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luveline · 3 months

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would you ever be willing to write the day spencer and stripper!reader met in the grocery store? i’ve always loved the concept when you’ve referenced it in the story, i would love to read it👀 you’re absolutely incredible and i can never say anything not anon to you because my blog is flooding you with notes constantly and i’m embarrassed😅

thank you for your request ❤️ fem!reader, 1.5k

cw for domestic violence and workplace abuse

There's this weird organic grocery store by Spencer's place that's far too expensive, but it's a ten minute walk, so that's where he goes. (Weird in separation to organic.)

He needs a lot of groceries now he's home for the week. Bread, vegetables, rice, flour if he wants to try and make pancakes, which he does. He also needs a new pen to write a letter for his mom, but Leaven is slightly too small for a stationery section.

He doesn't know what he'll say to her in this one. Maybe that the cases he's going on are easy, or that he's been reading about crows. She's not feeling well lately. It might help her to know he's doing gentle things, even if it isn't true.

No, he thinks. Can't lie to her. He never lies to his mom.

Eggs. Sugar. Coffee grounds. He fills his cart. It'll be a lot to carry on the way home, but better to do it in one go. He likes keeping busy but he's a human being, too, and he's looking forward to spending at least sixteen hours in bed after dinner tonight.

You look tired, too.

Your back is turned, but Spencer knows it's you. You must live close by, he's been seeing you duck in and out for months. Usually with a loaf of bread or a single box of painkillers tucked in your pocket. You don't steal, he'd be able to tell, and he wouldn't say anything if you did, anyways. All he knows about you is that you have a nice smile when you have the energy, and your voice is like silk. Purposeful or by nature, he's yet to guess.

You're standing by the end of the aisle near the checkouts with a basket hanging from your fingers. All you're buying today is a box of pancake mix and a bag of peas.

Weird, he thinks with a smile. Spencer likes weird stuff. It's quirky.

You turn to see which checkout is empty and Spencer's smile abruptly drops.

You have a bruise across half of your face. It isn't strictly fresh —he can see the split skin on your cheek starting to close in on itself, and your purpled eye is open (though barely). You're frowning. Spencer knows how bad it hurts to get hurt like that. For a split second he can't believe someone could do that to another person, and then he remembers the hundreds of women he's had the privilege to meet at their most vulnerable, who trusted him, and he thinks maybe he's capable of helping another one.

“Hey,” he says.

You meet his eyes with a funny smile. “Hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” you ask, your voice stretched, thin but not weak.

“No, you're not, it's… I see you here all the time.”

You hold your breath. When you talk, it rushes out. “So?” you ask wearily.

“Are you okay?”

Your funny smile fades as Spencer's had. He supposes that's the talent of cruelty. Even when it's over, it's not truly over. Your bruise still hurts, and Spencer still needs to know you'll be okay when you go home tonight.

“I see you all the time too. We've… we've actually spoken before, haven't we?” you ask after a moment.

“Yeah, about spirometry. I was out of breath running and–” It doesn't matter. You asked him if he was okay, and he explained that he was, just that his lungs don't hold much air on account of his own laziness, and it doesn't matter. “Are you? Alright? It's a bad bruise.”

“It's getting better.”

It might be, but there's something so raw about seeing you standing there in your sweatpants too big for you and a hoodie with a hole in it, purple and yellow contusion across your eyes and nose like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Spencer will admit to feeling sorry for you.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks, knowing this isn't the right place. “There's the cafe at the front? Let me pay for my stuff and–”

“I'm really okay–”

“You had a cast on your wrist two weeks ago and now you're here with a limp and a really bad bruise,” he says softly, imploringly, “I just wanna talk to you about it. You don't have to say yes, I'm not trying to be weird, but I–”

You cut off his mile a minute speech with a small smile. “Okay. I'm not, you know, doing anything anyways. It'll be nice to sit down.”

Spencer knows it's dumb, but he wants to show he has good intentions. He takes your basket out of your hands and nods toward the cafe past the checkouts. “I'll come and meet you.”

“You don't have to,” you say, gesturing at the basket.

“The damage is done, right? This place is ridiculous.” He doesn't like the way you're holding your hip. It makes him feel sick, even though there's no proof one way or another to say you've been hurt beyond your bruising.

He pays for his things and yours and meets you at the cafe. He's half expecting you to have bolted, but you sit at a table near the entrance, completely still.

Spencer puts his two bags under the table and offers you your pancake mix and peas in their own bag.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“It was my boss.” You look at your fingers, spreading them slowly over the table top. “I’m a dancer. Sorry. I know you’re going to ask.”

“And he hit you?”

“Yeah.”

Spencer knows the number for every women’s shelter in every state, but he doubts it would matter to you. He can tell already that you’d say no. He can tell you’re scared, even if you don’t realise it yourself. “Is it getting worse?”

You can’t offer him anything else. He understands how that feels. There have been moments where he desperately wanted to tell someone, anyone, what was going on in his life, but he always holds his secrets like a perpetual ache in his throat. It’s like he can’t tell someone, even if they ask.

Sometimes he just wishes they’d ask twice.

“You can tell me. It won’t sound stupid,” he promises. He’s in some odd place between Agent Reid and young, terrified Spencer, determined to help you, but not sure how. “It’s getting worse, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, the weight of tears on your tongue.

“You’re a dancer. Is he just a boss– Does he… abuse you financially?”

You laugh wetly. “He’s not my pimp.”

He can feel his face heating up.’“No, but do you get paid on time? Everything you earn?”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t get paid on time. He takes a percentage, and somehow there’s always another percentage, and then discipline. And now…”

“Now he’s hitting you.” Very badly.

“I’m not stupid.”

Spencer frowns gently, talks softly, “I didn’t mean to imply that you were.”

“No, I know, but I need you to know I’m not stupid. When we talked before, you– you’re so smart, I bet you know so many smart people.”

He’s not sure where you’re going with this. Perhaps you don’t want to talk about being hurt anymore. It must be a kind of torture to be hurting and know that that hurting will come again. There isn’t an end in sight for you, just right now.

“Can I buy you something to eat?”

“I have money,” you say, taking your small purse from your pocket. There are a few notes wedged inside.

“You can’t take painkillers on an empty stomach, and you should take painkillers again soon. You had some before you came, and they’re wearing off.” He meets your confused frown with a frown of his own. “Your hands are twitching like you want to move away from yourself.”

“You’re very perceptive,” you say in that smooth murmur. Power clawed back, he thinks. You’re protecting one of the things you can control about how you’re seen when everything else is far from it.

“I’m a profiler. Do you,” —he tries not to sound hoity toity— “know what that is?”

“No.”

“I’m an FBI agent.” You’re laughing as he takes out his badge. He joins you. “I know it sounds like I’m making it up.” Spencer offers you his identification passport slowly, so you know he isn’t wielding it around to be an asshole. “I’m in the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse the way people act. That’s why I know you’re in pain.”

You take his badge, looking between his photo and his real face with a growing smile. “If you need all that to know I’m in pain, you’re not as smart as you think,” you tease, gesturing to the mottled skin of your bruise sweetly.

Spencer buys you both cold sandwiches from the front of the shop and a drink to wash down your aspirin. It’s awkward, he guesses, but he’s used to that by now, and under it he can feel your palpable relief. You trust him to not hurt you, if nothing else, and he can work with that.

#spencer and stripper!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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skzdarlings · 5 months

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vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 1/2

masterlist.

PART 1/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. handcuffs. cat-and-mouse. eventual smut will be kinky dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. (chapter word count: 7400 words.)

Seungmin is one of your best friends and also a conniving master of manipulation. Being a malevolent source of wicked verbal wizardry, he convinced you and Minho that it would be totally super easy to sneak into the Hwang Hyunjin concert. It’s only the final night of the pop-star’s sold-out world tour and the most anticipated concert of the year. What could go wrong?

It sounded like a good idea when Seungmin said it. Now the three of you are standing in a pushy crowd of overeager fans with some very intimidating looking security guards at the end of the queue.

“Reconvene,” you say. You grab the boys by their scruff and drag them out of the line.

“Ah, hey!” Minho snaps at you like piranha.

You release him to grab Seungmin by his collar. “You better have an idea for getting us past security,” you say, “because I do not like the look of the Incredible Hulk up there.”

The three of you look at the shortstack beefcake who looks like he could bench all three of you at the same time.

“Yeaaaah,” Seungmin says. He flashes you a not-so-innocent smile as his strawberry-pink bangs flop into his eyes. “I didn’t really think this far ahead. I thought you’d have a plan.”

“Why would I have a plan?” you ask. “This whole thing was your idea. Seungmin.” You drag him close so your noses touch, going cross-eyed at the proximity. It does not lessen the severity of your frustration when you state, “I waxed for this. And you know how I feel about waxing.”

“You waxed?” Minho asks loudly. It draws a few glances your way which might be because Minho is so loud, or might be because he’s so good looking, or a combination of the two. His dark eyes narrow at you like you’re a completely alien creature. “Why would you wax for a concert?” he asks.

“Wax,” Seungmin parrots. Your hands are on his collar like you intend to shake him up but it doesn’t deter him asking, “Like… like wax-wax? Like your human body waxed?”

“Like your human pussy?” Minho asks. “For a concert? What did you think was gonna happen?” He is on the very visible verge of hysterical laughter when a thought lights his eyes. “Wait,” he says. “I know how we can get in—”

“Oh my god,” you say. You shove Seungmin and grab Minho by the collar instead. “I’m not fucking our way in. And I waxed,” you drop your voice, “just in case.”

“Just in case…?” Minho tips his head. “Just in case you had to fuck your way in…?”

“Oh my god,” you say. You push him away too. “Never mind.”

“Did you think Hyunjin was going to summon you out of the crowd for a green room quickie?” Seungmin asks with a shit-eating grin.

Minho cackles. “No way she’d even go,” he says. “She doesn’t get summoned. She likes to be chased.”

“She is walking away now,” you say.

“Bet she’ll walk away quickly,” Seungmin says. “She waxed so she’ll be aerodynamic.”

You stomp away from the stadium but only make it a few steps before Seungmin runs in front of you.

“We can’t just give up here,” Seungmin says. “We made it this far already.”

“One bus stop?” you ask dryly. “We literally live like five minutes away—”

“Exactly!” Seungmin says. “That’s called destiny.”

“We might as well try,” Minho says. He cups a hand over his eyes to look at the stadium in the fading light of the sun. “We all got dressed up. Seungmin skipped a class. You waxed.”

“There’s no way we’re getting through those doors,” you say.

“We’ve done it before,” Seungmin says. He turns you to face the stadium and massages your shoulders like a boxing coach, all the while regaling you with tales of your past victories. “Remember all the other concerts we snuck into? The sports games? That celebrity wedding—”

“Well,” Minho interrupts, “we did get arrested at that one.”

“Yeah and we got arrested together,” Seungmin says, “because that’s what friends do.”

“I don’t know why,” you say, “but for some reason this is working.” Maybe it’s Seungmin’s words, or Minho’s cologne, or maybe it’s the soft glow of a perfect summer sunset as it pours over the stadium like a pink-orange waterfall. Or maybe it’s because this really is the concert of the year, and you love a challenge, and you fucking waxed.

You throw your head back and sigh, soulfully resigning yourself to your imminent fate.

“Fine,” you say. “So how are we doing this?”

“Don’t worry,” Seungmin says thoughtfully. “I think I have a plan.”

Seungmin proceeds to explain the plan. It is hardly the pinnacle of heist endeavours but is more feasible than rappelling down the stadium walls into the concert arena.

Basically, the plan is to find a group of people with a solitary ticket holder and leech onto their tail with the hopes security will miscount the party and let you sneak past. It means you will have to split up because security will definitely notice three extra people. You will then hopefully reunite inside the arena.

You scamper around the periphery of the stadium, perusing lines for oblivious groups of excited fans with an e-ticket-wielding ringleader. You also double-check which security guards seem the most lax or checked out.

“I get that one,” Minho says.

He points to a trim, athletic guard with floppy brown hair and a giggly smile. You and Seungmin protest because that guard is an easy mark so you all want him, but Minho takes off running for the queue.

The thing about Lee Minho is that he never hauls ass. He coasts through life with a casual slouch, but he is completely capable of annihilating everyone if he deigns to do so.

He does. So he did.

You and Seungmin look around. Your grin widens when you spy the next easiest target.

“Aha!” you say. “I call dibs on that one! Good luck, Seungmin!”

“Hey!” Seungmin bellows.

He is far too late. You are already booking it towards the line with a pretty, chipper, skinny security guard. He is in jeans and a loose windbreaker that says SECURITY across the back, about the only indication he is a man of any authority. His hair is a vibrant, neon blue and is delicately styled, long enough to pull back in a pretty half-ponytail. His features are sharp, cheekbones sloping, but there is a natural tenderness to his whole countenance. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

Also, he really is lean. Worst case scenario, you can probably push your way past him and disappear into the crowd before he can do anything about it.

You find a group of girls to sidle alongside anyway. You are satisfied you will easily slip into the stadium.

The group reaches the front of the line, a couple of them giggling at the security guard’s friendly attention. His name tag reads Felix, a cute name for a cute guy. Up close, you can see a smattering of dark freckles across his face, as well as a few playful glitter stars for the concert. He is admittedly pretty but as a professional gate crasher, you refrain from distraction. You successfully avoid his gaze and stick close to the girl in front of you.

Felix gives them each a friendly nod, smiling brightly. He laughs at one of their comments and it’s a charming, low sound.

“Enjoy the show, ladies,” he says, his voice about a hundred decibels deeper than you expected.

Maybe that’s what trips you up. It has to be something, because you were doing everything right. But just as you go to follow the girls into the arena, a skinny arm shoots out and you smack right into it.

“Sorry,” Felix says. He drops his arm and smiles. “I just need to see your ticket.”

“My…?” You look ahead at the group of girls, but they are already gone. Oops. “Ha, ha,” you say, looking at Felix.

He is staring back at you, still smiling a close-lipped smile. He blinks a couple times then lifts an eyebrow.

“Uh, ticket?” he says. He holds out his hand.

“Right,” you say. You smile at him with all the saccharine sweetness you can. “I have funny story about that, Felix,” you say.

“Hm.” His smile turns into a line, eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “And what’s that?”

“Well, you see…”

It’s all you say before you bolt, fast on your feet. You sprint for the entryway behind the guarded queue. There’s a crowd inside and you’re an expert at disappearing into a crowd. You just need to get in there and find your boys then you are home free. Hwang Hyunjin, here you come.

There’s just one problem.

Felix is fast.

Like, track star fast. Like, road runner fast. Like, you’re that dumb coyote getting an anvil dropped on your head, except this anvil is a skinny blue-haired Australian with a voice like a god and the apparent hidden strength of one too.

You make it a few desperate steps before Felix literally sweeps you off your feet. You shriek when he hauls you under his arm, dragging you away from the stadium door. He deposits you a few feet from the queue then swiftly resumes his position.

“Hello,” he says to the next person in line. “Sorry about that. Ticket?”

Your mouth is agape.

No one has ever got the jump on you like that.

“Hey!” you say, but Felix has moved on. He is smiling at the next guest as he checks their ticket, not paying you any mind. “Excuse me,” you say, despite the people between you and him. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I do have a ticket.”

“Uh-huh,” Felix says. He doesn’t look at you, scanning someone’s e-ticket with a little device. It lights up green and he smiles at them. “Enjoy the show,” he says.

You jump into the queue, cutting off the next person. Felix’s smile vanishes and is replaced with an astoundingly sassy expression.

“Uh, this line is for ticket-holders,” he says.

“I have a ticket,” you say. You unzip your purse and spend a minute rifling around, ignoring him when he sighs. He apologizes to the people behind you. You turn and offer a tight-lipped apology of your own. “I was in line,” you say, as if they didn’t just witness this ten-pound bully haul you around like a sack of potatoes. “There was just a misunderstanding.”

Felix rolls his eyes.

You pull out your cell phone and flip through a folder of fake screenshotted tickets, hoping at least one of them marginally resembles the tickets for tonight. You pick one and flash it at Felix.

“Happy?” you say with a lot of false indignation. You turn off the screen when Felix goes to grab your phone. You give him a snooty, squinty-eyed look, then saunter right past him.

This time when he comes after you, you are better prepared for his speed. You zig-zag and he stumbles, cussing very unprofessionally. You make it all the way to the door before he grabs you. You have no idea where he is getting all that muscle because he feels like a sturdy stick when you grab at him, but he puts you over his shoulder like it’s easy.

“Um, excuse me!” you shout. “Hello! Someone film this! I’m being assailed!”

Felix intentionally jostles you on his shoulder. He is even less gentle when he drops you this time, though you do manage to keep your footing.

“Try that again,” Felix says, “and it will be trouble. Got it?”

Felix is very good looking. He’s an incredible combination of pretty and handsome, not to mention that voice, guh. But what gets you going is how much you are clearly pissing him off. It’s hot. Out of nowhere, the freckled sunshine sweetheart is just oozing confidence, standing square and pointing at you with a very stern expression. And if you get a little hiccup in your blood, a little skip in your heartbeat, a little stampede southward that makes your pussy hum like the interested kitten it is, well. That’s not your fault. It’s his. Asshole.

You flip him off. He ignores you, shaking his head as he returns to his position.

“Sorry,” he says to the queue. “Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?”

Ugh. What a sexy bitch.

You text to check in with the boys. Minho made it inside, no surprise, but apparently Seungmin is also struggling for an in.

what is with these security guards, Seungmin writes, are they military trained? fuck

maybe you’re both just losing your touch, Minho replies.

never, you say. we still have lots of time. we'll get in there. seungmin, meet me by the benches. we need another plan.

Usually, the best way to crash an event is with minimal attention and no theatrics. It’s all about pretending you are exactly where you are supposed to be. If you act like you belong, then you will.

A spectacle is a desperate measure, but you are desperate people. After a few hushed whispers on a bench, you and Seungmin spring into action.

“Help!” Seungmin shouts. “My wife needs help! Please!”

“Your wife?” you whisper through gritted teeth, opening one eye to look at him. You are currently laying on the pavement in a dramatic swoon, Seungmin hunched over you.

“My companion of ambiguous relationship is hurt!” he says. “Ouch,” he adds, because you swat his arm.

Fortunately, he does draw attention. A few people run over, the beefy security guard one of them. His nametag reads Changbin and he is in a black t-shirt at least two sizes too small. You do not begrudge him this, as you would do the same if you had biceps like that.

“What happened?” he asks, crouching down beside Seungmin.

“My friend just passed out,” Seungmin says. He hoists you into his arms as your tongue lolls out of your mouth. “Is there somewhere inside I can take her to sit down? I think all the chaos out here overstimulated her.”

