#Go for a walk instead of writing that post

[lacedcompulsion]

FLATLANDS

Hotch sends you and Spencer to Iowa to conduct a death row interview with an inmate. Thing is, there's not much to do in Iowa but fuck.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader

tags/warnings: 18+, wc: 5.9k, whew, smut, porn w plot, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, soft-dom spencer ish, biting, praise kink, this is so self-indulgent muahahaha, discussions of a case, but nothing too bad it's canon typical stuff, iowa hate idgaf!! drinking/getting drunk, i think that's it!

notes: this is likeeee. one of my first times writing longer smut. also i did in fact say i would re-upload old re-worked fics before posting anything new but alas! i am a liar! here is something brand new! i spent like. 9 straight hours on this yesterday. and it is currently almost 8 am and i just spent all night finishing it up instead of sleeping. ALSO i am in fact a philosophy major (future barista moment) and my fics get soooo. philosophy-esque. like. every single time. i'm sorry... i am who i am.

If you had to remove one state from the contiguous union, it would be Iowa. 

You’re standing in a rusty hotel room, which, according to Hotch, is the best they could do to accommodate you. And Spencer. He’s one room over. Your feet vibrate against the rug. You tell yourself it’s the thought of him, one wall over — thinking, sitting, reading, whatever he’s doing — and not some rare kind of bacteria you’re going to catch from the stink of this place.

Hotch sent you and Reid here for a death row interview. One of the inmates, having spent the past seventeen years as a self-proclaimed monk, decided he was done with silence. He answered the bureau’s request for an interview in a letter addressed to Hotch’s desk, written in red ink. It’s your first prison interview — you usually wear the bad guys down before they’re locked away forever — but Spencer has done one or two, he said. You think it might be more.

You’d never been to Iowa, never had a case here. You’re not great with time off, even worse with real vacations. You don’t look out your window for fear the corn fields have gotten closer since you last peeked through the curtains. You swear you can see twenty miles out; the flatness makes it easy to mistake the horizon for something that never, ever ends. 

You’re picking at the skin of your fingernails, toes curled as they still rest but resist against the carpet, when there’s a knock at your door. You don’t check, because you’re not really fearful. It might make you a shitty FBI agent, but you doubt anyone is tracking you down in Iowa. (Iowa. It gets worse each time you think it.)

“Hi,” Spencer says, lips pulled flat. Flat. You think of fields. Corn. Emptiness. Your stomach churns then lurches when you think of your own bed in your own home in a state that has real hills and mountains and trees. 

“Hi.” 

“Thought you might want to look over the file before tomorrow?” He frames it like a question, and you offer a soft smile at his hesitancy before opening the door to let him in. He turns his body to the left to avoid making contact with you as he accepts the invitation and walks on through.

Your bed is still made, your suitcase resting on top of it. He scrunches his nose before recovering.

“I’m not a germaphobe, like someone we both know,” you mock.

“Maybe you should be.” You laugh. You’ve been his teammate for three years now, and it still gets you when he decides he can lighten up and make a joke.

He looks around, still awkward in the yellow tint of the hotel lamp, then decides to sit in the desk chair in the corner.

“You look so ominous,” you say, shaking your head as you pull the file out of the nightstand. 

“Why is your casefile in there?”

“Where do you keep yours?”

“I never put it away.”

“Checks out,” you say, raising your eyebrows and sitting criss-crossed on the edge of your bed, facing him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gary Foster,” you read off the top of the page, ignoring his bait. “Killed twenty-three women in his basement. His wife never knew.”

“Or claims she didn’t know,” Spencer corrects. 

“You think she did?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter what I think.”

You glance up at him to find him staring intently at the file in his hands. He’s gripping onto it like it’s all he knows. You store your observations away in your head under a tab titled Perhaps Ask Later. 

You’ve gone over this file a dozen times. It’s virtually seared into your memory. Still, you let him tack off the rest of the information to you, compile the intensive profile Hotch gave you into a bullet point list. 

“Do you think he’s gonna focus on me?” you ask once he reaches a lull in speech.

“Because you’re a woman?” he confirms. You nod. “Maybe.”

You tap the file a few times with your fingers as a yawn creeps up your throat, threatening to escape. Spencer seems to get the hint before you even let it out. 

“We’ve got a long day tomorrow,” he says before standing. He takes a step forward before turning around and tucking the chair back into the desk. You smile at the politeness. “See you tomorrow?”

“Is that a question?” you tease as you lead him to the door. “I promise I won’t jump out of the window.”

“There’s not much out there.”

“No, there isn’t.” He fumbles with the key for the door across the hall. You wait for him to open it before you start to close yours, the way you would after driving a friend at home. “Night.”

“Night,” he says, though the latter half of the word is muffled by the shut of the door. 

The room is barren again. You open the curtains now that it’s nearing total darkness outside.

It takes six more hours for you to drift off into sleep.

– 

Your hand is immediately on your temple when you awake, rubbing at the budding headache you know will consume you once you get up. This is the punishment you get for allowing yourself only three hours of sleep.

The sunlight hits your bed in fluttering intervals of perfect warmth and scorching heat. This time, when the hindmost rolls around, you force yourself up and place your feet on the ground. You hold your tongue to refrain from releasing a long string of fucks and shits and realize your hand is still refusing to move from its spot rubbing circles in your face. When you make your way to the bathroom, you realize the bed is so hard you’ve left no indent. 

The sting of the shower is pelting, boiling enough that it feels purifying. After a night spent in sheets you’re sure dozens have sweat through, it’s more than welcome. The heat is the perfect substrate for the anticipatory dread of today’s interview. Speaking to monsters as if there’s a hint of human behind the stitching has never pulled at you in the right way. 

If anything, it’s slowly pulled you apart.

The outlet in your bathroom is broken so you’re forced to dry your hair sitting on the carpet of the room, right next to that window that stares out into nowhere. You feel itchy just sitting on it. You swear the fibers are pressing into your skin, merging with your skin. 

The file is open on the floor in front of you, and you use your thumb to wipe the water falling from your damp hair. The pages already begin to curdle like the feeling in your stomach. 

You put your hair in a ponytail, then worry it’s too sexual — because you’ve absorbed the profile and you know what earns a check on this guys list —- so you take it down and let it rest on your shoulders again. Your knees crack when you stand up and your hip tenses up like it might, too, when you slip your legs into your pants. 

There’s a knock on your door and you mutter fuck as you balance your time between finishing the rest of the buttons on your blouse and stumbling to the door.

“I need a couple minutes,” you say, before you say hello. You leave the door open as you retreat farther into the room. “You can wait in here.”

You squeeze your feet into your heels — half a size too small, and in your head you call the saleslady who insisted on that being necessary for this brand a word that would make your grandmother sour — and peripherally watch him step into the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“You ready?” he asks. You can feel his eyes on your unmade bed. 

“Mhm.” You glance in the square mirror facing the bed and smooth out your clothes. 

“I mean for the interview,” he says after clearing his throat.

“My answer remains.”

“Cool.” He says it in the way that feels fraudulent, but is really just the way he speaks, you’ve come to realize.

“Are you ready?” you ask back, muffled by the file placed between your teeth as you fumble around your desk for your car keys and room card. You make eye contact with him as you head for the door.

“Don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”

“Stand up straight,” you say, holding the door open for him as you both step into the hallway.

“What?” he mutters. He does it anyway.

“He’s gonna zero in on you if you seem to lack confidence.”

“Right.”

It’s silence between you two in the hallway, the elevator, the lobby, and until you’re pulling out of the parking lot. There’s overgrown wheatgrass in the field to your left and plowed corn crop to your right. The furrows stretch on until the curve of the earth swallows them up.

The sky is dull, slate-colored, and bears striking resemblance to something that could wipe you clean. Grain silos whir by every couple of minutes. These people really own a lot of fucking land. Every few miles, a new one, along with a rusting tractor or collapsing barn or crop that looks about ready to dry up and blow away. It gets predictable after mile seven. 

The prison doesn’t appear so much as it settles into your vision. It’s low to the ground, sprawling, gray. A scar pressed into the ground. 

You feel like Spencer the way you’ve completely memorized the profile. You flash your badge at the gate, sign some kind of form and drive into a parking lot that feels as far from the prison as your hotel was.

Spencer lingers in the car two seconds after you get out. He’s nervous, and he’s trying not to show it. You don’t want to mention it, but you need to be on the same page, so you don’t stop your lips from unfurling.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The anxious math,” you say. “You’re calculating the probability of saying the wrong thing before we even walk in.”

“That’s-” He seems to think better than arguing and redirects his sentence. “That’s not entirely inaccurate.”

You give him one of those closed lip smiles. “He’ll spot it in five seconds. He feeds on nerves like that. First, he’ll comment on your hands, because you fidget when you’re trying not to.”

“You sound like Hotch.”

You scoff out a half-laugh and choose to ignore the comment otherwise. “And he’ll ask how long you’ve known me. If we’re sleeping together. He won’t say it like that, of course. He’ll be crude. He wants to gauge what version of you shows up when you’re off-balance.”

“Why would that knock me off balance?” he asks. The hesitancy has stolen his tone again.

“You fluster easily.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm. You blink three times, touch your collar, and then deflect with statistics. You did it the first time I challenged you during a case.”

He tuts then holds the door of the prison open for you. “You’re profiling me.”

“Of course I am,” you say, then turn your head over your shoulder, waiting for him to walk back up beside you again. He’s close behind you, so close you can almost feel his breath on you. It makes you feel warm. “So will he.”

You greet two more guards inside before shaking hands with the warden. He thanks you for coming with that grim look on his face that everyone in this field seems to have permanently etched into the creases of their skin. The prison is colder inside than it has any right to be, as if the concrete has learned to hold onto every winter it’s ever survived. 

“Still nervous?” you whisper to Spencer. 

He smiles, shakes his head no. 

Good, you mouth.

You pretend not to notice his eyes fixate for a beat longer than necessary on your lips. You lick them in response. When he meets your eyes again, you pretend not to notice that something undecipherable is hidden behind his lids, too. 

—

Foster smiles when you walk in. He doesn’t look at Spencer. You let Spencer pull your chair out for you, which immediately catches the guy’s attention. You think of still water, use it as a guide for being calm.

“Well,” Foster says. He hasn’t dropped the smile from his face. “They sent a good-looking one.”

“We, the FBI, are really grateful you chose to cooperate with us,” you say. “You know, in your final days.”

“Hm.” He turns to Spencer, finally. “She yours?”

You don’t look at him, and you will him to ignore him, to start asking him the standard questions. What’s your name? What year were you born? 

“She’s her own,” he says instead. It comes out even and flat. 

“You hesitated,” Foster says. His smile shows his teeth, now. “I suppose that’s not a crime.”

“No,” you agree. You open your file and lay a picture of his mugshot on the table. You can tell he was expecting photos of one of the women whose life he stole away. “But murder is.”

Spencer clears his throat and nudges your ankle with the tip of his shoe. You give him no reaction, but the next time you reach for the file, you let your fingertips brush against his wrist. 

—

“That wasn’t awful,” Spencer says when you step out, though he says it like he’s releasing one big breath born out of a collection of accumulated air trapped in his lungs. 

Foster did say something crude. You’d prefer not to repeat it, mostly because you’re not sure if Spencer was blushing or if he was just hot. 

The prison was freezing, you remind yourself. Then you shove the thought back down. 

“It wasn’t great,” you say. “I wish I’d pushed him further about—”

“Stop,” he says. His hand is on your bicep now. “Don’t overthink it, you did great.”

“Okay,” you say. “Don’t profile me, now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The walk back to the car leaves you sticky and hot. You note, aimlessly, that Iowa gets hot enough if you let it — if you stay long enough to let it swelter.

“Our flight’s not till the morning,” you groan, slamming the car door shut.

“Not a fan of Iowa?”

“In how many languages do you know how to say fuck no?”

“Twelve," he says. His eyes flit to the ceiling. “No, fourteen.” 

“Ridiculous.” 

—

You crash as soon as you get back to your hotel room. You sleep for what feels like two hours but you know is way longer than that, and when you finally peel your eyes open you’re sweating. You’re clinging to your sheets, and you consider yourself bed-ridden as you roll over and check your phone. Hotch has sent you three messages asking for updates. Your stomach twinges with guilt for not answering, though you figure he probably moved on and texted Spencer.

Spencer.

You feel bad. You had ditched him, retreating to your hotel room the second you guys got back. You wonder what he did, if he got food, though there’s not much to do in Iowa. In fact, there’s nothing to do in Iowa. 

You slip out of your clothes and take a quick rinse-off in the shower. Your hair is still wet when you adorn yourself in a gray t-shirt and sleep shorts and creep over across the hall. Your fist raps against the door three times, then twice more for good measure. 

“Hi?”

“Hi,” you say, inviting yourself in as you push past him. It’s identical to yours, but everything’s on the opposite side. “Nice room.”

“Much nicer than yours.”

“Oh, for sure.” You clap your hands together, then flop down on the bed. “So, whatcha been up to?”

He nods his head at a book on the nightstand. You stretch over and pick it up. The History of Iowa’s Small Towns.

“Little on the nose, isn’t it, doctor?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Your mind amazes me,” you whisper, then place it back on the nightstand.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

“I’m not really hungry,” you say. When he quirks his eyebrow, you add: “Really, I can’t eat for, like, at least two hours after I wake up.”

“You were asleep?”

You nod. “Couldn’t last night. You didn’t think I just ditched you, did you?”

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

You place a hand over your heart. “Well, doctor, I’m just plain offended.”

He smiles, real, genuine. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How’d you mean it?” you ask. You move up on the bed, as if it’s your own, making space for him to sit next to you. 

He sighs, like he really doesn’t want to indulge in this conversation, but his lips pry open and you know he will. “Morgan always says I ramble too much.”

You shrug. “What’s much, anyway?”

“Well, if you’re not hungry,” he starts, lifting himself off the bed and over to the mini fridge, “are you thirsty?”

“My, my.” You smile, teeth and all. “I didn’t know you drank on the job.”

“Not technically on the job anymore, am I?” He holds up a little bottle. “It’s not exactly a martini, but it’s all I’ve got unless you want lukewarm ginger ale.”

You accept the bottle with mock ceremony and open it the second it’s in your hands. “Guess federal per diems only cover motel whiskey. Honestly, this is probably the classiest thing happening in Iowa tonight.”

He laughs softly, twisting open his own cap. “From what I’ve read, and seen, that’s a low bar.”

You raise yours. “To meeting the bar.”

He tilts his head, scrunches his nose. “To stepping over the bar with minimal effort.”

You both take a sip. It’s terrible. You make a face.

He sees it and raises an eyebrow. “Too refined for hotel whiskey?”

“Just surprised it didn’t come with a warning label,” you say, setting the bottle down on the nightstand. “Or a tetanus shot.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, taking another sip of his. “I’m sure the Iowa Department of Health is on it.”

You nod solemnly. “They’re probably just as fast as the Wi-Fi.”

That gets a small smile from him. He sits on the edge of the bed, a little closer than before, but still careful. He’s always so careful.

There’s a lull, full of quiet until the nighttime air-conditioning kicks on and you’re too tired to pretend anything really matters for a while.

“You ever drink from the mini bar before? Like, during a case?” you ask eventually.

“Only when I expect to be stranded somewhere like this.”

“Smart,” you say. 

He glances at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t profile your way out of a cornfield without it.”

You hum in agreement. “I’m not sure if that’s depressing.”

He shrugs, taking another sip. “Probably.” His hand falls to his side, dangerously close to your thigh.

You accept another one. And then another one. You’re sure he’s going shot for shot with you, but you can’t really tell because your head is full and everything’s hazy and suddenly this bed is so, so comfortable. 

You lie back, legs still dangling off the edge, and stare up at the popcorn ceiling like it might reveal state secrets. “Did you know Iowa had one of the highest populations of covered bridges?”

Spencer blinks. “Iowa doesn’t.”

You squint. “It doesn’t?”

“No,” he says, amused. “That’s Madison County. Which is in Iowa. But it’s a specific — actually, nevermind. I’m not sure either of us are in a state for nuance.”

You wag a lazy finger at the ceiling. “I knew that.”

“Sure,” he says, and leans back beside you with a soft thud, hands crossed over his stomach. “Next you’ll tell me Iowa invented jazz.”

“It didn’t?” You cant your head to the side, a smile playing at your lips. 

“God, no.”

You sigh dramatically. “And here I thought this trip was educational.”

He turns his head just slightly toward you. His breath is hot, hotter than it was earlier, and his words are all slurred. You think you might sound the same but don’t keep yourself in line long enough to actually check. “You’ve learned a lot. For example, you’ve learned not to trust the minibar.”

“And that your idea of a good time is reading municipal histories.”

“I sensed you were captivated.”

You pull an arm over your face. “Do you always get this cocky after drinking?”

