#me: (sweating) the...the triangle points here...because it...it has a point.

[egophiliac]

I was wanting to try doing an art piece in the style of the signature spell poster art pieces you create. But I’m not really the best at coming up with a composition for such a thing.

Do you have a process for how you come up with the compositions for them?

oh, awesome! it is an INCREDIBLY enjoyable style to work in; I hope you have fun with it! :D

I'm not great at putting my thought/art process into words, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'll try! my first step is always to do a LOT of thumbnails to figure out both the idea and how I want to show it; not trying to do a real sketch or anything, just little doodles to figure out what exactly I'm trying to portray. (I also call these "garbage passes" because they're not meant to be any good, they're just there to throw things out. aha. ha. ...anyway.) I think it's important during that first stage to really focus on the idea and the layout and not to get too bogged down in the actual drawing yet!

I tend to save my final thumbnails, so I'll use 'em as examples (I posted the ones up through episode 5 here if you're interested!) (and, uhhh, spoilers through episode 5 also in this post, hopefully that won't be an issue!)

the main thing I try to think about in composition is balance -- not necessarily in terms of symmetry, but in where each element is placed and how much space it's taking up. remember, empty space is still space! it's also really important to think about the parts that don't have anything in them, as much as the parts that do!

personally, I like to divide things up roughly by both halves and by thirds -- there's a lot more in-depth info out there on why the "rule of thirds" in particular works well visually, but in short, our brains tend to focus on things that are placed closer to imaginary division lines, instead of in the exact center of an image. so even when I'm doing something that is very centered and symmetrical, I try to keep that in mind and generally aim around those for landmarks like faces/eyes (or...where they would be, anyway) and other focal points.

it's not a formula of "the character's face should be in this division of this grid" or anything, more like "our minds like to focus on these areas, let's think about how to use that", if that makes sense! and of course rules are made to be broken, art is lawless anarchy, and so on. but it can be a good starting place for deciding where you want to put things!

(blue - thirds, red - half)

and against the finished versions, because they do usually end up changing a lot (including the empty space of the border):

(...these actually lined up a lot better than I thought they would. :') it makes me look like I do things way more intentionally than I do.)

other stuff I just try to keep in mind is that our eyes like following arcs and paths, which can be a good way to guide the eye:

and frame and control the focus:

honestly, composition is one of those things I feel like I struggle with a lot, so I'm not sure how much of this is helpful or actually makes sense outside of my head. but hopefully it helps a little! it's all just stuff to think about while drawing and not anything hard-and-fast, so don't, like, stress out about making sure things are lining up exactly on the thirds or anything. again, it's more "our brains think these are the dopest parts of the rectangle" than anything else! take advantage of the cool parts of the rectangle!

NOW GO HAVE FUN DRAWING seriously though, it is always super cool that other people like this idea and style enough to want to do it themselves and for other/their own characters! thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

[chrrybbmb]

INTERLACE

STARRING ... SPIDEY!J. JUNGKOOK X READER

WORD COUNT ... 10.5K

SUMMARY ... at what point do crossing paths become one in the same?

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slow burn. reader and jungkook are both awkward losers. reader is in mega denial abt her feelings. is it a love triangle if it's technically only two people? fighting and mentions of blood. very spidey centric this chapter.

playlist : head over heels (tears for fears). glue song (beabadoobee). some (steve lacy). a new kind of love (frou frou). i want you to love me (fiona apple). my kind of woman (mac de marco). telephones (vacations). blondie (current joys). fade into you (mazzy star). waiting room (phoebe bridgers).

taglist. prev. next.

you don’t know why this is making you this nervous.

it’s not like jungkook is scary. he’s quiet, sure—keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much in class. but he’s nice. normal. a perfectly reasonable person to ask for help.

so why the hell are your palms sweating?

you take a slow breath, forcing your legs to move, weaving through the crowd of students packing up their things. by the time you reach his desk, most of the lecture hall has emptied, and jungkook is still sitting there, hunched slightly over his bag like he’s in no rush to leave.

he glances up when you stop beside him.

his eyes are huge. it throws you off for half a second, but you shake it off, adjusting your bag strap and clearing your throat.

“hey,” you say, voice coming out a little softer than you mean it to.

jungkook stares.

and stares.

for a second, you think he might actually be buffering. then, finally, “uh. hey,” he says, blinking like he just remembered how to function.

you shift, rolling your shoulders. okay. normal. this is normal.

“so, um.” you glance around, suddenly hyper-aware of how empty the room is. “this might be kind of random, but… do you, uh. know anyone who tutors?”

jungkook blinks again, like he wasn’t expecting that question. “tutors?”

you nod, shifting on your feet. “yeah. for chemistry.”

god, why does this feel so awkward?

jungkook doesn’t answer right away.

his expression shifts—just a flicker of something unreadable—but you don’t have time to dwell on it before he clears his throat.

“uh. yeah. i mean, i—” he rubs the back of his neck, voice slightly strained. “i can ask around.”

you try not to let your disappointment show, but you must not be very good at it, because jungkook’s brows twitch slightly.