“One second,” Changbin says. He pulls a walkie-talkie out of a holster. It buzzes with static as he turns it on. “Hey, we have a collapsed woman in front of Entry Door B. Can I have back-up clear a path, and someone with First Aid training?” The walkie-talkie buzzes again and Changbin puts it away. He stands up, waving away the small crowd that has gathered. “Yah, everyone back up! This is an emergency!”

“It’s really not,” Seungmin says. He scoops you into a bridal hold then struggles to lift you off the ground. “I just need – whew – somewhere I can – agh – put her down. I can just – AH! – carry her myself.”

Naturally, it is at that moment a familiar voice descends from above.

A familiar, deep, Australian-accented voice.

“Move aside, please.”

“Oh no,” you say, eyes closed. You open them just in time for a glitter-faced, freckled, blue-haired pretty boy in a SECURITY windbreaker to cut through the crowd.

Unfortunately, Felix is just as good looking at this angle. He waves away the gathered onlookers as he approaches, but looks at Changbin first.

“I have First Aid,” he says. “What happened?”

“I just found her collapsed,” Changbin says. “Her friend thinks it’s the crowd. Should we bring her inside?”

Felix looks at you. The concerned furrow in his brow immediately gives way.

You smile innocently.

“No,” Felix says, frowning. “We shouldn’t.”

“Oh come on,” you say. You smack the ground. “I collapsed! I need help!”

“No, you need a ticket,” Felix says. He crosses his arms and stomps a foot. “Seriously, what is wrong with you? Some of us have a job to do, you know?”

“Naaaur ya need a ticket, mate,” you say in a mockingly deep chest voice. “Some of us have jobs ya knaaaaur!”

“Do you guys know each other?” Changbin asks, looking between you and Felix – who is growing increasingly red in the face and breathing much harder.

“I have no idea who this guy is,” Seungmin says.

“Ah!” Felix yells, spinning to Changbin. “She doesn’t have a ticket! She’s just trying to sneak in!”

“She doesn’t have a ticket?” Seungmin asks, gasping. He drops you onto the concrete, ignoring your yelp of pain. “But I thought she – she told me we – I – I –“

You watch in betrayed horror as Seungmin pretends to faint, flopping down beside you on the concrete. You sit up, very tempted to slap him across the face but not wanting to give Felix more reasons to accost you.

“Seungmin,” you say. You grab him by the shirt and rattle him around like a ragdoll. “Seungmin, you bastard, don’t even think about it!”

“You.” Felix stomps up behind you. “Get off the ground and come with me.”

“No,” you say. “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.”

You shriek – again – when Felix grabs you under the arms and hoists you to your feet. He manhandles you with only a modicum of effort, dragging you away from your stupid traitorous best friend.

You step on Felix’s foot deliberately and he swears. For such a pretty thing, he sure has a filthy mouth. You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, to which he cusses up a storm and pries your hand off his head.

You hear the distinct buzz of Changbin’s walkie-talkie.

“We have a collapsed man in front of Entry Door B. Can someone who isn’t going to start fighting the patrons come help me move him?”

“He’s faking it!” you cry in protest, watching Changbin scoop Seungmin off the ground.

Changbin disregards your outburst. Seungmin gives you a thumbs up behind his back. Felix, of course, doesn’t see it because he’s too busy dragging you away. You are left to sputter in bewildered protest at the injustice of it all.

Felix marches you to the sidewalk, far away from the stadium queues. You are both out of breath by the time you get there. Even so, you attempt to manoeuvre under his arm to run away. In a few quick moves, he knocks you onto your ass.

“Holy fuck!” You are panting now. A line of sweat dots your hairline. You wipe at it and stare morosely at this stupidly competent minimum wage security guard. “What are you, like some kind of karate master or something?”

“Taekwondo, actually,” he says, brushing off his jacket. Then he tips his head and stares down at you.

You would be lying if you said the intensity of his stare didn’t have your heart racing for an entirely new reason. Danger and desire have always danced a close dance for your tastes. Felix is not helping matters, tucking back loose strands of vibrant hair as he looms over you, wetting his bottom lip and staring.

You cross your arms and feign nonchalance, but you can’t look away from him. When he crouches down slowly to meet you at eye level, everything below the belt goes pitter-patter.

“No ticket,” Felix says slowly. “No concert. Do you understand me?”

You stick out your tongue.

“Wow, mature,” he says. His departing farewell is another snarky eyeroll. He shakes his head as he stands, muttering to himself in obvious frustration.

So much for not a mean bone in his body. That bully is all business.

So hot.

You huff and puff for a bit. Your phone is going berserk in your purse, probably the boys trying to reach you. Eventually you succumb to the necessary confession of your twice thwarted efforts. Minho teases that you are losing your touch for real. It makes angry little fireworks pop out of your ears.

Plenty of occasions you have assessed a situation and deemed it unreasonably complicated, but quitting while you’re ahead is not the same thing as admitting defeat. You do not lose. This isn’t even about the concert anymore. Fuck Hwang Hyunjin, he was never worth the pain of a wax in the first place. No. This is about your pride. This is about your dignity. This is about your honour.

You are getting into that concert, one way or another.

First, you gather intel. This comes in the form of snooping, running between queues to figure out the easiest mark. You don’t judge the guards by their appearances this time, because apparently this security team has secret taekwondo masters hidden in their midst.

You watch their every move, calculating and determining your odds therein. Based on visual research and Minho’s confirmation, it seems your best bet is the smiling guard who let Minho through. His nametag reads Jisung and he is a veritable flirt.

Flash him your tits, Minho texts.

Uh, no, I’m not that desperate yet.

Second, with your intel now acquired, you get into the dwindling line. The sun is almost set and a breezy summer chill dances across your cheeks. The concert will be starting soon. You shuffle behind the other stragglers, adjusting your outfit. The jean shorts hug your hips and flash a nice chunk of thigh, and your shirt is already low cut but you figure another tug won’t hurt. You also pull your flannel down your arms to look as flirtatious as possible.

Jisung is barely looking at the tickets as he scans them, chatting merrily to the guests as he lets them through. You pull up a random ticket on your phone, something to hold out while you distract him.

“Hi,” you say.

His eyes flick down to your chest, then back up. He smiles brightly.

“Hi!” he says. “You look nice. Excited for the concert?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for this. It wasn’t easy to get in.”

“I know what you mean,” he says. “Tickets are hard to come by, and so expensive!”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” you say, leaning in while he scans your phone. This was a bad idea because he looks down at your chest again, just in time for his little device to flash red.

“Oh, oops!” he says. He smiles at you as he shakes his device. “Sorry!” he says. “I think you showed me the wrong ticket. Could you pull up the right one?”

“Ohhh!” you say, looking down at your phone with fake surprise. Life is so unfair. “I’m so sorry… Jisung. Hehe, that’s such a nice name.”

“Haha, thanks,” Jisung says. “My parents picked it, but, yeah, it’s cool. Anyway.” He wiggles his device. “Ticket please!”

You keep smiling and giggling, even as you turn around under the guise of searching through your phone. You glare down at the stupid device, keeping your back to Jisung while you do so. How the fuck are you getting out of this? You flip through screenshots then open your text messenger. Minho’s last words of wisdom blink up at you.

Apparently, you are that desperate.

With a sigh, you put your phone in your purse and zip it shut. You shrug your shoulders and plaster that fake smile on your face again. With a swift of flick of your thumbs, you lift your shirt and bra up over your tits and spin around to look at Jisung.

“How’s this for a ticket—”

Jisung looks surprised and delighted. Jisung, however, is standing a few feet back. Probably because he was told to step back. Probably by Felix who is standing in front of you with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.

“Wow,” Felix says. “Just committing crimes now, are we?”

You shove your tits back into your bra indignity, not even embarrassed, just annoyed.

“Tits aren’t a crime,” you say.

“Public indecency is,” he replies.

“You’re… publicly indecent…” Not your best comeback. You glare at him while fixing your shirt. “There’s no way they pay you enough to be riding my ass this hard.”

“They don’t,” Felix says, grabbing your arm. “Believe me when I say riding your ass has been my pleasure.”

“Twisted fuck,” you reply.

You wave at Jisung as Felix tugs you away. He waves back but does nothing to rescue you, because all men are traitors.

You groan loudly as Felix leads you away from the stadium yet again. “Just let me innnnn,” you whine. “Why do you hate meee.”

“I don’t even know you!” Felix says. He deposits you on a bench and takes out his phone.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eying the device.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks. “You tried to break into a ticketed event three times. You faked an injury. You flashed yourself in a public place—”

“I wouldn’t have done any of that if you just let me through in the first place!”

“You cannot be serious.” Felix looks ready to rip his hair out. “You don’t have a ticket! Why would I let you in, why would I – AH! Why am I arguing with you! Be quiet, I’m phoning the police.”

“The po— the police?! How dare you!” You try to stand but he pushes you onto the bench one-handed. He holds you there, palm on your shoulder, still way stronger than someone this scrawny should be.

“Fine!” you exclaim. “Fine! You win! I’m sorry, Felix, I was wrong. I was wrong and you were right.”

Felix pauses. “Really,” he says, sounding unconvinced.

“Yes!” You look up at him with the saddest, most watery eyes you can muster. “I just wanted to see the concert but it was stupid to think I could break in.”

He turns off his screen. Success. You watch him slip his phone in his pocket.

“It’s not about being smart or stupid,” he says, the ire gone from his voice. It takes a lot of willpower not to bite his fingers when he pats your shoulder. “It’s about the fact we can’t always get what we want,” he says kindly as he crouches in front of you. His hand goes from your shoulder to your knee, still patting it in a friendly manner.

You bite your tongue because you want to tell him you liked him better when he was being a mean bitch, but that would be counterproductive to your escape attempt.

It turns out, you don’t need to say anything, because he decides to be a bitch again anyway. Felix looks at you with a too-sweet smile and says, “It’s about time someone taught you that lesson.”

“Um, excuse me?” you say, aghast. You clasp your hand over your heart. “Just who do you think you are? First of all, you taught me nothing, I’m still a horrible bitch and I lied when I said you were right. Second, you absolutely can get everything you want, you just have to want it enough to get it. But you wouldn’t know anything about that. You know why, Felix?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head like he expected this, which he probably did, but you’re too far gone to retreat.

You reach out and cup his face in both hands, turning it to you. Those sharp eyes are unflinching, even with your fingers on his face. You try really hard not to gulp.

“It’s because you are a good boy,” you say. “You always do what you’re told. You always follow the rules. I bet everyone thinks you’re the nicest guy on the team, don’t they? I bet they call you cute little nicknames and all the nice little girls think you’re a sweet, innocent baby. And you are, aren’t you, Felix? You’re just such a good, good boy. But me? I’m not good. I’m not bad. I just like to win. When I want something, I get it, because I chase it, and I don’t stop until I get it. Until it’s all mine.” You lean in close. “Get it?”

His gaze darkens, brows pinching. You take his fleeting moment of vulnerability to shove him onto his back. He sprawls on the ground with a surprised yelp. You sprint away at top speed and flip him off over your shoulder.

It’s a haphazard ploy at best but you are fresh out of plans. What you need is distance between you and Security Guard of the Year, a breather long enough to come up with a final plan. Maybe you can physically break in somewhere: an office window, a janitorial stairwell, something.

You keep an eye out for potential openings as you run.

And run.

Hmm. You’ve been running a long time. Even with the head-start, Felix should have caught you by now. You doubt he would have truly given up. Felix had a deranged look in his eye, similar to the one you get when someone is trying to beat you at your own game. He doesn’t want you to win anymore than you want to lose. You suspect it isn’t about the concert for him either; this is a personal battle.

You come to a gradual stop, hands on your hips as you catch your breath. It’s quiet on this side of the stadium as the queues were on the opposite end.

Quiet, yes. Too quiet.

There’s a stairwell that leads to second level just above your head. Felix is good. You have to give credit where credit is due. If you weren’t a scheming nightmare with a penchant for con-artistry, he probably would have caught you. But without turning around, you know he booked it up the stairs and is two seconds from springing an attack.

You take off running, just in time for him to thump into the grass beside you. You laugh at his strangled cry of frustration as he scrambles to his feet.

Around the next corner is the parking lot. You stop a split second to look over your shoulder and see him hot on your heels. He discarded his jacket and is in a loose sleeveless shirt, revealing he does have some light toning to his lean body. But you don’t stop to measure how proportionate it is to his strength, because he is focussed on you like a laser.

Then he smiles. A slow, slinky smile like a cocky predator about to swipe at its prey. That cat has claws, nasty ones, and you almost want to get tangled in them. Almost. You want to win even more.

And he just set you up for success. There’s a SECURITY jacket on the ground somewhere nearby. That’s your ticket in. You just have to lose Felix in the parking lot and loop back around to find where he tossed it.

You spare no time setting that plan into action, giving Felix a smile of your own before you run. He thunders after you.

The pair of you weave in and out of parked cars. He disappears for a second behind a row of trucks. You whip your head around to figure out where he went, only for him to summersault around the corner and cut you off. You yell instinctively but narrowly dodge his reaching hand. He curses, running after you with his arm outstretched. You duck behind a trailer and lose him, scurrying between some SUVs. You peek at him through the windows, watching him turn in a circle to find where you went. Smiling to yourself, you quietly but quickly back away.

You leave the lot and run back the way you first came. You find Felix’s jacket draped on a random bush.

Your heart is practically singing with adrenaline. Victory is in sight. You push yourself to run faster and reach out with both hands –

— only to find yourself rolling in the grass, Felix’s arms tight around your middle as he tackles you to the ground.

You push and pull at each other, cursing and scrambling very ungracefully. You get out of his arms but he climbs on top of you, then you knee him in the gut so he rolls over, but when you start crawling he grabs your ankles and drags you back.

Ultimately, he Taekwondo Masters you onto your front, hands clasped behind your back. You kick your feet and wail despondently into the grass as he kneels over you, breathing raggedly and swearing again.

“You’re a monster!” you shout. “You’re a tyrant and a bully and you have no right to – HEY!”

He handcuffs you.

“Ha.” He leans in close, speaking right into your ear. “I win.”

“That’s not fair,” you say. “You can’t just—ahh!” You wail in petulance as he lifts you onto your feet. His grip on your bicep is unyielding so you are forced to stomp alongside him as he escorts you…

…back to the sidewalk.

“You’re not busting me?” you ask in confusion. You thought for sure he was going to drag you into some shady office and plop you in a chair until the police arrived. He would probably be super boring and professional about it, staring at you with his dumb horny eyes but not doing anything about it. Nothing sucks more than being all trussed up by a pretty boy with manners.

“I just want you to go and never come back,” Felix says.

“Fine.” You turn around and hold your arms straight behind you. “But I’m like a wolf, Felix. I have your scent for life.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “Not how wolves work by the way. But fine.”

“Oh wow, sorry. Didn’t realize you majored in Wolfology. You got any other fun facts?”

“You are so—”

You smirk at his grumbling. You are just biding your time until he uncuffs one wrist, then you whip around faster than he can compute the action. With one cuff still attached, you grab the second and clamp it down on his wrist. He sputters in bewilderment, at which point you snatch the keys.

“What are you doing—” He tries to grab them but your joined hands make the angle too awkward. You spin around together in a few circles, bonk heads twice, until finally you reel back and chuck the keys as far into the distance as possible.

He stands there, mouth agape. You tap your foot impatiently.

When he realizes what has happened – that you have handcuffed yourself to him and thrown away the keys – he looks at you with fiery eyes, fierce enough you stumble. He yanks your joined hands, the chain ungiving. You watch as he goes through several stages of grief in a matter of moments. Then he closes his eyes and breathes in and out.

“Why,” he says slowly, “did you just do that?”

“I dunno, Felix,” you say. You plop down on the ground and sit cross-legged. It forces him to bend over, your cuffed wrist dragging him down. “Guess we’ll have to go inside and get some back-up keys. And when I’m in the stadium and you uncuff yourself from me, I promise not to run away.”

“That’s your plan?” he snaps. “That’s your plan?”

“What, is there an echo out here?”

“That’s your plan?” he asks again, his deep voice pitching up an octave. He crouches down and shoves his free hand into his hair, shaking his head. “This can’t be happening,” Felix says, more out loud to himself than you. “Why is this happening. Oh my god.”

You squeak when he tugs on the chain, yanking you close, nose to nose.

“What if I just called for back-up?” he asks. “Or skipped that and went right to the police? How would you get out of that?”

“Wait,” you say. “Why aren’t you doing that?”

“Because.”

He leans back as far as he can, sitting on his heels. You duck your head, trying to meet his eye to no avail. He clenches his jaw.

“Felix,” you say. “Why aren’t you just calling for back-up?”

“Because,” he says through gritted teeth. “The handcuffs. Are. Not. Regulation.”

You look at each other. There is a long moment of silence.

Then, “What!” You cackle with complete and utter abandon.

A very unamused Felix glares at you while you throw your head back and laugh.

“You?” you cry, poking your finger against his chest. “You? You? You are just walking around with a pair of handcuffs that you aren’t supposed to have? What the fuuuuuck—” You think you might die laughing.

“Jisung gave them to me before our shift!” he exclaims. “It was a joke because— Never mind! I don’t have to explain myself to you! Hello. Hello.” He grabs your chin with his free hand and turns your face roughly to his. He jingles your joined hands. “Not regulation,” he says. “There are no other keys in this building.”

Silence falls again.

Then, “Oh.” You stare at him. “Shit.”

A minute later, you and Felix are scuttling around trying to find the key. You must have a very good arm because it landed near the stadium and disappeared in some bushes.

You and Felix keep forgetting your wrists are connected, reaching in opposite directions only to snap back together. You are certain you are going to end the night with a few bumps and bruises.

The entire time you are searching for the key, Felix is grumbling irritably. He tears his way through a bush, his deep voice pitching up with a miserable whine when he can’t find it.

“This is so stupid,” he says. He throws a stick at the wall. “I am a good worker. I never break the rules. I am not getting in trouble for this. You did this. You did this to me.”

On he goes, grumble, grumble, grumble, bitch, bitch, bitch.

“It’s not like the key disappeared,” you say, pushing some pebbles around. “It has to be here somewhere.”

It is starting to get dark, the sky a deep purple. The stadium lights blare down on you. Felix uses his phone flashlight to beam extra light at the ground. The only time he stops grumbling is when the noise in the stadium changes, the concert clearly beginning. He takes time out of his busy searching schedule to give you a mean smile.

“When we find those keys,” you say, “I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and leaving you to freeze to death in your stupid tank top.”