He tilts his head like he’s genuinely thinking about it. “I think I just feel safe knowing I’m not the only one embarrassing myself.”

You haul a leg up to bend into the bed with you and nudge him with your knee. “You’re not embarrassing. You’re weird. Like, in the good way.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he finally says: “Thanks. You’re weird too.”

“Weird and drunk.” You repeat the word drunk a few more times, drawing out a different syllable each time. “Spencer?” 

“Hm?”

“Don’t let me fall asleep here.”

“You say that like I have any control over you,” he murmurs. Your breath catches. Neither of you move.

You peek at him from under your arm. “Are you flirting with me?”

“What?” 

“Whatever. Then don’t speak with that— that tone. Or I’ll start to think you’re flirting with me.”

“I’m not really flirting with you.”

You let the arm drop, but not to the mattress; it finds its way to the sleeve of his shirt, playing with the fabric. “Not really or not yet?”

“That depends,” he says, voice dropped low to a whisper. “Would yet be a problem?”

You roll onto your elbow, looming over him. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”

It lands like a match.

“What are you doing?” he asks. Your lips are the closest they’ve ever been.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes move to where his hand has started to creep onto your thigh. “What are you doing?”

He moves first, but only barely. His head tilts up, lips parting like he’s about to ask a question. 

He gets his answer in the shape of your lips.

Your hand finds the edge of his jaw, fingers skimming up the side of his face. He’s warm. Still flushed from the whiskey or maybe just from you.

You’re kissing, you think. You. Spencer. Kissing. It should make you pull back. You work with him. This is strictly forbidden — that should definitely make you pull back.

But then his fingers press into your hips, grounding you, and you shift, and you’re straddling him before you’ve thought it through. It’s automatic, desperate, like the tension finally cracked open and all that’s left is the pull.

“Still not on the job?” you murmur between kisses, breath brushing his lips.

He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

He starts to kiss you deeper, like he wants to memorize it. You wonder if he is. Your hands move up under his shirt, and his breath slips, just for a second. Just long enough to make you smile into his mouth.

There’s nothing quiet about any of this. Just heat. And want. And finally.

You roll your hips once as a test. When he tightens his grip on you, you have half the mind to do it again, and again, and again. 

Suddenly, all you can think of are your clothes on the ground and him inside you. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. You release his lips from yours.

“Fuck?”

“Shh,” he hushes, trying to silence you, but you’re already laughing.

“Oh my god, Dr. Spencer Reid, esteemed supervisory special agent, holder of three PhDs, just said fuck.” You whisper the last part, hand clutching at your chest.  

“Will you please resume what we were just doing?”

“My fucking pleasure.”

“Jesus,” he squeezes out. Your hands remove themselves from where they were resting under his shirt and head to the waist of his pants. You watch his chest rise a little quicker, fall with a little more readiness. His hands release your hips and come up to grip your wrists. “I say fuck one time and I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“Maybe we can put it in another context.” You unhook your legs from their desired place around his hips and scooch yourself down his body. Your fingers, which were just barely, ever so delicately toying with his waistband, curl into both the cotton of his pants and his boxers and tug down at once. He helps you, hips coming off the bed just enough for you to drop them both to his ankles. 

He’s already hard, and your mouth is already hollow, already anticipating something to fill a long-lasting void. You say his name, but it sounds off, because your mouth is already imagining itself wrapped around something far less innocent than words.

His hand comes up to your face, brushing your cheekbone, and the feeling is too soft to name but impossible to ignore. You feel as though all the heat in the room has gotten sucked between your legs, and it pools low, desire biting at the edges of restraint.

“You don’t have to,” he says, watching you spit in your hand. You roll your eyes before wrapping the newly wet hand around him. 

“I’m going to. Just stay like that.” 

You stroke him softly, just a few times before spitting on the tip and working it back down. He whispers your name like its wax, made to melt. You’re not thinking and your voice is velvet when you ask him how long it’s been since he’s been touched like this, the way he deserves to be. Too long, comes his response, and you vow to yourself to show him what he’s been missing.

The next time you bring your lips up to release more spit, you reach down and kiss it. Just the tip, and just ever-so-slightly. You’re not sure he noticed at first, so you do it again, this time more pronounced, and then he’s removing his hand from your face and bringing it up to your hair. His grip is firm enough to anchor, not enough to command. 

When you open your lips more, he tightens his grip. When you make your way down, syrup-slick and mouth dripping of sin, he coils his want at the nape of your neck and pulls. You moan around him, which earns you another tug. 

“That feels good,” he whispers. “So fucking good.”

You’re drunk enough that the praise feels more than trembling and temporary. You take it for more than it probably is and pick up your pace.

He lasts not a minute longer before he’s guiding you off of him, and you couch as you come up for air. 

“I don’t want to finish yet,” he mumbles.

“No?”

“No.” He pulls you up off the ground, one hand on your wrist and the other still in your hair. “Wanna take care of you too. Do you want that? Yeah? Lie down for me.”

You do as you're told, nodding along the way, agreeing fervently and with little free will. You’re drooling, enough that it slips past your lips. He brings his index finger up to your face, collecting it on the pad of his finger and pushing it back into your mouth. Instinctively, you suck. He groans, low, a noise you never would have expected to hear from him, and it makes you shut your legs, thighs rubbing together slightly as you try to fight the feeling festering around your limbs.

He kneels before you, the same way you had with him. “Is this what you want?” You nod. “No, use your words.” He pries your legs open, blows between them. 

Your back is coming up off the bed, enough for him to bring a hand up and grab your waist again. “Yes.”

He wastes little time attaching his mouth to you, tongue everywhere, while his fingers leave bruises in your side. One of your hands is gripping the sheets so hard you can feel your fingernails digging into your palm even through it. This can’t be real, you think, because nothing real feels this good. And this feels so, so good. 

You feel fucked out and he hasn’t even put anything inside of you. It’s just his tongue swiping against you, swirling around your clit, sucking your clit, kissing your clit. You can’t think. At some time you stop being aware of what he’s doing and just let him do it.

His hand leaves your hip and you feel it pulse, throbbing at the loss of harsh connection. Then, he forces your fist to open, to release the white fabric, and he locks your fingers together. It feels intimate, more intimate than his mouth on you, and if you were sober you might have shrugged him away. But you’re not. You’re drunk. Very drunk. So instead you hold his hand harder.

His free hand is trailing along your thigh, and when you glance down at him his eyes are closed, and he looks content, satisfied, and you’re not sure you ever want to unfold from this position. He uses his other hand to trail up and down your thigh before his errant fingers find their way farther up your legs. 

When he slips two inside you, both at once, no warning, you mewl.

He detaches his mouth from you, like he wants to focus solely on finger fucking you. When you glance down at him again, he gives you a perfunctory smile before focusing back at the task he’s chosen to take up. He’s practically gift-wrapping your orgasm. 

“Right there,” you choke out when his fingers curl at the exact right moment in the exact right spot. You don’t announce that you’re coming, but Spencer is a genius. You’re sure he can figure it out. Everything comes undone in waves, the way seafoam spits back into the sand before dissipating, carrying itself back out into a vaster part of the water. 

“Good job,” he says. He kisses you. You can taste your slick on his lips.

“Spencer.”

“You’ve said that already.” You’d laugh if you weren’t so unraveled. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

“Mhm.”

“What did we say about using our words?”

“To… use them?”

“You’re so smart,” he says, and you can hear him breathing in the way that means he’s trying not to laugh as he presses scattered kisses across your cheek, jaw, lips. “Can you speak up and show me how smart you are?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Knew you had it in you.” One of his hands is pressed into the mattress next to your head, and the other is absent from your body. When you finally open your eyes, you look down to see him lining himself up with you.

There’s a pinch in your throat as you feel him ease himself inside, slowly, deliberately, like he’s scared you might crumble and break beneath him. You won’t, which you assure him by using one hand to grab onto his bicep and the other to rest on his hip, guiding him all the way inside of you. 

"I got so mad, earlier," he says. "When he was talking about you like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he whispers. "Don't fucking apologize."

The heat is back, swirling in your stomach, rushing up your chest like every vein you have has replaced blood with feverish fire. Spencer throws more gasoline on it when he slides almost all the way out, then pushes himself back in. You’re quiet, and even the air around you seems to have hushed itself. 

When he finds a rhythm, he takes advantage of it. Fucks you a little harder, just enough that you can’t close your mouth, can’t quiet yourself even when you try. You’re trying to tread carefully, but you don’t have it in you to not tip your chin up and search for a kiss. You move your other hand to wrap around his forearm, the one right next to your head, and you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails into the skin when he gives you one particularly hard thrust.

“Do that again,” you whisper.

“This?” he asks, though it’s more of a mock. He does it again, this time a little slower. You feel like crying, because you have no other outlet for what exactly it is you’re currently feeling. When he does it again you have no choice but to squeeze your eyes shut. He kisses you again, idly, like you’ve got all the time in the world. You’re not sure you have more than five minutes in you before you pass out. “You feel so good.”

“Needed you.”

“Yeah?” For a reason you’re too clouded to place, that makes him snap his hips against yours a little harder. 

He uses one of his hands to grab under your thigh, then pushes your leg up. You let out a broken moan you don’t even register as your own until he stretches you farther apart and you do it again. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t clawing at an indescribable edge. You feel ripe. Nothing holy is coming for you. You arch your back like it might. 

"Mine." He says it while looking down at you. He says it with his chest. He says it like it's an absolute.

You bring your hand to the back of his neck and make him kiss you. Once for the thrill, twice just to feel the burn of it really settle in. 

Then you come. And everything else does, too. It’s unraveling. Not fingers but friction, not skin but static, not breath but flood. The room is slipping sideways, hips first, mouth second. you forget your name or maybe you give it away. There's no shape to anything, to the sting between your legs, only pulse — wet, reckless, existing in the hollows of your thighs. When he bends down and lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like your name, your teeth catch on his shoulder like a warning. He doesn’t flinch. You bite down harder.

Nothing makes sense for a while except the sound of the air-conditioner. 

Spencer says something. Then again. Then, he taps your cheek twice, says your name until you come to.

“Hm?”

“You okay?”

“‘m okay. Are you okay?”

He laughs. It’s quiet and hoarse and still warm. “Yes ma’am.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Hmm what?’

“I like that. We’ll use that ‘nother time.” You let out a heavy sigh as he chuckles. He slips out of you and you suck in a breath that catches in the pockets of your teeth, cold and shocking against the roof of your mouth.

“Sorry.” You shake your head and hope it conveys that he has nothing to apologize for. He rolls over next to you. “You should pee.”

“Pee schmee.”

“I think I’m gonna retract my previous statements about your high level of intelligence now.” You smack him with your hand and laugh, hearty and probably too loud.

“I’m still drunk,” you say after a few more moments of silence.

“I think that’s how that whole drinking thing works, yeah.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” His answer comes quicker than you were expecting.

“Okay. Me neither. Just checking.” You blow hair out of your face, and when that doesn’t work you bring a palm up and use the strength of four fingers to wipe it away from the sweat gathering in satin sheets across your skin. “I hate this room.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper.

“Well,” he whispers back. “I don’t hate you either.”

“Do you wanna maybe… I don’t know. Not be on the job tomorrow morning?”

It might just be the alcohol, but his expression is soft and lush, like when dawn’s light shudders through early morning fog. 

“I would like that.”

[271emma]

tips from someone who lost 18 lbs in 9 days

keep in mind i was and am currently at a rlly hw! so you might not be able to drop as much but you will still see results if you try out some of these tips and stay disciplined

have a fun fantasy! roleplay a little!

for example, i recently had a falling out with a friend and everytime i want to eat i imagine her watching me go into the kitchen and eat what im craving. after that i decide that i no longer want it and i go distract myself until the thought is gone.

if you have an ex you hate, just imagine him seeing you at the store after months of being super disciplined, wearing the outfit you’ve been waiting to wear, and imagine him going home and stalking your instagram and sending a pathetic little message to you! or walking up to you, whatever the case may be! it’s ur fantasy! get creative! write it down if you have to!

you’re a victoria secret model and you have literally a week to lose 3 pounds!

spend a lot of time thinking about your goals every single day, run the numbers every single day!

so on my calorie tracker app, every single day that i’m consistently counting my calories and im under my calorie goal, it pops up with a notification where it says “congrats, your projection date is xyz, and it changes by a few days every single day that im under! that little thing gives me so much motivation to keep going because originally my projection date was may of 2027 or something crazy and now it’s january 21 of 2026, and getting closer every. single. day.

I also talk about the food i eat so much! and my methods sooo much! i love sharing information to literally anyone who posts an advice thing, or anyone who messages me. i love wasting time being like “omg yeah i was totally gonna eat this but like omg just wayyy too many calories” like it’s my favorite thing in the world to do.

i also love running my numbers through weight loss calculators and i especially love running numbers i’ve already done, like losing 18 pounds in 9 days, apparently it’s impossible but i literally did that! wake up from fasting losing 2 pounds? that’s literally what someone else is doing in a WEEK! it’s amazing!

i also spend a lot of time researching keto, fasting, and transformation photos!

think about the benefits of your ed

this can literally be anything, but for me, i used to doordash food all the time to my job, and even if i didn’t do that, i was picking up fast food before i went to work which cost me so much money.

all the money i spent on food this week was $22. all i had to buy to feed me for a week was some premade chicken, 3 tomatoes, an avocado, and some gatorade zero for electrolytes between my regular water. I could literally spend $22 on one meal at mcdonald’s!

another one is me realizing that i have the drive and strength to do something even if ive failed before, maintaining control of my eating for almost 2 weeks has given me confidence in my academic abilities as well!

buy something cute that you’ll be able to fit in at your ugw

i have a size small victoria’s secret pair of shorts that are so so cute and i want to wear them so bad. when im at home and i get hungry and think about ordering a 10 piece boneless hawaiian combo from wingstop and dunking it in hella ranch and shoving 4 fries in my mouth at once, i literally will go in my room and try these size small shorts on. they won’t go past my knees. and i think about how NOT worth it those wings are. if i’m at work or away from home i just put that visual in my mind!

keep gatorade zero ON DECK!

when i literally feel like passing out, instead of just reaching for food, i reach for a gatorade zero, electrolytes, electrolytes, electrolytes ALWAYS!

it actually doesn’t have to be gatorade zero, that’s just what i prefer because i prefer regular water over flavored water, but they have packets you can buy too!

walking to get your food

if you must binge, you should NOT let yourself doordash it. if it’s really something you want, you need to walk to subway,mcdonald’s, walmart, wherever to get it!

i did this to get subway the other day!

give your food away

speaking of the subway sandwich i was just talking about, i only allowed myself to have half of it, but i knew if i just kept the sandwich laying around, there was a 50/50 chance i was gonna eat it.

(keep in mind that im kinda a picky eater and loooove plain food, so thats probably why this works out for me, so if you’re a girlie or guy who likes divisive food like black olives, or pickles, or stuff like that, consider ordering ur food more plain so its easier to give away lol)

so instead of giving myself that option i have the other half of my sandwich to my coworker! you get to look like a sweet person and you dont have the option of eating it anymore! my coworkers never have issues taking food from me so it works out really well!

feed your food to your dog (if it’s safe)/stray dogs

i eat mostly plain foods like i said, and always make sure to google it to make sure it’s safe, but if you’re worried about wasting food by throwing it away (or scared you’re gonna dig it out of the trashcan? i read about that in Jeanette mccurdys book) just give it to your dog fr.

doesn’t even have to be your dog, maybe do something sweet and find a stray dog/cat to give your food to, they need it more than you i’m sure.

take payment off of your apps

this is more so if you eat fast food a lot (which i did) but make it harder but removing your payment methods off your phone, so it’s not quick and easy!

watch nasty mukbangs

there’s this girl on tiktok who ate candied chipotle and 10 patties on a 5 guys burger. to be honest the food wasn’t that unappealing to me because i was literally starving, but the comments! read the comments mamas!

do something to your appearance that makes you feel confident!

seeing potential in yourself does wonders for your self esteem and gives you the strength to aspire to something.

some things you could do that give quick results:

~ dyeing your hair lighter for summer (or darker if you prefer, even doing highlights, or a streak!)

~ cutting your bangs (do lots of research on things that would flatter ur face and how to cut! or you could just go to a professional lol i’m just a diy-er)

~ doing your eyebrows! (if you’re not confident have someone else do it! not worth messing your eyebrows up!”

~ do lash clusters/strip lashes (again do some research on what looks good on you! i find that shorter soft/fluffy lashes are way more flattering on me than 99% of lashes available! so search things like “lash clusters for almond shaped eyes” “lash extensions for wide set eyes” etc, personalize it for you!

~ use an eyebrow razor to shave off the little peach fuzzies off ur face (makes ur skin look sm more even and clear! and makes ur skincare products work better!)