“oh,” you say, nodding. “cool. yeah, that would be great.”

you hesitate.

because this—standing here, watching him watch you, feeling like there’s some kind of weird, invisible weight between you—feels off. like the conversation should be longer, like there’s something else you should say, even though you don’t know what.

but you don’t want to drag this out.

so you clear your throat, shifting your bag strap higher. “and, um… if you hear of anyone good, could you maybe… let me know?”

jungkook nods so fast it almost startles you. “yeah. of course.”

his voice is weirdly serious.

but you brush it off, offering a small smile. “thanks, jungkook.”

for a second, his breath catches—like you just said something completely life-altering instead of just his name.

you tilt your head, but before you can think too hard about it, you wave and turn toward the door.

you don’t look back.

but as you step into the hallway, something about the whole thing still lingers. like you missed something important.

jungkook had rehearsed for this exact situation. he thought the hard part was over—he'd actually acted semi-normal when he'd approached you, managed to hold eye contact while offering to be your tutor. he'd even left the exchange having obtained your number (sweet!!).

he'd spent countless nights revising content, practicing formulas and memorising equations and theories so that he could at least seem like he knew what he was doing.

this was it. his moment. he was finally just going to interact with you like a normal fucking human being.

it was all good in theory, but in practice? jungkook was royally fucked.

because now you're sitting next to him, completely oblivious to the fact that he's barely holding it together.

you're chewing on the end of your pen, eyes narrowed at your notebook, looking way too focused for someone who has no idea how much damage they're doing to his concentration.

"so," you say, tapping the paper. "balancing equations. i kind of get it, but also, i really, really don't."

jungkook blinks. right. chemistry. that's what they're here for.

he clears his throat, forcing himself to focus. "uh, yeah. it's not too bad once you get the hang of it."

you shoot him a deadpan look. "strongly disagree."

he huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. "okay, so—" he grabs his pen and flips to a clean page. "the key thing is that both sides need to have the same number of atoms. like, if you start with four hydrogens on this side, you need four on the other too."

you nod slowly. "okay. that… makes sense."

"yeah, so let’s try this one." he writes out a basic equation, sliding the notebook toward you. "give it a shot."

you stare at it like it's personally offended you.

jungkook bites back a grin. "it’s not a trick question."

"it feels like a trick question," you mutter. but you pick up your pen, hesitating before writing a number down.

jungkook watches as you pause, lips pressing together, brows furrowing in concentration.

he looks away quickly.

he should be focusing on the chemistry. the equations, the tutoring.

not the fact that he’s definitely in trouble.

because the moment you put pen to paper, jungkook knows—just knows—you’re about to get it wrong.

and sure enough, when you slide the notebook back toward him, there it is.

wrong.

not completely wrong, but wrong enough that jungkook exhales through his nose and shakes his head.

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “god, this is so dumb.”

“it’s not dumb,” jungkook says, flipping his pen between his fingers. “you’re just thinking about it the wrong way.”

“okay, smart guy.” you tilt your head, challenging. “explain it to me in a way that actually makes sense.”

jungkook leans back, tapping the pen against the page. “okay, think of it like this. say you’re making a fruit salad—”

you blink. “a what?”

“a fruit salad,” he repeats, undeterred. “and say you start with four oranges.”

you eye him warily. “...okay.”

“so no matter what you do—peel them, slice them, throw them in a bowl with other fruit—at the end of the day, you still have four oranges.”

your brows furrow, lips pressing together like you don��t want to admit that makes sense.

jungkook grins. “balancing equations is the same thing. no matter how you rearrange the elements, the total amount of each one has to stay the same on both sides.”

you stare at him for a long moment.

then, finally, you sigh. “...that’s actually a good analogy.”

he smirks. “i know.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips now. “okay, hotshot, let’s see if you can explain something harder.”

jungkook arches a brow. “oh, so now you want me to tutor you?”

you shove his arm lightly. “shut up and give me another problem.”

he chuckles, flipping to a fresh page. “alright. let’s try the haber process.”

he writes it down, leaving it unbalanced:

N₂ + H₂ → NH₃

“alright,” he says, capping his pen. “same rule as before. everything on the left has to match everything on the right.”

you narrow your eyes, twirling your pen between your fingers before jotting something down.

jungkook watches as you hesitate, erasing and rewriting numbers, brows furrowed in concentration.

it’s weirdly endearing.

and then you groan, pushing the notebook back. “i give up.”

jungkook scans your work. “you were close.”

“i hate that phrase.”

he grins, nudging the notebook back toward himself. “watch.”

he adjusts the numbers as he explains. “so, nitrogen. you start with two on this side, but only one on this side. so we fix that by making this a two—” he scribbles down the coefficient.

“okay…” you say slowly, watching his pen move.

“now hydrogen,” he continues. “we start with two here, but six here. so we add a three here to balance it out—”

N₂ + 3H₂ → 2NH₃

he slides the notebook back to you with a triumphant smile.

you stare at it, expression unreadable. “i swear to god,” you say, shaking your head, “if you had explained it like that from the start, i wouldn’t have struggled.”

jungkook laughs. “so what i’m hearing is, i’m a great tutor.”

“what you’re hearing is, you could’ve been a great tutor.”

