking at you. You contain your smirk as you turn to the blonde. She’s still smiling, lips apart, eyes ecstatic as her chest rises and falls noticeably.

“Well done darling,” you can feel his eyes burning into you, “I’m so proud of you,”

The blonde’s mouth snaps shut as a gorgeous red hue takes over her face, her nostrils flare imperceptibly. She chokes on nothing and tries to say something. All you get is a garbled mess before she clears her throat and looks away. Giving up on speaking.

“Gone all shy on me?” Your voice deliciously coy and teasing. Larissa instantly wants more. No, she needs more. A throbbing makes itself known between her legs.

“Ma’am, your prize?” The gruff voice has you sending the most withering, blood chilling look at the owner.

“Prize?” Larissa mumbles, at the word her gaze finds you again, although it has fallen to your chest and her mind shows her flashes of you on her bed bare of any clothing underneath her. “Oh, yes, right. That little raccoon, at the end. Please,”

She goes to take it from his hand but you beat her to it, giving the man a sickly sweet smile.

“Thank you,” is all you say as you lead Larissa away, a hand resting scandalously low on her back. All the while she regards you with a stumped look.

“Cockblocker,” you catch him gripe to himself as you walk away.

‘As if you’d ever have a chance,’

Once you’re out of sight of the stall Larrisa leans down a little to whisper, “What was that about?” Her obliviousness endears her to you.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” there’s an unnerving edge to your voice despite your light airy intonation.

~

You had convinced Larissa to share a stick of candy floss with you, it didn’t take much convincing given the woman had an outrageous sweet tooth.

Your eyes fall on the ferris wheel as you mindlessly pluck a piece of candy floss and hold it up for Larissa to eat. Obediently she takes it from your fingers with her mouth.

“How about we ride the ferris wheel, to end the night?” You propose.

The Principal’s eyes follow yours, watching the garish lights flash along the spindles of the rotating death trap. She swallows her mouthful and holds back a grimace.

“Sounds wonderful,”

~

Your face is pressed up to the glass as you watch the ground slowly shrink away, the people becoming little moving dots of colours, you’re halfway up and the mountains in the horizon begin to appear.

Larissa watches you from behind, she had opted to sit next to you rather than across from you. The wheel stops, letting the people at the bottom exit, and new people enter. Then it starts moving again, with the hydraulics sighing as it moves the mechanisms.

“The view’s stunning,” you breath out. Fogging up the glass.

“Yes…” she sounds a million miles away. Ocean eyes studying your back.

You’re now at the top, once again the carriages pause, allowing you plenty of time to take in the landscape. You can see little clusters of lights from neighbouring towns, the mountains now fully in view as they tower over everything. Red taillights of cars cut through the dark expanse of the country roads lacking street lamps.

The wheel jerks and Larissa involuntarily lets out a whimper. It has you freezing - did you hear that? The Larissa Weems whimpering?

“Larissa?” You turn to face her, a light expression of worry graces your features.

Then it dawns on you. No way, surely not?

“You’re scared of heights?”

She was scared of heights? Miss. Larissa six foot three Weems? Scared of heights. The irony has you giggling.

“C’mere,” you hold an arm out for her. And Larissa is all too eager in shuffling over and leaning into you as if she were stranded at the bottom of a ravine and you were a rope cast down for her. A lifeline.

Her head perches on your shoulder as she holds your arm in both of hers, hugging it close to her body. She doesn’t speak, but the chary looks she gives the nuts and bolts confirms your suspicions.

“You should have said,” you coo down at her, “it’s almost over,”

Larissa sends a fleeting look your way to let you know she heard you before she’s back to inspecting the cage. As the ferris wheel kicks back into life and starts your descent she pushes closer to you. One hand finds yours and starts to play with your fingers out of nervousness.

The ride down is noticeably more jaunty than the way up, and Larissa becomes increasingly antsy. She’s taken to bobbing her knee up and down. You place your free hand on it, stroking it idly with your thumb.

“Almost there Rissa,”

Momentarily she finds calm in the nickname, her heart eases a little and her body releases some of the tension. Finally she lets herself really feel you against her, you smell of wildflowers, of picnic dates in fields during the height of summer, and like the fresh air in a coastal town. It’s soothing.

Before Larissa knows it they’re at the bottom of the ferris wheel, and she’s contradicting herself, she was eager to get off this damned thing but she also doesn’t, leaving means she can no longer huddle into you.

“We made it,” you stand, pulling her with you so you can get her back onto solid ground. “You were so brave,”

A spike of desire shoots through Larissa’s entire body as she follows you like a lost puppy down the grated metal stairs onto the grass. As you drift to where her cars parked, she looks back and takes in just how high up she was. And she thought to herself that yes, she had been very brave. Especially if you thought so too.

~

Larissa insisted on walking you to your room once you had got back to Nevermore, you can hear the distant chatter as the school buses arrive, releasing the hordes of students into the courtyard. Once you reach your door you stand in silence, not wanting the night to end just yet.

You both start talking at the same time.

“You go first, sorry,” you chuckle a little.