~ do your skincare routine (exfoliating always makes the biggest difference to me! and this isn’t so much about what you see in the mirror bc my skin gets really red over the smallest thing, but just about how ur skin FEELS, like you just feel so much better!)

~ waxing (always makes me feel nice and makes my skin look clearer! there’s a bit more upkeep because of the risks of ingrowns, but it’s sooo worth it! i make my own sugar wax and just use strips and it’s cheap and easy! keep in mind this might be very painful for some people! when i waxed my friends legs she tapped out after 5 minutes, so do ur arms or legs first to see where you fall before doing somewhere like your armpit or bikini.)

*if ur waxing ur bikini area by urself please just use hard wax that you can buy on amazon, it’s a nightmare for me personally trying to use sugar wax.

~ take a shower! and enjoy it! (i recently started wearing lotion and perfume after every single shower and i highly suggest it! makes u feel so beautiful!)

love all of you beautiful angels

[edwardhartenjoyer]

HAIIIIII i hope you are having a good day!!! :D i really liked your 'saying i love you for the first time' post (as im sure you read SJJSD T0T) nd i wanted to toss an idea your way !!! u dont have to write it ofc but if you find it inspiring then !!!!!! yippee!!

so i was Thinking . how about a reader who paints their nails the eye color (or associated color ,,, maybe orange or yellow ??? in haru's case LMAO) of their favorite ghoul? it can be pre relationship or established, thats up to you !! whichever you find most interesting :3

i wanted to include ur favs in this suggestion so,,, edward, haru, yuri, jiro, nd ritsu? u can add or remove whoever you wish ofc ofc

i hope u have a good day !!! thank you for writing for the fandom nd sharing ur creativity <33

HII!! I'm doing good and hopd you're having a good day too!! I'm still so amazed and happy you loved that post aaaahhh!!

This idea is so so cute and I instantly had ideas for it! I went with this being a before you are together / this is how they learn they're your favorite!

I added Luca in too because I instantly had an idea for him! <3

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You decided you were going to paint your nails to match with your favorite ghoul. Afterall, you just wanted to show some subtle way of matching with him since you couldn't have the house pins like they did. When you went to see him the next day, you were excited to see if he would notice the change.

Featuring: Lucas | Yuri | Jiro | Ritsu | Haru | Edward

Lucas Errant - “Luca!” You called out in greeting when you saw him sitting in your usual area waiting for you to meet up with him so the two of you could walk together.

He beamed when he saw you and waved at you, “How are you doing?” He asked once you reached him, always the gentleman looking out for you.

“I'm good, and I wanted to show you something I did.” You replied, holding out one of your hands to show off your newly painted purple nails.

“That looks pretty, the shade is very familiar.” He commented.

“Well it would look familiar, I actually painted them to match your eyes so that we could somehow match since you're honestly my favorite person here and I don't know what I'd do without you.” You confessed. As you talked Luca gained this look of awe and amazement on his face, a light blush also gracing his features. He looked as though you'd just given him the purest thing in the world to hold onto.

“This is such a sweet gesture, and I'm so happy you feel safe enough to call me your favorite. Truth be told, you're my favorite too.” He admitted, making you grin and blush. “Do you think you could paint my nails to match with your eyes?” He asked, and of course, you happily agreed.

Jiro Kirisaki - You were helping Jiro out in the lab, mostly sorting out stacks of papers that he and Yuri had left strewn about and hadn't the time to organize themselves. “Pass me that report for Yuri's latest test on subject A-2” Jiro asked you and you dutifully found the paper he was talking about and passed it over to him. As you did, he caught a glimpse of your nails.

He grabbed a hold of your hand and looked closer to examine it.

“It's nail polish.” You explained quickly, suddenly unsure if he even knew what it was.

“Why this colour?” He asked, finally releasing your hand. You shrugged and bit your lip.

“I wanted to match you.” You muttered and he looked at you, face unreadable as always.

“This isn't the colours of Mortkraken.”

“No, it's the colour of your eyes.” You answered quietly, though he still heard you as a small smile quirked his lips upward.

“Why me and not Yuri?” He asked.

“You're my favorite.” You responded immediately, and his smile grew a little more. He didn't say much else about it, but he would glance at your hands every so often, and a small smile would grace his face whenever he got to see that matching colour again.

Yuri Isami - “Yuri, I sent Jiro to go shower so I'm bringing in your tea instead.” You called out as you entered his office. You'd come to help out the duo and already could tell they were on another of their multi day work bingers.

“Hmph, fine, thank you.” Yuri mumbled, glancing up from whatever he was reading as you started to set out the tea for him. He raised a brow when he spotted your nails.

“Matching to the colours of Mortkraken?” He asked, “I knew you must have some sense if I made you my assistant.”

“Actually Yuri, it's meant to match your eye colour. You just happen to have eyes practically the same colour as your house colour.” You answered, watching as a deep blush rose on his face.

“Wh-well-I-uh-WHY??” Yuri finally stammered out.

“Because you're my favorite.” You replied with ease, holding back a laugh at his extremely flustered state. That only made his blush worsen and he hid his head in his hands.

Oh you were definitely going to keep wearing this nail colour.

Ritsu Shinjo - Ritsu noticed your new nail colour right away as you sat down next to him to try and study some of the laws he wanted you to be able to know from memory.

“Oh, I'll have to update your behavioral file, I hadn't realised this was a habit of yours.” He commented, examining the colour.

“It's usually not, but I just wanted to match with you.” You admitted, shrinking down a bit in your seat from embarrassment as he turned his gaze up to meet yours.

“Match me?” He asked. “Clearly you were not going for the colours of sinostra unless you have a colour blindness I have been unaware of. Though I doubt that is the case, meaning that this colour is intended to match my eyes, am I correct?”

You nodded, a dark blush creeping over your features.

“Why?” He asked, seeming a bit unsure.

“Because you're my favorite and I wanted to show that, even if just with some nail polish.” You replied softly, watching as a light blush crept across his features.

“Well, I'm deeply flattered, and, you're my favorite too.”

Haru Sagara - “PEEKABOO HI BABY!!” You called out in greeting when you saw the cute little creature making his way over to you when you entered the Jabberwock dorm.

“I hope Peekaboo isn't the only one who gets a hug?” Haru pouted as you hugged the fluffy anomaly close. Before you could answer him he leaned in close and examined your nails.

You couldn't quite figure out what colour would best match with Haru, having not seen his eye colour before, so you went with a sort of fun colour mix. You did alternating colours of orange, to match Haru's uniform, and white, to match with Peekaboo.

“Those are some fun colours” Haru commented as you passed his fluffy son back to him.

“I picked them to match with you two.” You admitted, watching as his face just lit up.

“Oh you're just the best, it's no wonder Peekaboo and I see you as a mom to him.” Haru confessed, making you blush deeply.

“Really?” You asked hopefully. He nodded and his grin grew wider.

“How about after we get some work done we go on a family date?”

“That sounds amazing.”

Edward Hart - You frowned a bit as you looked at your still unanswered text message as you sat at Rui's bar. You'd texted Ed you were coming over to Obscuary to hang out in the hopes that maybe he'd actually come downstairs. Despite what everyone else thought, you quite liked the vampire, and had been hoping that if he showed up you could show him that you'd made your nails match with him.

Just when you'd decided to give up and just enjoy Rui and Lyca's company only instead, you felt someone lean in close behind you, their hair tickling the sides of your face and pale fingers grabbed your hand to examine your nails.

“My, all this for me?” Ed teased from behind you. “That really is quite adorable.”

Drat, you forgot he could read your mind if he wanted to, and you'd been so focused on wanting to show him you'd probably bascially been screaming your thoughts at him.

“You are my favorite after all, and I wanted us to match.” You replied, turning just enough to look at him. He grinned and put a hand over his heart.

“My dear you'll make my undead heart beat again with such proclamations. I'm far too old for you to be toying with me so, my frail mind can't take it.”

You just laugh softly, knowing it's mostly an act, blushing when he leans into you more.

“You know, there's more than just matching you can do to show me I'm your favorite”

[bts-trans]

📅 250613 Weverse Translations

RM's Post ❇️

안녕하세요 여러분 생일 축하합니다 방탄소년단. 기어코 613이 또 왔군요 다시 6월 13일이라니 작년의 613은 정말 쉽지 않았는데.. 정말 250613이 온 거죠 진짜 제가 여러분보다 더 기다렸습니다 기다리고기다리고기다렸습니다 진짜로. 12주년.. 이야 열두 살 ! 제 멀티버스의 조카 같달까요 무럭무럭 잘 커서 다행이다 부모님 말씀 잘 들어라, 아 아니 조금만 들어라 뭐 부쩍 이런 헛소리들이 떠오르는군요 동생도 오늘이 생일이어서 가족과 시간을 보내다 씻기 전에 꾹꾹 연필심을 부러뜨리며 이 이상한 글을 적고 있습니다 정말이지 오늘이 올 줄은 몰랐습니다 (ㅠㅠ..) 돌이켜보면요 항상 아득했어요 매 앨범 매 프로젝트 매 컴백 어떻게 감히 창작이란 것을 행하고 자신있게 명함을 내밀었던 걸까요? 이런 게 사랑이라며 이런 게 우리라면서 1년 반 동안 쉬니까 도무지 기억이 안 나요 지금도 여전히 길은 안 보입니다 매번 찾으려 부단히 애써볼 뿐. '정확한 사랑의 실험' 이라는 책을 좋아합니다 정확하게 사랑받고 정확하게 사랑하는 것 불가능해보이는 그 일을 늘 해내보고 싶었어요 제 사랑이 비록 얼마나 정확하게 가닿는지는 역설적으로 제가 가장 모르지만요 여러분의 사랑도 정확하게 받아보려구 늘 해석하고 맞춰보며 살았던 것 같아요 다시 한 번 어딘지 모르지만 가보려 해요 얼마나 많은 어디의 어떤 분들이 지금 곁에 계신지 저는 아직도 잘 모르지만 그냥 함께 낭만 있게 걸어가보고 싶다구요 추억을 많이 만들자구요 ! 같이 가주실?? 한 번 더 청해봅니당 피로의 낮 불면의 밤 이해할 수 없는 사람들 꼬리를 무는 생각들 그 모든 풀숲을 헤치고 다시 내일로 허클베리 핀처럼 모험해보려 합니다 매번 아득했던 갈림길 앞 덕분에 버티고 덕분에 부득부득 걸어왔습니다 감사하고 감사해요. 짧게 쓰려고 하면 늘 말이 길어져요 아직 간결해지기엔 너무 젊고 철없나봐요 말이 많아지는 것은 서툰 사랑의 증거이기도 하니 귀엽게 봐주시와요 저희 진짜 한 번 더 잘해볼게요 기회를 주셔서 고마워요 또 사랑해요 좋은 날이에요 잘 자요 ! - 자유인 남준이가 (https://weverse.io/bts/artist/4-201425257)

Hello everyone, Happy Birthday BTS. Finally, 613 is here again.

I can’t believe it’s June 13th again The last 613 was really not easy.. But 250613 has really come I’ve honestly been waiting for this more than you guys. I’ve just been waiting and waiting and waiting, truly.

Our 12th year.. omg it’s 12 years old! It’s almost like a nephew* from the multiverse “You’re all grown up, I’m so proud” “Be good and listen to your parents”, “No actually, don’t listen that much” I keep thinking nonsense like that.

Today is also my sister’s birthday, so I spent time with my family, and now I’m here, pressing down and breaking pencil tips as I write this strange letter, before I go take a shower. I really did not think today was going to come (ㅠㅠ..)

Looking back, it always felt so distant. Every album, every project, every comeback- How was I bold enough to create, and so confidently put my name to things? Talking about how “this is love” “this is us” Now that I’ve taken a break for a year and a half, I can’t remember at all Even now, as always, I can’t see the road ahead I’m just constantly trying my best to find it.

There’s this book I like called ‘The experiment of definite love’*². Receiving a love that is definite, and loving in a way that is definitive feels like an impossible thing, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to achieve. Even though, ironically, I know least of all how definitively my love has reached other people. I want to make sure I receive your love in a clear, definitive manner too, so I’ve always tried to analyse and understand it.

I want to go again, even though I don’t know where. Even though I don’t know where and who and how many people are by my side right now, I just want to go ahead and romantically walk side by side Let’s make lots of memories together! Will you go with me?? I invite you once again~

Exhausted days and sleepless nights, endless thoughts about people I can’t understand. I’m trying to plow through the forest and venture out to tomorrow, like Huckleberry Finn. Everytime I stood in front of distant crossroads, I stubbornly kept at it and made my way forward, thanks to you. I am so, so grateful.

Whenever I try to keep it short, I always end up writing too much. Looks like I’m still too young and immature to be concise. Having too much to say is also a sign of an inexperienced love, so please think of this as cute instead. We’ll make sure to do a good job again, really. Thank you for giving us the opportunity. Once again, I love you. It’s a nice day. Sleep well!

- From Kim Namjoon, a free man

(T/N: 1. The term is gender-neutral in Korean, so it could be translated as either ‘niece’ or ‘nephew’. 2. ‘정확한 사랑의 실험’ by 신형철/Shin Hyeong-cheol.)

Trans cr; Annie & Aditi @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS

J-Hope's Post ❇️

아미 비가 온다고 들었습니다! 몸 조심!! 감기 조심!! 사랑합니다. (https://weverse.io/bts/artist/3-201490583)

ARMY, I heard that it's raining! Take care!! Careful not to catch a cold!! I love you.

Trans cr; Riya @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS

[chokifandom]

— CHAPTER I: INCIPIO

wc: 5k [please check the masterlist for content warnings!]

a/n: oh shdhsj i’m lowkey so scared to post this bc i’m writing this after literal months of not writing... but anyway hello arknights nation i hope you’ll have me i love ebenholz mwah have a good day

masterlist

1085

alone in his room at the top of the spire, seven year old graf franz von urtica peers out of the small window with a stir in his heart. he watches the people toil in the fields, and sellers marketing their wares, until a servant whose name he had never bothered to learn finds him. “the sun is going to tan you, mein herr!” she exclaims, scampering to close the blinds. the room falls into a darkness just like his heart does after the servant leaves, shutting the door behind her.

franz does not bother lighting the candles, and so his room remains shrouded in darkness for hours after the sun dips below the horizon; he only sees light once more when a servant knocks to escort him to dinner, the light from the hallway spilling into the room and bathing it in a sombre orange glow.

he eats only what he’s been served, aware of every lethargic movement of his jaw. although there are a multitude dishes on the dining table, there is still an obvious unspoken limitation of choice. he feels eyes burning into the back of his head, burning into his scalp, burning his body whole like he is a sinner stepping into hellfire.

he had stepped out of one cage and right into another.

but young franz cannot comprehend the weight of his circumstances. all he knows is that he isn’t allowed to play outside with the other kids under the sun, that he isn’t allowed to watch the night sky full of stars, and that wherever he goes, he would be scorned for bearing the name of the most despised family in all of leithanien.

there is a knock on his door early in the morning. “come in,” he says, almost inquiringly; and in walks a little child, around his age, panting for breath as you shut the door behind you, only sighing in relief once you hear the click of the lock. “mutti won’t stop pestering me to eat my breakfast. she won’t think to look for me here because i’m not really allowed to be here.”

it is almost incredulous— franz had never before interacted with another child, let alone one of his age. he surmises that you must be the child of one of the servants. “what are you looking at me like that for?!” you are now equally as bewildered, before you remember your manners and the person before you, and clear your throat— “i– i’m sorry if i bother you, graf franz. i will leave right now, if that is what you want—”

“no, you can stay.” the corners of his lips turn upward in a smile that he is so obviously trying to conceal, and you burst into a fit of laughter.

“you look so funny! do they not let you smile?”

“stop saying such… ridiculous things!” he huffs in indignation, red tinting his cheeks, gaze averted. franz’s tone lacks the bite that nobles usually have, you think. but you also think that it maybe that he is simply still a child and so it makes sense that he wouldn’t speak the same way that all those adults do. “of course i can!”

“see!” he breaks into a toothy grin, held up completely unnaturally from wanting to prove that fact to you, the corners of his lips quivering slightly as he hopes this would be enough to quell your mocking laughter. but he was evidently wrong, as it only grows in intensity instead.

“silly graf! you’re missing one of your front teeth!”

“sh-shut up, it’s not like you aren’t!” you’re still laughing though, and even the gloomy boy in front of you can’t help but feel the smile returning to him as he hears the joyous sound escaping your lips.

“well, i think i should leave now,” you say after the both of you let the laughter die down, heaving a sigh, “i can’t hide in here forever, can i?”

“well—” he begins. “just don’t let anyone see you around here, alright?”