“eh. still counts.”

you roll your eyes, but this time, you’re actually smiling.

and jungkook—despite everything, despite his initial panic, despite the fact that he’s sitting way too close to you for his own sanity—finds himself smiling too.

you stretch your arms over your head, letting out a quiet sigh. “y’know, i almost asked namjoon for tutoring.”

jungkook stills for a second before forcing himself to look casual. “oh, yeah?”

you nod, scribbling absently in the corner of your notebook. “yeah. figured he’d be a good choice, since he’s, like… stupidly smart.”

jungkook huffs a small laugh, but something about that digs at him a little. because you’re right. namjoon would be the better choice.

namjoon is a teacher’s aide. namjoon is literally enrolled in biomedical engineering, which is, like, a hundred times more impressive than whatever jungkook is doing. namjoon probably understands this stuff instead of just memorizing enough to fake his way through a tutoring session.

jungkook shifts slightly in his seat, tapping his pen against the table. “so why didn’t you?”

you blink at him.

then, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, you shrug. “because you offered.”

jungkook's brain goes blank.

because what?

you say it so easily, like it’s obvious, like there wasn’t even a question. like you actually wanted to study with him.

his grip tightens around his pen as he watches you absently flip through your notes, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you've just thrown him into.

for a second, neither of you say anything.

your eyes flick up to his, and suddenly, he’s stuck.

there’s a small pause—just a beat, just long enough for jungkook to forget how to breathe.

you hold his gaze like it’s nothing, like he’s not sitting here actively trying not to combust.

his mouth goes dry. his heart is way too loud.

and then, just as quickly, you glance back down at your notes, tapping your pen against the paper. “okay, next question. impress me, tutor boy.”

jungkook clears his throat, blinking hard, trying to snap himself out of whatever the hell that was (he is so fucking done for).

he shifts in his seat, flipping through the textbook like he actually knows what he’s looking for. “uh. yeah. next question. right.”

you smirk, tilting your head. “you good?”

“yeah.” his voice comes out too fast, too stiff. he forces a casual shrug. “just, uh—thinking of a good one.”

(thinking about how you looked at me like that. thinking about how you chose me instead of namjoon. thinking about how—fuck.)

you hum, resting your chin in your palm. “hope it’s a hard one.”

jungkook exhales sharply, scanning the page like it has the answers to any of the things he’s struggling with right now.

finally, he lands on a problem that looks complicated enough to distract both of you.

“alright,” he says, tapping the book. “let’s see what you got.”

you lean in slightly, eyes flicking over the question, and jungkook tells himself to focus—on the tutoring, on the problem, on literally anything except the way your shoulder brushes his when you move. but he feels it anyway. and he knows this is so much worse than he thought.

time passes.

the tutoring session slowly shifts—somewhere between balancing equations and half-scribbled notes, the conversation drifts, drifting away from chemistry, away from anything remotely academic.

at first, it’s small things.

you ask jungkook how he even ended up offering to tutor you in the first place (he very smoothly dodges the part where jimin bullied him into it). he asks you if chemistry is your worst subject (it is, followed closely by calculus, which makes him wince in secondhand pain).

but then, when the notes are mostly abandoned and the textbooks sit open but unread between you, jungkook asks, “so, the mural.”

you pause, pen tapping against the table. “what about it?”

jungkook shrugs, keeping his tone casual. “just wondering how it’s going.”

you blink. “how do you know about the mural?”

fuck.

jungkook freezes.

because—right. right. he’s not supposed to know about that. not as jungkook.

he clears his throat, scrambling for a non-suspicious answer. “uh—i mean, it’s kind of hard to miss, right? huge wall, lots of paint?” he forces a laugh. “not exactly subtle.”

you tilt your head, watching him.

for a second, he panics. does she know? is she suspicious?

but then, your lips curve into a small smile. “guess that’s true.”

he lets out a breath, relieved.

you shift slightly, leaning back in your chair. “it’s going okay. slow, but i like how it’s turning out.”

jungkook nods, relaxing a little. “still just ‘feeling it out’?”

you grin. “always.”

jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand, watching him curiously. “you actually care, or are you just trying to distract me from chemistry?”

he scoffs. “i do care.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“okay, and i’m trying to distract you.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “appreciate the honesty, tutor boy.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

and as the conversation drifts even further from chemistry, as the minutes slip by unnoticed, he realizes he doesn’t actually mind that they haven’t gotten much studying done.

because sitting here, just talking to you? that might be his favorite part.

you stretch your arms over your head, letting out a slow sigh. “you know, this is giving me serious deja vu.”

jungkook raises an eyebrow. “deja vu?”

“yeah,” you say, twirling your pen between your fingers. “feels like our first library date all over again.”

jungkook chokes.

his throat closes up, his brain slams into a brick wall, and he spends a solid three seconds trying to remember how to breathe.

because—date??

DATE??

“what—” he coughs, scrambling to recover. “what?”

your eyes widen, like you just realized what you said. “oh my god.” you sit up straighter, waving your hands frantically. “no, wait, not like—i didn’t mean—i just meant, like—”

you groan, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before trying again. “i meant ‘date’ in, like, a casual, non-romantic way. like a—like a study date. not a date-date.”

jungkook is still stuck on the first part.

you clear your throat, shifting uncomfortably. “obviously, right? because that wasn’t—i mean, it’s not like we were—”

jungkook nods way too fast. “right. yeah. totally.”

silence.

the air is suddenly so much thicker than it was two seconds ago and neither of you are looking at each other anymore.

you tap your fingers against the notebook. jungkook fiddles with the cap of his pen.

somewhere in the distance, a clock ticks.

and then you really make it worse. you shake your head, then sigh dramatically. “god, i haven’t been on a date in ages.”

jungkook short-circuits.

you seem to realize it the second it leaves your mouth because your face burns hot immediately.