“It’s not a tank top,” he says. “It’s a t-shirt. I cut the sleeves off. And when we find those keys, I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and phoning the police.”

“Well then,” you say, “may the best key finder in a slutty tank top win.”

“It’s not a tank top.”

You continue to search. It is utterly illogical that the keys would just vanish but the longer it takes, the more concerned you get. It just doesn’t make sense! Things don’t just disappear! The keys landed somewhere over here, so they have to be…

You see it first. You sit there in a stunned stupor. You swat at Felix with your cuffed hand.

“What?” he says without looking at you. You continue to slap him until he forces your hand down, tangling your fingers with his. “What!”

You point. He crowds in behind you to look over your shoulder. You feel him exhale.

“Please don’t tell me…”

You both lean to look down the sewer drain. He flashes his phone light over it. Something silver glints back in the darkness.

“Fuck!” Felix says. He doesn’t stop there. What follows is a string of cusses so unbelievably foul and complex that you honestly believe it should quality him for Pulitzer in poetry. When he has exhausted every expletive in several different languages, he plops down on his ass and stares up at the sky with mute despondency.

“So what happens now?” you ask. “Do we fuck?”

“What?” He looks at you with utter bewilderment. “What the fuck? Why would you suggest that? What would that solve?”

“Nothing,” you say. “But it would kill the time and couldn’t make things worse.”

“You are insane,” he says. “I am handcuffed to an insane person.”

“Hey, ‘mate’, you were the one with the non-regulation handcuffs in the first place. I could solve this problem real quick by phoning the authorities myself and saying some crazy guy put me in cuffs.”

“I dare you,” he says. “Try.”

“No,” you say. And not just because you have a record with the police and they would never take your side. But Felix doesn’t need to know that. Well, you suspect Felix is smart enough to guess it, but he doesn’t need the confirmation. “I’d rather make you suffer,” you say instead. You sit back in an insouciant slouch like the whole circumstance is beneath your attention. “Figure it out, pretty boy.”

“Well,” he says, “apparently if you break your wrists then you can force them through the cuffs.”

“Ew!” You push him in the middle of his chest. He doesn’t fall, but he does glare at you. “We’re not doing that! What a stupid plan! You’ve been guzzling the hair dye fumes, buddy. Think of a plan that doesn’t involve injury, thank you.”

“I didn’t want to do this,” Felix says with another put-upon sigh, “but fine. I have another pair at home so the keys—”

“Wait,” you interrupt. “I thought someone gave you the cuffs today? Why do you have another key at home?”

“I have another pair,” he repeats, “of the same handcuffs.”

“You—”

“Already own a pair, yes, move on.” He aggressively pushes hair out of his eyes. “He clearly bought it from the same place so my key should work for this one too.”

“So despite your uppity school boy routine, you do own non-regulation handcuffs and not just as a joke. Wow, Felix.” You giggle helplessly. “Be careful or I might start to like you.”

He is glaring at you, no surprise, but the tips of his ears blush pink.

“Let’s just go,” Felix says. “The sooner I get you off, the sooner I can forget about your existence.”

“You can get me off as fast or slow as you like—ahh!”

Once more, the secret superman is manhandling you onto your feet. Without pausing for breath, he turns and marches away. You are forced to stumble behind his swift strides, your hands swinging close enough that your fingertips brush every so often.

“How do I know you’re not gonna murder me?” you ask.

“You don’t,” he replies.

“How do you know I’m not gonna murder you?”

“I don’t.” He sounds more annoyed than afraid. “But it sounds better than being cuffed to you forever. I’ll take my chances. Come on.”

“Not like I have a choice,” you grumble.

He comes to an abrupt halt and you crash into him with a sharp exhale. He grabs your hand and tugs you close. You blink at him with surprise while he tips his head in that studious way.

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t. In fact, it’s almost nice, you forced to finally do what I’m asking. If you’re not careful, it might even make me like you.”

It is so cold and sarcastic.

It gets you so hot.

Seriously, what is with your stupid brain? How does it cross the wires of fear and desire like that? Felix is speaking at you with that deep, dark, nasty voice of his and your heart should be skipping beats in concern, not because you think he’s sexy when he’s being a bitch.

You hide it from him well enough, glaring at him like he glared at you. He just snorts and shakes his head.

“What?” you ask.

“Interesting,” he replies. “Very interesting.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He smiles politely, for a moment looking like the unassuming pretty boy you thought he was. He bats his long eyelashes at you, smiles a coy smile, and squeezes your hand. “Come on,” he says. “We tried this your way and it got us in trouble. Time to be a good girl and do it my way. No, stop, don’t say anything. Be quiet. Just walk. Let’s go.”

You stumble when he tugs you after him. Your mouth is hanging open yet again.

You are proud to say that in your many years of bad girl shenanigans, you have never truly met your match. You’ve played pretend a few times, let a couple losers think they won, if only because you liked the game of it. But no one has ever really taken control. No one has ever really beat you. No one has ever come close.

No one. Until today.

You glare at the back of Felix’s head, brain stampeding as fast as your heart. Because finally, you’ve found him, your perfect match. Lashed to you through the metal manifestation of fate’s red string.

You didn’t know what game you were playing before, but now you do.

And you’re going to win.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #felix smut #skz smut

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josnhoes · 9 months

Text

Platonic!Yan batfam with young adult reader. Part 4

[Part 3]

Note: Reader is 18-22 years old. Gn reader

Content warning: being treated like a child, being looked down on, stalking, obsessions, soft yandere but still a yandere, reader has memory issues and it's ambiguous as to why, delusional batfam, batfam as a whole basically view you as a child younger then Damien despite you being older, reader is questioned by police, reader witnessed a crime, reader tried to be a hero, violence, blood, mentions of death, dissociation, abduction

Focus Dick (Nightwing)

------

Life moved on after the incident with Redhood. He'd left early that morning leaving a note saying, 'See you soon Sparky -RH'. You didn't care to think of what the note could mean. So you burried the strange sense of foreboding that clawed in your mind at the note. Maybe the Gotham paranoia had gotten to you?

Either way, things in the next few days were normal...as normal as Gotham could be. The bat clan had put most of the heavy rollers back in Arkham at a record speed. No one knew if it was just the rogues being sloppy, or the bats were feeling a tad extra feral. You remembered when you first learned about Batman and his underlings; the idea of the police having feral furry themed vigilantes was funny. You'd thought your new neighbor was joking. But no, it was true, and after your personal run-ins with Robin and Redhood, you could confidently claim the group was feral and would punch God..any God really... given the chance. Which was what Gotham needed to be blunt.

It was nice though that you got out of the heart of Gotham sometimes. So you'd taken a day off to go to Bludhaven. It wasn't better than Gotham, but it was a change of place. The fact that a comic store was having a closing door sale was totally *not* the reason. It was.. but you were hoping to get something cool for cheap! Nerd stuff was expensive, and as a nerd, you knew that well.

The quest for a trinket wasn't supposed to end with you being brought into the local police station for questioning. You weren't part of a crime no, but you were a witness, *the* witness. A mugging gone wrong. Honestly the details were fuzzy, yet at the same time, key parts you couldn't forget. The feeling of the woman's heart fading as you held pressure on the stab wound. The wheeze in her voice as she struggled to breathe and tell you her final words. The way your body trembled as the paramedics arrived and carted her away to a hospital. The sensation of blood on your hands and skin, and the smell...

"You okay?" The police officer's voice pulled you from the spiral of your thoughts.

"I'm sorry what?" You were in a haze, shock most likely.

"I asked if you would be okay answering a few more questions. Detective Grayson just got here and wants to ask a few."

"Oh sure yeah..." the voice, no your voice spoke, but it didn't feel like you.

Dick Grayson walked into the room the officers had put you in. You weren't in trouble. A nearby camera had seen it all go down, but you were a vital witness, one who was clearly not well after what you saw. Dick didn't blame you for your state either. He...he should have been there. When Bruce had called telling him you were in Bludhaven, he was ecstatic to think he could meet you. He'd been planning a nice little meet cute styled thing to bridge a gap from a stranger to you to being besties. He was your eldest brother, the one you'd be able to rely on most. You'd love everyone in the family but you'd come to him first for everything. He could so easily picture it. The two of you staying up late, watching films and you opening up to him and feeling safe in his company. The inside jokes you'd have together, you'd both be thicker than thieves.

So seeing you as you were now was a reminder of just how fragile you were. You were in shock a really bad case of it too. Your eyes were distant as you struggled to answer the basic questions. You were shaking. You still had the victim's blood on your shirt too. He should have been there. Any of them should have, but you were in *his* turf so it should have been him. He should have gotten there before you had to see it. You shouldn't have had to apply pressure to a wound like that.

Your voice was hollow, he'd seen videos of you. Hollow is never something he could have pictured you as. You had so much life to you. Yet here you were in this state because of *his* failures; as Nightwing, a detective, and a big brother. What if it had been you? You would have died on his watch in his turf. He couldn't handle that right now.

He got the answers he could from you, then easily guided you out. He told his fellow workers he was taking you home. No one questioned it, Dick was a good guy and not the type to let a traumatized witness go home alone.

You didn't question him as he ushered you to his car, or where he was taking you when you hadn't told him where you lived. He wasn't sure you could do that right now. He wasn't lying saying he was taking you home... it just wasn't the home you'd have expected if you were more here. The room in the manor wasn't perfect, but you'd be safe there.

He brought you inside, and the family members at home seethed at him. He couldn't blame them, this was his fault. Cass took you with help from Alfred to get you cleaned up and put you to bed. His heart broke seeing how you just went with everything. Like you were aware enough to function on a base level and orders, but mentally? You were gone. Pulled into yourself, protecting yourself from the trauma that he'd caused. He should have been there.

#yandere dc #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #platonic yandere batfam #batfam x reader

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etherealsworldvision · 2 months

Text

Singles Love Reading

Before I begin the reading I’d like to take a moment to talk about “Care for Gaza” a non-profit charity aid on Twitter (now known as X) who are helping families in need. If you have the funds here are their PayPal and GoFundMe.

🚨 P.S.A 🚨 : I do not give personal readings!

Note : I’m going to give you a heads up…this ended up being a LOVE reading and not a SINGLES reading lol. I guess we are not feeling the romance tonight lol. Okay look — I DID ask for romance stuff and this is what I got so I hope you enjoy it still.

[ general message: saw 222 as I was making the layout so this number might be significant. I believe the numerology meaning is: balance, harmony, spiritual alignment. You can condense it to 6 which would mean: domestic happiness, harmony, and stability. Rain. Autumn/Winter season. Airplanes. 123 ]

Pile 1

[ channeled message: “because I’m tired of being the only one playing by the rules, the world is unfair […] maybe it’s okay if it’s unfair in our favor for once” – Craig from Killing It. ‘Called it love but it was lust’, ‘It wasn’t love like I had hoped’. ‘maybe another time,’ ‘love is a complexity’. ‘If love can fade so can pain’. ‘Let your cup overflow with the love you deserve’.

Additional Confirmation: Seashells. Becoming a Sea Jelly. Prickly. Becoming a Porcupine. Sea and the Earth. Poetry. Disturbance. ]

Cards: 7 of wands (Reverse); Hierophant (Reverse); 9 of Wands. Snail; White Dress; Queen of Hearts; 8 of Hearts.

First thing’s first…this is a complex reading. This is going to be a different type of love reading. I’m sorry if you’re looking for a ‘who is coming in’ but if you still want to stay then please do. This reading does have romantic undertones but it will dives into love.

When I started this reading: I felt like I needed to protect myself — bolt all the doors, close all the windows, triple check the dozens of cameras around the house, and secure myself by hiding under the bed with a blanket wrapped around me.

There’s this profound grief/sadness/yearning/loneliness all meshed together in a box. I think this is your energy because I’m not getting another person. I could be wrong though. But the overall energy feels like the saying “the world/love hasn’t been too kind to you.”

I’m not going to sit here and tell you how to feel. Your feelings are 100% valid because for some reason people probably told you how to feel which made things worse. Honestly all I can give is a virtual hug.

Honestly maybe you’ll find love in this reading [not romantic wise! I meant like a little bit of softness for your day. Idk maybe I’m rambling]. It just feels like you need a blanket and a warm cup of your favorite drink. Some of you might like apple cider with extra cinnamon. Maybe a nice cup of coffee or (ginger) tea with some sugar. Or it’s not physical warmth you’re after but, just this once, inner warmth.

This emptiness you have isn’t something to be taking lightly, that is for sure. It should be held with recognition and upmost delicacy. You aren’t difficult to be loved.

Some of you know this while others may find difficult: you are deserving of love. Some of you are probably groaning and rolling your eyes. I wanted to say it again just in case. I’m also sending you lots of love and support.

You know what, why should I stop there? You’re deserving of people putting effort into you, of understanding, of consistency, of acceptance, of things to be taken at a slower pace. You deserve a love that is supposed to feel like your favorite drink or food. I think, most importantly, you deserve the recognition.

If you can find a healthy outlet please do. I know this reading is probably chaotic but I think it’s supposed to validate how you feel. There was another that came in but it was a bit of blur so I think that’s a sign to leave this reading as is. I’m rooting for you pile 1 and sending many hugs with a lot of love! 💕

Pile 2

[ Channeled Messages: ‘We never realize how frozen we are until someone melts our ice’ ; ‘We know what we are, but not what we may be’ ; ‘Don’t waste a second of your time convincing other people your worth’.

Additional Messages: 111, Broseph (Character from Stoked), Bravery, Strength, Talk, Valentines Day, Take a Break, Focusing on Materialism, Beach Vibes; H2O; Putting in the Work, Babes by Hockey Dad, Safe and Sound by Mr. Floyd Larry, Fire Placements, Sagittarius]

Cards: 9 of Wands; 8 of Cups (Rx); The Chariot. Transformation (Yumiko Kurahashi); The Soul (Emily Dickinson. Jack of Clubs; 8 of Clubs; 7 of Clubs

Pile 2’s, I have to tell you something: I restarted the reading. I reshuffled all the cards and took a ‘day off’ cause my tummy hurts :( and I wanted a break. I don’t know why I had to mention that but…hey, maybe you need a break for the ache?

On with the reading! For those of you who did or are taking a break from love, you’re taking the cool ~ approach. Now this isn’t a mind game approach. I genuinely feel like it’s because you ‘moved on’ from love. You’re just tired of the same ol’ people coming into your life and making you stressed.

I get the feeling you’re taking the ‘Broseph’ (Character from Stoked) approach. If you know him, you know that he’s very chill and laidback. He lets the waves come to him and living life in a relaxing fun way. This could be the way you’re viewing love now.

For some of you I heard “love/dating pool is shit, I’m going to do what I want’, which CONGRATS! You live your life, I’m very proud of you. You may also be taking a funny approach to your love life. I just get the vibe that: ‘love isn’t so serious anymore so might as well make the best of it by taking it lightly’.

Despite these approaches you’re also more selective and will put a boundary up. Again congrats to you! You’re at the point of, again, enjoying your life. I’m also getting a sense you’re putting more emphasis in your friendships. This is going to be a little deep.

For some of you, you may find the love you were missing within yourself through friendships/community. As in, the romantic love you thought would ‘fill’ the hole is not it. It was actually platonic/communal love that you craved. For other’s the love for yourself due to, soul searching’, basically rediscovering yourself.

Overall this is mainly due to people, mostly romantic, not being compatible with you. Like I have a feeling — during the summer time there will be in-depth soul searching. No, it’s not the ‘hippie’ type thing! Unless it could be we never know lol, it’s actually more of transformation of the old you. You’re entering a new part in your life.

Okay this is specific. I don’t know what Valentine’s Day did for you all but for some reason I think their gift to you made you realize ‘yeah…I’m breaking up with you’. Now this isn’t to scare anyone! This is like a 0.1% of you. I just feel like this could be how 0.1% of you will ‘entire’ this transformation.

To recap; despite the way you were treated and the people who were in your life. You’re now rediscovering yourself, your worth, questioning and finding the love you needed. You’re still open to love (in general) but more selective with the people. You’re now or will be letting love find you. Again you’re taking the Broseph approach lol. Have fun and good luck, I’m very proud of my pile 2’s :) 💕.

Pile 3

[ Channeled Messages: ‘If soulmates do exist they’re not found. They are made. People meet, they get a good feeling, and they work on building a relationship’ ; Release your mind, don’t become the hurt that they hurt you’ ; ‘Picture a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it's there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It's a wave. And then it crashes in the shore and it's gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You know it's one conception of death for Buddhists: the wave returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it's supposed to be.’

Additional Messages: 222, 232, 234, Cat, Curiosity, Watch Your Mouth by The Backseat Lovers; Cold Hands; Burning Candle, Wedding Fantasies, Prayer Beads; Traditions; Selenite; Blue Calcite; Rivers and Roads by the Head and the Hearts; ‘Might Have Been The One Vibe’, The Good Place. ]

Cards: Page of Swords; Empress (Rx); Tower. Ace of Diamonds; 10 of Spades; Ace of Clubs. White Dress; Devotion.

Pile 3, I want to say I’m so sorry for what you went through. There’s a sense of heartache and devastation that recently happened. I heard you might have gotten a call or this sudden new broke your heart. A part of you may felt drawn to pile 1 so if you did then please check that out.

My cat also wants to say hello. She’s actually hanging out with your cards. A message popped up in my head: you are protected. I also want to add that your pile is a long read.

For a lot of you I feel that this is devastating. You may have spent all this time nourishing, putting the effort, and pouring your love into something that wasn’t ’worth it at the end’.

For some, not all, I don’t like to bring this up and be this type of reader…but the news may have been about cheating. As for the others the relationship could have ended because of a huge dealbreaker; like traveling or different values. There could have even been a conversation about money that led to an argument.

Either way, there was a sudden break(up) and now there is grief. I’m not getting so much as to how to help. I think this reading is more about acknowledging your grief and a reminder that you will find like minded people.

Another thing; you may feel anger as well. It’s like a simmered anger. It’s there but simmering…it’s hot yet it constantly murmurs. It feels as if it could be towards everyone. For some it may even be towards the world. But for all it feels as if this anger is directed to yourself.

Okay there’s a big select of you that might have been in a long term relationship. I’ve been tiptoeing around this but it feels like you were so close and then this happened, and now what the fuck, right? Basically the rug was ripped from under you. It just feels like sudden devastation.

I’m not going to feed into your anger and your grief. I am certainly not going to bypass this either by singing Kumbaya and lighting up an incense.