“yeah! i’ll come back here tomorrow, graf franz!” you reply, and you are out of the door before he can rebuke, the click of the lock sounding through the room once more. the caprinae’s face immediately falls back into one of neutrality, though his fingers can’t seem to still themselves, energy flowing through his veins like he had just been revitalised.

for all the sadness and annoyance that seven year old boy feels, he is still just that— a curious child. and so he allows you to break the rules this blatantly, and leaves the door to his bedroom unlocked at night so you can slip in at the crack of dawn. depending on your mood, you’d choose to either rudely awaken him from his slumber, or entertain yourself with the books stacked neatly upon the shelves— although they were mostly those adult books pertaining to subjects about politics, nobility and etiquette, which did not tickle your fancy.

some days, he’d wake up to find you snuggled in right beside him, snoring away without a care in the world. and then you’d leave as soon as the sun was fully up in the sky, and he wouldn’t see you again for the rest of the day, no matter how hard he looked among all the servants at mealtime, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your face.

one morning, you shake his shoulders frantically, begging him to wake up. the boy sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking at you. he yawns. “what’s wrong?”

“my mutti said they wanted you gone!” you cry out, the horror of it all dawning upon you. “why do they want you gone? a-are you a bad person?”

“i’m not! i swear i am not! who wants me gone?”

“but she said that you’re the great-great-great-great-great grandson of the…” voice reducing to a whisper, you say— “the-the witch king!”

franz’s eyes go wide at the revalation, but he does not seem too shocked— but a voice resounds in his brain, and suddenly he’s struggling not to collapse under the weight of his own head. “did you not a-already know? he is one of the forebears of urtica.” seeing that the fact does little to pacify you, he hurriedly adds his defense. “but-but i’m not like him! i’d never hurt you. or anyone else.”

“oh, franz!” your arms are thrown over his shoulders, and you sob into them with all the drama of a maiden about to be left by her husband going to war. he can do nothing but awkwardly pat your back, wondering if he was doing the right thing. “i knew mutti was wrong about you! i’ll go get you some water!”

so many years, the two of you spent in the same hushed routine. your hair had grown longer, both yours and franz’s— his horns were always neatly trimmed just like they used to be years ago, and he was ever the same prim and proper boy that he had been when you first met him, while the voice in his head only got louder and louder.

one time, you barge into his room in the dead of the night, right as he teeters on the edge of slumber— you take his hand in yours and pull him out of bed and out of his room. your steps are featherlight as neither of you dare to make a sound more than you should, climbing up the stairs of the spire and hoping, praying to the golden melody that you would not be discovered by the servants still roaming the building.

the night breeze hits you as soon as you open the door to the roof. having not let go of franz’s hand yet, you pull him to the ridge and motion for him to lie down next to you.

“i’m not doing that. my clothes are going to get soiled.”

“well, it is true that the roof has turned dusty from years of not being tended to,” you pout at him. “but i think an experience of this sort is in order for you.”

“and who are you to decide that for me?” he asks.

“your friend, of course!” you laugh, somewhere between a joke and a statement. “those servants down there want nothing but for you to rot to death in your bedroom. i’m far better than them, you know it.”

friend. sometimes, he wonders if you are only bound together by circumstance. you were all that he had, and he was all that you had— confined to the solitary spire, both of you bound to your doomed fates as the puppet graf von urtica and a lowly servant child who was forbidden from disturbing the graf and his peace. you had both seen each other laugh and cry, had devastating arguments and talked about everything under the sun, just like two real friends might have.

a chuckle slips past his lips. “amuse me then, dear friend. what have they been saying about me this time?”

“oh, it’s nothing new. just the same old drivel about how they’ll poison your food or never let you meet with any of the noblewomen and their daughters so that urtica would never have an heir. about how the witch king’s legacy must absolutely not be allowed to pass down into the future.”

the sky is bleak, so bleak, completely dark and filled with gloomy clouds. it’s not a worthwhile sight by any means, but franz does not care. his heart is already beating out of his chest, adrenaline rushing through his normally calm veins. it almost makes him feel giddy; the thought of being able to stare at the night sky with you for real begins to form in the back of his mind.

“when i finally become a graf—”

“are you not already a graf, franz?” you giggle, the honorific prefixed to his name long being dropped.

“you know what i mean! anyway,” franz looks towards you as you continue to stare at the sky as you both lie next to each other on the roof of the spire— something that would have the both of you in for a huge scolding if you were found. “i’m going to depose of this godforsaken house, that nobody in this country wants anyway, and then we’ll be free to live as we please!”

would you stay until that day arrives? the question begins to form in his throat, but he never gets the chance to—

“i’m sure we will,” you finally turn, meeting his pale purple eyes, standing up and dusting yourself off. “we should head down now, my dear graf, before they go on a wild chase for you and me, after which they are sure to kick my family out of the spire for influencing the graf himself to get up to this sort of mischief.”

the two of you return quietly to his bedroom, but franz can feel it. he feels a pair of eyes burning into the back of his skull, like the ones at mealtime. a shiver runs down his spine, and his heart refuses to stop pounding against his ribcage even after he shuts the door behind him.

after that night, you never showed up in his bedroom again. graf franz von urtica is fourteen now, learning to tread the murky waters of politics and nobility. he waits in his room like he always does, but the doorknob doesn’t turn. one day turns into years, and clammy hands turn into walls. now he only wears a sombre expression, hiding the pain in his heart and building the high fortress, mincing and dressing his words in sarcasm, refusing to spare another word to anyone else in the spire that should be his.

1098

the afterglow hall stands majestic in the daylight, and franz cannot help but wince at the structure that so resembled the cursed spires built by his distant relative. though the witch king’s blood has only thinned down in his veins, it is still there; it is still an ugly part of him that he cannot deny.

franz had mostly resigned to his fate by now— he knows there are still many who covet what he has, and that there are still many more who are trying to have a tug at the strings attached to his body and his seat.

the famous infected musician by the name of william fichte czerny prepares to have his farewell concert, with musicians from all over leithanien invited to participate. a long, long line of musicians formed right outside the afterglow hall— it is only understandable, since this could very well mean a potential path to fame for everyone of them, regardless of their intentions for participating.

but franz is only here for one thing— to get herkunftschorn, the witch king, out of his mind. this is what dame strollo of vysenheim had promised to him, a ticket to freedom like no other he’s ever seen. he only needed to participate in mr. czerny’s concert, and dame strollo would pull all the other strings behind the scene to remove the voice of mundane from him.

he thinks about it as he walks towards the center of the city— the deal with dame strollo truly looked tempting. he wonders if she’s also among the people who want to use him and his status to further their own interests. but it’s an offer that’s hard to refuse— it could only mean something good for him if it worked in his favour, but to be scorned and hunted to the ends of the earth and being labelled as a remnant of the witch king if he were to outright refuse.

“but i’m really in a rush to get my application over with,” a soft, timid voice piques his interest. he stops a few feet away from the line, watching a young man try to negotiate with presumably a standing officer, his pale hair shining under the bright sun. “i’m still caring for my grandpa back home.”

“no can do. look, we’re all afterglowers. who hasn’t got someone to care for at home?”

the black haired man approaches the pair, and musters all the authority that he can in his next words. “can you really not accommodate, just this once?”

“i said no. that’s just—” the officer begins, but then she turns to look at franz, and her eyes widen; in recognition, shock, or fear, he can’t tell. “wait, y-you’re a noble, aren’t you? you’re here to apply to our concert?”

“if you see as much, then could you oblige myself and my friend here?” franz retorts.

“but we’ve got rules…”

“or do you plan to reject a noble’s sincerest request?”

“i wouldn’t dare.”

“thank you for your understanding. come, now,”

the pale haired man is evidently quite surprised by the turn of events. he questions the appropriateness of the events that just took place in front of him— after all, the officer wasn’t wrong in her statement either.

“didn’t you hear me? they’re letting us through.”

“alright, but…” he begins, but franz is already making his way to the front of the line, deaf to any protests that he would make. he runs to catch up with him, entering the hall in perfect step together.

the hall is… grand. it is bustling with people from all over vyseheim, who have all come together to witness the first round of selections for the concert. but even then, franz cannot help but shake off the feeling that someone is watching— it is so similar to how he is treated in his spire, he almost wonders if he is merely hallucinating the feeling.

the emcee calls for the next person in line— the white haired man next to franz, who he learns is called kreide, takes his leave, and walks up onto the stage. his presence is humble and unauthoritative as he answers the questions he is asked— his name, and whether he had his own instrument or not (which he had not brought).

kreide is allowed to pick from amidst the collection of common-use instruments provided by mr. czerny— he picks up the cello and returns to the stage. “you may begin. do not go over a minute.”

but kreide doesn’t begin. franz sees the way his eyebrows furrow only slightly in confusion. “is there a problem?”

he speaks, just as softly as he had been. “i didn’t get to ask just now, but how do you determine pay for participation?”

“pay?” now everyone’s confused. “there is no material reward for performing in the concert.”

“well, it is your decision to perform or not. however, i do hope that you would grace us with a fine melody before you leave, if that is what you decide.”

after this revelation, kreide sighs in defeat, but he picks up the bow of the cello anyway, channeling his concentration into the instrument in his hands instead. but something stirs within franz, and his hands move to his flute. a few bars pass, and then he raises it to his lips.

he blows through the cold metal and joins kreide on the stage. the white haired man is momentarily taken aback, but he continues his passage while franz accompanies him, seeming almost like they’ve fallen into a telepathic harmony, halting as soon as the timer runs out.

“and… that’s one minute,” the commentator rises to greet them on the stage once more as the crowd gathered in the hall erupts into a thunderous applause. “well done, gentlemen, that just might be the most beautiful performance i’ve heard today.”

“are you here to apply to the concert too?” he inquires, turning towards franz.

“yes. i was planning to do so alone, but herr kreide’s performance struck me deep,” he affirms. “i would be loathe to miss the chance to perform with such an amazing instrumentalist as himself.”

“understood. may i have your name?”

franz takes a moment to think, before answering. “… ebenholz.”

“are you certain? your real name is ebenholz?” the man in front of him is surprised. “that’s not an alias you just came up with?”

“what does it matter if it is?”

“but you are a noble… your lineage and estate—”

“i’ll say it again, my name is ebenholz. do you have any other questions?”

“very well then.” he retreats, and turns his attention to kreide once more. “that said, since you and herr kreide brought no agreement on whether to apply as an ensemble, the decision lies with him. herr kreide…”

“well, i was only applying to this concert for my grandpa’s medical fees…” kreide begins, a resignation ready on the tip of his tongue.

franz interjects before he gets the chance to say it. “should kreide assent to an ensemble, i’d be very willing to provide him and his grandfather economic assistance.”

hope blooms in the heart of the pale haired caprinae and reflects in his eyes. “really?”

“i would advise you to be careful, herr kreide. such aid does not come without strings attached.” the emcee warns.

“please, i ask for some respect.” it takes franz— or rather, ebenholz— everything not to roll his eyes at the third man while kreide hums in contemplation.

“i’ll do it!”

“then i’ll leave it at that.” the two men smile at each other as they walk off the stage. kreide lets out a sigh of relief as soon as he steps out of the building. the sudden change in temperature from stepping out of the air-conditioned hallways of the concert hall does not go unnoticed.

“thank you, really! i can go back home to check on grandpa without any worries now.” kreide clasps his hands together.

“it’s no problem. let me accompany you.” ebenholz smiles back at him. it’s probably the most he’s smiled in a day in the time after his only friend left the spire years ago without so much as a noise.

“are you sure? afterglow is a while away from cliffy patio after all…”

“what’s it gonna take, just an extra few miles of walking?” ebenholz snorts. “besides, we could practice together after this.”

“well, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“herr kreide!” someone shouts. the pair look around to see two women wading through the crowd towards them— one of them with bright purple hair and sharp sarkaz horns distinct from the kind seen on the heads of the caprinae in leithanien. “herr kreide, if we may…”

the sarkaz woman introduces herself first. “i’m hibiscus, and this is my colleague, andante. we were present for your performance just now in afterglow hall.”

“we’re from rhodes island— we’d like to offer to you our assistance in treating your grandfather.”

“i… thank you for offering, but we currently cannot afford any sort of treatment right now…”

“do not worry, herr. we strive to provide treatment and other services to the infected at the most affordable rates. i’d at least recommend a free testing, so that you will be free to decide how you’d like to proceed further.”

“you do have a point, frau hibiscus,” kreide says. “i suppose a free test wouldn’t hurt.”

“do you live in afterglow, herr kreide?” andante asks. “we were on our way there too, we could come along.”

“of course. might i ask why? not a lot of people have business there.”

the group make their way back to afterglow district. ebenholz sees many infected out on the streets. some of them, familiar with kreide, greet him a good afternoon. kreide wishes them back before turning his attention back to the operators of rhodes island. the people are lively, and it is an environment much unlike his home turf.

“we’re trying to investigate a few cases of abnormal infected recovery, and they all happen to be located in the district.” hibiscus answers. a few scornful looks are thrown at her from the sides of the streets, but she ignores them.

“i see.”

“we’re here.” kreide stops at a fairly derelict building and announces. ebenholz notices as he enters the stairwell of the building that it is in far worse condition than the other buildings in afterglow; not that they were in good enough shape themselves either. kreide fishes out a bunch of keys from his pocket when they reach the top of the staircase. they slot awkwardly into the keyhole, and it takes a few tries for him to open the door, but he eventually gets it open. “the lock system’s probably rusted…”

“grandpa! i’m back.”

“kreide… what is this?”

ebeenholz, hibiscus and andante introduce themselves to the old man lying on the lone cot in the room. he struggles to sit up, but with kreide’s support, he is able to rise. “you want me to get tested?”

“yes, sir. we believe this would aid recovery and help us explore more nuanced treatment options.”

“i… well, i’d be willing to test, since you said you’d provide it free of cost, but we don’t have the money for treatment.” the old man says. “and besides, i’m almost about to be a goner, anyway, all that money would be better off for whatever other use my boy would want to put it to.”

“don’t say that, grandpa! i want you to get better.”

andante prepares the equipment— there is so much in the seemingly little bag that she carries around, that kreide almost believes it is some sort of arts modified device. hibiscus hands kreide a pad with some forms and asks him to fill it.

“test results are in,” andante announces after what feels like an eternity of waiting. kreide’s ears perk up at this. “i can’t say it’s too severe, but it’s not good by any means. any patient should receive standard treatment and hospitalised recovery at this stage.”

“the test might’ve been of no charge, but there’s no way i could get it all for free, is there?” grandpa says; it is the voice of a man resigned to his fate.

“we can refer you to some of the organisations that rhodes island is partnered with in vyseheim. you will receive treatment on subsidised prices under the collaborative protocol we have…” she says. “or i could try to negotiate and offset the prices even further for you.”

“there will be no need,” grandpa stands up weakly. “the hospitals still wouldn’t be angels to me, and i don’t want my life to be at their whimsy. kreide, you’ll return every last cent to that noble. we’re done here.”

“but…!” kreide begins to protest, but for lack of a better suggestion, no words come out of his mouth.

“how about he convalesces at the branch, instead of going to any partners?” after a long silence, hibiscus suggests. andante contemplates it, but her next words are worried. “hibiscus, it is only an office that we have…”

“i could give up my guest bed for him. besides, we would be able to monitor his condition more tightly.” she continues. there is a newfound determination in her voice. “sir, i guarantee you, your treatment will be of the highest priority to us.”

“i agree!” kreide adds. “besides, i have to practice with ebenholz, too. i might not have the time to look after you. the office is certainly a step up from the conditions here at home, too…”

grandpa’s sigh almost sends kreide’s heart into a spiral of guilt— but he pacifies himself by remembering that it is only for the best. “allow me to pack some of my things, then.”

“oh, look at the time… would you like to have dinner before you leave? i can cook something up real quick!” kreide shoots ebenholz an apologetic smile. hibiscus and andante have been long gone by now, and grandpa’s bed remains empty. “it probably wouldn’t have gotten so late if that whole thing with my grandpa hadn’t happened…”

“don’t sweat it, kreide,” ebenholz’s voice softens in a way that it barely had over the past years— at least not after you left him so suddenly. “we both want to do our best on mr. czerny’s stage after all, do we not?”

“i suppose you’re right,” he doesn’t fight back. “dinner?”

“it’s already so late, and i must rush back to cliffy patio. you’ve also got your grandpa to take care of, no?”

“it’s not a bother, really! you’ve already helped so much! this is the least i could do to repay you.”

“no need, kreide. i am glad, but you need the aid more.” with that, he turns to leave, bidding farewell to his new friend, and in a mood far brighter than he had been when he left his spire in the morning— perhaps, talking to these normal civilians was nothing like having to deal with the spire servants or other nobles.

the streets of the district are practically empty. it is not surprising considering the hour; what is more surprising though, is the footsteps he hears approaching him from behind, pace quickening every second.