“i mean—not that you needed to know that,” you add quickly.

jungkook stares, not sure if he needed to know that either, but now he does and it’s definitely doing something weird to his brain.

you groan again, dropping your head onto the table, muffled voice full of suffering. “why am i still talking?”

jungkook has no idea.

no idea why you’re telling him this. no idea why his face is getting warm at the thought of you not having been on a date in ages.

he should say something. should defuse the tension, get this conversation back on track before either of you combust.

but his brain is a useless pile of mush.

so instead, he just blurts, “really?”

you lift your head just enough to squint at him. “why do you sound so surprised?”

he freezes. “i—uh. i don’t? sound surprised?”

you narrow your eyes, clearly not buying it.

jungkook panics. “i just mean—like, i figured you probably—” he waves his hand vaguely, trying to will the words to make sense, “—go on dates?”

you groan, dropping your forehead back onto the table. “oh my god.”

jungkook wants to crawl into a hole. “that’s not what i meant.”

your voice comes out muffled against the wood. “please stop talking.”

“yeah. okay.” he nods, gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “i can do that.”

silence. horribly awkward, suffocating silence.

you peek up at him, resting your chin on your arms, and jungkook almost forgets how to function when you pout dramatically.

“i don’t know why i said any of that,” you whine, shaking your head.

jungkook exhales a laugh, the tension breaking just a little. “honestly? same.”

you squint at him. “you barely said anything.”

he shrugs. “felt like i did.”

you stare at him for a second. then, slowly, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

and just like that, the weirdness settles into something… easier.

you groan, stretching your arms over your head. “okay. chemistry. let’s focus. no more personal life crises.”

jungkook snorts, flipping the textbook back open. “you started it.”

“and i regret it immensely.”

“noted.”

you shake your head, grinning. and jungkook can't help but mirror your grin.

after a few minutes more, the library announcement chimes overhead, signaling that closing time is in fifteen minutes. you sigh, stretching your arms before starting to pack up your things.

“guess that’s our cue,” you say, slipping your notebook into your bag.

jungkook watches, debating something for a second before finally just going for it. “want me to walk you home?”

you pause, blinking up at him.

for a second, he wonders if that was too forward, if he made it weird, if he—

but then, you just smile, shaking your head. “that’s sweet, but i’ll be fine. i live pretty close.”

jungkook nods, trying to ignore the slight disappointment in his chest. “got it.”

you sling your bag over your shoulder and flash him a grateful look. “but seriously, thanks for tutoring me. i know you probably have better things to do.”

jungkook shrugs. “it’s not a big deal.”

you tilt your head, amused. “well, i’ll still say thanks. so, when are you free next?”

“whenever,” he answers immediately.

you raise an eyebrow. “wow. must be nice having unlimited free time.”

jungkook panics for a second because, yeah, it is nice when you don’t technically have a set schedule outside of being a vigilante and school.

he clears his throat, scrambling for a normal answer. “uh, yeah, i mean… i just study and play video games, so.”

your expression brightens at that. “oh? what games?”

he exhales, relieved at the topic change. “mostly overwatch. jimin and i play together a lot.”

you snort. “i suck at overwatch.”

jungkook scoffs. “you can’t be that bad.”

“no, i promise you, i’m that bad.”

he smirks, tilting his head. “so prove it.”

you blink. “what?”

“play with me sometime,” he says casually, shoving his books into his bag. “i’ll carry you.”

you shake your head, laughing. “you say that now, but wait till you actually see me play.”

“still worth it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it. “nah, i usually play stuff like stardew valley.”

jungkook nods, pretending he hasn’t dumped way too many hours into that game himself. “yeah? how’s your farm?”

you grin, eyes bright. “thriving. absolute empire. perfect livestock, peak efficiency.”

he chuckles. “that so?”

“mhm.” you start heading for the door, throwing a glance over your shoulder. “i’ll show you sometime if you want.”

jungkook hesitates for half a second, then nods. “yeah. i’d like that.”

you smile. “cool.”

and just like that, you push open the library doors and step into the hall, calling out a quick, “see you later, tutor boy!” before disappearing into the crowd.

jungkook watches you go, standing there in the doorway for a moment longer than he probably should.

then, finally, he exhales, running a hand through his hair.

he’s so, so fucked.

it’s been a few days since your first tutoring session with jungkook, and somehow, your brain still won’t let go of that one stupid moment.

the part where you, for absolutely no reason, volunteered the information that you haven’t been on a date in ages.

why did you say that? what compelled you to just throw that out there like it was relevant to anything?

it wasn’t even that big of a deal—jungkook didn’t react weirdly, didn’t press you about it—but now you can’t stop wondering if he has gone on any dates recently. if he’s been out with someone, if there’s someone else who gets to sit across from him and hear him talk about things that aren’t chemistry equations.

you frown, shaking your head. it doesn’t matter.

because you don’t care. obviously.

it was just an awkward slip-up, that’s all. no reason to read into it, no reason to wonder about things that don’t concern you.

you don’t care.

really.

“you look like you’re thinking way too hard about something,” taehyung’s voice snaps you out of your daze.

you blink, barely registering that you’ve been staring at the sidewalk for the past minute instead of watching where you’re going.

taehyung, your seatmate in one of your other classes and the only person who seems to struggle with chemistry as much as you do, raises an eyebrow. “are you planning to confess to the pavement or…?”

you groan, adjusting your bag strap. “shut up.”

he laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets as the two of you walk across campus.