Instead, let’s acknowledge this. You may be feeling angry, scared, all of the grieving symptoms. That is okay! This is going to be hard to hear but grief doesn’t fade. It stays, it lingers, it’s there. The only thing we can do is feel it but do our best to not let grief consume us. We just have to take it day by day in little doses.

This may even be a reminder to pour in that love into yourself. No this isn’t some “self love heals all” type of thing. I believe [the right and healthy] community/friendships can help you out here, but let’s not forget to pour into ourselves too. This can be by creating a safe space for yourself. It could be doing things you always wanted to do. It can be gifting yourself something or simply journaling and crying it out with ice cream.

I also want to say the love you poured into that relationship is no waste. It’s proof that you are worthy of love, that you are capable of love. You are a reminder that the love you pour is out there. You have so much love to give and now it is time to give that love to yourself. It is also a reminder that this love can also be poured into you by your friends and community.

Another reminder, because it seems to be prominent, anger is a reminder of your boundaries. Anger reminds us what we fight for, what we need to feel protected. Anger is a boogieman to society, which can become it if not handled in a healthy way. However, Anger can be justice if you learn to dig deep at the root. This is all I have for you today. I wish you the best 💕

If you liked this reading please like, comment, reblog, and share. And if you want to further support me then tips are appreciated on: Ko-Fi ; PayPal ; Venmo ; Cashapp

#pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a picture #tarot #tarot pick a card #tarotblr #tarot readers of tumblr #astro community #astrology #singles reading #love reading #love pick a card #singles pick a card #tarotreading #tarotlove

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aromanticautiesworld · 5 months

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finn x fem reader whos really into science, rambles on a bunch and finn actually listena to her which she hasnt seen anyone do and actually CARE about what shes saying and immediately starts crushing (they were og friends but it just made her heart flutter and it was a pretty sunset)

YES YES ABSOLUTELY love this <- fixated on astrophysics since he was six and is considering becoming one in the far future

////

finn with a fem reader who’s a science nerd

word count: 745

Finn called you over for repairs to their telescope not too long ago, something about a fight with the Ice King where he cracked the lense. The sun had already gone down, and the stars (now more visible after all the human’s pesky light pollution was gone) came out of their hiding spots along with the crescent moon.

You stopped the video game you were speeding through, the call being a necessary distraction to pull you out of what would otherwise be many hours straight of gameplay, and a significant lack of self-care.

You pack your bag with snacks, and (of course) books about astrophysics and astronomy (just in case the hangout became a sleepover, or you suddenly needed them. Things can get very chaotic very quickly with Finn), two of your favorite and very closely related sciences. Unlike him, you didn’t want to adventure for your whole life, you did eventually want to become an astrophysicist, maybe study with Peebs.

“Why do you even have a telescope if you never use it?” You say, looking down at the new lense you were trying to install.

“‘Cuz we need it to see any incoming baddies,” Finn waves his sword around, whacking imaginary enemies.

“What about, like. Using binoculars instead,”

“Telescope sees better,”

“Fair point, fair point,” You raise an eyebrow at him, “You do actually know what it’s for, right?”

Finn pauses to think. “I mean…you look at the stars. At least I think you do. I dunno why you’d look at them through that when you can see ‘em perfectly fine from here,”

“It’s cool, trust me! It’s to see them in more detail,”

Finn stares blankly at you.

“So, in space, there’s, like. a hundred billion things—things we can’t even see from here—and this telescope lets you look at all the stuff you can’t see and all the stuff you can see but better,”

Finn sheathes his sword, “I thought there was just the stars, planets and the moon in space?”

“Oh, well. Yeah, but there’s also asteroids, meteoroids, all those decayed satellites from before the mushroom war, supernovas—oh oh oh! Do you know what a supernova is? They’re so cool—they’re basically a big, big star that after becoming a red supergiant they implode in this huge burst of energy that lasts years—and at the end it either makes a neutron star, or a black hole. Black holes are actually super cool too, they don’t let anything out—not even light! Most black holes are smaller than Ooo but there are some massive ones at the center of every galaxy—which is a whole other thing—that could’ve been formed by being compressed at the center of giant stars back in the ancient universe. Also, they’re probably going to be the last thing in the universe but because of hawking radiation eventually they’ll fade away too, and…um…”

You look back over at Finn, who now sat criss cross on the floor of the balcony. He’d been intently listening (even if he didn’t understand some of it) but in your eyes you were boring him. Most people don’t have the energy or desire to listen to your long rants about space, and once you start, the conversation fizzles out and they’re too tired to talk to you.

You look down at your hands, “Sorry, I was rambling again. We can talk about something else if you want, haha…”

“No, no no no,” He had zoned out many times during PB’s talks of numbers and other things kinda irrelevant to him, but for you it was different. Maybe he just likes hearing the sound of your voice, he doesn’t know. “Can you keep going?”

Your heart flutters.

Your rambling continues on into the night, moon and stars slowly moving across the skies. Finn doesn’t add much to the conversation, mostly watches with a fluttering feeling he couldn’t figure out in his chest. Man, you were pretty when you talked.

Many hours later (you don’t know it, but the sun’s coming up soon), you sit by Finn’s side, both of you sleepy from staying up all night.

Finn looks over to you, “Tonight was fun,”

You’re quiet, “…the funny thing is, most peeps don’t like to hear about it. The stars,”

“I wanna hear about the stars, if it’s you talking about them,”

Your eyes practically sparkle, and you pull him into a hug. Finn’s face grows hot, and he freezes before hugging you back.

“Tier one, dude,”

“What?”

#mariner talks #mariner writes #finn the human x reader #finn x reader #adventure time x reader #finn the human

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shepherds-of-haven · 2 months

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Me: omg I love the SoH ROs so much all I wanna do is daydream about them

Me, daydreaming about them: what if they almost died... What if they're bleeding out... What if the MC is bleeding out...

Unfortunately they're all blorbos now, which means I want them to suffer (affectionate)

Which brings the question, in a near death situation, which one of the ROs goes for a dramatic one liner and which one tries to actually say something meaningful?

Blade: he isn't one for drama so I feel like he just wouldn't really think, "i'm dying so this may be my last chance to say something," and would just be like "you... need to get out of here..." (always thinking of the other person), but if he did think he was dying, he'd try to say something meaningful!

Trouble: I don't think Trouble thinks he can be killed for real so he'd probably not even notice the severity of his own wounds, like "I'm fine, stop fussing over me and help [someone else wounded] or get after the enemy or etc.!!!" Not necessarily being nobly selfless like Blade, just sort of not aware how close he is to death and so isn't thinking about it/taking it seriously

Tallys: if she actually thinks she has a real shot of dying, she's staying calm and composed for the other person's sake and is going to fade away with quiet dignity, but she's definitely going to exchange some of the most heartfelt, gut-wrenching, meaningful words anyone's ever heard in their life on her hypothetical deathbed

Shery: I think she'd be sort of panicking and hysterical and trying to think of something meaningful to say, but it'd probably come off as menial, like "Make sure to look after Caine, and... please look after my plants..." Like frantically trying to go down a checklist and sort of being confused and panicky rather than having the wherewithal to actually say what she'd want to say in that kind of situation!

Riel: he'd be extremely calm and would be dishing out instructions on how it's going to go down and what's going to happen next. Basically getting his affairs in order in an efficient and tidy way as he's like literally bleeding out lol, by his composure alone you wouldn't think he was wounded! Basically the exact opposite of Shery, and it would only be in the final few moments of consciousness that he could stop being totally "logical" and he'd get quiet and be like, oh. this could actually be the end. In which case he'd try to sneak in something heartfelt and striking and poignant, but he'd probably have expended all his energy on the first part and would lose consciousness halfway through, so no one would know what he was going to say, and he "wouldn't remember" when he woke up lol

Chase: I think it really depends on the situation... he's been in so many near-death scenarios that he's gotten out of perfectly fine that it's a bit hum-drum for him now, so if it's a simple matter of "oh no i've been shot and i'm bleeding out" he'd probably go for the quip or the dramatic one-liner purely to put the people around him at ease or get them to crack a smile, but if it's like a "oh I'm already dead and there's no way anyone's going to save me except by literal intervention of the gods", maybe he'd say something more meaningful?? It really depends on who's with him and how lucid he is, though!

Red: he'd try to be bracing and good-hearted about it so as to not worry anyone or sabotage himself while he's down (he's of the mindset that if you embrace/accept death too preemptively, you're more likely to die, whereas if you act like it's going to be fine, there's a higher chance that, like, placebo effect will somehow help you pull through), so he'd be like, "Don't worry, haha, I've had worse..." *is bleeding out from a gut shot* "YOU HAVE??" "Well, no, but it hardly hurts..." I think if he genuinely thought it was too late for him, he'd say something meaningful, but it would take a lot for him to get to that point lol

Ayla: I feel like she'd just be pissed and not accepting the gravity of the situation, like, "Why are you all looking at me like that, I'm fine??? Blood replaces itself, you are being dramatic" So she probably wouldn't "waste time" on being sentimental when she can just WILL herself to get better, but if it got to the point where she thinks it's genuinely over, she'd abruptly get scared, emotional, tearful, and she'd probably choke out something vulnerable, like "I don't want to go like this..."

Briony: I think she'd be in shock and would behave similarly to Shery where she would just be saying whatever was racing through her mind, so it could possibly be meaningful and vulnerable, like "I always wanted to... [x]" or it could be somewhat nonsensical or brushing the whole thing off, like "It's just a scratch, I just need to rest, make sure that so-and-so is seen to because I saw that they were limping..." (thinking she's just going to pass out now)

Lavinet: I think she'd be very noble and dignified and graceful in near-death, like she'd arrange herself very beautifully and would be lying there in some infirmary bed with her hair spread out across the pillow as so-and-so clutches her hand and weeps and she murmurs to them to not to worry and tells them "her last words" in a delivery and meaningfulness straight from a dramatic novel

Halek: I think the first time he'd say something so flippant and stupid, like "Holy shit, getting shot is such a pain" -> 😵 (passes out) and if he had the luck of waking up again he'd be like "oh my god those could have been my last words" and he'd take it more seriously the next time and try to think of something more meaningful beforehand lol

#Shepherds of Haven #angst #sort of #it's more silly than anything but there you have it!#all characters #hypothetical scenario #near death #near death experience #dying

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beskarandblasters · 10 months

Note

i'm literally obsessed w hello neighbor and how you wrote din in it, like stop he's SO adorable. could you write domestic fluff to smut where he's really nervous about touching her at first, but she shows him it's okay and when he finally gets comfortable he melts because we ALL know the man is deprived of affection? like i totally see him having physical touch as his love language

Don't Be Scared

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: First of all thank you so much!! I'm glad you liked Hello Neighbor and I hope you like this, too🖤 Sorry it took me a while🫣

Summary: You and Din are in a fairly new relationship after he moves to Nevarro. You’ve seen him around before he permanently moved there and always assumed someone like him had to be experienced. But once things start to get physical you learn that that’s not the case.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, touch starved Din, nervous Din, fingering, vaginal sex, semi public sex, use of Mandalorian words/phrases (the translations are included immediately after), written in third person

The sun is setting on a warm evening on Nevarro. The steam from the hot springs flows through the air gracefully, drenched in a warm glow as daylight fades. And then there’s her, sitting on the edge of the springs with her feet in the water, wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. …And then there’s Din, standing as stiff as a board with his arms at his sides, trying so hard not to check her out but failing. He feels hot under the helmet but not from the steamy springs.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” she asks, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He doesn’t want to say no to her. He would do anything for her. But he knows that if he joins her, it’ll lead to something more. And he’s still quite nervous about that.

“Cyar’ika…” (sweetheart) he says, trailing off.

“What are you so afraid of?” she asks gently, standing up and facing him. She grabs his gloved hand and gazes into his visor, “It’s just me.”

He squeezes her hand and says, “I know, cyar’ika. I’m just nervous with you. I’ve never…”

“Have you not done it before?” she says softly, in the most delicate tone.

“N-no I have. But only really in brothels on Coruscant where it’s just transactional, not with someone I care about. I’m afraid to mess it up.” he says, voice shaking under the modulator.

She takes his other hand and guides them to her waist before looking up at him again and whispering, “Don’t be scared.”

She hears him take a deep breath and whisper, “Okay.” And with that she slides off her underwear and undoes her bra. She guides his hand to her breast and he caresses it, rubbing his thumb over her nipple and worrying into a stiff peak. She closes her eyes and lets out a soft moan. He could listen to her make those sounds for him forever. He takes a chance and brings his fingers to the entrance of her cunt, which was rapidly growing wet. Her moans grow deeper and she leans into his touch. But she realizes that if this was going to progress any further she probably shouldn’t be standing.

“Wait,” she says and Din removes his hands quickly, fearing that he already did something wrong. She takes his hand and leads him a couple feet away to the towels they had brought from Din’s house earlier. She lays down and spreads her legs, motioning for him to join her. He hovers over her gently, as if she’s the most delicate being, and returns his hand to her cunt. He rubs small circles around her clit as her breathing picks up. She reaches between her legs and guides his fingers to her entrance. He moves his thumb to her clit and slips a finger inside her, moving it ever so slowly.

“More,” she whispers and he obliges, pushing another finger into her.

He curls his fingers, hitting her g-spot while simultaneously working her clit. She arches her back, pushing her hips upwards and into him. Her orgasm washes over her and he takes in every detail; the way her chest heaves with the movement of her breathing, the way her lashes fan out on her face as she closes her eyes in pleasure, and the way her walls clench his fingers.

After she’s finished riding out her high he pulls his fingers out of her, gazing down at his glove, slick with her juices. He wants nothing more than to rip his helmet off and taste her but he knows he can’t. He’s still in disbelief at what he just did that he doesn’t notice her get up onto her knees.

“On your back,” she whispers beside his helmet as her hand grazes his cock, pitching a tent in his flight suit. Her other hand moves to his back and he practically melts into her touch. He moves to lay on his back and she goes to straddle him. She pulls his cock out from his flight suit and spits into her hand, stroking it slowly as he lets out a moan.

“Cyar’ika, please,” he whimpers.

A smirk paints her face as she strokes him faster, pulling all of the deepest moans from him. When his length is fully hard she removes her hand and sinks down onto his cock. She grabs his hands and brings them to her waist and puts her hands against his chest plate. She begins grinding her hips against him, burying his cock deep inside her. He looks up at her as she pleasures herself on him. The steam from the springs swirling around her as she emits her soft moans. This is the most beautiful she’s ever been to him.

“Haar’chack, yooba solus mesh’la.” (damn it, you are beautiful), he says, gazing up at her in awe.

“It’s so good, Din. So big,” she whimpers.

Her praise does something to him, makes him feral even. His grip on her waist tightens and he pulls her into him harder. Their movements mirror each other in a perfect rhythm. With one last motion of her hips she comes undone around him, clenching his cock like a vice as she cums. Her climax brings him to his own as he shoots his load inside her, painting her insides with his release. She slowly stops moving and brings her head down to his chest, catching her breath. He wraps his arms around her and presses her even closer against him while he’s still inside her.

“That was amazing, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, stroking her back.

“See? Nothing to be scared of,” she says against him.

“I wasn’t scared,” he says quickly.

She shoots upright and says, “You so were. Din Djarin, the big bad bounty hunter was afraid of fucking his girlfriend,” in a teasing tone.

He grumbles and she laughs before resting against him again, taking a breather before a second round.

“Hmm I think you’re still scared, we might need to go for round two,” she jokes.

“Can’t complain about that, cyar’ika.”

End note: Ok so this made me realize that I need to start writing for Din again. I've been writing so much Joel (specifically asshole Joel) that I need a little break for my boy Din. So if you have any Din requests send them my way!!! 🥰🖤

Tag list: @wannab-urs @atinylittlepain @bearsbeetsbeskar @jksprincess10 @tieronecrush @pr0ximamidnight @dindjarinslegs @dinsdjrn @readingfan @theelishad @pedritolover @pedritosdarling @pedrostories @tinygarbage @leeeesahhh @kirsteng42 @pedropascll @bongsrconfusing @mydailyhyperfixations @littlemisspascal @babygirlrex0504

(wasn't rly sure who else to tag, I haven't written for Din in so long I forgot who's on my tag list for him😭)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #mandalorian #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x f!reader #mandalorian smut #din djarin imagine #din djarin fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian x fem!reader #the mandalorian #star wars fanfic #no use of y/n

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pastanest · 11 months

Text

Spencer Reid x gender neutral!reader

A/N: god I love a pining fic and Im not afraid to say it

Story Of My Life

It was a night like so many others, the team having returned from a case and arriving in Quantico at an hour in which they would all prefer to be sleeping. As Spencer would very much love to point out, you had actually been asleep on the jet; your head had been on his shoulder for an hour and he had been carefully regulating his breathing so as to not disturb you. He had never heard his own voice softer than when he gently awoke you from your slumber. His eidetic memory would never let him forget the way that the word “sweetheart” had so easily slipped from his lips, either.

And in your sleepy state, as is tradition, you stay with your arms holding onto one of Spencer’s, head still resting on his shoulder as he walks you both to his car and opens the passenger side door for you, which you slide into with a “thank you” that you never forget to give him for every little thing he does, even when you are struggling to keep your eyes open.

The moment Spencer settles into the driver’s seat, your arms find his again, and he’s gently tugging a blanket he keeps on the backseat just for you, for nights like this, laying it over you and tucking it in around you. He smiles at your closed eyes, the tired smile on your face, your unspoken adoration for his care towards you.

“You sleep, (Y/N), you’ll be home soon.” Spencer very nearly whispers to you, placing the softest kiss on your forehead. When you sigh deeply, pleasantly, his heart sings back to you.

The journey from the office to your apartment takes no more than 20 minutes, your own car disappearing in the rearview mirror as the parking lot fades out of existence. Spencer knows you are far too tired to drive yourself home, it’s a wordless agreement that he will always be the one to take you home on nights like this and that in the morning, he will be on your doorstep ready to pick you up and take you to work with a bright smile and a question of “Sleep well?”, when he will always look more tired out of the two of you.

On the dashboard, Spencer’s car ticks away the minutes as he drives. 15 minutes pass, then 20, 30, then 40. Spencer has driven past your apartment block twice, but it doesn’t matter, it never does, not when you are fast asleep with your head on his shoulder and arms wrapped around one of his; not when he can look to his side and see you, so completely at peace, feeling safe enough with him to sleep like this. You are always too tired to check the time when you get in the car, so not once have you noticed how long it takes Spencer to drive you back to your apartment. To him, time is frozen entirely.

He would drive all night just to keep you warm, to let you sleep without disturbing you.