Larissa gives you a wary look, chewing her cheek as she debates something in her head. She comes to a resolve, if the determined look in her eyes is anything to go off of.

“Earlier, during the fireworks- ”

An ice cold flash of fear passes through you.

“You kissed me… What- what did you…” Larissa hopes she doesn’t have to finish her sentence.

You hold her gaze.

Larissa stares at you with an intensity, holding her breath.

“What do you think it meant?” You speak with a careful tone, an inquisitive glint in your eyes.

“I- ” she starts without really thinking of how to word her answer. She does know what she thought it meant, or what she hoped it meant but to actually voice it aloud was foreign territory for her.

At her dumbfounded silence you shake your head with a mirthful smile and fumble for the door handle behind your back. You manage to open the door and lean back, grasping Larissa’s hand as you drag her into the room with you. She complies without an ounce of protest.

“How does a few episodes of some rubbish tv show sound? To wind down?”

You kick your shoes off and take Larissa through your living room straight to your bedroom. She remains quiet as she passes by your couch and tv. Was watching a show some new young slang for shagging?

“Make yourself cosy,” you gesture to your bed, depositing the plush toys you had won on it, then you turn on the multiple sets of fairy lights in your room creating an ambient mood, a very intimate feeling mood. You fish your laptop out from the pile of papers on your desk, opening it to let it warm up before heading through to your living room again.

Larissa waits until the door closes before carefully slipping out of her kitten heels and placing them neatly at the side. She gingerly sits on the edge of your bed, hands clasped around the stuffed cat on her lap. She would take this opportunity to study your room but she was already very familiar with it.

Larissa feels a little too warm, and that’s when she remembers she’s still wearing her jacket. She hangs it on the back of your desk chair when your notebook seems to jump out from the clutter. She recalls seeing her name in it and the curiosity and drive to know what it meant returns tenfold.

“Here, it’s not Weathervane standard but it’s still good,” you return with two mugs of hot chocolate which you place on your nightstand before joining Larissa at your desk. You grab your laptop with one hand and Larissa’s with the other.

“I’m thinking Kim’s Convenience? How’s that sound to you?” You plop the computer down and clamber onto the bed, pulling Larissa to lay down against the pillows with you.

You spend the next hour cuddling watching the portly Korean man bumble through his life, at some point you fall asleep, and Larissa cannot bring herself to leave. So with one hand - her other one is trapped underneath you - she lets her hair down, depositing the pins next to the empty mugs, before pulling the covers up and letting herself fall into a peaceful slumber - you both lay there wrapped in each other, a mess of limbs, Larissa’s chin rests atop your head - your featherlight breaths tickling her neck.

Her heart calms itself and soon falls into a steady beat in tandem with yours.

~

Taglist - @weemssapphic @h-doodles @blessmysouljessisonaroll @eveymay @lvinhs @enchantressb @a-queen-and-her-throne @vmpnano

[pendragonsclotpole]

i’ve been keeping up with dominic noble’s lost in adaptation series for pjo, and i just finished watching his review of episode 8. he made a point of saying that he didn’t consider the tv series an offense to the book, and i’m glad he did because i think a lot of show fans hear the criticism that some books fans have of the show and misunderstand why we’re so upset.

i think the tv series is a good, decent adaptation that attempts to appeal to a younger audience/an audience as young as the book series first readers when it was published. it modernizes a few things (shoutout to that completely unnecessary scene of sally listening to olivia rodrigo), expands on a bit of the central characters, updates the relationships the gods have with their children, and keeps the spirit of the original series, if not always the execution.

i think if the tv show had come out in 50+ years, long after a book accurate and beloved adaptation had come out, the show would be a fresh take on a classic children’s story a la lotr. but the issue is that the last adaptation came out close to 15 years ago and while it was good and entertaining for a blockbuster movie, it wasn’t percy jackson.

it wasn’t the story we got to see and get to know: a complex tale of parental neglect, greek gods and mythology, and most importantly—a young, misunderstood boy trying to navigate the complexities that arose from the circumstances and consequences of multiple sets of beings, far more powerful and older than him, trying to control him and take away his agency, all because of the circumstances of his birth, which were not his fault and which he didn’t ask for. sure there was magic, sure there a suspension of disbelief, but at the heart of the story there was enough darkness and realness for the story of the book to mean something.

we spent years listening to rick riordan promise us that he would find a place to create a faithful adaptation of the book. but he didn’t. and that’s okay, because at the heart of it all, he wrote pjo to appeal to a set of kids younger than i am now and closer to the age i was when i first met percy jackson. i understand the dozens of fans that love the show, even the book fans that enjoy it as an adaptation, but to me, the girl who admired the brutality of sally jackson turning the man who abused her to stone, who loved the emotional complexity of a dad who could never quite say the right thing to his own child and always left them feeling so disappointed and like a mistake and alone, who never quite fit in with the other kids and felt unwanted, who wished she had some sort of powers and the capacity to rebel against the forces older and more powerful that controlled her, i just can’t love the show as much as i love the books.