“so,” he says, shooting you a knowing look. “you finally got a tutor?”

you hum in confirmation. “yup.”

he grins. “about time. i was starting to think you were just accepting your fate.”

you groan again. “trust me, i was.”

taehyung laughs, shaking his head. “well, at least namjoon’s helping you out now. you couldn’t have picked a better tutor.”

you blink. “wait, what?”

he gives you a confused look. “your tutor. namjoon?”

you snort. “oh. no, not namjoon.”

taehyung frowns. “not namjoon?”

you shake your head.

he blinks. “then… who?”

you glance away, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “…jungkook.”

there’s a pause, and taehyung stops walking.

you take a few more steps before realizing he isn’t next to you anymore. when you turn back, he’s just staring at you, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“wait. jeon jungkook?”

you sigh. “how many jungkooks do we know?”

he ignores that, eyes narrowing. “the same jungkook who spends half of lecture spacing out and scribbling in his notebook?”

you roll your eyes. “he’s doing fine so far.”

taehyung still looks unconvinced. “so… you asked him?”

“no, he offered.”

his eyebrows shoot up. “he offered?”

you nod, and he really squints this time. “okay,” he says slowly. “what exactly did he say? word for word.”

you groan. “why does it matter?”

“because.” he leans in, smirking. “i need to know if this is just tutoring, or if tutor boy is lowkey flirting with you.”

your face heats immediately. “taehyung.”

he grins. “yes?”

you shake your head aggressively. “it’s not like that.”

he shrugs, but there’s mischief in his expression. “if you say so.” but the look on his face definitely says he doesn’t believe you.

you groan, tightening your grip on your bag. “seriously, it’s not like that.”

taehyung gives you a look. “mmm. still skeptical.”

you roll your eyes. “look, i originally just asked him if he knew any tutors, okay? like, if he could ask around or whatever.”

taehyung hums, intrigued. “and?”

“and i guess he just figured tutoring me himself was easier than actually hunting for one.”

taehyung stops walking again. you turn to see him staring at you, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“…what?” you ask.

he tilts his head. “so, instead of just looking for a tutor, which would have taken him a single day and it would be over with, he just… decided to be one? to take time out of his day to tutor you?”

you nod. “yeah?”

he squints. “even though he definitely didn’t have to?”

you frown. “i mean, yeah, but—”

“even though he probably had other things to do?”

you groan, dragging a hand down your face. “oh my god, taehyung.”

he grins. “i’m just saying. interesting.”

you glare. “it’s not like that.”

he shrugs, falling back into step beside you. “if you say so.”

as you walk, taehyung hums, still smirking like he knows something you don’t. “so, when’s your next study date?”

you trip over your own feet. “it’s not a date,” you sputter, spinning to glare at him.

his smirk widens. “you sure?”

“it’s not a date,” you repeat, scowling. “me and jungkook never been on a date. ever. and he can go on as many dates as he wants and it doesn’t bother me because it’s not like i wanted to go out with him in the first place so there.”

silence.

taehyung blinks at you, completely unimpressed. “…okay?”

your brain finally catches up with your mouth, and horror creeps in as you replay the absolute disaster that just came out of your own lips.

taehyung just watches, waiting, smug as hell.

you groan, smacking a hand over your face. “i don’t know why i said all of that.”

“oh, i do,” he says, all too pleased with himself.

you refuse to dignify that with a response. instead, you storm ahead, fully ready to throw yourself into oncoming traffic.

taehyung, the menace, just follows along, whistling smugly. “you and jungkook, sitting in a tree—” you immediately smack him on the back of the head.

“ow!” he yelps, rubbing the spot dramatically. “violence? over a silly little song?”

you shoot him a glare so sharp it could cut glass, and taehyung shuts up immediately. he falls right into line, walking beside you like a perfectly normal, well-behaved person. not even humming.

you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “…that easy?”

he lifts his hands in surrender, lips twitching. “what can I say? i know when i’ve pushed my luck.”

you huff, shaking your head. “good. keep it that way.”

taehyung nods sagely. “oh, for sure.”

but the second you glance away, you catch him grinning out of the corner of your eye.

taehyung, very much not knowing when to not push his luck, mutters under his breath, “you are so whipped.”

without hesitation, you smack him again.

“ow—!”

“i am so not whipped,” you hiss, jabbing a finger at him.

taehyung rubs the back of his head, grinning despite the repeated assault. “denial is a river in egypt, my friend.”

you glare at him. “taehyung, i swear to god—”

“okay!” he lifts his hands in surrender, still grinning. “i’ll stop. for now.”

you narrow your eyes. “good.”

but as the two of you keep walking, taehyung just smiles to himself, smug as hell. and you hate that, for some reason, it feels like he already knows something you don’t.

“bro, you are so whipped. president of whipped city. honorary mayor. full-time resident.”

jungkook sighs, staring blankly at the game screen. “…yeah.”

jimin nearly drops his controller. “wait, what?”

jungkook exhales, running a hand through his hair. “i said yeah.”

jimin gapes at him, like jungkook just admitted to something earth-shattering. “hold on. hold on. you’re actually agreeing with me? no pushback? no pathetic attempts to deny it?”

jungkook groans, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. “dude, what’s the point? we both know it’s true.”

jimin flops dramatically against the couch. “oh my god. my best friend—self-aware?”

“shut up.”