But after an hour, Spencer’s own tiredness starts to kick in and he’s struggling to fight back a yawn. So, the next time he drives past your apartment block, he stops and parks outside. There’s a smile on his face before he’s even looked down at you, and when he does, his chest aches. You are still smiling, in your sleep, just from being with him.

“Sweetheart?” He coos softly, testing the petname out again after replaying the way you had smiled when you’d woken up to him calling you that on the jet earlier. And history repeats itself in the most beautiful way as he watches your smile widen, humming an indecipherable question up at him, in a sleep-induced daze.

“You’re home, (Y/N).” Spencer tells you, his voice just as gentle, having only ever sounded like this on every night that has played out in the same way this one has.

“Already was home.” You mumble sleepily, snuggling into Spencer’s shoulder and that, combined with your words, makes the butterflies that you single handedly bring to life within him, go wild.

“Well, alright,” Spencer chuckles lightly, face flushed. “-we’ve arrived at your apartment.” He amends

You nod, and Spencer has to use every bit of strength he has to release himself from your soft, warm embrace, to get out of the car and run around to the passenger side to help you out, too. He all but carries you to the door of your apartment block, and by the time you reach it, you have managed to open your eyes, smiling up at him in a way that makes his head spin.

“Thanks for the lift, as always, Spence. You really are the best there is.” You beam up at him, reciting praise that you often give him that never fails to knock the breath from his lungs. And then, you break from tradition, because you lean up to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, genius.”

Eyes wider than the first time he saw you and forgot how to breathe entirely, Spencer blinks rapidly. “G-Goodnight, (Y/N)!”

And as Spencer drives back to his own apartment with a dazed smile on his face, he knows that when he shows up on your doorstep tomorrow morning, he will look even more tired than he usually does after nights like this, because on top of getting less sleep than you after driving around for an hour, he will be staying up replaying the events of tonight for even longer than he usually does.

In that moment, Spencer decides that in the grand scheme of the universe and its many mysteries, the heroes of the world and their legacies, he does not want to be remembered as Doctor Spencer Reid, a profiler for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. No, he wants to be remembered as Spencer, the man that loves you to the ends of the earth and has driven you around night after night, for hours upon hours, just to keep you warm, with no thoughts except for the smile on your face. If a story were to be written about his life, he would want it to begin with a night like this, and end with you, in whatever way you’ll have him.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #x reader #criminal minds imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons #imagine #imagines #Spotify

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botnasty · 2 years

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Part One: Prologue

Pairing: Divorce Lawyer!Ari Levinson X Married!Reader, Husband!Ransom X Wife!Reader

Summary: After years of misery, you finally decide to divorce your husband Ransom Drysdale, but unfortunately for the man is too proud to let you go. That’s when you met Ari Levinson, a divorce lawyer, with him you’ll finally be free of pain... right?

Words: 2.7K

Warning: ANGST, cheating, mention of cheating, mention of death, mention of psychological abuse, mention of abuse, divorce, hurt/comfort, beefy!Ari Levinson, size difference, size kink, mention of sex,

Series Masterlist

You were doing it. You were finally doing it. After years of being miserable, of being a shell of who you used to be, you were breaking off the chain that Ransom placed around you with that ring.

Before him, you loved life. You were living it at his fullest. Your friends, Marna and Sam, and you used to do all sorts of things together. You would go on hikes, try new cafe places after class and before going to your shared apartment, but what you liked the most was visiting the museum of Fine Art. you went once with your mother when you were a child and it had become immediately your favorite place. “It’s like you’re in a completely different world. Like the paintings were making you travel all around the world.” Is what your mother kept saying when describing how you were in that place, and she wasn’t wrong. It's what made you decide to study the history of art in college. It’s also where you met Ransom, which is why you haven’t been there in years. The place was now tainted with his memories.

You loved Ransom, you really did. You thought you would’ve grown old with him and have a few kids, but after the marriage, it’s like he became a whole new man. Gone was the Ransom that called you Bunny, cuddled you to sleep and made love to you. Now he has become bitter, always angry at the world and you. Like every single inconvenience was because of you when all you wanted was to show him love. He made you stop going to school, stopped you from seeing your friends saying ‘they were a bad influence’ and just kept you almost locked in his mansion.

Slowly but surely, you became a shell of who you were. You were now constantly on your toes around him, trying not to anger him and always watching what you were saying. If you spoke a little too loud, he would scream. If not loud enough, he would also scream. You couldn’t express yourself anymore.

Everything had faded. Every time you shoved love for something you were shamed, humiliated. All the emotions you felt were tossed to the side. You were not yourself, you were a doll for Ransom to toss everywhere and mold how he wanted.

What made you decide to finally break it all off was when you found out he had cheated on you for the fourth time in your own marital bed. Before it was just mark of lips on his clothes, parfum, the whole cliche thing, but now he had taken things a little too far.

You wish you were at her place, weren’t you?

Was what he said when you found the both of them, this girl on her hands and knees, back arching, as Ransom plowed into her from behind. Both were looking at you as they both continued. You just stared at them, not a feeling inside of you instead of shame for yourself. Shame for still being with this man after all he’s done to you.

You had just sighed and closed the door behind you, not a tear in your eyes. Nothing. But that shame inside of you is what made you decide to get a divorce, but you didn’t know when to do it.

When Ransom was found guilty of killing his grandfather, which wasn’t surprising to you, the world was smiling at you. This was the perfect time. Your way out. When the day came that Ransom went to prison, instead of going with him to say your goodbye, you came here.

Levinson’s Lawyer.

You were doing it. you were gonna be free.

You lightly tap your feet on the ground as the man in front of you named Ari Levinson, like what was written on the plate at the door, looked at your case. The man certainly didn’t look like a lawyer, with his long hair that stopped below his hair, his gruff beard and big very big build. The man was most likely twice your size and height. He was wearing a clean black tux with a white undershirt, slightly unbuttoned which made you able to see a little of his chest hair. The man seemed to be covered in hair everywhere. You saw him more as a lumberjack. You felt intimidated by him because you knew the man could probably crush you with one squeeze.

“So, I read here, Miss Drysdale, that you want to be divorced from Ransom Drysdale.” You cringed internally at the name he used. “Is that right?” The man looked at you with his blue eyes, his gaze a little too piercing to you so you looked down as you nodded. He went back to the paper. “And you don’t want anything that he owns which is a good thing. The man got some solid lawyers.”

You fidgeted with the wedding still on your fingers as you nodded once again. You knew very well he had powerful people by his side. He was Ransom Drysdale after all. The man came from old money and had people wanting to find dirt on him for years. “Yeah, I know that, Mr. Levinson, but we don't have a child together, we don’t have a shared account, don’t you think it could be easy?” You pleaded, your eyes finally finding his.

Ari signed and put the paper down. “Depends on the man, Miss. Drys–”

“Please, use my maiden name. I don’t want any association with that man. Please.”

Ari restarted, this time using your real name, making a little weight get off your shoulder. One step at the time. “We don’t know what he wants to do, right now. If the man wants to keep you, it could become messy, if he doesn’t then it would go smoothly.”

Ari put down the paper on his wooden desk and leaned. “But, let me tell you something, Miss. I hate abusers, so I’m gonna do everything in my power to make sure you never see the man again.” A sob escaped you.

Ari got up his chair and went around the desk. He crouched in front of you and took your hands in his. You gasped at how big they were compared to yours, at how warm and rough his skin was as he played with the wedding band. “Everything will go your way. I promise. You can even start to remove it already if you want.” He said, referring to your ring.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” You said in a sob and you threw yourself in his arms, his immediately enveloping you in a hug and pulling you closer to him. You were gonna be free and all thanks to this man.

For some odd reason, you believed him. You believed the man in front of you and that’s why you felt safe in his arms. After years of tenseness, you melted finally and that was with this man. Your eyes widen at the realization. You barely knew the guy.

Slowly, you let go of him and let him wipe your tears away and it took everything in you to keep a blank face. “Thank you again, Mister Levinson. ”You slowly got up and took your purse. “At what time would you be willing to go through the divorce paper?” Your hands were fidgeting inside your purse to look for your phone, you were now nervous around scared he would see through your act.

Ari looked baffled at you, at the immediate change of character, but went through with it. “This week, I’m fully booked, but I could leave you my phone number to call to schedule for next week?” Is all he asked, as he got up.

You went to give him your phone to get his number, when your eyes bulged out and all resolved went down, the man was way taller than you expected. He was probably taller than 6’5 and you didn’t know how to feel about that, one part of you got scared while the other part made your pussy gush from how big he was.

“You—“ Your voice cracked. “You can leave your number.” Ari took your phone from your hands, his finger brushing against making you inhale sharply.

As he typed on your phone, your eyes went to his muscle bulging with each move. You hated your brain at this moment for making you feel all sorts of things for this man you literally just met. Sure, he looked like a Greek god and wanted to help you, but he could also have dark intentions.

“There you go, sweetheart.” Now you are sure to remove your panties when you get home. The way he said sweetheart in his gruff voice is something literally out of a porno. your eyes widened as you looked at him smiling, like he knew what he did to you. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Tha- Thank you. I’ll call you next week.” You immediately shoved your phone in your purse and shuffled out, your eyes always avoiding his and with one thing in your mind: tonight was going to be a long night with your vibrator.

You quickly escape the building, your heels hitting the ground with a loud noise. ‘I need to get out’ are the words that keep on repeating themselves in your mind. Just constantly. You were confused. What had just happened to you? Never in your life have you instantly felt so attracted to somebody you barely knew and that scared you.

You felt watched the whole journey from Mr, Levinson’s office to down in the lobby and you hated that. Eyes, many eyes were starring at you and you stopped yourself from hiding with your purse. You felt like you were going insane, but the moment you stepped outside, everything made sense.

A horde of paparazzi was there, waiting for you to come out. “What in the fuck?” You whispered to yourself. “I can’t get out. I can’t.” If they saw you and took pictures of you, you were sure someone at the prison would tell Ransom and you couldn’t afford that.

Not now.

You jumped when your phone vibrated in your purse. Before all this, you used to always put your favorite song of the moment as a ringtone, but Ransom hated it and almost beat you up when it rang one day. So, to this day, it’s always on the silent mode.

You fetched inside your purse. Anxiety coursed through you when it was an unknown number, but you still answered. “Hello?” You cautiously said.

“Miss? It’s Ari.” Ari?

“I don’t recall giving you my phone number? And we just spoke, I don’t understand the meaning of this call.” You sounded harsh and professional, trying to make your body understand that what it was doing wasn’t good. Making you horny and wet for this man wasn’t something you wanted or needed right now.

“Take the door on the other side of the building.” Was all he said. “You can hide from the pictures there.”

You felt bad. The man only wanted to help you. “Thank you... I’m sorry. I’ll call you next week.”

You were about to end the call when Ari said your name. Not your family name. Your first name. Your ears couldn’t help but perk up at the sound. “I don’t know how those people found out you were here, but I’ll find the person and have a stern talk about client confidentiality.” Your breath was stuck inside you. Ari continued. “And you don’t have to excuse yourself. I know you must be in a hard situation at this moment.” You hummed in approval. “I’m here for you. Whenever.” With those last words, the call ended.

That week was the worst week of your life. Somehow people found out you had gone to a divorce lawyer and like people say: words traveled fast. Every day, you had been followed everywhere, you received calls from the news, journalists and from the one person you didn’t want to talk to: Ransom. Somehow, probably because a guard spilled it to him, he found out about it too and wasted his one phone call a day to you, but each time you refused it. Dreading to hear what he has to say.

You were tired, so tired. You had a feeling divorcing that man wouldn’t have been a joyful ride, but you didn’t think it would be hell.

Every day, you would wake up to a dream about that giant lawyer with sweat all over your body, your underwear fully drenched and a little bit of shame for dreaming about the stranger like that, but the moment you saw all the notifications on your phone, all that pleasure and good feeling from the dream would just drain out of your body and reality settled in.

Today was none different. You woke up with the dream still very vivid in your mind. His gruff voice telling you all the dirty things he wanted to do.

Look at you barely able to take my cock.

Such a sweet warm pussy, all mine.

You’re all mine aren’t you, sweetheart.

You bit your lips.

You really needed to get laid.

You sighed and got up the bed to go-on with your days. After a good shower to remove all the remnants of your wetness in between your legs and your skin-care routine, you went downstairs for your breakfast.

You looked outside to see the weather and sighed. “Will they ever leave me alone?” Paparazzi. Loads and loads of them waiting for you to get out of your house. You closed the curtains and continued your journey to the kitchen to continue your morning.

Just as the clock turned eleven. You decided it was finally time to call Ari for this meeting this week. As you pick up your phone, you cringe in the background. It was still a picture of you and Ransom on your second date when he kissed you on the cheek. Those were simpler times.

The phone rang in your ear. One, Two. Thr– “Hello?” His deep voice took you by surprise.

“Mr. Levinson. It’s me.” You told him your name. You shivered when you heard him repeat it to you. “You-” Your throat became tighter with nervousness. “You said to call for the appointment?”

You heard shuffling in the background. “I did, indeed. If you would be willing. I am going to lunch right now. If you would like, you could join me and we could talk ‘bout it?”

You nodded and you wanted to slap yourself because he clearly couldn’t see you. “Yes, just send me the address and I’ll be there shortly.”

You could hear the smile as he responded. “Good, I’ll be seeing you soon, Miss.” And the phone disconnected.

A few moments later, you jumped as your phone rang once again. “Why is Ari calling again?” You unlock your phone and answer the call. “Hello, Mr. Levison? Is there a problem with the divorce paper?” You looked at the floor curiously as to why he wasn’t answering. All you could hear was breathing and shuffling.

“Probably a butt dial.” You whispered.

“Oh no, bunny.” You froze, why did he start using that nickname, now, of all time. “It certainly isn’t. Been trying to reach you fo’ so long, bunny. So long. And now, since you finally answer you’ goddamn fucking phone.” You heard him take a deep breath. “You’re going to answer my questions. Why the fuck are you talking to Ari Levinson?”

Thank you so much for reading :) Feel free to reblog and tell me what you think. Also, I realize I’m kinda having a hard time with dialogue sometimes and I’m sorry for that, I’m slowly working on that.

Tags : @patzammit @elrw24

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di-writes-stuff · 5 months

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Sad Beautiful Tragic

Phillip Graves x Reader

A/N: I need to write more angst in a way I can’t quite describe.

TW: References to Graves betrayal and all that entails. War stuff, canon typical violence, suggestions of smut but no real descriptions. No happy end.

Summary: In which you look back on your relationship with Graves during his court hearing.

“Hang up, give up, and for the life of us we can’t get up.”

I hate him.

You’ve been forcing yourself to remember that for the past few hours. Watching that damn bastard, the sly smirk on his face every time he knows he’s winning the case. The same one you used to find endearing, now just puts a pit in your stomach that makes you wish you hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning.

You could scream. You want to scream, about how it’s not fair, about how you could’ve loved him, how you did love him. You want to pound your fists against the ground, throw the cup clenched in your hand at his stupid, handsome face. Marr it until you don’t feel that nagging, instinctive affection every time you see him.

The one that quickly fades—for the most part—when you remember what he did. That he prioritized being Shepherd’s little bitch over his comrades.

Over you.

Anger’s powerful. It’s a great, if not the greatest motivator in the world. But coupled with passion? With a love so fierce you would have died for it?

That burns. Drips through you like hot acid at any reminder of betrayal from the trusted.

And that is exactly what you feel when you look at him. The hurt comes first. The shell shock from what he did that still hasn’t quiet faded. Then the anger, and then the melancholy. The kind of animalistic need to get back to how it was before he ruined it. The clawing, desperate kind of fight you’re waging everyday just to believe the lie you think yourself to sleep with.

I hate him.

And yet, it always seems to end the same. The glaring correction at the end that you can’t admit to anybody around you, or yourself.

I miss him.

Overwhelmingly. Painfully. It keeps you up at night. It exhausts you in the day. It separates you from every other member of the task force. Because they can do it. They can hate him for what he did without a second thought.

It’s not as if they don’t see it. The tears that pinprick the corners of your eyes every time his name comes up. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise. From the very start, he’d been chasing you, and you were standing still.

For what felt like the hundredth time today, you were laughing. Smiling. Happy, really, truly happy. All thanks to Phillip Graves.

From what everybody said, you’d really hadn’t thought you’d like him very much. Cocky, horribly flirtatious, stubborn, and risky as all hell. All true, of course. Although, from where you were standing, it seemed like the whole “flirt” part was understated, extremely.

A smirk played on his lips as he stood just too close to you at the control panel of the helicopter, breath fanning over your neck as you drop yet another bomb onto the currently empty base. The mission was simple enough, bomb the enemy base, wipe all their supplies, intel, everything. Without anybody around to retaliate.

Well, it was supposed to be simple. You’ve found focusing has become quite difficult with constant flirtatious praises falling from the lips of the man behind you. “Atta girl.” His voice is husky behind you, a soft chuckle leaving him as you exhale shakily at his comment.

You’re sure you’ll get plenty of shit for this back at base, after all, you aren’t trying very hard to disguise how much you’re enjoying this. At the very least you manage to respond to this comment rather than the breathy laughter he’s been receiving. “You wanna take over? I wouldn’t wanna take all the credit.” You force yourself to meet his eyes, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you.

“I think I’ll let ya have this one, doll.” The pet-name sends you snapping your eyes back to the control panel, trying to calm the vivid blush spreading across your face. The self satisfied smirk on his face only growing wider at your response. You clear your throat, your words coming out a bit shaky. “Very generous, Commander.”

He leans in a bit closer, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “Oh, I always am.” The suggestion held in those words sends heat pooling in your stomach, the skin he barely even grazed burning after his touch. Later, he’ll give some proof to that statement.

And God, he was telling the truth.

Your attention is suddenly brought back to the court in front of you, and you’re back in reality. Snatched away from the pretty memory you’d allowed yourself to live in for just a moment. From before he did what he did. Before he ruined everything.

The judges question sends a hush over the room, the one everybody had been waiting to hear Phillip’s answer to. “Did you act on those orders, Mr. Graves?”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you remember that night. Those orders, the ones to kill you and every other member of the 141. The warnings he’d tried so hard to give you, without ever really telling you the truth. Phillip Graves was not the pleading kind, but for you? He’d do it. He did do it.

“Please, baby, I’m begging you. Don’t do this job.” He asked for what felt like the millionth time, trying to keep quiet as to not be heard through the thin walls on base.

When he’d asked to come over, you’d thought it was for the normal reasons. Apparently not, because rather than tangled under bedsheets, you two were fighting over his strange request that you didn’t understand in the slightest.