i know what i just wrote sounds weird. no, i don’t want to essentially kill and turn any men that may harm or abuse me to stone (tho people if you get the chance, godspeed). but i do love the idea that sally when given the choice, had the power to petrify a man who likely petrified her. she made her choice to get rid of him. she made a choice many women or victims of abuse in general don’t often get a chance to make, and it was presented in such an unrealistic way, in the guise of a medusa’s head, that it felt even more real. i love that a man that is meant to be from an idolized and integral part of your mother’s past, who in many ways is a god, can be a horrible father and partner, and say the wrong things and never be enough. i love the idea that we can all be tempted by the wrong things but eventually make the right choice and be the hero we needed all along.

i think i’ve rambled long enough, and i hope you all can understand what i mean. obviously some of the points i mentioned have yet to be adapted. i hope the show gets to bring to life all 5 books and potentially even beyond. i think the tv show is good, funny, entertaining, a little slow at times, and not enough action or tension. i love leah, walker, and aryan as annabeth, percy, and grover. i think the designs are beautiful. i think it is a good adaptation and i think with a rewatch it’ll grow on me, but it just isn’t the percy jackson i grew up with. maybe that’s on me. maybe i’ve grown up idolizing a book series and appreciating what it meant to me, instead of reading it and appreciating it for what it is: a children’s series. maybe the tv show and book series are mediums meant for other kids and new audiences to enjoy. in which case, enjoy them. i’ll still watch along to see some iteration of the books i love be brought to life, and to appreciate a good show but a part of my heart will always yearn for a faithful book adaptation.

[becomingbuffypodcast]

Who get the biggest passes from Buffyverse fans and can you give examples of the worst things these characters do?

Well this is a juicy question.

Spike, and Cordelia.

Interestingly, at some point, both characters were given the role of calling Buffy out on her "crap." James Marsters even talks about how he was brought in as a replacement for Cordelia in season 4, but then was replaced by Anya when they decided to do something else with him.

With Cordy being the mean girl, and Spike the soulless vampire, the writers had the freedom to use these characters to say and do some incredibly cruel things towards Buffy in the name of "brutal honesty," while also excusing their behavior because they weren't meant to be the hero...at least initially.

This worked a little too well, as Charisma and James were amazing in their roles. Each character is charming, beautiful, multifaceted, and extremely funny.

The problem is, you can't keep your characters stagnate, so the writers were forced to give Cordy and Spike character growth, but also find a way to retain who they are. This is incredibly difficult when your character was literally written to clash with Buffy, and is popular for saying mean, biting things in the name of "tough love."

-Cordelia-

While Queen C is more than the resident mean girl, her cruel words and selfish behavior are praised as "truth" and confidence, with her belittling nearly every member of the Scooby gang. She is constantly pitting herself against Buffy; (Homecoming, Halloween, etc) demeaning and belittling her when Buffy has personally saved her life several times. She begins to show signs of character growth in season 3, but once Xander cheats on her, reverts right back to blaming Buffy for everything. Instead of holding Xander accountable for his actions, she makes a wish that Buffy never came to Sunnydale, and then never sees the consequences for her own actions.

Even after her move to LA, she calls Buffy a cry-Buffy, blames her for turning Angel into Angelus, emasculates Wesley, victim blames and shames a SA survivor (Untouched), and is generally just careless about what she says or does, with no thought about how her words effect others.

Personally, while I do see some growth over her time on Angel, I do not buy her characterization in the later seasons where she is drastically changed to become a Champion, and then shoe-horned into a relationship with Angel. On top of that, she never atones for or even recognizes her need to change for her awful behavior, and that makes it very hard for me to forgive her for her past sins, let alone root for her.

It's possible that with better writing and without Joss being a horrible person, that her transition would have been more organic and believable.

-Spike-

For a show about feminism, the writers really spend a lot of time on this man. He steals Buffy's underwear, stalks her, makes a sex robot that looks just like her, attempts to kill her multiple times, boasts about killing and torturing other slayers, justifies it by saying they wanted it, ties her up, then spends a season belittling her just so that she'll sleep with him. THEN when she refuses sex with him, attempts to force himself on her.

And for those of you who say, "oh he just didn't have a soul yet." Fine.

After he had a soul, he boasts about assaulting her, shames her for using him for sex when he knew she didn't love him, shames her for not loving him, and blames her for the reason he's tortured with having a soul. (Beneath You)

He nearly kills Robin Wood, and then mocks him for not being loved by his mother (which is proven to be false in "Damage"), all while wearing the coat that he stole from Robin's mother after he killed her.

Not once does he apologize to Buffy or attempt to hold himself accountable, even after he has a soul. It is not until "Damage" on Angel that we see any sort of unselfish remorse.

Then to add insult to injury, season 7 has Buffy spending so much time taking care of Spike, rescuing Spike, training with Spike, reassuring Spike that he is a good man...all to the detriment of her other relationships. People like to blame the Potentials for why season 7 is as clunky as it is, but I blame the focus on Spike.

Even worse, the show doesn't seem to want Spike to change, as there's hardly a difference between pre souled and ensouled Spike. And that goes against the show's core tenant of choice and growth.