“no, no, this is huge.” jimin tosses his controller onto the coffee table and gestures wildly. “this is, like, character development.”

jungkook scowls, shoving him with his foot. “dude, play the game.”

jimin smirks, picking up his controller again. “so what’s got you suddenly admitting defeat? did she do something cute again?”

jungkook grits his teeth, staring too hard at the screen. “she exists. that’s enough.”

jimin cackles. “oh, you are so gone.” jungkook groans, slumping deeper into the couch, because yeah. yeah. he really, really is. he’s been gone from the moment you smiled at him for the first time.

not just a polite, passing smile, not the kind you give to strangers in the hall, but a real one—bright and effortless, the kind that made his brain short-circuit and his stomach flip all at once.

it was over for him before he even realized it.

jimin side-eyes him, a slow grin creeping onto his face. “you’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?”

jungkook scoffs. “shut up.”

“you are.” jimin points at him. “you’re sitting here, pretending to focus on the game, but in reality? your brain is running a full highlight reel of every time she’s ever laughed in your direction.”

jungkook’s eye twitches. “…so what if it is?”

jimin gasps, clutching his chest like he’s moved. “holy shit. you’ve evolved. you’re finally embracing the downfall.”

jungkook sighs, pausing the game and rubbing his face. “god, i hate you.”

“no, you love me,” jimin corrects, slinging an arm around jungkook’s shoulders and shaking him lightly. “but not as much as you love—”

jungkook slaps a hand over his mouth, and jimin laughs against his palm, completely unbothered.

jungkook sighs, pulling his hand away. “bro, what do i do?”

jimin leans back, smug. “depends. what’s the goal here? do you just wanna keep suffering in silence? or do you actually wanna do something about it?”

jungkook exhales sharply, staring at the game screen. “i don’t know.”

“well,” jimin grins, “i do.”

jungkook groans, already regretting asking. “oh god.”

jimin smacks his knee. “dude. date. her.”

jungkook freezes.

jimin raises an eyebrow. “what? too much?”

jungkook stares at the screen, heart pounding.

because—fuck.

date her. just two simple words. but now that they’re out there, he can’t stop thinking about them.

obviously he's had the idea in passing, but he's never fully entertained it. he'd imagined it every now and then, wondered what it would feel like to hold your hand and keep you by his side, and then dismissed the idea entirely.

but now it was somewhat tangible.

it wasn’t just a passing thought anymore. it was real enough to put a name to, real enough that jimin could say it out loud, real enough that jungkook’s chest tightened at the very idea of it.

he swallows hard, gripping his controller like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

jimin watches him closely, the smirk on his face slowly morphing into something less teasing, more knowing.

“…you wanna,” he says, voice softer now. not a question.

jungkook exhales, pressing his lips together.

does he?

he thinks about it. really thinks about it.

about you, sitting across from him in the library, chewing on your pen as you furrowed your brows at a chemistry problem. about you standing in front of that mural, streaks of paint on your fingers, looking so focused, so alive. about you looking at him—at spider-man—and telling him you thought he was a good guy.

his stomach flips. yeah. he wants.

“…yeah,” jungkook mutters, barely above a whisper. “i wanna.”

jimin beams.

“okay, lover boy,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head. “so what’s the move?”

jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. “god, i don’t know.”

jimin hums, fake-pensive. “well, you could just ask her out.”

jungkook levels him with a deadpan stare. “oh, genius. brilliant. why didn’t i think of that?”

jimin grins. “i know, right?”

jungkook shoves him, and jimin cackles.

but underneath all of jimin’s antics, all the teasing and the prodding and the smugness, jungkook knows he’s right. if he wants this—if he really, actually wants this—he can’t just sit around waiting for fate to keep throwing you in his path.

he has to do something about it.

…except he won’t.

because the thought alone is enough to send him into a full-blown spiral, and if he actually tried to do something about it? he’d probably self-destruct on the spot.

he’s not ready for that. so instead, he just leans back into the couch, stretching his legs out and letting out a slow breath. “yeah, no. not happening.”

jimin groans dramatically. “dude.”

“nope.” jungkook shakes his head, staring at the game screen like it holds all the answers. “happy to keep things exactly the way they are.”

jimin rolls his eyes. “oh, because that’s going so great for you.”

jungkook shrugs. “could be worse.”

“bro, you are suffering.”

“debatable.”

jimin makes a frustrated noise, flopping back against the cushions. “this is painful to witness.”

jungkook snorts, nudging jimin’s foot with his own. “so stop witnessing.”

“oh, no. i’m invested now,” jimin says, pointing at him. “one of these days, you’re gonna slip. you’re gonna do something so disgustingly obvious that she has to notice, and when that day comes? i will be there to say ‘i told you so.’”

jungkook shakes his head, amused. “cool. let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”

jimin just grins, looking way too smug. “oh, we will.”

jungkook rolls his eyes and unpauses the game, diving back into their match.

he tells himself not to think about it anymore.

not about you, not about the way his chest tightened when he admitted he wanted this, not about the fact that jimin is probably right and it’s only a matter of time before he screws up big time.

for now, it’s easier to just keep things the way they are.

you step back, wiping your hands against your hoodie, smudging more paint onto the already-stained fabric. the mural is starting to take shape.

sort of.

it’s different from what you originally planned. when you first started, it was going to be full of blues—deep, rich shades, like the night sky stretched across the wall. but somewhere along the way, the reds started creeping in.

now, there’s more red than blue.

you tilt your head, studying it under the dim glow of the streetlamp. you didn’t plan it this way, but somehow, the colors look familiar.