“Phillip, I have a job, I’m gonna do it.” Your voice is stern, unyielding to his pleas. You can’t help but feel unnerved by the look in his eyes that looks an awful lot like terror. Pure, unbridled fear that he refuses to explain to you.

He takes your hands in his, kneeling down to be eye level with you as you sit on the edge of your bed. His eyes are bloodshot, supposedly from crying. Something you’d never seen the man in front of you do. “Please, sweetheart.”

“I can’t have you on this job.”

Except you were on that job. There to see the horror in his eyes as he realized that along with everybody else, he’d have to betray you too. That he’s have to ruin everything you had.

You still remember the way you’d screamed at him that night, as Ghost dragged you away into the temporary safety the city provided.

“I hate you.”

The words that were ripped from your throat by him, the ones you never wanted to say, but you did. The ones you couldn’t convince yourself of anymore. You’re not even sure if they were true then. Although, you think you come close to it as you hear him answer the judge.

“No…Absolutely not, sir.” Gasps and whispers sound throughout the court, but the only thing you hear is his words repeated over and over in your mind. You try to find the lie, to find some loophole to make his claim false.

But the worst part is, he’s telling the truth. He didn’t kill you, nobody in the 141 was dead, or even seriously injured. Soap walked away with a few new scars, but that was about it.

He didn’t act on the orders.

It should make you feel better, that technically, he refused. That maybe, you could forgive him. But you know you won’t. You know you can’t. Not after all this. Not after the things he made you feel in such rapid succession.

First, love. Burning hot passion that took over your every thought. Then hatred, feigned or otherwise. Then grief as Soap came back with the news that Graves was KIA. Everybody still remembers the way you’d sobbed, animalistic gasps for air coming up from your throat as tears poured from your eyes. They’d heard it all from the closet you locked yourself in. But at the very least they’d had the decency to pretend they didn’t.

Now, you don’t even know what you feel towards him. You can’t exactly say you don’t still love him. Not honestly, at least. A part of you hates him, but not enough to make it true. Not enough to deny the relief that flooded you once you saw him in front of you that day, breathing, whole, alive.

It took every bit of strength in you not to react as he walked into view on the call with Shepherd. That same smirk on his face that never seemed to leave fully, but faltered a bit as his eyes landed on you. You, who stood seemingly emotionless, you who prayed he couldn’t see the tears forming in your eyes over the call.

You, who couldn’t take it anymore as he cracked the same kinds of jokes that used to make you laugh as he whispered them to you in the middle of the night, your head laying on his chest. Everybody noticed the way his smile dropped for a second as you stormed out of the hangar. Because despite his own ego, despite his constant need to please, the only approval he ever wanted was your own.

It’s the same reason now that he risks turning around to look at you, to see if any hint of approval, or even love still lingers in your eyes.

The same reason his heart shatters as he sees what he’s been dreading this whole time. Hatred, written all over your face as you stare him down. Of course, he’s oblivious to the war being waged inside you just to keep your expression still. To the way his eyes locking with yours still sends shivers running down your spine. Memories flooding back of his hands on your body, his eyes locked with yours as hushed, strained whispers fall from his mouth in between groans.

You don’t even think he realized he’d said it that night, too focused on the feeling you gave him to even notice the words he was saying. It wouldn’t be outlandish to think he hadn’t meant it. To think it just slipped out in the midst of his euphoria, triggered only by the high you were both so rapidly approaching.

Although, now that memories are all you’ll ever allow yourself to have of him, you like to believe he meant it. That deep down, those whispered words were true, unlike the ones you’ve been trying to convince yourself of.

“I love you.”

A/N: Sometimes I’m writing and it’s just like lalalala silly little angsty fanfic 😇✍️ and then all of a sudden this deep, grumbly little demon voice pops up out of nowhere, a single word accompanying it.

👹dick👹

digital footprint goes wild.

- di <3

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undefeated-attorney · 1 year

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Here's something interesting I would like to present to the court... But,

Before I go off, I would like to remind everyone what the magatama does.

3. It allows the user to see/read people's hearts.

2. It automatically reacts to people who have secrets within their hearts.

And 3. Allows its user to visualize(psyche-locks) how closely kept that secret is and how close they are to finding the truth(shown by the psyche-locks breaking)

There is just... One thing that bothers me.

When Pearl explains how to use the magatama, she says something that... Piques my interest.

"You must be careful, though, Mr. Nick. If you make a mistake, it will hurt you. If you don't think you have the proof you need, you must have the courage to stop."

When you present the wrong evidence, it takes one bar off your "health," and this lines of dialogue appear:

"Ouch?"

It seems like it actually hurt Phoenix, huh?

It's even more supported by what he says next:

Hurt.

What does "hurt" mean? Does it mean hurt physically? Mentally? Spiritually?

Here's what I personally think:

Whenever he makes a mistake, his heart gets hurt. In less cryptic words, mentally.

I mean, he is reading someone else's heart. It's only fair if his heart is vulnerable, too, right?

Of course, I have something that backs up my claim pretty nicely.

I would like to present this line of dialogue that you get if you fail enough times:

"Your soul will shatter?"

Shatter... I wish Pearls had gone into more detail about what that meant. That's bothering me quite a bit...

What I personally think the meaning of this is...

Well, the best way I can describe it is... An equivalent to dying.

To elaborate, I first need to present a few options of what a soul can mean/be. And it can be quite a few things, such as:

an immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life

a spiritual principle embodied in human beings

a person's "total self"

the moral and emotional/sentimental nature of human beings

I personally think, again, starting my sentence with "think" and "personally" because I have no evidence to support this claim—

Pearls refers to the "soul" as the embodiment of someone's emotions and morals.

When it shatters, that person loses all that made them. (A neat fic idea just came to me...)

That would make the most sense. To me, anyway.

Could you imagine? A lawyer trying to get a secret out from you and continuously failing to present evidence that supports his claims. Eventually, that man drops dead. His soul shattered.

I guess that raises the risk and stakes, but...

Sigh. I wish we get to see what a "soul shattering" looks/feels like, but alas, Pearls is always somehow there to stop that from happening. Even when she is not nearby.

It most definitely has to do with Phoenix's mental state and health. I think this statement Pearls just gave us proves it, yeah?

Y'know, I could also tie this into what I said earlier— about what the "soul" of a person means here— which is the emotions of said person.

I guess I do have evidence to support my claim.

He seems a little... Panicked? Frustrated here? He's probably leaning more towards frustration.

Well, in any case, afterward, the world fades away and returns to normal.

Going back in straight away starts Phoenix's health at its lowest, and failing again gets you the same dialogue... "Your soul will shatter."

I suppose he needs time to recover. After all, his... Heart? Soul? Sustained a lot of "damage."

...I wonder if "heart" and "soul" are the same thing?

Well, anyway, I wanted more evidence to build my case, so I looked into what Edgeworth says when he fails to break a psyche-lock.

But... It seems like the investigation led me to a dead end. Nothing Edgeworth says implies that he was in pain. Hurt when he presents the wrong evidence.

Failing too many times with Edgeworth gets you the same line shown above, just with a different name— "Mr. Edgeworth...If you push yourself any more, your soul will shatter...Please calm down, collect your thoughts, and try again..."

But a difference response to it. (Blast it...! I've made too many errors...!) However, I don't think I can make any connections with this...

I also looked into other times Phoenix has used the magatama, and again, came back with nothing able to help...

After coming back here with nothing further to add, I had even more questions than before.

Why does this particular line of dialogue stick out like a sore thumb? Did Phoenix just build a pain tolerance after that one? Was this detail forgotten or thrown away?

How does Pearl stop us from going any further? Specifically when she is not nearby... How is her voice still heard?

Are the "magatama sessions" forcefully canceled by her, or did Phoenix and Edgeworth back out on their own after hearing Pearl's words?

(I should note that it is undeniable that Pearls is speaking whenever Phoenix or Edgeworth fails too many times. I also have undeniable proof to back that up, too. "Mr. Nick." There is only one person who calls Phoenix that. Pearls. That is my proof.)

How did she know that Edgeworth had the magatama in his possession(and was currently using it) when Edgeworth had not told her? (Note: See Bridge To The Turnabout)

These are questions I have that I... Cannot answer. Unfortunately. If there are answers to this... I would like to know.

With that, I must end this analysis.

Man... I just don't have enough to go off of...

Oh, well. What do you guys think?

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czenzo · 1 year

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Consequences

[ao3]

summary: After Lucy wakes up one morning to find a dark red lovebite blooming on her neck, she frantically looks for a way to cover it up – and eventually drags Lockwood into helping, too. After all, he is the one who left it there.

words: 2335 rating: T

note: I fell SO in love with the netflix show then got so overwhelmed with lockwood content that writers block snuck up on me, but I have defeated it at last!! huzzah enjoy these kids being stupid and foolish and deeply in love

Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her eye bags were slightly less pronounced than usual, which was a nice change. Only a few spots dotted the skin of her face – a small one on her chin, one on the side of her nose – but they were fairly calm and bound to fade soon. If she squinted and covered one eye they almost passed as freckles.

Her lips were alarmingly chapped, thanks to the hours upon hours spent in freezing cold haunted locations with little to no motivation to bother moisturising them; Holly had picked up a habit of commenting on it, and every time, Lucy responded by peeling off a bit of the flaking skin. It was always effective in cutting the conversation short.

Her jawline was soft as usual, thanks to the round face and thicker-set build inherited from her mother, but she’d grown to not mind it so much. After all, her appearance was never a hindrance to her work, so it had never mattered.

Aside from the blooming dark red bruise on her neck.

That was sure to stir up some commotion.

“Talk about unprofessional,” was the first thing out of the skull’s mouth when she flipped its lever that morning. Still half-asleep and brain somewhat foggy, she hadn’t registered his words and simply opted to ignore them as she padded over to the bathroom. She’d been at 35 Portland Row for so long that her morning routine was all muscle memory: haul herself out of bed, drag her body a few feet across the room before stepping to the right to avoid that oddly squeaky floorboard, then to the left to miss that nail haphazardly sticking out, then enter her bathroom, shiver as her feet hit the cold tiled floor, and grimace as her eyes fall onto the bright red hickey on her reflection’s neck.

Hold on.

Shit.

A strange, strangled noise escaped the back of her throat. The skull must have heard it, because he let out a cackle and called out, “Don’t tell me you’ve only just realised. He must’ve been sucking on your neck like his life depended on it!”

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, trying to tune out the skull’s taunting. She lasted less than a minute before stomping back out of the bathroom and flicking the skull jar’s lever with more ferocity than she ever had, before returning to the mirror to stare slack-jawed at her neck some more.

Her makeup collection started and stopped with mascara, and she hadn’t the foggiest of where to even start finding a product to cover the hickey – no, lovebite – no, god, how she hated all of its names. If only it was a bit lower, she could’ve hidden it with a thick turtleneck, but she knew just from looking at it that it still would have peered out over the top.

She desperately rummaged through the back of her wardrobe anyway, and heaved a sigh of relief upon finding something that would cover the offensive red splotch for the short term.

By the time she finally emerged from her room and followed the smell of toast into the kitchen, most of Lockwood & Co. were already there, either busying themselves making breakfast or, in George’s case, already in the middle of scoffing it.

“Morning,” Lucy said as she entered, making a beeline for the kettle to make herself a hard-earned cuppa. Holly paused from slicing a healthy-looking thing (it might’ve been an avocado, but Lucy didn’t care enough to look closely at it) and stared at her.

“Are you a bit chilly, Luce?” George said, lowering the last slice of half-eaten toast back to his plate.

“Hm?” Lucy replied, scooping up some sugar.

“I mean – I’m glad you liked my Christmas present, but you’re aware it’s July, yeah?”

Lucy paused, hand halfway to the kettle’s handle. “We live in England.”

“Climate change renders that a poor defence, really. I swear every other week’s a heatwave.”

“What’s this about heatwaves?” Lockwood said as he entered, newspaper in one hand and a mug in the other.

“Lucy’s wearing a scarf in the middle of summer,” Holly oh-so-politely explained.

Lockwood’s gaze darted to the scarf in question.

Then to Lucy’s eyes. And very, very briefly – for such a small fraction of a second Lucy almost wondered if she’d imagined it – down to her lips.

Then back down to the scarf.

“An… interesting fashion choice,” he said slowly.

“Indeed,” Lucy replied matter-of-factly, finishing making her tea and taking a long, scalding sip.

The room was silent for a long, excruciating moment, until reality suddenly restarted and Holly resumed chopping, George resumed chomping, and Lockwood snapped himself out of his trance to turn on his heel and head towards his favourite armchair to catch up on the news.

Slowly but surely, the rest of them followed, migrating into the living room and making themselves at home on the sofas in wait of an informal morning briefing. Holly was fully dressed and ready to go for the day, but the rest of them still lounged in their pyjamas while lazily sipping their tea, not quite yet ready to begin their working day.

“Okay,” Lockwood said after skimming through the newspaper. “Our priority tonight is to close off that case with Mr McShane… Holly, if you could give him a ring and look into why on earth he decided to not show up and give us the keys so we could get to work last night, that would be great – I can trust you to make it sound polite and professional. Maybe we should consider some kind of no-show fee… it could help us recover faster from that recent bulk order from Sunrise. Or is that too harsh? I don’t know. Something to think about later.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy spotted Holly jotting it down on a notebook she’d seemingly produced out of thin air. Lockwood continued his briefing; a client was due later that afternoon, George was to get a head start on the background research, and Lucy was to join him to visit a different client at their home in a couple of hours.

“We’re a bit busier than usual,” George mused from his deep, sunken-in spot on the couch.

“That McShane fellow knocked us off our schedule. We have a bit of catching up to do, but it’s doable.”

“I suppose we’d better get started then,” Holly said, closing her notebook. Lockwood solemnly nodded. Still, it was another fifteen minutes until they were all able to haul themselves back onto their feet, and another twenty for everyone to get dressed and make themselves look presentable.

Lucy spent most of that time checking her mirror. Each time she moved to look into it, part of her hoped and prayed the mark would have somehow magically begun to fade, though deep down she knew she was only setting herself up for disappointment.

The scarf was itchy and garish; realistically, she knew it couldn’t stay, but her limited wardrobe left her with – well, not a single other option.

She’d pulled on a jumper, skirt, and tights by the time there came a soft knocking at her door. In the seconds that followed came an intense internal debate as to whether the scarf was to stay on, or if she could get away with only facing whoever it was at a specific angle.

A voice softly called from the other side. “Luce?”

Lockwood.

The scarf was promptly thrown across the room. Lucy opened the door, and before she could even give him a scalding look, the sheepish grimace on his face said he knew what was going on already. Slowly, quietly, he shuffled inside, and took his time in closing the door behind him.

“So…” he said, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “No more scarf?”

“I don’t know what to do, Lockwood. You did this, you should be paying the consequences – not me!”

He followed the sharp point of her finger, and the second his eyes fell on the deep red blotch on her neck he let out a whistle, long and slow. “It’s starting to go purple.”

“Thank you for that observation.”

“Perhaps Holly has–”

“I’m not letting Holly catch wind of this,” Lucy sighed. “Besides, our skin tones don’t match in the slightest. Her makeup would make it more obvious.”

“Oh– er, yeah. That’s true. What about–”

“Don’t even think about suggesting asking George. He’d never let us forget about this.”

Lockwood’s gaze drifted across the room and onto where the scarf had fallen, draped half on the bed, half on the floor. “Scarf it is, then.”

Lucy looked at the scarf witheringly. Before she could turn back around to face Lockwood, she felt a pair of hands settle gently at her waist.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her ear. “I got carried away, I didn’t think it through. It won’t happen again.”

Lucy sighed and replied with as much nonchalance as she could muster, “I never said I wanted that.”

“Hm?”

“It can happen again,” she said slowly, “as long as I have a reasonable way of covering the aftermath.”

“Oh,” Lockwood said. And then, a few moments later, “Oh.”

He backed away, his hands left her waist, and before Lucy could register the loss of his warm breath against the shell of her ear, he’d gone, leaving the door to swing shut behind him.

Lucy frowned. She turned to the skull jar, wondering why he hadn’t been incessantly ridiculing her throughout the whole fiasco, until she remembered she’d flicked its lever in a fit of rage earlier that morning. It was probably for the best that it stayed that way for the time being.

“Okay,” Lockwood said as he backed into the room, turning to reveal his arms full of medical supplies – plasters of varying shades, bandages, cleaning alcohol, the same supplies he’d uncovered after she’d slashed her wrist at Kensal Green – which he unceremoniously dumped onto her unmade bed. “We’ll just make it look like a minor injury. We were practising rapier techniques and I accidentally nicked your neck with my blade. That sounds reasonable, right?”

She sat on the edge of her bed, watching him rummage through the small pile. “I’d never let you nick my neck.”

“Well, you certainly let me do something else to it.”

For that, he received a swift whack to the back of his head. “Shut up and sort out my rapier wound.”

Lockwood tucked her hair behind her ear, gave one last dramatic wince at the mark on her neck, then fell quiet with concentration as he carefully placed a plaster over it. He took far longer than was necessary, but Lucy found she couldn’t complain. It tickled as he smoothed out the adhesive with his fingertips, and once he was satisfied with his work, his hands glided up to tenderly cup the sides of her face.

“Thank you,” Lucy murmured, feeling a smile creep onto her lips.

“Told you. I’m a fully qualified doctor. No wound is too much for me to handle.”

“Codswallop,” she scoffed. “This one scared you.”

He smirked, amused. “Only very briefly, before my fantastic intellect kicked in.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Maybe,” Lucy said, lips no more than an inch away from his. The air between them was warm and smelt faintly of Lockwood’s cologne. “Maybe I do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Shut up,” she said breathlessly, closing the gap between them. The pile of plasters and bandages were left forgotten beside them as they became wrapped up in one another, hands roaming and mouths gasping for air between kisses. Lucy was sure they could have stayed there for hours if it weren’t for George shouting from downstairs.

“Lockwood!” his muffled voice called.

Lockwood took a moment to catch his breath. His forehead still pressed against Lucy’s as he called back, “What?”

“Can you come here? I need to check something with you before I head to the archives!”

“Is it urgent?”

“Er–” George paused. “It pertains to ghosts, which can be pretty fucking lethal, so, yes!”

“Be there in a tick,” Lockwood replied. It took considerable effort to untangle himself from Lucy and, once he’d hauled himself off the bed and onto his feet, to then smooth out the creases that now tarnished his outfit.

George shouted up to them one last time, “Bring Lucy, too!”

***

It hadn’t been that urgent. Just a minor query from an unremarkable case that he wanted to clear up before leaving because, well – he was George. And George found joy in leaving no question unanswered, no stone unturned.