“it’s you! franz, what are you doing here in afterglow?” ebenholz is surprised that there existed someone in this district who knew of his real name.

“you…” he turns around at the sound of the voice, almost unable to recognise the person he’s facing. “_____?”

he doesn’t smile. the years of memories consume him like a tide, and so does the sadness, anger and loneliness. his throat closes up, but he cannot find it in himself to rage at you. “i…”

“is… is this not a good time?” the smile on your face falters when you see his eyebrows raised in what you can only guess is anger or irritation. “i-i guess i’ll see you around then.”

he watches you back away and briskly walk into a turning, your dress flowing behind you, and then turns, continuing his solitary walk back to urtica’s spire.

as soon as you see the familiar building, you enter the stairwell and climb until you find yourself at kreide’s door. the pale haired caprinae greets you as soon as you rap against the old wood, and you let yourself in.

“hey, kreide! how’d the selections go?” you open your arms and he worms into your embrace.

“_____! it’s been a while since you’ve come home,” he sighs. “the selections went really well! the next round will be personally supervised by mr. czerny though…”

“oh, chin up, i’m sure you’ll do well.” you notice the empty bed behind kreide as you let go. “where’s grandpa?”

“his infection flared up, and we had to get him to the hospital.” kreide turns around, staring solemnly at the bed. “well, if the rhodes island branch office here counts…”

“he’ll be alright, then! they’ve got a good hand about these things. got my mutti into a good hospital at a much lower fee.”

“how’s she doing these days?”

“you know, same old. at least the infection is stable right now.”

“well, that’s still a good thing for now,” he replies.

his knife scratches against the cutting board and you sigh, deflating onto the empty bed that had belonged to his grandpa. “mind if i lie down here for a bit?”

“not at all!”

you shut your eyes, but as soon as you do, the image of the dark haired caprinae immediately flashes in your mind, his sour expression and irritated eyebrows down to the boot. you can hear him complain about the servants in his spire once more, and you wonder if he still does— if he’s found another to bemoan his fate with.

“alright, what’s bothering you?”

“you can tell?”

“you’ve been sighing and tossing and turning— it doesn’t take much to see that.” kreide’s violet eyes are the first thing you see when you open your own, as he kneels down next to you. “did anything happen?”

“i really can’t hide anything from you, can i?” you say. “it’s-it’s really no big deal at all, though.”

“you can tell me if anything’s wrong, _____.”

“i told you already, it’s nothing big! chop chop and get back to cooking. come, i’ll join you too.”

taglist: @arknights-imagines

[jemiswumbo]

teammate (18+)

twitchstreamer!luke x reader

part one | part two

author’s note: holy shit it’s been a whole YEAR since part two. i’m back baybeeee. only because of all the very very nice comments and messages that motivated me to get back into writing. thank you all <3 dedicated to @thatbird-fromrio because their message today is the only reason I finished this haha.

title is from the song teammate by the ready set. lyrics are HALF relevant. progress !

without further ado…. The Streamer Awards!!

tags/warnings: smut MDNI 18+, semi-public, dirty talk😳, roughness, pet names, lowkey getting caught, use of y/n, kinda long, not proofread sorry for any errors!!

The moment Luke’s Instagram post went live, your phone had practically exploded.

Notifications poured in—likes, comments, tags, DMs from people you hadn’t spoken to in years. You’d spent the rest of your anniversary dinner blissfully ignoring it, choosing instead to focus on Luke, the wine, the way his fingers traced idle patterns over your knuckles between courses, and the heat blossoming between your legs.

But now, two weeks later, the reality of going public was about to hit its biggest test yet.

The Streamer Awards.

You’d seen clips of it in previous years—the red carpet, the flashing cameras, the interviews, the screaming fans. And now, you were going to be walking it. With Luke.

~~~~

The morning of the Streamer Awards, you woke up to the sound of something crashing and breaking in the kitchen, followed by an indignant little “…Oops.” from Percy Jackson. You blinked awake, momentarily confused until everything came crashing back you to like a wave.

The Streamer Awards were tonight. The venue they were taking place at was closest to Luke’s house, so he’d invited his friends to stay over and get ready together for the big event. It was going to be your first public appearance with Luke, now that you’d officially announced your relationship to his millions of fans and followers. It was nice to have the moral support of Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia, as well. As chaotic as they were.

Really, you were going to be the moral support to all of them tonight, especially Luke. They were all nominated for at least one award. Luke was nominated for Streamer of the Year, the most prestigious award of the evening. You had no doubt in your mind that he would win, even if he was up against the most popular streamers in the world right now. He deserved it, and his fans were batshit crazy enough to make it happen.

You stretched your hand across the bed, feeling for Luke’s familiar warmth, only to find him absent. You only had to wonder for a brief moment where he was, before you heard his booming voice from the kitchen: “Percy, I swear to God if that was my bong—“

Bong? You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and sat up, reaching for your phone on the bedside table. It powered on and the time 12:18pm flashed at you. Your eyes widened, your heart beat stuttering in your chest. Only 5 hours until you had to leave for the red carpet. Shit. Talk about nerve-wracking.

“It wasn’t the bong but it was lowkey maybe that bottle of Patron—“

“Percy!”

“—but it’s fine! We picked up the big chunks of glass and now Grover’s licking up the spillage so none gets wasted!”

Annabeth, blessed voice of reason, finally spoke up: “I don’t know how either of you are still alive.”

You laughed and finally pushed yourself out of bed, searching the large bedroom for wherever you clothes ended up last night. You pulled on your sleep shorts and one of Luke’s T-shirts from the dresser drawer before beelining to the bathroom. After freshening up, you went out to the kitchen and found nothing short of a disaster zone.

It looked like Luke’s kitchen and living room had turned into the aftermath of a frat party. Or an AirBNB during a vacation of 15 friends. There was alcohol and weed paraphernalia sprawled along the island. Clothes, bags, shoes, and makeup were littered everywhere. Percy and Grover were, in fact, on the kitchen floor, cleaning up their mess. Thalia and Annabeth had claimed the floor length mirror in the living room as their get ready zone and were working on each other’s hair. Luke was by the oven, seemingly cooking actual food for once.

“Morning,” You said, as everyone greeted you. “Any reason why we’re pregaming so early?”

“Many reasons!” Percy announced, jumping from his spot on the floor to throw an arm over your shoulder. You suppressed a laugh as he continued, “One! Awards shows are a nightmare. Yes, it’s fun to be nominated and watch and see people you don’t normally see ever leaving their houses, but it’s a lot. Lots of cameras. Lots of talking. Lots of nerves.”

You met Luke’s eyes from across the kitchen. He was clenching his jaw. He knew you were nervous enough as is. You’d joked last night about maybe skipping the event for the sake of your sanity and it had really hurt Luke’s feelings. The last thing he wanted was anymore reasons for you to back out last minute.

Percy went on, oblivious to this exchange, “Two! It’s been a while since we all hung out just us and we want to have fun. Three, and the most important — the after party. That stupid prick Octavian Augur is hosting this year and I’ll be damned if I’m not blackout before arrival.”

“Jesus,” You laughed, running a hand through your hair. “Sounds like we’re in for a great night of babysitting you, PJ.”

Luke smiled, catching on to your words. You were going. And honestly, with each passing minute, and Percy’s antics… the nerves were fading into excitement.

~~~~

Getting ready was a blast. After everyone ate a decent amount of food to cushion the impending onslaught of booze, the fun began. Annabeth played music from her speaker. Percy and Grover helped each other tie their ties for over half an hour. Thalia helped you with your makeup, making sure your eyeliner was sharp and pristine.

Luke had paid some random stylist to buy outfits for the both of you. He was wearing a gorgeous suit, tailored perfectly to his built physique. The sight of him so dressed up had your heart racing and your thighs squeezing together subconsciously. He was so hot it was unreal.

For you, the stylist had picked out a glittering golden gown. It was floor length, with a high slit running all the way to your hip, and loose off-the-shoulder sleeves. You’d never worn anything so beautiful or fancy in your life. Paired with heels and some of your favourite jewelry, you looked like the only place you belonged was on a red carpet.

When you first stepped out of the bedroom all prepared and ready to go, Luke’s cheeks turned red.

“Damn, angel…” He whispered, sauntering forward and placing his warm hands on your hips. “Maybe we should just stay home together…”

You laughed, knowing he was joking, despite the hunger flaring in his dark eyes. “Down, boy. We have plenty of time for that later.”

He pouted. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

Thalia gagged. “God, you are such a simp. The Uber’s here, let’s go!”

Luke pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, barely having to lean down now that you were wearing heels. “We got this, baby.”

You let the butterflies erupt in your chest as you smiled up at him. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, or his hand in yours, but for the first time tonight, you believed him.

~~~~

The red carpet loomed ahead of you. On the left, there was a black backdrop, showcasing logos of various sponsors of the event. On the right, sectioned off by a velvet rope, was a hoard of photographers and fans lucky enough to get early access to the show. At the end of the red carpet, two streamers you didn’t know all that well called Connor and Travis, were doing interviews with all of the nominees for the night.

Luke squeezed your hand in silent encouragement. “We walk, pause for pictures, walk a bit more, quick two minute interview, and then we’re good to find our seats. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You nodded quickly, watching as Percy and Annabeth walked ahead on to the carpet after receiving their cue. They held hands and smiled brightly for pictures. Annabeth kissed Percy’s cheek and the amount of camera flashes tripled, fans in the crowd going wild. Your stomach did a nervous flip.

Thalia poked your back. “Hey, you’re shaking.”

“It’s the heels,” You lied. “I’m used to my Vans.”

“Percy bet me twenty bucks you’d trip and fall.” Grover said, with a teasing smirk.

Your stomach flipped again.

Thalia whacked his arm. “Remember your first red carpet? You stuttered through the interview and then threw up in the fake plant?”

Grover winced. “Trust me, Thals, I have nightmares every night.”

“Was your first red carpet bad, too?” You asked, glancing at Thalia, who only ever expressed pure confidence and charisma.

“No. But only because I was used to the spotlight. My dad’s Zeus Grace, remember?” Thalia explained, squaring her shoulders.

Oh, right. Thalia’s dad was a famous CEO of some corporate company. She’d done tons of photo shoots and had a steady fanbase long before she took up streaming.

“Luke’s first red carpet was fine though,” She continued, rubbing your shoulder. “Yours will be, too. You got this!”

You gave her a grateful smile before turning back around, wrapping your arm around Luke’s muscular bicep. Up ahead, Percy and Annabeth were approaching the interview section. The event coordinator next to you gave you a cue to start walking down the carpet.

Gasps, cheers, clapping — tons of camera flashes — photographers shouting: “Luke! Look here! Smile! Give us a kiss!”

You blushed and leaned into Luke’s towering frame, trying your best to remember some poses Annabeth and Thalia had coached you on earlier in the day. They had forgot to mention how blinding all the camera flashes could be, coupled with the bright overhead lights. You couldn’t see anything. And honestly, that was fine — it made the whole experience feel so surreal, like you were in a dream and your face and appearance and poses didn’t matter. You could feel Luke’s warmth radiating into your side and that was grounding enough.

He placed a kiss to the top of your head, lacing your fingers together. “Perfect,” Luke said, loud enough only you could hear. “You are perfect.”

Both of you made your way down the rest of the carpet, the photographers and fans turning their attention to Thalia who began strutting down the red carpet.

Percy and Annabeth wrapped up their interview and walked inside, not before spinning around and giving you and Luke an encouraging thumbs up.

Connor and Travis, known better by their shared twitch handle “StollBros” sized you up as you approached.

“Luke Castellan, brother! My man!” Connor said, clapping Luke on the shoulder as he shook hands with Travis. You noticed there were four cameras pointed at the interview station. Connor and Travis were both wearing wrist straps that held phones, showing only a twitch chat flying through messages. Right. The red carpet was being streamed on twitch, too. The phones allowed them to read any comments or questions from fans in the chat.

“Connor, Travis,” Luke said, his hand finding the small of your back in a show of comfort. “Good to see you both. And this is Y/N, my lovely girlfriend and beautiful date for the evening.”

God, he was so charming. You couldn’t help but smile and blush at his words, politely nodding to Connor and Travis.

“Beautiful is correct,” Travis said, eyeing you up and down. You giggled and did a little twirl, showing off your stunning down. Travis had to ask, “Are you sure Luke is the one you want? Luke SonofHermes Castellan? The same guy that uses 24-in-1 soap for cleaning and cooking?”

“That’s a rumor!” Luke interrupted, causing everyone to laugh.

“Don’t worry, I told his fans I took him to Sephora the other day. Luke’s got an actual skincare routine now.” You replied, feeling comfortable around the goofy brothers.

Connor glanced at the twitch chat on his wrist. “The fans are dying to know, Y/N — is Boner Theory true?”

Luke’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh my God. I hate my fans.”

You nudged his side. “You don’t hate them, come on. But I’m not gonna answer that ‘cause I think it’s the funniest theory on the Internet right now.”

“Y/N~” Luke groaned, wrapping his arm around your waist tighter. “You’re gonna egg them on.”

“Good!” You teased with a grin.

Luke couldn’t help himself — he leaned down and kissed you right on the mouth. It was just a quick peck but still. It was in front of millions of viewers. Even Connor and Travis shared an amused look.

“Well guys, we’ll let you both go ahead inside. Luke, good luck tonight! Streamer of the Year’s the biggest award of the night!” Connor announced, giving Luke a fist bump.

“And Y/N,” Travis said, dramatically bowing and placing a kiss to the back of your hand, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

~~~~

A man dressed like a butler asked for your names and then directed your group to your table near the front. The tables in the venue were circular, decorated with flowers and candles and nameplates for each guest. You sat between Luke and Thalia, with Percy, Grover, and Annabeth also at your table, of course. You glanced around the room at other seats, noticing streamers and some celebrities you actually recognized. Fans were also able to score tickets, and had their seats in the balcony above. You noticed some fans waving in your general direction and you offered a small smile, knowing there’s no way they were waving at you.

Luke kept one hand clasped in yours the entire time. He was always so calm, cool, and collected, it was interesting seeing him nervous. You knew that meant he really, really cared about this award. As he should — he worked hard everyday and made so many sacrifices to get to the level of popularity that he was at. He cared deeply about his fanbase and wanted to make them happy everyday. If Luke didn’t win Streamer of the Year, you’d riot.

Streamer of the Year was the last award of the night as it was the most anticipated, so there was probably a good two or three hours before Luke would be called on stage. He needed to relax a bit before then, or he’d spontaneously combust. Luke had already downed his drink and was tapping his foot anxiously, glancing around and smiling at some friends or nodding along to the intermission music playing.

You decided to do something a little risky, a little out of your comfort zone, to help ease his nerves.

You kicked off one of your high heels and began slowly dragging your toes down his calf. Leaning over, you pressed a delicate kiss to his neck, relishing in the hitch of his breath and the extra squeeze he gave your hand. “It’s alright, baby,” You whispered in his ear, trying to sound seductive. “No reason to be anxious.”

He met your eyes, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah? You’re oddly calm for someone whose never been to an event this size before.”

Luke’s hand slipped from your grasp as he angled himself to face you more, slowly caressing your exposed thigh from the slit in your dress. You giggled, biting your plump lower lip. “Well, the shots helped. And you help, too. Couldn’t do this without you, handsome.”

“Don’t get too confident, now.” Luke whispered, voice husky in your ear. His hand slipped just a bit higher, brushing the lacy trim of your thong, causing you to squirm. “We both know I’m the one in charge here.”

You were about to retaliate when Grover looked at you two from across the table and gasped, “Keep it in your pants, you freaks! There’s cameras everywhere.”

Luke laughed as you ducked your head, giggling quietly. Little did your friends know, the fear of getting caught in the act was something you and Luke fooled around with often. Hence that time you blew him on stream.

Annabeth rolled her eyes bemusedly. “The show starts in like, twenty minutes, you know. You have time.”

Percy guffawed. “Time for what?”

“I’ll take it.” Luke announced, standing from his chair. You blushed and took his hand as he lead you back out to the lobby of the venue.

It was still pretty busy, with guests arriving, cameramen, photographers, and fans being directed to seats. You scanned the room looking for a closet, or something. Luke, still taller than you despite the heels, seemed to see an opportunity above the crowd and pulled you along towards a hallway.

After a few twists and turns, the noise of the lobby began to fade. There was a smaller washroom down this hallway, away from the ones everyone else knew about and used. It was empty and quiet inside. Luke tugged you into one of the stalls just to be safe, locking it behind the both of you.

Without a beat of hesitation, his lips were on yours, shoving you back onto the stall door. His hands worked quickly to bunch your dress up around your hips, exposing the milky flesh of your thighs. He kept the dress bunched in one fist and used his other hand to trail a finger down your pussy, still covered by your lacy thong.