warm undertones mixed with the shadows. the way the red bleeds into the dark, streaks of white cutting through the mess, as if something—or someone—is moving through it.

it looks like—

no.

you shake your head, dipping your brush into more red.

you don’t know what it looks like yet. it’s still forming. still coming together. you’ll figure it out later.

you just keep painting.

the streetlamp flickers, casting a dull glow over your workspace, your shadow stretching long against the wall. the night is quiet—just the occasional sound of passing cars, the distant murmur of the city still alive somewhere beyond this little pocket of stillness.

your brush glides across the concrete, the red blending deeper, warmer, more intense.

you tell yourself you’re not thinking about it.

not thinking about why your strokes keep forming those streaks, those sharp angles that almost resemble the shape of someone in motion.

not thinking about why you keep gravitating toward these colors, why the contrast between red and blue feels so familiar, like you’ve seen it a thousand times before, flashing across the city skyline.

you sigh, stepping back again, arms crossed.

maybe you’re imagining things. maybe it’s nothing. maybe your subconscious just decided on this without consulting you first.

but still, the mural is starting to look like something. or someone.

you press your lips together, debating whether to add more or leave it for the night.

before you can decide, a noise from above catches your attention.

a faint thump—barely noticeable, but enough to pull your focus upward.

your eyes flick toward the rooftops.

the city stretches above you, dark windows, empty fire escapes, towering buildings. nothing unusual. nothing there.

but something in your gut says otherwise.

you linger for a second longer, staring at the skyline, before finally shaking your head.

it’s just your imagination. probably.

you turn back to your mural, reaching for your brush again. because whatever it is—whoever it reminds you of—you’ll figure it out later.

right now, you just want to paint.

just as you’re about to dip your brush back into the paint, a commotion erupts in the distance. loud, sharp—people screaming. your head snaps toward the street. you hesitate for only a second before stepping away from the wall, peering out from the alleyway.

“oh, what the fuck.”

there’s something big—way too big—moving down the street. cars veer off, tires screeching. people sprint in every direction, desperate to get out of its path. streetlights flicker, casting broken shadows over the chaos.

you blink hard, trying to process what you’re seeing. because whatever that thing is, it’s huge.

bulky, armored, stomping through the street like it owns the place.

“is that—” you squint, taking a step forward. 

it lets out a roar. an actual, earth-shaking roar. you flinch, gripping the edge of the wall. "fucking godzilla junior,” you mutter, heart hammering.

the thing—creature? metal suit? angry science experiment?—swings an arm, knocking over a lamppost like it’s nothing. it crashes onto the sidewalk, sending sparks flying. this is so not your problem. this is, in fact, the exact opposite of your problem. this is a spider-man problem.

your fingers tighten on the strap of your bag as you scan the street, looking for any sign of red and blue.

because if there’s one thing you do know, he’ll show up. he always does.

the creature stomps past your alley, the ground shaking with every step.

you hold your breath, pressing yourself against the wall as it moves further into the city, tearing its way through the streets like a walking natural disaster.

you should leave. should turn around, pack up, go home. but instead, you wait, because you know what’s coming next.

and sure enough, not even a full minute later, you spot him. a blur of red and blue swings into view, flipping between the buildings, fast and precise, headed straight for the chaos.

you grin. “go get ‘em, spider-man!” you call out, cupping your hands around your mouth.

he falters. mid-swing, his momentum glitches, his body twisting at the sound of your voice.

“whoa—shit—”

he just barely corrects himself before landing, almost colliding with a very confused pedestrian.

you giggle, pressing a hand to your mouth.

he whips around, scanning the area, but you’re already retreating back into the alley, out of sight.

you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you dip your brush back into the paint. the shouts and sirens from the street feel distant now, like background noise to your own little world.

the colors on the wall bleed together beneath your touch, slow and deliberate. you swipe through the wet paint with practiced ease, dragging the deep reds across the surface, blending them into darker shades, cutting through them with streaks of white and blue.

it’s instinctual, the way your wrist moves, the way the brush strokes form something you recognize but don’t question. it’s coming together on its own—shapes forming out of muscle memory, lines shifting into movement, colors layering until they feel right.

you don’t mind how familiar it’s turning out to be.

even if there's no red string, even if fate doesn’t work the way the stories say it does—if the universe keeps bringing two people together, again and again, through coincidence or chaos or sheer, dumb luck—

isn’t that the same thing?

your fingers pause against the wall.

the thought lingers, curling into your chest like something warm, something you don’t want to name yet.

so you don’t.

instead, you pick up your brush again and keep painting.

jungkook is getting his ass beat.

not, like, fatally—he’s had worse, honestly—but this? this is definitely not great.

he barely dodges another swing from godzilla junior, flipping backward onto a car hood before launching himself into the air. his chest aches from where he took a hit earlier, and his reflexes are just a little slower than usual, which is definitely not ideal when fighting something that could probably fold him in half.

and the worst part?

he’s still thinking about you.

because, of course, of course the second he swings in, you have to be there—cheering him on, all cute and distracting—and now his brain is all messed up, and that’s why he nearly wiped out in front of a whole crowd of people.

(seriously, who does that? what kind of idiot almost faceplants mid-swing just because a girl said his name?)

(oh, right. him.)