Next to a bad drawing of a Rawbones, he’d jotted down a to-do list for himself on the thinking cloth. He contemplated his scribblings for the millionth time, and then peered up at Lucy over the rim of his glasses. “No more scarf, then?”

“No.”

“Shame. You were about to kick off a new fashion trend.”

Holly entered the kitchen. She’d been busy cleaning the living room, if the three apple cores she held at arm's length before throwing in the bin were anything to go by. “I thought it looked quite quaint.”

Lucy gave her a look. “You don’t need to lie, Hol.”

Lockwood rested a hand on her shoulder and lit up the room with his grin. “Lucy was only hesitant to admit I bested her during our rapier practice last night. I do feel quite bad for catching her neck with my blade, though.”

Holly and George exchanged looks, and for an uncomfortably quiet moment, Lucy feared they’d seen right through the cover story.

“Don’t feel bad,” George eventually said. “She’d be ecstatic if she managed to do that to you.”

Holly nodded in agreement, and Lockwood turned to Lucy with an almost wounded look. “Would you?”

“Of course. Better watch your back the next time we practice. Might get my revenge.”

end note: now with a Revenge sequel!

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co fic #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #locklyle #czenzo.fic

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spvencersreid · 7 months

Text

(Fem!reader x Spencer Reid)

~Cause all of the small things that you do, are what remind me why I fell for you.~

You never truly knew what hit you when you fell hard for a fellow agent named Spencer Reid. Maybe it was the way that he would always brighten a room whenever he walked into it or how he treated you better than any other man every had but you know one thing; you were pretty sure you were absolutely in love with him.

And that's exactly why you couldn't ever tell him so. You were terrified of rejection. You didn't exactly have the best history when it came to dating, not that it was particularly long to begin with. But you couldn't get him out of your mind so you just decided that dating any other guy wasn't your thing because you had your eyes only set on him.

Whether or not he felt the same was the most psychologically draining thing you'd ever put your self through. The constant what ifs were honestly almost too much to handle. You had worked with him for just under six months now and he was the only distraction that kept effecting your work habits and your coworkers were definitely starting to notice. Although they actually picked up on your stomach twisting crush on him well before you knew and the initial denial hit. But unlike you, Spencer was clueless and went on his days as per usual. Which if you were being completely honest was slowly killing you inside.

So you decided you could do one of two things; you could either slowly distance yourself in hopes that your feelings would magically go away, or you could somehow muster up the courage to confess to him and face the inevitable rejection that was to shortly come afterwards. But one of these two outcomes had to happen because he was like a bacteria infection taking over your brain. Whenever you would want to go to sleep you would only be able to fall asleep to yourself making up scenerios about you and him together, which in your mind would never happen because he couldn't possibly feel the same way about you.

~And when we're apart, and I'm missing you, I close my eyes and all I see is you.~

The main issue in regarding to talking to him was that you had quite literally rarely ever talked to him outside of necessarily talking to him when it came to case styles or sitting around the round table and discussing the current case. But whenever he did speak to you you could only describe it as pure ecstasy anytime he would ever speak to you or in your general direction and you would have to physically resist all urges from turning as red as a tomato. But you had to force yourself to talk to him because mentally you couldn't handle it anymore. At this point where you were he was taking over every part,every hour, every minute, every second of your day. And although you didn't mind it hurt you inside knowing that he possibly couldn't think about you the same way as you were.

As you were getting off of the bau's private jet you decided that it was now or never. It was time to tell him because after you got home you had all of the weekend to go through the five stages of grief. That would give you the time to handle the rejection he's so inevitably would give you because you could never believe that you ever going to be loved or love someone else the way that you loved him. So you grabbed your things and put them on your desk and just as you looked up he was starting to leave the office and so it took everything in you to finally say:

"Hey Dr.Reid?"

He quickly turned around surprised that you were calling after him

"[Y/N] I will kindly remind you once again that just like the rest of the team you are welcome to call me by my first name."

You slightly chuckled at his response. Savouring the final moments of sweet bliss.

"Okay.. Spencer. Can I quickly talk with you about something? I promise it won't take long."

A slight flash of worry flashed on his face which quickly faded.

"Yeah for sure, what would you like to talk about?"

"He is so nice, this is going to hurt" You thought to yourself. Then you just flat out said it.

"I need to talk to you about... us."

A look of confusion appeared on his face as his took a couple of steps towards you.

"Umm..what about us would you like to talk about? Did I do something?"

Well there was definitely no option to change the subject now so with a deep breath you took the risk.

"No, you did nothing wrong! I just wanted to let you know that I.. I have very strong feelings for you and I needed to tell you because I couldn't go on any longer without you knowing. I think about you 24/7 which is exhausting not knowing if you feel the same way. Which you probably don't, so we can just pretend that this never happened. You have a good weekend."

After saying those words aloud you sped walked past Spencer and the door as fast as your feet could take you without it looking as if you were running from him. You didn't even wait to see the expression on his face before you started walking away. You just couldn't handle the negative reaction you were honestly expecting. You were just about to push the button on the elevator when you felt a hand on your wrist lightly tug you from behind. You slowly turned around and was faced with those brown eyes you could get lost in. He was looking at you in a way you've never seen before.

"Did you mean all of that?"

"I mean yeah, why would I lie about something like that.."

"Why'd you walk away?"

"I wanted to have time to grief when you inevitably reject me, guess I just wanted a head start."

"I'm confused.."

"Why?"

"I..I never knew you felt that way about..me."

"Really? The team said that I was being pretty obvious."

"Well I am not one for picking up on romantic social cues."

You let out a light laugh. You thought to yourself why he was dragging out rejecting you.

"Well now you know, and I'm think I'm ready now."

"Ready for what?"

"You rejecting me and admitting that you in fact do not feel the same way..."

"[Y/N] I care deeply for you. And if I knew that you liked me I would of told you that I had felt the same way sooner. Although I didn't picture it like this."

What?

No way.

God I hope he's not lying.

"Wait what? You liked me? How could you ever like me?"

"I mean [Y/N] how could I not? I mean your the most interesting person on the planet. I never stop thinking about you. You always look amazing, your outfits are.. admittedly kinda distracting at times, and your smile always makes my day."

He is lightly blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. You are standing there mouth agape trying to process not getting rejected like you had so carefully planned.

"What would ever possibly make you think that I ever would reject you?"

"Well I dunno guys don't really ever like me like that, I'm sorta the funny side character kinda person. I'm just not appealing romantically."

Spencer lightly gasps at the last sentence.

"I've been head over heals for you since you first walked through these doors

[Y/N], I thought if anything I was being obvious about how I felt."

You just stand there stunned, the man you've loved for six months feel the same way. And you were not prepared for it.

"So..you feel the same way?"

"Of course I do."

"So...where exactly do we go from here?"

"Well I would love to take you out on a date, if that's okay with you."

You nodded in response.

"Nice I just have two more questions and then I should really get going, my bed is calling me."

"Okay what are your questions Spencer?"

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

You didn't even hesitate.

"Yes, I would love nothing more! And your other question?"

He's looking down at the floor, then back up at your lips, then back up into your eyes.

"Can I.. Can I kiss you?"

Without saying anything you went up to him and gently places your lips on his, feeling sweet relief. He froze slightly at first but quickly softly kisses you back.

This was it, the start of your new relationship with hopefully the love of your life. And you couldn't wait to see where it would take you.

~I fell in love with those eyes.~

______________________________________

Word count: 1,550

Ahh my first one shot in this book!

I really hope you guys like it!

Please vote and leave a comment!

And I might take requests so leave some down if you would like!

Take care,

- M

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds watch through #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spvencersreid #criminal minds #Spotify

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iznsfw · 1 year

Note

People say that everyone is connected by a red string of fate. The people we are destined to be with could be close by while some cases the string stretches out.

You have the ability to see other people's red string as well as your own, but in your case you haven't found the person at the end of the string. Time passes and you see that the color red started to fade away, which you didn't mind.

One day while you're working the late night shift at the convenience store when a girl suddenly entered the convenience store. When she reaches the counter she places two bottles of soju and a couple cans of beer. You catch a glimpse of her face, even in that small period of time you saw how beautiful she is. She then hands you her card, and right then and there the two ends of the string meet.

"Sorry, but can I ask what's your name?"

"Kwon Eunbi."

Now, how would you tell Eunbi that both of you are bound to fall in love at the cost of one of your lives?

i'm looking right at the other half of me

[ IZ*ONE's Eunbi x Male Reader Fluff & Angst ]

4540 words

masterlist

This took so long... and finally it's out! Thank you @brokennightmares01 for such a great idea, and I'm sorry I took so long to reply </3 This was difficult emotionally to write. I guess I'm just too attached to Eunbi lmfao

"The fuck are you looking at, cunt?"

Ah, welcome to South Korea, one of the many places in this miserable world where you can just be an adult fresh out of teen years trying to make a living, yet still be bothered by people like this one. You never should have agreed to this ridiculous night shift. There were less of these freaks in the daylight.

You look away from the musty man and give no response. It's how you deal with ninety-eight percent of these situations. It's the safest way to go around it, but also the most dangerous. You never know when you looked or said nothing the wrong way.

11 PM on the clock. Just five more hours to go and you're good, you reassure yourself. Remember, the pay will be much bigger if you go through this shift.

"That'll be a total of 17000 won, sir," you inform the man, looking nowhere but down. Down as you collect the change and the receipt. Down as you pass the money to his hands blackened from dirt and grease.

When he leaves, you feel the relief come back to you. Oh, you're thankful just to live another night. You may hate this world and all the miserable little fuckers in it, but it's no good lying and saying you thought death was the best escape route. No, death would do nothing at best. You have no family, you have little friends. Being dead changes absolutely nothing. Because of that, you just have to hang on the best you can.

It can be pretty hard sometimes.

You hope that there won't be any more customers. You don't have the mood to deal with more rude individuals who don't see you as an individual. You're just a servant to them. Although that's kind of your job, it hurts to see how differently people look at you if you had a different job, looked a little differently.

The bells to the 7-11 ring. A woman enters.

Strange how you knew it was her from the moment she entered. From the moment you caught an eyeful of her pretty face, her pretty smile, you know now that you've finally met her.

It's ruining you. She's ruining you. It should have been a moment of evangelization, finally meeting the supposed love of your life. But what good is there in having one when you know just by looking at the red string, that you could die at the climax of your meeting? That she could die? It's like an indie film with a poor plot twist.

When you ask her her name, she's blunt. Straight to the point; no poorly composed giggle or attempt at conversation. She looks tired—her eyes are swollen with red, from what you guess isn't sourced from just lack of sleep. What was she doing, you wonder, during all the time she hasn't found you? How was she doing?

"Well?" she prompts, rather impatiently.

You realize you've been staring at the red thinning thread between the two of you for too long. The more you gaze at it, the more fear you feel for the two of you. But there comes the love, too; she's like living deja vu. You've seen her before, you're sure. You just can't place where. But she reminds you of a good memory nested in a photo album, a sweet puppy love crush in middle school years. Eunbi is nostalgia, sweetness, affectionateness—all rolled into one pretty girl you meet by chance, who also happens to be your lover.

(Not yet, anyway, but soon.

Soon? You can't love her! If you fall in love with her, she could die. You could die. If you went ahead with this, one of you could just drop dead during a normal date. One of you would be left alone, heartbroken for life. This is a world where there would be no other one for you. No, the crush you had in middle school for whom you tried desperately to match your string with isn't your destiny. Neither was that one-night stand. There's only one for you, molded by whatever came before the world, and she just told you her name. You can't just move on to a rebound.

But you can't just... stop this from happening, can you? It's fate; there's no easy way around it. You're made to fall in love no matter what happens, no matter how short the time you have left is.

So, what should you do?)

"It's on the house," you tell her.

"Don't test me, please," she says tiredly. She's supporting herself by one arm perched on the counter, gazing at you with unamused pupils. "I've had a long night. I just need the beer and you can go your merry little way out of this underpaying convenience store."

Ouch. "Are you usually this straightforward, Kwon Eunbi?"

"Are you usually this desperate for a good fuck?" she counters smartly.

"Y-you're pretty and all," you admit. You have to admit you were not exactly just admiring her gorgeous face, but also her gorgeous body. But you have your morals, and she has hers. You have no intention that strays from wanting to settle this out. "But I don't want to fuck you. I promise."

"Huh." Eunbi smiles, crossing her arms on top of her green sweatshirt. "That's a first."

You push back her credit card, sliding it above the smooth cashier counter-table. "Do guys not, like, do stuff for you without wanting a 'favor' in return?" you ask.

Eunbi shrugs. "I guess. They just think I'm a pretty face with a pair of tits. Nothing more." She slides back her card. Her forced, sarcastic smile warns you to not play this losing game with her—you're tired, she's tired, you both want an easy way out.

"Well then let me be the first."

"And why would you do that for me," Eunbi leans over the counter, looking up at you with a sweetly challenging smile, "mister Nice Guy?"

She's right. What proper answer can you give her without sounding like a creep? What were you supposed to do, anyway? Tell her you're the love of your life who needs to spend all hours of the day with you now before it's too late?

"I guess we'll have to find out," you say steadily.

It's definitely not an answer she expected, but hey, she's smiling. It must mean something.

"You left your shift just like that?" Eunbi asks, looking back at the 7-11. It's a dark, pitch-black night, and the forest surrounding the area doesn't look too safe. You've ventured in scarier places before, though, so they can give as good as they can, and you'd be unbothered. Working in retail gives you that immunity.

You answer, "Yeah." Unscrew the cork from the soju while Eunbi pops open a can of sizzling beer. The smell mixes in with the natural scent of leaves and ground. Your 7-11 is set in a rather rural part of the city, as ironic and contradicting as it sounds, so the smell of gasoline and smoke is much more distant than one would think.

"Wish I could say that for myself," Eunbi says, shaking her head with a smile. God, she's pretty. She has the cutest, most mischievous-looking smile in the world. And yes, you're pushing through Korea and setting that record for her. Her smile is contained and small, not as wide as your friend Jiwoo's or as timid as Hyewon's, but her eyes slant upwards, adding to the cuteness factor. "Should have ditched that exam the second I saw Professor Bae was in the class."

"You're still in school?"

You can't remember the last time you stepped foot into a college. There's a reason you've been working at 7-11 ever since the first semester: you couldn't pay for it. You saved every penny and dime you could find, yet never got to the needed amount. This girl's lucky to even be attending classes.

Beer drapes Eunbi's plump lower lip as she takes it all in, bottoms up. You can tell she's been drinking for most of her life—she barely struggles for air while she downs the intoxicating liquid.

The can goes down, and her head remains tilted downwards from the back as well. Her eyes are a different story, though. They're hidden far back her eyelids. " Fuck, that always feels so good," sighs Eunbi.

"Careful," you add helpfully.

"Fuck you. Why do you care?"

Because I already love you. Okay, let's settle for "like," just in case you want to take things slow. But I know I love you because I've been searching for you my whole life. Because that's how it's supposed to happen. Because you're so pretty but so fucking lonely that it makes me want to protect you. Because I don't want to leave you when we both need each other, when you probably need more help than I do. Because—

"I don't know," you say. Shrug. "It feels right. Don't you think?"

Eunbi giggles a little. "Yeah, you're right. It sure does."

Suppose since Eunbi's drinking straight from the can, you can drink straight from the bottle. It's been a minute or more since you had soju. And it's... good. Weird, but still good. Drinks like these are on your neither-good-or-bad side. They're just something to fill your stomach when food becomes scarce, or when strength is so scarce you can't eat food around the house.

You would offer some to Eunbi so she can finish it instead of you, but she doesn't look like the type of girl to be able to stomach down a mix of liquids, no matter how "similar" they are. So you hold yourself back.

The forest has streetlights, so you safely go through there. It's not a typical wilderness kind of forest, but one you just like to call as one for the mass of trees. There aren't any animals—just you, Eunbi, and the pregnant moon.

Minutes pass filled with nothing but silence (except for twigs snapping), and finally Eunbi speaks up. "Yeah, I'm in school," she answers. It's probably just to fill the awkward silence, but it's already a step.

"Uni?"

"How'd you know?"

Lucky guess? Lover's instinct? You-or-me-can-die-at-any-given-second-if-we-fall-in-love instinct?

You force a grin. "Just do. Is the drinking because of the exam thing?"

Eunbi's shoulders slump. "Yeah," she says. "But I've been drinking even before that, so don't you worry. I'm an experienced alcoholic."

"Gotcha. I wasn't planning to, though."

Wrong words. Wrong delivery. You picture the frown that would darken her features, but once you look into the bigger picture, all you can see on her face is an entertained smile.

She bumps you, driving you sideways of the road. Shocked, you do the same. But she's stronger than you thought. If she put all her might into it, she can knock you down and send you rolling down the hill. And she almost, almost does, if it weren't for your grab at her arm. From there, you maneuver the force she exerts into nothing but air, pulling her to you. It ends up with her back against your front and her small face right below your chin.

And now, you're staring each other down. Great. Way to go for the first meeting. You got drunk and bumped into each other on purpose then you wrestled her to stay calm. To finish it off, there's this staring contest.

Her long dark hair rounds her face, which displays a challenge: keep your front strong. But it's not easy to when you literally have the prettiest girl you've ever seen pinned to your chest, with her back and bum pressed firmly to your front, and her pretty face looking arrogant and smug in the moonlight.

Stare her down. She looks deeply into your eyes.

One. Two. Three? Four. Then, five—

Eunbi's blink signals defeat. Still looking up at you, with her head tilted backwards, she smiles. "I like you, mister Nice Guy," she says.

"You're not so bad yourself, Kwon Eunbi."

"Hm," she chuckles. She pulls away. "What's next?"

"Mall?" you offer.

To your surprise, she laughs. "The mall? At this hour?" she asks you, just to make sure you aren't kidding or anything.

"Why not? We're both depressed kids trying to survive. Can't we call this a cheat day?"

Eunbi considers this. "As long as I ride shotgun."

"Wait," you say, holding up your hands, "how'd you know I drive a—"

Cold metal meets your palm. Eunbi's holding your ring of keys in place with your hand. Your fingers are curled around each other. Your breath feels nonexistent.

Eunbi bumps the signal button with the heel of her wrist and looks deep into the woods expectantly. Your car then beeps to life, sending a red signal to the darkness and blaring its lights. Your mouth is sore from it being wide open the entire time.

"Lucky guess" is all Eunbi is able to offer as an answer.

Okay, so the love of your life pickpocketed your car keys and you didn't know until she chose to tell you herself. Wifey material? Probably.