From the very beginning, vampires represent the opposite of adolescence in that they are stagnate and do not change. "Fool for Love" very clearly establishes that Spike's persona is created to compensate for his lack of an identity. Cecily's rejection of him deeply wounds him and he is shown to create a facade to mask his insecurities. So he takes from powerful women and forms a false identity around them to prove that he is not beneath them. The episode emphasizes this pattern with Cecily, Dru, and the two Slayers, continuing in present day with Buffy.

In order to be consistent with the lore and message of the show, ensouled Spike needed to look a lot different from un-ensouled Spike, but the writers knew he wouldn't be as popular.

And so we're left with a half baked season where we're supposed to believe that Buffy is distant from everyone but Spike, who looks the exact same as he did the season before when he tried to force himself on her.

It's just icky. It's the opposite of empowering. It blurs the lines of the lore. And it sends the wrong message.

We can like these characters and even root for them, but we need to be honest about their flaws, and not justify awful writing and problematic characterization.

[slxsherwriter]

The Big Wheel Groans

Fandom: Joy Ride

Pairing: None, hints of future Rusty x female reader

Word count: 3, 127

Warnings: Mentioned of parental death

Author's note: Rusty has taken a permanent residence in my brain. Waffled back and forth a few times on how innocent the reader would actually be. I think Rusty would do well with this polite, naive little thing. Bonus points to anyone who gets the title reference. May explain how I'm viewing these two.

Cigarettes, stale coffee, and greasy bacon. The scent was an immediate assault as soon as the door opened. Most would find it off-putting, but to you? To you, it brought up fond childhood memories of getting to tail along with your father; early morning drives out into the beautiful countryside, interspersed with stops like this. He always let you get some pancakes with whipped cream. The nostalgia washed over you like a crashing wave, and for just a moment, your chest tightened. As good as those memories were, the pain felt just as fresh as it had been two months ago.

Giving a polite smile to the woman that came and greeted you, it was easy to pick your way through the tables as she found a space against the wall on the opposite side of the tiny truck stop diner to set you.

"Passing through, honey?" You settled down and kept up with the kind smile. You damn well knew that she didn't always get the respect she deserved. Just the nature of the job and the location. Truckers? They could carry their own and knew well enough to be mindful. At least the generation that your father belonged to did. Yours? Not so much.

"Yes, ma'am." She seemed surprised to hear the response. "Not in any hurry, though. I'll take a coffee when you get a moment, please." You could see someone, definitely not one to frequent stops like this, was trying to get her attention.

"Well, ain't you a polite young thing," she offered with a soft laugh. "I'll bring your coffee right up." She headed off with an almost lazy step to her gait, clearly not in any sort of rush to take care of the demanding customer. The action was enough to force you to stifle a laugh behind your hand. Eyes had fallen on you when you had first entered and now? They had mostly returned to their own doings and business. That could have stemmed from the fact that you dressed sort of like you fit in amongst all the workers who spent their hours on the road. The beat-up Carhartt around your shoulders had belonged to your father. It had seen far better days, but it was the one thing you hadn't been able to give up.

Your father had been your rock, your steady shore, the one who had been there. He had raised you alone, did everything right. As much as he could. Older now, you realized the man had his flaws, but he cared for you very much and had done a hell of a job on his own. When your grandmother came into the picture when you were fifteen, upheaval and chaos reigned. She had managed to petition the courts to gain custody. That was what happened when one side had money and the other hadn't. A single father on the road for work versus the woman whose name meant something and had connections. It was a losing battle.

Playing in that world, high society, had always felt wrong. You had longed for the simple days in the rural home you had spent your childhood in. Money hadn't meant shit. Social events and gatherings were torturous at best, painful proceedings that you were forced through over and over again. All because you carried a name? Or well, supposedly did. A name you has forsaken as soon as the old woman passed away.

Sure, she had left everything to you, and it would be a hell of an easy life. But that wasn't what you had wanted. Selling her house, all the shit in it that you didn't need, you had found a beater car and headed right back to see your father.

It was only a few years later that he fell ill. All the money in the world couldn't beat out the consequences of smoking two packs a day and a life spent in a rig. Now, you were working on spreading his ashes cross country in the spots you visited as a kid. At least the money was being used for something.

In the blink of an eye, your meal, pancakes with whipped cream of course, and coffee were all done. All in all, it was a meal under 15 bucks. As discreetly as you could, you wrote out a note before shoving several large bills in the little folder. Enough to leave a healthy tip for the kind waitress and pay for the meals of the six other people occupying the bar space. Standing up, you stopped the waitress on your way out.

"Keep the change." It was all you offered before you stepped outside. You didn't need to see the results of your small act. You didn't do it for recognition. Hell, once you were done with this, you were retreating from the world to your fathers house and not leaving for a few weeks at minimum.

Sitting in your car, you were studying the map. GPS was good, and while you used it, it was always good to have the route planned out. Technology could shit the bed easily. At least reading and following the map was a sure thing. Mostly. Roads occasionally changed but not enough to end up lost with no knowledge of how to unstick yourself. A tap on the window caused you to jump, pressing the paper downwards for a moment.