“Fuck…” Luke groaned, pulling away from your swollen lips. “You’re dripping already. Needy girl.”

“Luke,” you whimpered, his touch causing heat to pool dangerously in your core. “Please…”

“Please what, angel?” Luke teased, nipping at your jaw. “Touch you? Fuck you? In this public bathroom, where anyone could walk in—“

Saying those words, Luke tore the lace down your legs and hastily plunged two of his thick fingers into your aching cunt. The pain and the pleasure mixed together had you moaning loud, knees buckling under the pressure. Your back arched against the cool metal of the stall door, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“Greedy cunt.” Luke murmured, sucking the skin above your breast, fucking his fingers into you at a ruthless pace. His hot breath hit your ear. “Imagine someone walked in and saw you right now. The innocent, pretty girl in the pretty dress getting finger fucked in the bathroom? Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I bet it’d make you come all over my hand—“

“Luke!” You cried, the familiar pressure building in your gut. He pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles to the sensitive nub. “I’m gonna—“

Before you could finish, Luke withdrew his fingers from your folds, leaving you clenching around nothing. You fumed. Luke chuckled at your expression, watching the clear fluid stretch from your core to his fingers. He brought the digits up to your mouth, and you knew from experience already he wanted you to suck. You did, lapping at the salty taste of yourself, watching his pupils blow wide at the sight. “Clean ‘em up nice and good so no one knows what we were doing in here. Gotta be presentable, don’t we, baby?”

You nodded along to his words, hoping that didn’t mean he was going to edge you and leave you legitimately dripping all night long. Thankfully, after pulling his wet fingers from your mouth, he began fumbling with his belt buckle. Luke pulled his pants down just enough to free his massive, hard cock, precum beading on the top. Your mouth began to water.

“Up, angel, up,” He cooed, hands under your ass as he lifted you in the air. You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him close to your core.

Right as you sunk down onto his thick length with a quiet gasp, the bathroom door opened.

“See, I told you there was another bathroom down here.”

“Thank God, if I had to wait in line even a minute longer I would’ve died. I just want to touch up my makeup for God’s sake.”

You eyes locked onto Luke’s, both of you sporting matching horrified expressions. Your legs were in air, wrapped tightly around Luke’s torso. It was only a matter of time before these two girls saw Luke’s legs from below the stall and deduced someone was inside the bathroom with them. At least they’d only see one person, not two.

The thought of getting caught sent a thrill down your spine, causing your pussy walls to clench down hard around Luke’s cock. He grit his teeth and slowly, slowly pulled out of you —

only to ram back in at full force.

He slammed one of his hands on your mouth, pushing hard, begging you with his eyes not to make a singular sound. He held you up against the stall, suspended and impaled on his thick, veiny cock.

Outside, the girls continued talking, their heels clicking as they walked towards the sinks.

“Did you see Luke Castellan? He came in with his new girlfriend or whatever. She’s actually pretty. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Um, I think she’s the lucky one? Come on, have you seen Luke Castellan? He’s fucking hot.”

“He does have the aura of a guy who eats pussy with the devotion of a man starved.”

“Ugh, you’re so right. I should’ve made a move when I had my chance.”

Luke fucked into you again, bucking hard and causing you to see stars. It took all your mental focus not to scream and moan (and laugh at the girl’s conversation. Because they were right. God, were they right). Luke took his hand off your mouth, meeting your eyes again, silently ordering you to shut the fuck up. He then used this free hand to pull your tits out of your dress. Thankfully you had decided against wearing a bra. His mouth latched on to one of your nipples, biting down as he began fucking you at a steady pace, trying not to make a sound.

You held yourself up with one arm around his neck, using your other hand to finally touch your throbbing clit. The sensation was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, your head lolling back against the stall with a gentle thud.

Luckily, neither girls paid the sound any mind.

“I better win Streamer of the Year. Like, yeah, Luke’s great and popular and all, but he’s just a guy. I don’t think a girl’s won in years. And I do so much for the community.”

“So much.”

“And, you can’t tell anyone this, but I might’ve told Apollo if he, y’know, helped me out with the votes… I’d compensate him.”

“No way! You’d do that?”

“Yeah? Like I said, I deserve it the most.”

Something clicked in Luke’s brain. He must’ve finally recognized who the voice belonged to, and in doing so, quickened his pace with you. He kept one fist underneath you, clinging to your bunched up dressed and holding you up. He licked your other boob before meeting your mouth with his again, all tongue and teeth and no regret. You were being loud now, louder than you should’ve been. You were going to get caught. Your orgasm was building rapidly.

Caught, caught, caught —

Fuck! You mouthed, silent as a mouse as your orgasm crashed into you, powerful as ever. Luke continued fucking into you, letting you ride out your high. He came shortly after, biting down on your shoulder and screwing his eyes shut as he pumped his seed deep into your weeping cunt. You could feel him pulsating inside you, sending shivers up your spine.

“Wait, Drew, look — there’s someone in here!”

“What the fuck? Are you spying on us, creep?”

You suppressed another moan as Luke pulled out of you, and then helped you find your footing in the cramped stall. You grabbed a bundle of toilet paper and pressed it between your legs, cleaning up his release and the mess you’d made together.

“What the fuck?”

Luke snorted a laugh, straightening his suit and helping you with your dress. He swiped a thumb along your swollen lower lip, probably fixing your smudged makeup. He kissed your forehead, eyes gleaming with mischief, before he opened the stall door.

Standing at the sinks were Drew Tanaka and Silena Beauregard. You’d heard of them before, and watched some of their content — they mostly did IRL streams and get-ready-with-me’s. It was sort of surreal to see them in person. Especially after hearing their conversation about Luke.

“Drew. Silena.” Luke said with a polite nod, not trying at all to hide his satisfied smirk as he brushed passed them to the sink. You followed timidly, a searing blush building up from your chest to your cheeks.

“Were you two…” Silena trailed off, incredulous, at a loss for words. She blushed too. “Oh my God.”

“Couldn’t keep it in your pants for one night, Castellan?” Drew taunted, looking between the couple with an eye of disgust. You shrinked back a bit from her stare. She sounded so mean.

“Yeah, well, it can be our little secret!” Luke replied, reaching for a paper towel to dry his hands. Drew held her position, not moving out of the way. He continued, “Unless, of course, you want me to tell everyone about the fact you’re bribing the host for a win.”

Drew narrowed her eyes. “Like they’d believe you.”

“Like they’d believe you, spreading rumours about me when you’ve already caused enough drama in the streaming community.” Luke retorted, meeting her gaze.

You held your breath. Some sort of hostile stand off was happening and you had no idea how to react. Luckily, Silena Beauregard saw your nervous expression and offered you a kind smile. “You’re Y/N, right? Nice to meet you! Love the dress.”

“Uh… thanks?” You choked out, suddenly self aware of all the wrinkles in the satin of your gown, bestowed there by Luke’s strong grip.

“Anyways. Show’s about to start!” Luke said, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders. “Try not to limp, angel.”

“Bye, Luke!” Silena said with a smile.