You're on the road, veering through a clear path on the way to your local mall. It's known for having a twenty-four-hour open time, so it's sure to have a majority of its stores open, even at this hour. You can probably spend a lot of time there doing fun stuff.

Eunbi's beside you in the passenger seat. The wind whips her black hair back. She's smiling; that gives you a bit of fulfilment. But then she says:

"You're a terrible driver."

"Oh yeah? I bet you can't drive for shit either!" You have to yell over the gusts of wind entering your rolled-down windows.

Grasslands and trees say hello and goodbye to your side point of view. When you were younger, you tried to say hi to them and goodbye as quickly as you could, knowing the speed of the car your father drove would make it impossible for you to have a proper time with the view. Your dad drank and drove like a maniac, hence your driving.

But you aim not to become the person your father once was.

"Okay, dad!"

Great timing. "I'm not your daddy, Eunbi!" you shoot back. "I'm just saying—"

"Nobody said you were! I said you were my dad! "

"What?"

"Nothing!" Eunbi tosses the empty can outside the window. The world is already polluted as it is. There won't be any harm in littering. "I said you were a shit driver!"

"No, I heard you!" Take a left. The soju bottles almost crash. " Dad and daddy are completely different things, Eunbi!"

"For your porn-addicted self, maybe!"

"I'm... I'm not addicted to porn!" you say indignantly. You've watched some before, but it never grew to an addiction. It's just an occasional source of dopamine on lonely nights. "Just... watch your wording, is all!"

Eunbi scoffs, smirking in disbelief. "Daddy issues?"

The car slows down, but you aren't even near the mall yet. Your shoulders tense. The mention of your father, or anything related to that, makes you feel ill.

Every day that passes, you try to convince yourself that your father only wanted the best for you. That was why he was like that. But you can't come up with a fitting justification, which probably should have made clear to you your father's heart wasn't pure at all.

What's left of it lies in a small urn back at your apartment. You didn't know why you bothered taking home an urn containing the memories of the man who hurt you, who did not look at you as if you were his own flesh and blood.

"Yeah, I think so," you mutter. You start up the car's pace again. No use trying to cover it up; the red is already fading.

Eunbi smiles tightly. "Same here. More on mommy issues, but dad... he was something else."

Laugh a little. "Tell me about it, huh?"

In a fucked up way, you and Eunbi are meant to be. Both of you are tired, both of you have (or had) horrible parents. They say that opposites attract, but love and fate can easily shoot that misconception down, because when you look at Eunbi, you can see your reflection, your self, looking back at you. The swollen eyes, tired face... they all scream you. You wonder if she knows that the two of you are bound to be together. And if she has no idea, how would you tell her?

You get off the car at the local mall. It's a lonely Friday night. Nobody is out here except the store owners and the like. Nothing and no one else.

You walk in, still in your 7-11 uniform: a white polo shirt and a green vest, complete with your name on a golden tag, and Eunbi in her green 1987 sweatshirt.

"Baskin Robbins?" you offer, spotting an ice cream stand just as you enter the building.

"I'd rather get some Sprite," says Eunbi. "But go ahead."

You purchase a birthday cake ice cream in a cup, pay the owner, and sit with Eunbi at one of the tables in front of it. She had bought her Sprite already. She's downing it like water, just like she did to the beer. The owner looks on with obvious concern.

"Are you a sodaholic or what?" you chuckle. You've never seen someone buy so many soda cans.

"It's better than continuing being a miserable drunkard," Eunbi explains. There's a cut on her lip from the sharp metal rim of the can, but if it bothers her, she doesn't show it.

Eunbi leans forward and licks her lower lip. "So."

That can't be a good sign. She looks suspicious. But you pretend that you're not anxious yourself about what would follow this conversation.

"What?"

"What's your deal?" she asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't just buy me drinks on the house without a motive. What's going on here?"

She's smart, you'll give her that. But you have no doubt about her intelligence, although you've only met her an hour ago. There's the folks' tale going around that you know how and who your soulmate is, even if you've never met them before. Maybe the grandmas and grandpas were right.

But the death of the soulmate if they haven't met earlier was not just a mere myth. You've read cases about it. Lost a friend's friend's sister's friend to it. The string isn't exactly strong enough to hold for eternity.

But how can you tell her that? She might not even notice; her end of the string looks strong still, but the rest that connects you to her is already fatally weak. If you're apart for more time, it wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Because you look like you needed it," you say. That's the half of it anyway. "Everyone needs a helping hand sometimes."

Eunbi quirks a brow. "Nothing else?"

Bite your tongue and shake your head.

Eunbi juts out a bottom lip thoughtfully. "Huh." It hasn't occurred to her that it's possible for men to be like that with her. They go feral for her in the classrooms. It's nice to have someone who didn't want to do a nice gesture for her without her body playing a role in that for a change.

"You wanna know something, mister Nice Guy?" asks Eunbi.

"Enlighten me."

"That's the first time I ever felt safe with a guy at night. And yeah, I know about all that BS: 'not all men are the same.' But it's..." She squints emphatically. "Relieving, you know? You don't look like a pervert, you don't look like a fed. You don't look like you'd stuff my body down an acid pond. I feel safe with you."

"That's really flattering, Kwon Eunbi. Thank you."

"No problem," she says kindly. Her smile is a genuine bright lamp that fills the nighttime mall. She gestures to your cup of birthday cake ice cream. "Can I have some?"

And that's where it all began: a 7-11, a broken-down car, and a talk over ice cream and soda. That's how you made Kwon Eunbi yours.

Fast forward to a two years and five months. You're still working at a 7-11, a thing you wished would have changed. You still meet up with Eunbi, but this time, it's about something more.

The door bells jingle. She comes leaping in with dance in her skips. "Hey, hotshot," Eunbi greets you in the most unorthodox boyfriend-girlfriend manner.

Chuckle. The strings meet again. But this time, you don't worry about it. You have been with Eunbi for this long. Nothing can take her away from you. The string may be thinning by the day, but the two of you and wake up in the same bed everyday, and it seems like you've beaten all the odds. You're okay. She's fine. All is well.

Eunbi's kiss makes your cheek flush, as if the red on her lips infected the area. "Hi there yourself, Eun," you say. Yep, you're on a nickname-basis with each other. It grew after months and months of playful loving.

"I was thinking we go to the Han River tonight?" asks Eunbi hopefully. Her hands push down on the hard counter while she raises a lower leg to the back cutely. "Just you and me?"

"Why not?" You brush a kiss on her forehead. "After I finish this hour, we can go."

Eunbi smiles. "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course. I love you, too."

Looking back, you should have said that more. You really should have if you knew how the world loved to toy with you. It has to at least be expected, but you trust that everything would go well. It's been a long time since the string of red bothered you; why would you stress over it now?

Because of this:

One day, you'll die. You'll die alone. Whether from the fate of the string or natural cause, the only sure thing that will happen to you is death. One day, you'll have to leave her alone. If it's not you, then she will have to leave you.

But you forgot all about that. Right now, you've brought your mic and laptop to the side of the river, and you're both singing your hearts out.

Well, she is. Eunbi is an amazing singer. You found out about that when she volunteered to sing at the bar. She sang a self-composed song she sold to Woollim Entertainment, one of the leading mid-sized companies in Korea: Amigo.

"You seriously don't know how this song goes?" asks an offended Eunbi, glaring at you when you blank out halfway through the tune. "I thought you loved me!"

"Shut up and do the rap part!"

"I'm not Babysoul, you little shit!" Eunbi says, panickedly looking at the upcoming lyrics of the rap break. Rapping is not her forte.

"But you are my baby," you point out. "Now go do it, baby. Rap for me."

Eunbi cringes. However, she's laughing. "You're so ridiculo—"

Her words never find their way out.

Eunbi starts to choke. You immediately go over to her, trying to keep her steady. But she's already fallen to the ground, unable to get up. Her eyes look straight to the empty, dark blue sky, but never at your face floating above hers.

"B-baby—" she chokes out. Coughs and gags squeeze their way out from her chest. "I can't, I can't, I can't—"

"Did you swallow something, hon?" You're stuck. You don't know what to do. "Look at me, look at me, Eunbi. Please."

You hold her face in your hands and lift it up. But then you see the string that once connected the red thread from you to her. Your lifeline. It's snapped; blunt yarn-like strands disconnect your thread from hers. It can never be tied up again.

No.

Eunbi hasn't choked on anything. She's simply dying, just like how the fate of the string has foretold. It's her time to leave. You were let go, while she's taken in your place.

Somehow, she knows that, too. "I want to live," Eunbi confesses. Her eyes are two dark oceans of sadness. "Please, baby, I can't die yet. I want you here with me. Please."

You shake your head. "You're not going to die, Eunbi," you lie through your teeth. You lift up her black hair to your thigh so she can breathe properly. "I'll call the doctors, you want that? Just hold on for me, please."

"No, don't go!" sobs Eunbi, grabbing your thigh. She's crying loudly. She climbs onto your lap and hugs you with her shaking frame. She suddenly feels worryingly thin and light. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please don't leave me."

"You're going to make me cry, pretty girl," you sob. "I can't call for help if you don't let me go."

"Please, please stay with me. I don't want to die. But everything..." Eunbi blinks twice. "Everything is so dark. I'm so alone."

That strikes a chord in you. Eunbi has talked and joked about death plenty of times, but now that she's on the brink of it, she doesn't want to give in. She can't give in.

You pull her closer and hug her hard. You begin to rock her like a doll as she grows more limp in your arms. "You're not alone. You have me, remember? I'm here. I'm going to take care of you. Remember when we first met, baby? You do? We went to that mall, right, and ate ice cream? You want to do that again?"

"Oh... oh yes, please," whispers Eunbi, nodding. But she's still not looking at you. Aside from that, her voice is incredibly weak. Her shoulders indicate the effort it takes for her to speak.

"Then you have to fight for me, Eunbi. You have to stay strong. You have to let me go so I can call someone who can help and we can do that."

She starts whimpering. "Why is this happening?" she sobs. "I just want to be okay. Why is it... why is it..."

Why is it like this?

Why does it have to be like this?

You don't tell her. Not at her last moment. On her last seconds left, you cradle and kiss her. You tell her of all the things she does and is that make you smile, of the funny moments the two of you shared in this lifetime. You tell her that if there is a next life, you'll be there with her. It wouldn't matter if you were a worm and she was the bird; you'll find a way to make it work. And oh, Eunbi, I love you so, you tell her, from the moment I first saw you. From the moment you sassed and insulted me, I knew we were meant to be. You're forever mine.

But you're wrong. The breath leaves her lips. Her soul has left. She's in another world now, where she's no longer yours.

It's over.

#ask #brokennightmares01 #kwon eunbi #eunbi #kwon eunbi angst #eunbi angst #kwon eunbi fluff #eunbi fluff #izone fluff #izone #izone fanfiction #izone eunbi fluff #izone eunbi angst #prompt

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wist-eri · 6 months

Text

an entire blog post dedicated to Haru Allegro, her forte, and her dynamics with the rest of the NDA cast

will contain implied spoilers for the main game. hopefully nothing that’s too spoiler-y though, so read at your own risk i guess??

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how Haru’s forte works:

as i’ve disclosed before, Haru’s forte is soundproofing. meaning, she can select a space and configure it so:

anyone outside of that space would not be able to hear anything within that space, or:

anyone inside of that space would not be able to hear anything outside that space

or both.

in visuals, it looks like a faint, glowing line that either hovers around the space where her forte is activated, or makes a line around the interior of a room where her forte is activated. depends on what space she uses.

the line vanishes after a few seconds. when deactivating, it reappears again only to “break away” and fade out.

other than that, it’s pretty straightforward.

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Haru doesn’t have many opportunities to use her forte in an investigation setting; technically, she could use it for stealth or for eavesdropping, but those are for very rare cases.

which actually leads me into my next point: her main job is freelance arbitration. she really only takes cases if the WDO assigns them to her. though, with the assistance of her forte and her general expertise in negotiation, she’s very talented at her job and has gained a lot of recognition within the field.

not only that, if she’s genuinely investigating a case, she can sometimes take advantage of her connections to gather more information.

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alright, now that i have that set aside, here’s her dynamic with each individual member of the NDA:

Yuma Kokohead - they’re on good terms with each other, and are always willing to [talk to / exchange information with] each other on a daily basis. Haru finds herself surprised by Yuma a couple of times, both with his amount of intelligence and how often he gets into trouble. like, how.

while Yakou tells Yuma the most about Amaterasu Corporation, Haru is the one that provides the most information / background context about the WDO. interestingly enough, she seems to know more about the inner workings of the organization than the average member—for example, the process for scouting other detectives, the examinations during the training period, and much more.

though for some reason, Haru has never disclosed any information about her personal experience with the WDO—especially how she got recruited. but that should be the least of our worries, we have Kanai Ward’s greatest mystery to solve!

fun fact: Haru has tried to assist Yuma with his (disastrous) cooking once. But after realizing the only thing she could really help with was telling him when a shrimp was perfectly cooked, she decided to not get into that territory again. it’s not even like she likes shrimp that much; why is it the only thing she can work with, though? some sort of curse? (/j)

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Fubuki Clockford: at first, Haru was a little worried since Fubuki seemed a little naive and almost too optimistic to be a detective. however, she slowly turned to appreciating this optimism; it was definitely a nice turn from the professional atmosphere that naturally comes with her arbitration work.

meanwhile, Fubuki has somewhat designated Haru as her “detective-adventuring sidekick,” and often takes her on random trips around the city. though Haru usually has no idea where the hell Fubuki is about to take her, she ends up going anyways. besides, she honestly likes Kanai Ward’s scenery; it wouldn’t hurt to see it.

fun fact: Fubuki will end up saving Haru’s life at one point. :)

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Vivia Twilight: really not much to say here as it’s basically just Vivia being Vivia™️ and Haru being Haru™️. but it’s safe to say they definitely don’t mind each other’s presence. Haru surprisingly appreciates the aura of calm that Vivia gives off, and sometimes just sits close by if they find each other alone in the agency. on the other hand, Vivia finds Haru a bit chaotic at times (especially with a character i’ll be getting to in a few moments), but personally doesn’t mind it too much, thinking of it as an added accent to the “peace and quiet” of the NDA.

also, Haru sometimes understands Vivia’s metaphors. they seem to be very specific ones though

fun fact: Vivia once saw Haru dying her hair while in spectral projection form, and dropped in a hint about it when they were talking about a case later that day. Haru got really defensive about it for some reason

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Halara Nightmare: Haru was slightly intimidated by Halara upon introduction; to her, they seemed to be a “no-nonsense” type person (though not like she hasn’t worked with those types of people before). but over a few days, Haru begins to notice their level of sympathy and care for others, which changes her opinion of them. meanwhile, Halara finds Haru a bit dense at times—but is always surprised by how quickly she pieces certain methods/tricks together the moment she clears her original misconceptions. though, Haru’s still slightly trailing behind Halara in her processing speed.

(yakou’s probably even further behind somewhere in the back /j)

fun fact: one time, Halara asked for a relatively large sum of money for one menial task (probably like 20k shien) when they were solving a case together, and Haru almost paid on the spot as if it was nothing. Halara was taken back for a moment, especially since Haru seemed so nonchalant about it (she wasn’t). eventually they sighed and gave Haru a 75% discount.

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Desuhiko Thunderbolt: okay, this is their entire dynamic:

story over. thank you for coming to my tedtalk

but yeah—Desuhiko and Haru have unrivaled amounts of “argumentative sibling” energy towards each other. in this storyline i decided to tone down Desuhiko’s behavior towards women a tiny bit, in exchange for upgrading his superstar complex—which worked perfectly. Desuhiko grabs at any attempt to pull out his electric bass and start playing, but Haru has to mute him to prevent him from blasting music throughout the entire agency.

they constantly banter any time they’re in the same space. Desuhiko is often the first to begin raising his voice during their arguments. but it takes a while for Haru to get to that point; she often sticks to small (and very blunt) retorts for most of the time. at times, their arguments escalate to full-on competitions—though surprisingly, both of them are relatively smart and don’t do anything that would cause serious harm.

but past their argumentative banter, Desuhiko and Haru are actually the closest compared to the other pairings i talked about. one is usually the first to notice when the other seems off.

(this may be foreshadowing)

and as the narrative develops, we see the bond between them strengthen (though they still won’t stop arguing). if the game were in japanese Desuhiko would start calling Haru “aibou” (which is partner,, but like,, with a more familial connotation in some contexts??) by the end of the story. but they still won’t stop arguing :)

fun fact: Haru actually still keeps one of Desuhiko’s voice changers after they had an entire unhinged competition about “who can act like Yakou in front of Yuma for longer” (which stemmed from an entire conversation between the two that i may talk about at one point 😭). she uses it to scare Desuhiko from time to time

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okay, finally:

Yakou Furio: despite being “superior” and “subordinate” in work terms, they seem to be pretty close with each other (in more of a familial context). at first, Haru genuinely wonders how the hell this guy got certified by the WDO, but soon notices his emotional intelligence / empathy and goes “oh. yeah that makes sense” (even when it comes to Haru, who’s a talented negotiator and supposedly knows how to act in a way that satisfies both parties, it’s hard to really grip that emotional aspect for her and being able to understand how others truly feel. Yakou does this as if it’s second nature; which is quite unique for a detective and something Haru really appreciates). (i have evidence for this. i swear)

Haru sometimes works at the agency until late with Yakou (+ other coworkers); and after a long day, sometimes they all just throw everything and head to the bar together.

though, the outing is really just a few hours of Yakou complaining about his subordinates while drunk.

she can still tell that Yakou really cares about the other detectives, though. i mean, although she doesn’t actually listen to his advice and goes on to directly run into the Peacekeepers regardless, the chief has assisted Haru in more ways than one.

fun fact: Yakou is somewhat confused with Haru’s food preference, especially with how much it contrasts with her appearance. in fact, they had an entire moment where Haru admitted she didn’t like meat buns in general because the buns were always too sweet for her and Yakou was just like “????? what is going on with your tongue”

• • •

also, another fun fact.

…they’re narrative foils.

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oh my god that was a lot of info. whoops. sorry

but yeah uhhh that’s it from me for now—my inbox is open if you want to ask and/or theorize about her 🫠

#they’re foils in more ways than one #the most accurate way to describe it?? hey if any drdt’ers are here. remember xander and min’s bonus episodes. and the comments #anyways this took SO MUCH LONGER THAN I EXPECTED 😭#i wanted to talk a lot apparently #but. hehe. maybe canon-divergent narrative in the works here #also desuhiko and haru’s dynamic 💀#🖼️#wist talks #rain code #master detective archives: rain code #mda:rc #haru allegro #rain code oc #mdarc oc

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