A man stood outside your window, tall enough that you couldn't see his face right away, having to shift closer with him leaning his head down. Even so, his hat obscured his eyes. Scruff lined his chin, slightly peppered. This man was definitely a trucker. Quickly, you rolled down the window.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"That was an awful kind thing you did there," he spoke softly, his hand jerking back in the direction of the diner. You blinked, processing the words but reacting far slower than it should have been. That voice. Deep with that drawl. You could listen to it for hours. "Things like that don't happen too often." Was he looking for an explanation?

"Oh, it wasn't much, really." His eyes were running over the car. You knew how it looked. First impressions wouldn't scream that you had money. Which, maybe to a degree, it was a good thing. "What good is an inheritance if you can't put a little good out into the world? Would it be safe to assume that one of those rigs is yours?" You motioned towards the line of trucks not far from where you were parked.

"S'pose you could."

"My father was a trucker. The job isn't easy, and I respect what you do. The least I could do was pay for food and coffee. A good meal and some caffeine are important. My attempt to make up for all the bad that you have to deal with, at least in a small way." He seemed to mull the words over for a moment, almost as if it wasn't what he expected you to say. Then, a soft chuckle, a deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine, came from the man. His fingers drummed against the hood of your car for just a moment before he stepped back.

"Well, it's appreciated."

"It's really no problem at all. Happy to do something so small. Stay safe out there."

"You do the same, sweetheart."

****

The meeting stuck in your head, leaving a little smile on your face as you drove the long, mostly desolate stretches of highway for the next two days. There was one final special stop that you had to make, where the remainder of the ashes would be spread. It was off the beaten path, near an abandoned warehouse. The same little isolated lake that you and your father had always spent your birthdays. A little fishing, some deer watching, and the sort of peace and calm that didn't come from anything but a lack of interaction with the outside world. A place just for the two of you, away from the outside world and distractions. There was no work, there was no school, no one to bother and no one to interrupt.

The spreading of his ashes had been both painful and cathartic. A final goodbye that in a lot of ways you had not been ready for. But, there was no other option. Reality was what it was, and you couldn't hold on to him out of selfish reasons. Being back in that place brought back nothing but fond memories, some that you hadn't thought about in years, and some that you had forgotten.

You hadn't driven more than a couple miles off the road that led to the abandoned warehouse when steam started coming from your engine. Pulling the truck to the side of the road, you killed the engine and let out a small huff. Out in the middle of nowhere, there wasn't a chance for cell service, and nothing was within walking distance to be able to find a tow truck. Hopefully, it was something you'd be able to fix on your own, but you wouldn't know until you got out of the car and popped the hood. The heat coming from the engine was uncomfortable, and you had to pull your hand back twice before being able to lift the hood at all. Waving smoke out of your face, you waited for just a moment longer for things to clear before appearing into the engine to see if you could determine what was causing the problem. At the same time, you tried to keep a careful ear out for any cars that might be passing by. There wasn't a lot of traffic on the road, so you could only get one chance at flagging a car down if you were lucky. You didn't know all that much about engines, just the basics that your father had taught you when you were young. You hadn't had a chance to learn much more, unfortunately. Now would have been a great time to have that knowledge.

The rumble of a semi filled your ears as you cursed and pulled back from the engine. From what you could tell, it was possible that the head gasket blew. Which meant that there was not much you could do with the car. You would have to have it towed and fixed by a mechanic. Stranded. You are absolutely stranded if this truck didn't stop for you. Before you even had the chance to stand up and pull back fully from the car and stick a thumb out, the sound of the brakes being hit filled the empty area around you. The trucker was coming to a stop before you would even ask for help. Hopefully, that was a good thing.

It took a second from the time the truck stopped for the door to open. In that time, you watched curiously, perhaps a little too relaxed, but it was in your nature. The few friends you had always said that you always thought of people as too good. But it hadn't caused problems yet, so what did they know?

"Ya broke down?" The distinct voice was familiar, even after only encountering it once. He was leaning over from the driver side, peering out through the open passenger door.

"I'm not the best with engines, but I think the head gasket went. So, it might be a lost cause." You wiped your hands against your pants for a moment, trying to clean them up a bit.

"Judging from the smoke, don't think you are going anywhere, any time soon. Why don't you hop in and I can give ya a lift to the next town." You glanced at the car for a moment before moving to grab your bag.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna inconvenience you. Or your run. I know things can be time sensitive." You glanced at the trailer that his rig was hauling, almost instantly feeling bad that he had stopped. You could remember your father complaining about eighteen, twenty hour shifts at a time to cover the necessary ground, when he thought that you couldn't hear that was.

"It isn't out of the way. Come on, get in." Any more hesitating would be time wasting. One step up, and you had to grab the bars to take the next step and keep your balance before swinging yourself into the passenger seat. Quickly, you closed the door.