“Ugh.” Drew scoffed, giving you a dirty glare on your way out.

~~~~

“And the winner of the 2025 Streamer of the Year Award is…. SonOfHermes!”

Luke was frozen in shock at your side. You were equally as shocked — after the bathroom encounter, you had fully believed Draw Tanaka had conned her way to the top. But no, she didn’t win. Luke won. Your Luke. Streamer of the Year.

“Go, dude, go!” Percy cheered, helping Luke strand from his seat. Annabeth, Thalia, and Grover were also standing, clapping, cheering. You joined them, giving Luke a big hug and wet kiss on his cheek before gently shoving him in the direction of the stage.

All around you, the event venue had erupted into cheers from other streamers and fans alike. The presenter at the podium held out the ugly Pepe the Frog shaped trophy out to Luke as he took the stairs two at a time up to the stage. He took the award and gave the presenter a quick side hug before they left the stage, giving Luke his spotlight moment.

The cheering died down as Luke began his acceptance speech. You kept your hands clasped together under your chin, tears pinpricking your eyes as sheer joy and pride flooded over you. Luke’s grin was brighter than any spotlight, any camera flash.

“Firstly,” Luke began, speaking into the mic. “I gotta thank my wild ass fans, man. I wouldn’t be here without your constant support and love. Well, sometimes love. You guys really do love to bully me in chat.”

The crowd laughed. Your laugh sounded more like a choked sob, tears flowing freely down your eyes now. Thalia wrapped an arm around your shoulders and held you close.

“Secondly, I have to thank Y/N, which I only introduced to you all about two weeks ago.” Luke continued, meeting your gaze even though you were just one person in a large crowd. He made you feel like the centre of the universe. “We recently celebrated our one year anniversary. I love that girl with my whole heart and soul. She does so much for me behind the scenes which allows me to be my best self everytime I start a stream. Y/N, you’re everything to me. I love you.”

“Lastly, you know I gotta shoutout the homies. Percy, Grover, Annie, Thals — my streams wouldn’t be half as fun without your stupid shenanigans making it entertaining for everyone. Love you guys!”

Luke held the award up one last time as the crowd cheered again, giving him a standing ovation as he came back down to his seat. You gave him another big hug as he lifted you off your feet, planting a firm kiss to your lips.

Luke set you back down and chuckled. “You crying over me, baby?” He asked, rubbing his thumb under your eye, no doubt where your mascara had smudged.

“I’m really, really proud of you.” You replied, kissing his cheek tenderly. “And I love you, too. So much.”

The award ceremony continued, but for the rest of the night, Luke never let go of your hand. Not when Percy jokingly tried to steal the trophy, not when Thalia demanded a round of victory tequila shots, and not even when the after-party lights dimmed and the music pulsed through the venue.

As the celebration wound down, Luke pulled you close, his lips brushing your ear. “You know what the best part of tonight is?” he murmured.

You tilted your head, smiling. “The award?”

He shook his head, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. “Nah. It’s that I get to take you home.”

Your heart swelled as he kissed you again, slow and sweet, like he had all the time in the world.

And in that moment—surrounded by laughter, love, and the quiet hum of victory—you knew you made the right decision.

author’s note: hahaha holy shit I cannot believe I wrote all that oh my god. phew. part 4 anyone?

taglist: @hayacinthandlilies @cloudtato @lovelaurakinney

[vimiti-x]

worked like a dog!

>> david comes home exhausted from work and shifts

>> hiii this took me a bit of courage to post :) im very shy about sharing my writing haha and they’re probably a bit ooc, sorry about that. also ignore any grammar errors pls

. angel/david .

————————————

David’s boots clicked softly on the wooden floor as he gently closed the front door. It was late in the night, and from the soft buzzing of a random episode of Star Trek in the living room, he could tell Angel was asleep waiting for him. He tugged his muddy work shoes off and set them on their shoe rack next to the front door. He would deal with cleaning them tomorrow.

His muscles ached as he set his coat on the respective coat hanger next to Angel’s. A tired yawn escaped his lips as he scratched his stubble while walking towards the living room.

Angel was curled up in an odd sort of ball on the edge of the couch, resting their face against two pillows stacked against the arm of the couch. They were all cozied up in one of David’s work hoodies. David grumbled at their contorted position, knowing they’d be sore tomorrow from it, but a smile hung on his lips nonetheless. The sight of his mate sleeping peacefully made him feel at ease. Ever since Inversion, Angel struggled with falling asleep, so it was nice to see that every once in a while his mate could get a peaceful night’s rest.

He felt like limbs couldn’t carry him anymore, his job had sucked all his energy out of him. A thirteen hour shift was enough to exhaust him and leave him feeling drained. He was beginning to regret taking such a long job so close to the solstice. All he wanted was to curl up next to his mate and sleep.

All he wanted to do was to shift and curl up next to his mate and sleep. It had been such a long time since he was able to be a wolf and it would refresh his body. He felt comfortable enough to show this side more freely around Angel. It was an intimate thing for David to open that part of himself.

But that came second, what came first was making sure Angel slept properly. And by properly, that meant in a bed.

David leaned over the couch and kissed Angel softly, then trailed his lips up to their forehead where he pressed another kiss onto their skin. His mate let out a muffled groan, blinking up at him sleepily.

“Was that romantic enough for you?” David asked, a sarcastic tone lingered on his voice. Angel had asked earlier that week to ‘wake them up more romantically’ since a kiss on a cheek wasn’t exactly romantic enough according to them. Angel gave a soft laugh, “It was perfect. Did you just get home?” Their voice was heavy with sleep as they tried to stretch in their position.

He nodded and Angel reached a hand up to cup his face, “it was long and boring, and all I want right now is to go to bed with my mate.” He murmured into their hand, leaning his face into their touch. They were so warm and David had to fight to stay awake right there.

“Let’s head to bed then,” Angel said as they were getting up from the couch, but before they could get up all the way, David scooped them up into his arms in one swift motion—like they weighed nothing. “Davey!” They exclaimed, clinging onto his neck. He hummed in response. Angel was too tired to protest as much as they usually would, so they pressed their face into the crook of his neck instead.

He carried them all the way to their bedroom, setting them down on their side of the bed. David stripped off his clothes till he was just in boxers, he paused before looking over at Angel and saying, “Is it alright with you if I shift?” As much as he wanted to, he also wanted to be mindful about his mate’s opinion on having a large wolf in their bed as well. His body relaxed easier as a wolf, and it was more familiar to him. Angel nodded, “you don’t need to ask me, you can do whatever helps you unwind.” They smiled softly from where they were swaddled up in blankets on their bed.

As soon as they finished their sentence, David’s bones twisted as his body shifted into a large, black wolf. He picked himself up onto the bed and curled up next to Angel.

Angel reached their hand over to his head slowly, like they were asking for permission. David flattened his ears and nudged his head towards his mate. They scratched behind his ears as he let out a low rumble.

“We can just take the weekend easy tomorrow, stay in and relax. I’ve been working on that waffle recipe you taught me. They’re much easier than pancakes.” Angel murmured as they laid down and turned to face David. “I don’t need to flip waffles, just put them in the waffle maker and wait for the light to turn green. It’s pretty foolproof, and I know you like your waffles with blueberries, don’t worry.” They added with a chuckle and David responded with a low rumble in his throat.

“We can hang out by the pool too, it’s finally warm enough.” Angel began to ramble while keeping a hand on one of David’s large paws. “[Babe] and I went out shopping the other day and there was a swimsuit I bought that was really cute..” They trailed off when David nudged their face with his nose. They grinned sleepily, “okay, okay, I’ll go to bed now. I love you, Davey.”

David nudged them again in response before closing his eyes and letting out a long breath and the two fell into a soft slumber.

[indecisivekatz]

DAY 1 OF KPOP DEMON HUNTER ANALYSIS!: Analysing the Costume Designs in KPop Demon Hunters And Subtle Visual Storytelling Before it Releases

Oh yes, you heard me right-- I've only got this theory and another one in the works, but I might think of some other things to hyperanalyse eventually!!

(Contains potential spoilers for the movie!!)

And warning, as my inner analyst comes out, and I start speaking both formal and casual back and forth-- XD Andd-- I uhh, I'm sorta writing this in one go, so if I start repeating myself, I'm sorry lol XD

The Starting Stage Outfits:

Something I really loved about the HUNTR/X's design is how they balanced looking both uniform and unique! And you can REALLY see that with their outfits at what I'm pretty sure is the beginning of the movie.

I like how they establish Rumi as being different to Mira and Zoey (more on this soon), as they put all their yellow around their lower parts of their designs, whilst Rumi keeps it to her jacket.

I especially love how the designers chose purple for Rumi's hair as it's almost complimentary on the colour wheel against the yellows of her jacket, so there's a really high contrast of colours in her design which again, helps her stand out from the two. She seems to have a more rectangular shape in her design (the jacket, the short pants, the bulky platform boots), and rectangles have often been associated with 'sturdiness'. And judging what we've heard about Rumi, this matches her perfectionist personality.

It's interesting that her hair is the one thing that's not 'rectangular', but it still matches her perfectionist personality as it's super high up (which can at times be uncomfortable). Hair symbolism is a lot of fun- but I'm getting ahead of myself, I swear I'll come back to this later on in the post.

Zoey's outfit features very baggy trousers, which goes well with her round buns. Round shapes are often associated with 'good' characters and safety. In this case, I'm pretty sure it captures her fun goofy personality. She's also different from Rumi and Mira who both sport boots. She instead wears sneakers, which potentially indicates that she values comfort over what's aesthetically pleasing. This theory is further corroborated by how she's the only one of the two who hasn't dyed her hair (assuming she wasn't a brown haired aha).

Mira on the other hand has a "very sharp" (not super sharp honestly, but noticeable enough) design with the sharp half pigtails in her hair and sharp sidebangs in her fringe. Her skirt has a very triangular sharp which further exacerbates her sharp design, and whereas Rumi has much bulkier boots (which I assume would be easier to walk in, but don't quote me, sneakers all the way lol), she wears "pointed" boots (not the sharp ended kinda ones you see in high-heel pumps). I think this is indicative of her seemingly more harsh personality...? We haven't seen too much of these girls, so I can't be too sure about this note lol.

A little crumb of a much bigger theory I'm going to talk about, but I also like how Mira and Zoey have black in their tops, whereas Rumi wears white. Once again, making her stand out.

The HUNTR/X's Awards Outfits

So this one I can't really talk about without getting into my bigger theory but, the there's more shape language in this with the 'belts' for the girls! Zoey's got these half-round jewellery (??) stuff that connect her belt. Whereas Mira's got a long fabric knot thingy (I'm sorry I don't know the name 😭) which kindaaa calls to her triangular shape language.

Honestly, Rumi's is the most obvious one, with her rectangular belt.

(EDIT: These outfits are not to be confused with these ones

because if I acknowledge this version of their outfits, everything I'm about to say will be undone- LOL XD)

Pyjamas:

Nothing too much to note, but I love how Mira and Zoey both have purple in their pyjamas, indicating what might likely be a subconscious show of their love and respect for Rumi.

Okay, onto our favourite bad boy band:

The Saja Boys:

On Wednesdays, we wear pink yellow. Except if you're Jinu--

I'M SORRY- there's not much I can really analyse since we don't know too much about these boys. But I find it interesting how these guys copied the HUNTR/X by all of them (except Jinu) wear yellow + pink together what I assume to be their public debut.

Love that Jinu's the only one who didn't dye his hair. I like to think he tricked the other four into thinking he was going to dye it, but then backed out immediately after the others did it. "Actually, as the leader of this team, I don't need to dye my hair. It.... uhh- makes me stand out. Yeah!"

Saja Boys After Watching Mean Girls

Jinu finally got the memo that you need to MATCH your bandmates.

Nothing TOO much to say just that if you look carefully Jinu's shirt patterns have got a tiger stripe design! These guys aren't very subtle.

Notice how now suddenly, the boys are all wearing pink... they're starting to all look the same in terms of uniform. But hey, there's still some distinction in their outfit styles!

The Boys After Watching Wednesday ON Wednesday:

Nothing too much to say again (this one is likely gonna be saved for my next theory in a different post), but their tiger markings are starting to show off in their outfits!

"Okay, it looks like our fans don't we care if we're demon-looking, so long as we're hot and can sing enough, they'll love us regardless lol":

Notice how now these guys are completely uniform, and they now kinda lose their individuality (apart from their hair WHICH, mind you is mostly covered by their hats).

I really like how what I'm pretty sure is going to be their final outfits in the battle, they're all pretty much the same. Any of their personalities in their outfits are just gone. It's likely that it's not considered important to them anymore, since they think they're gonna win.

It's really noticeable in the trailer how when they're in their Jeoseung Saja fits, they're really unindistinguishable for each other, especially in the dark.

It could indicate the Saja Boys' way of thinking, a more 'collective mind' sorta thing. Maybe they put aside some of their own wants and desires in pursuit of pleasing whoever the Big Bad is. (assuming Jinu isn't. And let's be real, it likely isn't him). Isn't it suspicious how we don't have any of the other Saja Boys names but Jinu? Maybe they're all gonna go nameless until the very end of the film.

We all know that identity is going to be one of the main themes of Kpop Demon Hunters, so for the Saja Boys to slowly strip themselves of their identities in favour of unity is really interesting!

THEORY TERRITORY:

Okay now we're into the meat of this post. The part I was the most excited to write for and decided to make this entire post on a dime.

So there's this theory floating around that SPOILERSSS! LAST CHANCE!!

Rumi might possibly be a demon! Or half! And I'm not gonna go into all these specifics about that, since plenty of people have already done that buttt- It's been noted that Rumi tends to cover her arms and neck with her outfits, which is pretty visually obvious ^^

So you know how I mentioned hair symbolism? I think the fact that Rumi has her hair up in a high braided ponytail, it's supposed to symbolise how 'trapped' she is in trying to make herself look utterly perfect. The hairstyle is very likely painful (it looks kind of tight) but it stops her hair from running wild everywhere. Just like how Rumi might be trying to hold back on being her true self.

But you know what's not too visually obvious? The OTHER ways Rumi's character outfits are always just slightly different to the other girls. Let's bring back those outfits again!

This could be coughed up to how Rumi is the leader and therefore, she must always have her outfit be different to the other girls, but I find it very intriguing how it's around the upper area, which is where Rumi always hides her skin the most (potentially due to having demonic marks there), is where she always seems to differentiate from the other girls.

And in this set of outfits case, not only is Rumi the only one wearing white compared to the other girls who wear black on their shirts, but she's the only one wearing the yellow in that area too!

Although, we do see a hint of black on her jacket!

We see this again in their awards outfits:

Notice how Mira and Zoey both wear black shirts, whilst Rumi wears a white shirt?? And how she's the only one with a black jacket. Again, this could possibly just to help her stand out. But I'm wondering if it's symbolic of how she's got a 'good' heart deep inside, but her 'outside' nature as potentially being a demon distracts from that.

And I think there's something to be said about Mira and Zoey having white on the outside, but black on the inside too! Perhaps it's symbolic of how they too are struggling too with appearances, though in their case it's more metaphorical. They want to appear perfect on the outside, but deep down, they have all these 'imperfections' which they consider to be bad, so they do their best to hide them with the white (perfection).

Alternatively, the black could be symbolic of their lives as Hunters. Rumi believes her job as a hunter to be everything, hence why she has a black jacket, it's all consuming her, wrapping itself against her tightly. Whereas with the girls, it's more of their 'inner selfs' and they're a bit more comfortable with it....? If I'm making any sense.

Now this one is really interesting. (I know I've said interesting like a hundred times already) Notice how when the girls first see the Saja Boys, Rumi is all consumed in pink, which is what I'm pretty sure is the Saja Boy's theme colour. And this time, Rumi's covered in black alongside the pink. And she's once again, visually separated from Mira and Zoey who both wear white.

And hey, Rumi's not the only one who does this sorta stuff! Jinu, the leader of the Saja Boys (a fun foil in designs), whilst not as obviously, also differentiates himself from the group. He's the only one who doesn't initially match the Saja Boys in their supposed debut. And if not for Abs Saja (believe me, I'm going to get into that guy next time!!!) he'd be the only one wearing short sleeves, actively promoting his demonic marks in comparison to Rumi who distracts everyone with her big hair (vs Jinu's natural hair colour) and covers her upper body up (verse Jinu who doesn't wear long sleeves)

Anyway, there might be more I have to say, so I may end up editing this later on, but I hope y'all enjoyed the analysis XD AND- I may end up making a following post to this when the movie comes out!

Stay tuned next time for when I talk about why Abs Saja both hates and admires Jinu.... yes, that's actually the next theory coming.

[fuddforthreeeee]

The Confession

azzi fudd x sick!reader

summary: Azzi has a confession to make to you, but she can’t bring herself to say it until she sees you lying in a hospital bed.

warnings: cancer, vomiting, mention of needles, the l word

wc: 2.2k

a/n: yay! my first post! hopefully y’all like it. if anyone has any suggestions for future fics I’ll write Pazzi or Azzi x Reader. idk about smut yet tho. anywho enjoy!

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It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

No.

Azzi wanted it to happen over dinner at a nice restaurant or while walking down a hiking trail along a river.

It was supposed to be romantic; picture perfect.

Instead, she told you she was in love with you in a cold, bright hospital room.

But as it turned out, she would be okay with that.

——————————

Azzi clocked that something was off right away. When the team returned for summer session, something was off. Particularly with you.

You weren't as lively as you once were and you kept to yourself much more than you had in the past. Azzi grew weary.

The first sign she noticed was that you'd disappear for a few days every two weeks. She had no clue as to where, you'd turn your location off so no one would know, but she could tell that it was something important. Every time you'd return with a little less life in your eyes.

Then came the fatigue. It started small. At first you were breathing heavier after workouts. After some time you were barely able to keep up. And now you weren't able to make it through warm ups with out huffing and puffing. Geno actually forced you to sit you out quite a few days because of this.

And it wasn't just during practice. You'd go back to your dorm and just sleep. All day. You never went out. You were always just laying in bed, asleep or trying to be. Azzi tried to get you out of bed, but you didn't seem to budge, always with an excuse. You claimed you didn't get enough sleep the night before or you needed rest after practice. And in truth you were tired, but not for the reasons you gave.

Next: nausea. She noticed it first early into the second week when she heard gagging noises coming from the bathroom. Azzi tried to enter the room to help you, but you didn't let her in. You told her it was just a common flu and that you'd be fine.

But it wasn't a common flu and you weren't fine. The "flu" had lasted for over a month now. You tried to hide it, but Azzi noticed anyway. She was watching you and when Azzi focused hard enough, nothing slipped past her.

Last and perhaps the biggest indicator the something was seriously wrong was the chunks of wet hair she'd find in the trash. It was alarming for two reasons: the implications and the fact that you tried to hide it from her, from the team.

She confronted you about it a couple days later. You were in your room, lying down like usual and trying to get some sleep, but you and Azzi both knew sleep wasn't coming.

"Hey y/n." Azzi entered, not bothering to knock or ask if it was okay to come in.

You turned, a little grumpy and very sore, ready to snap at her and force her to leave. But the words got caught in your throat as you took note of the tears welling in her eyes and the tired look she was wearing. "Az. What's wrong?" You sat up abruptly, despite the screaming of your muscles.

Azzi sniffled. She didn't say anything, just came across the room and hugged you. It was tighter than usual, almost as if she was clinging onto you like you might disappear. And then she cried. Not aggressively. No shaking or loud sobs occurred. It was just a series of silent tears.

That's when you knew. She figured it out. "Azzi..." You breathed, trying to get her attention.

Azzi looked up, her big brown eyes full of sadness, a sight that made you begin to tear up yourself. "You have cancer, don't you?" Azzi rasped, wiping at her face.

You nodded, bitting your lip to keep yourself in check. "Yeah. Breast cancer.”

Azzi inhaled sharply, trying to rein herself back in. A moment passed where neither of you said anything. The two of you just held onto each other, each in your own heads.

Then Azzi finally spoke up, "You didn't tell us. You didn't tell me." Her words came out soft, but nonetheless emotional, and her bottom lip began to wobble once more. It broke you all over again and only made the guilt sink deeper.

"It wasn't you." You spoke quick, wanting to clear it up before she got into her head too much, “It was a me thing. I told myself I was protecting you all, saving you more pain. In reality, I was just too afraid to face the truth. I didn't want to give up life. Telling you all would mean things would change. I wouldn't be able to play basketball and you would all treat me differently. I didn't want that." You admitted.

Azzi nodded, trying to understand, but still hurt. It took her a moment before she could respond. "Basketball is not more important than your chance of survival Y/n." Azzi finally muttered, almost as if she wasn't sure she should say it. "Yeah, it sucks having to give it up for a while, but it's necessary in order to be treated properly." Azzi reasoned, much firmer now.

You looked down at your hands, feeling too much shame to look into her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. It was stupid of me to think I could have both."

"It wasn't stupid. It's a human reaction. It's okay to want both." Azzi clarified. "But it's not what is best for you now."

You nod, having confidence to look back up at her. "This is so unfair Az." You mumbled, tears falling down your cheeks. It wasn't until this point that you fully processed what was happening to you and now that you were all the floodgates were opening.

Azzi didn't hesitate to hug you again, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck, not caring in the slightest that you were getting part of her shirt wet.

She didn't say anything, just rubbed you back and held you, taking in some of your pain and trying not to cry herself. Earlier she had been so wrapped up in how she felt about the situation, that she forgot to keep in mind how you felt about it all. Now she was trying to do her best to make up for that.

You sat there for a while, in the sticky July heat of the dorm room. It grew silent after an hour and eventually your breathing slowed and your eyes drooped. Azzi noticed, spinning you both so you could lay down.

She kissed your head, letting you sprawl across her body. Her hands found the small of your back and held you there until you drifted off.

—————————

For the next few months she hardly left your side.

She was there when you finally confessed to Geno the true reason for your doctors visits and your struggle during workouts. He scolded you, yelling something about not hiding medical information from the team ya-da-ya-da. Azzi held your hand the whole way through it, thumb moving in circles on your palm.