"Thank you, really. I thought I was going to be there awhile." Your eyes bounced around the rig, unable to help it as you took in the inside of the cab or the way that a smile came without warning. "I haven't been inside a truck like this in forever. She really is gorgeous. Peterbilt, right?" He was already getting the truck moving again.

"Gotta say I'm impressed. Ain't too many that don't drive and know their stuff. 359, 1986."

"My mechanic skills may not be the greatest, but I like to think I know my trucks." It was a light tease, any and all pride lacking from the words. In the look around, you have spotted a few places you could leave him some cash for the ride. It was the least that could be done. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've been terribly rude." You had never introduced yourself, which you quickly remedied.

"You can call me Rusty." Probably part of a CB handle, but it hardly mattered. You had a moment where you struggled to decipher if he preferred quiet or if he wanted to chat. Talking wasn't something that you would push. If he wanted to, sure he would initiate, and if not, you didn't mind being silent.

It went on for a little longer, the silence and atmosphere of the cab comfortable. Miles seemed to pass under the large wheels within the blink of an eye.

"What are you doing out here, all on your own?" The question was bound to come eventually. You paused for just a moment before glancing away from the road finally and towards the man.

"Spreading my Daddy's ashes." His eyes tore from the road the same way yours had, this time as if trying to judge if you were being honest. "Stopping at all the places that we had visited when I was little. He raised me. First couple years of my life, I practically lived in his rig with him. A couple miles back? Off Whitey close to that abandoned warehouse, about a mile off there is a little secluded lake. We would spend birthdays there. Fishing, wildlife watching, me playing hooky from school. It was the last stop." Your voice softened as you neared the end of the explanation. A pang in your chest. One that wasn't as strong as it had been the last few months.

"I'm sorry to hear he passed." The words had been repeated by a few people, that sort of unsure what to say but needed to offer something for condolences. It was an awkward situation to try to maneuver around. But you appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. "Ya mind me asking how ya came into all that money then? Can't say I got a stash laying around like that." The question brought a slightly bitter sound from your throat before you could stop it.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to do that. It's just…not the best of memories. My maternal grandmother. Never knew my mama, not entirely sure what happened to her. But when the older woman found out, she petitioned the court for custody. The usual foul rhetoric spewed about my father and his occupation. Not being suitable for children and such. Helped that she had money and connections." You paused as the rush of memories washed over you. Hands unconsciously tightened against your bag before you let out a shuddering breath. "She was one of those folks who always looked down their noses at everyone who didn't come from the so-called elite. Better than everyone else. Couldn't stand to be around her and that life. People like that? They ain't any good. Aren't honest, don't know a day of hard work in their life." You could hear the slight crink of leather, likely from the steering wheel but paid little mind.

"I didn't want anything to do with her or that life. She passed right before I turned eighteen, thinking she had gotten what she wanted with me being molded into her image. Left everything. I couldn't sell the house and business off fast enough. Got my name changed back, legally. Went straight back to the small country home I had grown up in. Never wanted the money and don't have too much of a need for it. It's a silly idea, but I try to counter all the negative, nasty things that she did by giving it away where I can." You had always been an open book to everyone. Oversharing had never gotten you in trouble yet. A habit that your grandmother had tried to break you of but had never been successful. Ever.

"Ain't all that silly, sweetheart." There was a different note to his voice. Something soft, something that made you feel a swell of some unknown emotion in your chest. Your cheeks felt a little hot. At least someone didn't think it was silly. Your friends indulged you, of course, but you knew occasionally they spoke about it behind your back. "World would be a better place with more people who thought like that."

Again, a few minutes of silence passed, as if the exchange was being digested and determinations were being made. Well, you were more content to just enjoy the rumble of the truck and the passing landscape.

"You look like you could use some sleep. Why don't you get some shut eye. Next town is still about sixty miles out."

"Are you sure?" You couldn't deny that the rhythmic rumble was lulling you into that relaxed peaceful state. But you didn't want to be rude either.

"Hun'red percent. Ain't gonna bother me none. I'll wake you when we are getting close, okay?"

Was it smart to fall asleep in the rig of a man you didn't know? Hardly. You weren't that naive. But, at the same time, you didn't feel a single sense of danger from the man. Shifting a little and pulled the jacket around you to act more like a blanket, you settled your head against the window.

"Thank you, Rusty." Eyes closed, it didn't take long for sleep to take a hold, leaving you unaware of the eyes that had turned to take you in, or the shift in intent in the truck.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝓜𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 : 𝐌𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐌𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

Some things just aren't meant to be.

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt & Comfort, Idol!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Cat Hybrid!Reader, mentions of depression and depressive thoughts, heartbreak, homelessness, it's a bit heavy sorry, mentions of mental abuse and manipulation, betrayal, slow burn, eventual smut, dead dove do not eat

Dead Dove do not eat: warning for potentially triggering content that can't be tagged without spoiling the story.

Length: 2.4k Words.

-> Masterlist

~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~;~✿~

"I'll take the left side, you look in the parking lots outside." Yoongi instructs, leaving Jungkook on his own- and he's stuck in place for a moment.