She was there when you told the team. She ultimately had to be the one to break the news because you started sobbing before you could finish. The reaction was just as you predicted: a few tears, a few looks of pity, and a whole lot of condolences and hugs.

She was there at all of your appointments. Azzi drove you back and forth from every one and sat in your hospital room for almost the entirety of the two days that your chemo was administered. She’d whisper about how brave you were every time the needle hurt a little too much or you were puking into the garbages.

She was there when you finally shaved your head. She cut slowly, letting you adjust to the new look. When it was finally done Azzi ran her fingers over your head lightly. She kept muttering sweet nothings into your ears, telling you how beautiful you looked and assuring you that it would grow back quickly when treatment was over.

She was there to help you announce it to the world. The UConn media team posted that you would not be returning to the court for the upcoming season for medical reasons, fans had a lot of questions. To help clarify, Azzi snapped a photo of you in the hospital bed during one of your treatments while you were eating and, with your permission, posted it to her Instagram story with the words “the strongest woman I know 💗💗.” You reposted it to your story an hour later with a simple ❤️. Soon dozens more people were pouring in their love.

She was there to check up on you during games. When she subbed out or there was a small break during a timeout of during halftime she’d ask how you were doing or give you a small hug. Azzi knew how it felt to sit out and watch others play the game you loved, so she tried to make your experience as positive as possible.

And she was there when your initial treatment came to an end and they gave you the options for moving forward. 1: more chemo. 2: radiation therapy. 3: surgery. You knew the best option was the later, but you hesitated to make the decision. You didn’t want to undergo the surgery because it would mean removing part of your identity as a woman.

Azzi knew the internal war you were fighting before you even had a chance to tell her. She knew you wouldn’t be able to come to the decision on your own, so she gave you the final push.

“Y/n, you should do the surgery.” She said the night before you’d have to finalize your decision. She said it firmly, as if it was a demand, not a suggestion.

Your head snapped to hers, startled by her words. “I don’t know Azzi. I…I can’t just…”

Azzi gave you a sympathetic look as you stumbled over the words. “I know. I know.” She quieted you, caressing your cheek gently. “But your best chance of being cancer free.” She reminded you.

She looked down at your chest, covered by the thin UConn t-shirt you had on. Slowly, she reached out, resting her palms over the covered area, sending sparks throughout both of your bodies. “These don’t make you more or less a woman than you already are. Removing them won’t change anything.” She assured.

“Okay.” You mumbled, “I’ll get the surgery.”

Azzi was yet again there for your surgery. She held you as you cried the night before and the morning of. She walked with you as you were wheeled to surgery. And she was the first face she saw when you woke up.

“Hey.” She smiled, “You’re cancer free!” She said it so soft and so full of care that you burst into tears. You wished you could blame it on the drugs running through your system, but you couldn’t. You were just so overwhelmed that you couldn’t handle it. You had done it. It was finally over. But at the same time, you had lost a part of yourself in the process.

Azzi’s arms found you, holding tightly as if she was born to. “I’m so proud of you Y/n.” She kissed your head, tears of her own joining yours.

“I did it.” You whispered, voice scratchy.

“You did.” Azzi beamed, pulling you gently away from her so she could look at you. “You did.”

A laugh escaped you, one of disbelief. “Oh my god.”

Azzi’s hand moved down to your neck, rubbing there, and the other gripped you jaw. The two of you sat there for a moment, tears rolling down your cheeks, staring into each others eyes. Azzi’s were full of something you couldn’t place. Joy was there, that was certain, but there was another emotion you weren’t sure of. Anxiety maybe?

You didn’t have much time to process it before Azzi was ringing through your ears. “Y/n…”

“…yea?”

And then Azzi said it. The words she had been dreaming about saying for over a year now but was too afraid to actual say. Azzi finally confessed to her best friend, the girl she was terribly afraid of loosing, “I’m in love with you.”

“You-you are?” You stuttered, shook.

Azzi nodded, hesitantly, anxiety creeping into her features. She wasn’t sure what you were thinking. Was this going to make their friendship awkward now? Had she fucked everything up?

But instantly a grin appeared on your lips. “I love you too Azzi.”

And then the two of you were leaning in, lips meeting for the first time in a mess of tears, joy, and relief, in the middle of a cold, bright hospital room. The end of one journey and the start of another.

You and Azzi wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[blackberrysummerblog]

Hi all, Happy Wednesday! I feel bad that I haven’t been around much the past few weeks. If I’m honest, things are pretty difficult right now, but we press on, right? Thank you so much to everyone who’s been tagging me; I have so much catching up to do!

I’ve been on and off productive in my own writing, so I’ll share a little bit of everything fandom-related I’ve written lately:

Pull Yourself Together: I can juuuust about touch the end of this one! It’s been so long since the last chapter was posted, but I really do feel like I’ll finish this week. Here’s a hurt-y snippet (Baz POV, natch):

I’ve untangled myself from Snow’s sweaty embrace (again) and we’ve performed the daily ritual of sitting up and climbing off the bed together; we’re experts now. We’re expert at not talking to each other about it, too.

Crowley, what are bodies? Even though I’m not really alive, I somehow still have to deal with the utter ridiculousness and indignity of corporeality and its attendant needs. I try to imagine a world where I don’t have to want to jump Simon Snow’s bones every time he walks into the room (with his broad shoulders and his freckled face, and that blasted soft look he keeps giving me). I try to imagine a world in which his touch doesn’t instantly soothe my soul. It’s all too much. I don’t think it exists, this imaginary place where I’m not utterly obsessed with him. It’s more than physical; it’s infinite. A sob catches in my throat as I make my way into the en suite, and I quickly close the door.

Things are going a little better for the boys in The Field Trap, which believe it or not I have been working on. Another Baz POV:

Simon rolls his hips, tipping me onto my side so that we lie face to face. “I love you, Baz,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb beneath my lower lip. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out together.”

That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. The only light now is from the wood stove, and rain continues to beat the tin roof and ancient glass windows. Simon finds my mouth in the dark, and his hand slides down my belly to rest on my inner thigh. “Is this OK?” he mumbles, and I answer by clutching him closer. He pulls back to look me in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”

I do. I can’t find the strength to speak, so I nod frantically instead. Simon grabs the duvet and hurls it over us, then flashes me a cheeky grin before throwing his leg over me and disappearing under the covers. Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

Last but definitely not least, some Dev POV from my COBB with @rimeswithpurple, in which I tried to be clever with Niall’s tattoo and was VERY late to the game discovering it worked on a much more obvious and funny level. Oops:

As though feeling my gaze, Niall looks up and removes a lollipop from his mouth. He leans over to pinch up a towel, remarking dryly, “Crumpled with intention.” He flaps it out toward me before dropping it.

“Piss off!” I snarl. He only gives me a wan smile before turning away, and what’s that about? As though I’m not worth his bloody time.

“Easy, gents,” Gareth soothes, scooting in to readjust the stacks of essentially folded towels. He quirks an eyebrow at me and nods toward Niall’s retreating figure; I don’t know why. I’m not going after him; he’s the one pointlessly nagging and haranguing me.

“Coming in hot today, Dev,” the American drawls as he swans past. At least Shepard has a passing acquaintance with a sense of style, quirky though it may be. Niall, on the other hand, is showing off yet more in his wardrobe range of ghastly earth tones today. Although, he does have a lovely blush-coloured button-down on beneath his snug-fitting khaki cardigan. He’s wearing his hair down this morning and must have nicked some of Baz’s product, because it’s curling around his face in smooth auburn waves rather than the halo of frizz he normally yanks back into an artless bun.

I’ve finally determined that the line of the tattoo I noticed is a river, although I have no idea how far it may wind down his pale torso, nor what other landscaping may be involved. I scowl as the term ‘landscaping’ lodges in my brain and refuses to leave. Fuck my life.

I hope everyone has a great rest of the week! I plan to spend some time catching up on everyone’s tags and posts (please god give me time). Hellos and no-pressure tags: @youarenevertooold @thewholelemon @forabeatofadrum @monbons @j-trow-95 @nausikaaa @roomwithanopenfire @valeffelees @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @best--dress @c0nsumemy5oul @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @leithillustration @aristocratic-otter @ic3-que3n @prettygoododds @fiend-for-culture @mooncello @brilla-brilla-estrellita @asocialpessimist @drowninginships @orange-peony @ileadacharmedlife @stitchy-queerista @imagineacoolusername @letraspal @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @raenestee @shrekgogurt @facewithoutheart @alexalexinii @iamamythologicalcreature @supercutedinosaurs @confused-bi-queer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @hushed-chorus @skeedelvee @the-beard-of-edward-teach @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Tarot Tuesday

Rules: Take inspiration from the drawn card to write a short fic, scene, art, doodle, whatever inspires you. You have the whole week to the following Tuesday. Feel free to tag friends!

This Week's Card (6/10/25): Five of Swords

[Woven Path Tarot] Keywords: Conflict, betrayal, deceit Imagery: Pyrrhic victory, post-battle, looming threat

Thank you for the tag @woundedsoul12 I’m not great at writing arguments but I really wanted to try (and I wanted to do something for @viagoweek day 2 for this as well) was going to keep it short but it got away from me a little

About 1.4K words

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Flowering vines growing in loops and climbing lines decorated the banister where Zalan sat. Or hid may have been a better term. It was a storage room high up in the de Riva house and the fledgling twirled a bloom between his fingers, a pensive look on his face.

Viago was looking for him, he wasn’t sure why his mentor wanted him but he had a feeling it was for nothing good. It was never for anything good these days. For only being sixteen Zalan felt he was already a master at reading the Crow that took him in, and the man was more angry than not any time he’d spot his younger charge. Zalan could never do anything right no matter how he tried.

Even just earlier he’d been sparring with Gemma, who was about his age and skill level when Viago had stopped them mid fight and told Zalan to go do endurance training instead. The anger had washed over him but he’d left as instructed, but instead of training had scaled the building up to his spot among the blooming morning glories.

And he knew he’d be found sooner or later, that he’d have to face whatever punishment his mentor doled out but for now his anger boiled. Gemma was a fine fighter, sure. He remembered when he was still young and she’d arrived and the two had grown up together. She was quiet and determined, but he didn’t think she was a better fighter than himself. He would have won that match so why did Viago feel the need to stop it.

Petals crumpled in his fist as he crushed the flower in his hands and then still angry he threw the bloom aside letting it fall the several stories to the ground. Bitter resentment was welling in him even as he tried to push it down. Was it because Viago had seen the two in one of the common rooms several days ago? Zalan had kissed her after she’d told him he was cute, coy and teasing. Was his mentor afraid he was going easy in training now just because of that? He resisted the urge to yank another blossom off the vine, to just rip at the vine to destroy something.

The window shutters being pulled open behind him startled him and he wobbled on his perch, throwing his hands out to grasp the banister and steady himself. Turning to glare at whoever had opened the door he was surprised not to see his mentor but Gemma smirking at him. The scowl faded and he grinned, brightening up at her appearance.

“You know if you’re trying to hide being on the outside of the building facing the streets isn’t the smartest place to choose.” She teased, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking back on her heels. Zalan thought she was cute like that, she looked happy here not the intense empty gaze she sported during training.

“Maybe I just was waiting for you.” He joked back with an overly nonchalant shrug and a bright smile. Gemma laughed at him and walked closer, leaning out the window to look over him at the view.

“Brave of you to sit this far up, I’d be far too scared to sit out here.” She told him shaking her head in amusement. Zalan caught the glint in her eyes and he beckoned her up, patting the railing beside him,

“Come sit with me then, I’ll keep you from falling.” It was a boast that somewhere in his brain he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could back up, he was strong enough but to pull a full human if she slipped would be a struggle. But he was sure he could do it. Sure enough that Gemma was smiling and leaned her body on the windowsill bringing her close to Zalan’s where he’d twisted inwards to talk to her. She was staring at his lips and he leaned in too, eyes starting to droop closed for the kiss he was expecting.

Lips pressed against his sending a tingle through him that for one second he enjoyed before the tingle intensified into a burn and he felt the unmistakable pain of a dagger pressing into his chest. His eyes snapped open again and saw Gemma, no longer smiling, stabbing an ornate dagger into him. She almost looked frustrated that he had broken the kiss so soon and with barely any expression change she shoved Zalan with all her might. He could feel his body begin to tip and he flailed his arms, the appendages already going numb from the poison that he knew was on his lips and could almost guess was on the knife as well.

His mind had blanked, the events not clicking into place and he could only stare at her.

Zalan watched the door to the storage room behind her burst open and Viago was running in, anger clear on his face. Somewhere in his brain he wanted to laugh, of course Viago looked angry at him, somehow he’d messed everything up. Again. But the talon grabbed Gemma by arm and yanked her away throwing the small girl to the ground and lunging forward to grab at Zalan, fingers brushing his armor and almost missing but catching on a boot and suddenly he wasn’t falling he was dangling, head smacking into the wall but he wasn’t being splattered over the ground so he couldn’t complain. The fledgling wasn’t actually sure he could complain if he wanted to, his tongue felt heavy and he heard the sounds of scuffling before the grunt of Viago hoisting him back up and dumping him onto the floor in a heap.

One of the older crows must have been behind Viago when his mentor had burst into the room because they were dragging Gemma away. He couldn’t tell if she was dead or just unconscious but he was too busy laying on the ground fighting through the poisons to care.

Viago grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him close to yell at him, anger clear in his voice.

“What did you think you were doing Zalan!” His voice was raised and the fledgling felt anger of his own roiling up out of him.

“What did I do? Why are you here? Why was Gemma trying to kill me?” He was speaking through clenched teeth, glare equally as intense as Viago’s

“You never listen to me! If you’d listened and gone to endurance training like I instructed-“ He cut himself off, anger getting the better of him but Zalan only felt his own rage surge.

“You knew?! You knew she was going to do this and you didn’t tell me?” He tried to shove Viago’s hands away but his arms were still weak from whatever he’d been dosed with.

“She was showing signs of a traitor for weeks Zalan, I’m sorry you were too enthralled with her to see it.” He wasn’t quite yelling anymore but he was shaking Zalan with every sentence.

“Then why even stop her? You just love telling me how I’m not good enough, keep saying I don’t deserve to be a crow. Why not just let her get rid of the problem?” He spat bitterly, arms still useless.

“I am not wasting all the time and effort I’ve spent training you just because you’re being an idiot!”

“Oh yes all your precious time and effort, can’t have that it’ll look bad for your house if too many of us die right? You don’t care about us, about me, you only care about what the other talons think right?”

“Yes it would look bad for my house if I let too many of my charges be fools and die on me. And so, I will not let you waste all that time and effort.” He glared but wasn’t yelling anymore and with a sharp look he ripped the dagger out and pressed a towel from the shelves nearby to his chest. And with little struggle, picked up Zalan and tossed him over his shoulder,. “We’ll get you patched up and you can sit in your room until the poisons work their way out of your system.”

Zalan was woozy from being tossed around and the poisons and kept his mouth clamped firmly shut though he did briefly think about throwing up on Viago, out of spite but choose to stay silent and let his anger slowly start to burn itself out. Maybe he’d barf in one of Viago’s shoes later, if the poisons really made him feel that bad, that would show him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

(I hope I really channeled that teenage vibe here for him lol)

Gently no pressure tagging: @davrinsleftpectoral @jukkaricity @kabsey @pixiedurango @chaosherald @hedwigoprah @draco-illius-noctis

[dreamingofthewild]

Rant about fandom culture incoming. Please feel free to scroll by ❤️

As someone who has never been in a fandom before and only recently got into "nerd culture," I find the idea of getting upset about shipping and headcannons very jejune. Especially in an RP game that lets you explore different relationships and routes.

Fanfiction is not about what is real or canon. It's about exploring the characters, imagining them in different settings, or alternate universes.

Shipping is the act of creating a romantic pairing between two people or characters who are not otherwise romantically linked. People ship two characters together for a variety of reasons. Usually, they like the dynamic or the chemistry and want to explore it further.

BG3 is a role-playing based off of a role-playing game that also lets you role play as one of the main [origin] characters. The game let's you explore many paths depending on how you want to play.

Every ship is a valid role-playing variant.

But it's not just about shipping, I have also seen people judge others for how they choose to play the game or chastise others for ignoring "canon" whilst ignoring canon themselves.

People write essays or create blogs dedicated to hating specific characters and judging the people who like them (why bother?). The characters are complex and change depending on how you choose to play the game.

From what I have observed, there is usually some kind of bias behind strong opinions, and there will always be something in the game you can use to defend or disprove a view. The curtains are not always just blue, but sometimes they are.

Just accept that people are going to like characters you don't, ship characters you don't, and choose different in-game choices. Your headcanon, your opinions, and your preferences are not everyone else's. This is a role-playing game where you get to make your own choices, and fanfiction is about exploring scenarios outside the source material. There is a lot in the game that we don't know or that is down to interpretation.

Surely, there are better things we could be doing than writing lengthy posts about why we don't like something and discouraging others (me included as I write this post).

Focus on reblogging what you like or creating the content you want to see. I'm tired of people telling others they're doing fandom wrong and acting like their opinion is the only correct one that is free from any bias. No one is free from bias.

All of this, just to say, I wish people would let others enjoy the game how they want to. Most people do, but there are always a few.

You're not a clown for sympathising with Astarion, shipping Astarion with Gale, imagining Gale with kids post game, or exploring darker character paths.

People project onto all of the characters just as much as they identify with them. And I am sure that there is not a single ship out there that does not have some fanfictions that are a little ooc or where people explore the dynamic different to how it would be in the game. Even with oc x origin ships sometimes. So that is not a valid reason to discredit something you don't like. Especially if you're okay with it when it is not something you personally dislike.

Neither is the fact that you can do what you want in an origin run because they gave us the option to play as them and control their story. If origin runs don't count, then that means no ship is valid except the one between an origin character and Tav. Not just the one you don't like. People often see what they want to see and take any evidence that supports their view, whilst disregarding or finding ways to discredit the ones that don't.

Also, I love it when people claim not to care who people ship but then proceed to create a lengthy post about why they shouldn't be shipped. Including calling the people who ship them clowns or another derogatory term. People who are actually indifferent don't bother to go to such lengths to discredit it. Even if it is just on your own private blog with the names censored, why take the time, especially when you supposedly don't care?

When you're chronically online, you start to notice some patterns. That's all I'm saying.

[triglycercule]

Thoughts on mtt

they should travel the multiverse together and see and experience a more peaceful life than all of them ever have (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)

also they should get to gnaw at each other like rabies infected dogs 🧡🙏

[myokk]

OH MY GOD…I just finished The Count of Monte Cristo and…🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 I will need AT LEAST a day to recover…

alskfjjfjfjcjcjehejkckdhdhdhshdhsjsh it was so good…more like watching a movie or a soap opera than reading a book I loved it‼️‼️

[auriidae]

SOUL MEETS BODY PLAYING OVER THE CAFETERIA SPEAKERS MOMENT

[twilight-deviant]

Read this post saying Daredevil should retire Fisk's character and...

Listen

I'm Fisk's biggest fan, and this is my thought as well. It is the most unnecessarily rushed thing to do Mayor Fisk and then immediately go into Devil's Reign to depose him. (The comics let his office stew for years.) While I absolutely adore Fisk as an overarching villain of the narrative, I don't think he should be the primary antagonist for 18 17 episodes. Even I might get tired of that. (Especially when he's written poorly throughout.) Not that I would say we need a full retirement of the character though.

If I had my druthers? My ideal scenario would be something like:

1. Fisk becomes mayor. His intentions are more apparent as genuine in the beginning, following Maya's influence and generally having depth of character. (By this I mean a single example that he does care for the city and its people and not only power.) His inevitable descent is better charted. He becomes Kingpin again and corrupts the system. But! there is a tipping point where Matt challenges this violent corruption. Then, in a world of better writing, they end up in another stalemate (as they have for 40+ years) with mutual leverage over one another, similar to 3x13. Therefore, the first half of BA (season one) actually ends with a sensation of accomplishment and catharsis. Matt "beats" Fisk by making him massively dial back his polluted ambitions, and his Kingpin activities become a weakened hand of control over the underworld. (Like the comics.) However, Matt's loss is that he has to continue living with the reality that Fisk is mayor, only a less corrupt and aggressive one. 2. Which would lead into a second season. Matt is Daredevil. Fisk is mayor. But Fisk is seen far less frequent compared to other antagonists and characters that pick up in the foreground. (Daredevil doesn't have many stellar villains to work with, but there are a few good ones to pull out. Do Typhoid Mary already.) It would still be best to see reminders of Fisk though, similar to the echos in S2 that culminated in his cameo episodes. You get Fisk alive as a villain (and remaining Matt's arch-nemesis), but we tag in others in a way that focuses on them and works. (Not like the rushed Muse plot.)

Personally, I would love taking such an opportunity to pay homage to comics more than a few years old. I'd be guilty of making Fisk's first proper scene come out of nowhere when Matt hits an immovable wall and needs information from the one person he knows would have it. (✿◡‿◡)

[Daredevil (1964) #190]

But we didn't GET THAT! What we're getting will be more new villains (and new heroes for Matt's "army") edged out of proper screentime. So now I don't know what I want or how this can be fixed, but I do know I'd prefer seeing less of Fisk compared to Fisk front and center and written badly. I say as #1 Fisk fan.