In an odd way, he knows where you could be hiding- because you've hidden here before, when you'd accidentally followed him outside, but got confused where to go since you haven't lived with him for even just a week yet. He remembers how you cowered in a corner at one of the spots where the bikes are put, little roof over it protecting them from rain- and also providing good shelter for you the entire day. He knows, right now, you probably do the same thing.

But his biggest problem is that he doesn't know what to do if he even finds you.

What's he supposed to do then? Sweep you off your feet like prince charming and take you home like nothing happened? It doesn't work like that, the problems from back then still exist today after all. You're clearly not well off at Hanako's, making it evident in the fact that you willingly ran away. And he can understand it.

But you also can't go into the hybrid care system due to his own company making sure you won't 'talk' to anyone who might ever adopt you. No one wants an older hybrid loaded with problems and legally binding NDA's at the end of the day, so your chances at ever really being adopted into a new home are pretty much zero. And if you are- there's a high chance those people will end up using you for higher gain. To defame him or his company, possibly.

And you can't go back with him, even if you wanted to.

Because with him, you'll have to go through all the harassments and forever continuing problems that Jin's now wife had to go through as well- probably even worse, considering you're not a human, but a hybrid of all things. He himself couldn't care less about the things people will probably say about him. They'll call him a fetishist, a pervert, whatever- it won't change what he's achieved in the past, the life he'd been able to life up until this point. But you don't deserve that. You don't deserve any of that hate you'll surely receive.

He should've thought about that before. But he didn't.

So in a way, he hopes for a while that he doesn't find you. That he's wrong, that you've escaped everyone, that you'll start a new life somewhere else maybe, far away from him and the consequences of his actions. But he's not that lucky. He never is, isn't he?

Your reflecting eyes stare at him from the corner you're hiding in, wide open, staring at him- and he doesn't know what to do.

He hasn't seen you in a while. Have you lost weight? Hanako promised him you were eating your meals properly, but looking at you, he worries she might've lied to him to simply soothe his anger a little. Your bright white hybrid tail and ears are grey-ish, dirty, and you just look terrified. He's never seen you like this.

Has he turned you into this? If not with his own hands, then probably with his actions.

You're trembling, and he doesn't know what to do. Everything his mind comes up with is some sort of skinship, reassurance, but he can't lie and pretend like he can just hold you and everything will be fine. It won't- and he knows this.

"Its my fault, isn't it?" He says, just.. standing there, looking down at you while you're still cowering in your corner, trying not to let the rain get to you. It's stopped by now, only some faint drops still falling- but the water is everywhere at this point, and you don't want your shoes to soak it all up.

You've got no way to get them dry later.

"Its my fault." He says again. "I didn't.. think it trough. I thought-" he speaks mostly to himself it seems, gaze distant as he watches his own reflection in the puddle of water he's standing in. "I thought it would somehow all work out." He tells no one in particular, and you don't know what to say. You don't know if there even is anything to say.

"I was naive to think that.. you know, I could just play pretend for a while." He continues, taking a step away from you. "I was hoping I could work towards.. the world, the fans accepting the.. possibility of us one day.." he seems to break a little. "But then, when Seokjin announced his engagement, and all hell broke loose.. I felt like I couldn't put you through that too." He tears up. "I should've known. I should've.. expected that, but seeing it happen like this, it-" he shakes his head. "I had to do something. Anything to keep you safe." He softly speaks, like he's trying to make you understand.

Even though you do. You know why he did what he did, somewhat.

"I shouldn't have taken you with me in the first place." He says. "You.. even asked me. You were the more mature one back then- you.. tried to help, but I was stubborn. I still am." He shakes his head. "I didn't want to see what could happen. I wanted to believe." He says, before he suddenly leans down, knees hitting the wet puddle as he kneels down. "I ruined your life because of my own greed." He tells you, and you worry for him as you watch his pants soak up the cold water. "I ruined any future you could've had just because.. I wanted you." Jungkook tells you, before his hands dip into the shallow puddle in front of him, body folding over as he bows- instantly terrifying you. "Please forgive me." He says, and you instantly move to push against his shoulders.

It's not his fault. It's not- you could've done something too. You could've been born something else, someone else- someone he could've been able to love without having to choose between the life he wants and the life he chose. You could've never met him, could've turned away from him, could've never accepted his offer to so much as talk to you back at the carecenter.

It's not his fault. It can't be. Because if it is, he would admit that the love you both had had been a mistake too.

"No-!" You whine, as you push harder against his shoulders for him to sit back up, but he doesn't move. He's a strong guy after all, no match for you- but you still try.

"I'm sorry." He keeps ranting, and you get up now, uncaring of your soft fabric boots soaking up as you try and pull him up now.

But he won't move.

"No!" You shake your head, letting yourself fall onto the wet pavement as well, crying out of frustration as you hit his back. "No.." you whine, pitifully as your tears get the better of you, body aching for him to hold you. You're scared, you don't know what's to come now, what will happen- you don't want to be in this nightmare any longer, you've never wanted this in the first place. So your weak hits turn into nothing as you cry out his name, desperate for any kind of reaction. And only then does he sit up, giving you a chance of crawling into his lap, desperate for any kind of reassurance.

You don't care if he doesn't mean it. If he wants to push you off, you'll let him- but just for a split second, you want to be surrounded by him, pretend you're back at his apartment, back home where you'd been happy.

But he doesn't push you off, and maybe that's even worse.

He wraps his arms around you so much it hurts a little, but you couldn't feel more pain than at the sound of his sobs in your shoulder. He sounds distressed, like a child having lost its mother, like you did back when you were just a kitten having been told that your momma will never come back home. He sounds just like you that day, all confused, and scared, and nothing but upset.

About the world that moves on, uncaring of you both or the situation you find yourselves in.

"Jungkook.." a voice is heard behind him, a young man with an umbrella you recognize as Yoongi standing close but with a respectable distance, watching with a look on his face you can understand somewhat.

He probably doesn't know what to do either. Can't help, can't make it better.

No one can.

So you just close your eyes, and become a ghost, enjoying his warmth for one last time. That's all you can do for him, for you as well, at the end of the day.

Because some things just aren't meant to be.

"Jungkook- come on, let's get her-" Yoongi tries, but Jungkook slaps his hand away, holds you even tighter now, while the rapper can't do anything but watch.

"no.!" He pitifully shakes his head, burying it in your neck. "Don't.. take her yet." He begs, but Yoongi is now more concerned over you than the mental state of his friend. Your tail is unmoving, resting in muddy water behind you, while your arms hang limply at your sides, not holding onto the young man at all any longer. Something's not right- the pale inside of your cat ears, your unmoving state of being-

"Jungkook, please-" He asks again, trying to get closer, step by step, as if he's talking to a dangerous animal. Which- in a way, he is. "-We have to get her help, okay?" He asks, and only now do Jungkook's eyes snap open.

You're not holding onto him.

You're not doing anything, in fact.

His own blood runs cold at the way he spots your unmoving tail, drops from the metal roof dripping down on it, but it just won't move even an inch. And neither does the rest of you move. Have you always been this cold?

His breath quickens as he slowly moves his arms, holds you a bit further away from himself- and your head just flops down onto his shoulder, making him panic. You're so pale- you've got no color to your cheeks, nothing- what's happening to you?

"Jungkook, snap out of it!" Yoongi begs, trying to somehow get his friend to put you into the car so he can drive you to get medical attention- but Jungkook can't move.

He's frozen in place at the sight of you.

You're resting heavy against his body, and only now does he quite grasp the severity of the situation. He can hear Yoongi on the phone with someone, but he can't really make out the words, brain just not attempting to understand any of them as he moves his hands underneath your clothes. His hands are cold, he remembers you'd always jump away from him with a giggle, before he'd chase you around his apartment- but you do nothing. You're not even warm at all underneath all those layers.

This can't be happening.

"Yeah- hey, Jungkook, come on, lets bring her to the car, okay?" Yoongi coaxes him, and Jungkook nods after a moment, finally coming somewhat back into reality as he carries you to the opened trunk where Yoongi had put down the back seats so you'd have a lot of space to lay down on. When he puts you down, you still don't move. Why won't you move? Not even a flutter of your eyelashes- you're way too still.

"Yeah, I'm checking, but I don't know where it could be-" Yoongi talks into his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, zipping open your coat to search for something it seems, while Jungkook can't do anything but watch. "I think I found it? Yeah, kind of, but it's all red, looks kind of like a bruise.." He explains, and Jungkook stares at the spot on the inside of your arm.

Hanako.

"Heat implant-" Jungkook stutters, looking at it. "I-it's a heat implant, Hanako said she's had it since the beginning of the year-" He rambles softly, eyes never leaving you, especially once he spots your chest rising and falling shallowly and quickly at the same time, while Yoongi repeats what he's said to whomever he's talking to.

"Yeah, we'll be on our way right now." He says, before he closes the trunk, and shoves Jungkook into the passenger seat before he gets in the car himself. "They're preparing for us right now- we'll bring her to the hospital right now." He offers, rushing as best as he can, before the large building comes into sight. "Jungkook."

"What-" The idol asks, having turned around the entire time to reach for your hand- even though it's cold, and you probably don't feel him holding it.

"The minute we arrive, there's a chance someone will take a picture, or a video, or anything." He reminds him with a serious expression. "You can either stay inside-"

"No." Jungkook shakes his head, holding your hand a bit tighter, looking back at you. "I'm done. I don't care anymore." He says.

"There's no coming back from this, Jungkook." Yoongi says again, parking near the emergency unit entrance where he can see several people already waiting for them, considering he'd called. They've put something like a tarp up, considering they know that Yoongi himself called- doing their best to shield anyone from potential media. But the chance still stands, and his words still hold weight.

But Jungkook doesn't answer- and instead gets out to open the trunk, carrying you into the emergency unit, where they take you from him for the last time.

Leaving him alone, with his thoughts, and a heavy heart that will probably never heal from this.

Taking your ghost with them, never to return.

Because down the line-

Some things just aren't meant to be.