“hey, focus, dumbass!” he mutters to himself, shooting out a web and flipping just in time to avoid another direct hit.

the creature—or, more accurately, the massive asshole in a mechanical exo-suit—lets out a roar of frustration, swinging wildly at nothing as jungkook zips between buildings.

jungkook lands against a wall, crouching low, trying to catch his breath. he really needs to find an opening, but all he can think about is the way you giggled before disappearing back into that alley. his stomach does a weird little flip, and that’s when it hits him.

not a realization. an actual hit. because apparently, while he was busy being an idiot, godzilla junior decided to throw an entire street sign at him.

the impact knocks the air from his lungs, sending him crashing into a dumpster with a loud, painful clang. jungkook groans, peeling himself out of the metal. 

okay, focus. no more thinking about you.

jungkook barely has time to roll out of the way before the dumpster caves in on itself, the metal screeching as godzilla junior storms toward him. “okay, rude,” jungkook wheezes, flipping onto his feet. “you ever heard of talking things out? no? just straight to throwing street signs, huh?”

the guy inside the exo-suit growls, voice crackling through the speakers. “shut up and fight me.”

jungkook sighs, shaking out his limbs. “see, that’s the problem. i am fighting you, and yet, somehow, i’m still getting my ass handed to me.”

before he can brace himself, the guy lunges, fast—way too fast for something that big. jungkook dodges just in time to avoid a direct hit, twisting mid-air and landing on the creature’s back. “whoa, big guy,” he grins, gripping onto the metal. “you ever think about cutting back on the protein powder?”

he barely gets the words out before he’s violently shaken off, his body whipping through the air like a ragdoll before he slams into the pavement.

pain explodes through his ribs.

“ow.” he groans, rolling onto his side. “okay. that was fair.”

the guy doesn’t let up, stomping forward, metal plating glinting under the streetlights. jungkook forces himself to move, to breathe, flipping backward as the exo-suit’s arm smashes into the ground where he was just laying. concrete shatters beneath the force.

“man,” jungkook huffs, shaking out his wrist as he shoots a web, swinging around to land on a streetlight. “you are really committed to the whole mindless destruction thing, huh?”

“stand still and maybe i’ll stop.”

“ohhh, see, that sounds like a trap.”

the guy lunges again, swiping at the post with a massive, mechanical arm. jungkook jumps—barely clearing it—but he’s not fast enough this time. the impact sends shockwaves through the ground, knocking him off balance mid-air.

before he can recover, a fist, full force, collides with his chest, folding him in half.

he flies.

his vision tilts—buildings blur—his body crashes straight through a bus stop sign before slamming into the pavement, rolling several feet before finally coming to a stop against the side of a parked car.

his mask sticks to his face from the sheer amount of sweat, his ribs are screaming, and he’s definitely going to have a new collection of bruises tomorrow.

“ow,” he mutters again, blinking up at the sky. “ow, ow, ow.”

people are still screaming in the background, sirens wailing in the distance. he needs to get up. needs to get back in the fight before the guy starts tearing apart more of the city.

but—

yeah. no.

he needs, like, two seconds.

dragging himself up onto shaking legs, he stumbles into a nearby alleyway, pressing his back against the brick wall, gasping for breath. his vision swims and his hands tremble as he braces them on his knees.

okay. just a second. just a second to breathe.

then he’ll get back out there.

jungkook tugs off his mask, sucking in a shaky breath as the cool night air hits his sweat-damp skin.

his lungs burn. his ribs ache like they’ve been put through a meat grinder.

he spits onto the pavement—dark red against the concrete.

great. awesome. love that.

he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, grimacing. his knuckles sting, his fingers are twitching from exertion, and every single breath reminds him that he definitely got his ribs cracked somewhere in the process of getting bodied.

“okay,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders, trying to will the pain away. “not dead. not dead. still good.”

he’s had worse.

he leans his head back against the brick wall, shutting his eyes for half a second.

the distant sounds of destruction still echo down the street—sirens, screaming, metal crunching under massive weight.

he should be out there. but instead, he’s here—hiding in an alley, gulping down breaths, trying to ignore the way his body is begging for a break.

“just a second,” he mutters to himself, hands curling into fists. he can’t afford to stop for long. the fight isn’t over yet.

jungkook forces himself to stand up straight. his body protests—every muscle screaming, every breath a sharp reminder of how hard he just got his ass handed to him—but he has to move.

because outside the alley, chaos is still unfolding.

the ground shakes again, a distant explosion rattling through the streets. people are still running, still screaming.

he can’t afford to sit this one out.

with a deep inhale, he wipes the sweat from his forehead, then rolls his shoulders, trying to shake off the ache. his fingers fumble as he tugs his mask back down, adjusting it into place.

alright.

jungkook cracks his neck, flexes his hands, forces himself to take another step. he ignores the way his ribs protest. ignores the way his legs feel like lead.

he’s been through worse.

probably.

gritting his teeth, he fires a web toward the nearest fire escape and yanks himself up, flipping onto the rooftop with a grunt. the moment he clears the edge, he sees it. godzilla junior, still rampaging down the street, tossing cars out of its way like they’re made of styrofoam.

jungkook exhales through his nose. “round two, big guy.” and then he swings.

jungkook swings, using the momentum to propel himself forward, ignoring the sharp pull in his ribs as he twists mid-air.

he needs a new strategy.

because going at this guy head-on? clearly not working.

he lands on the side of a building, clinging to the glass as he assesses the scene. godzilla junior is still tearing through the street, metal limbs glinting under the streetlights, hydraulics hissing as it stomps forward.

jungkook exhales sharply. okay. think. what does he know?

the exo-suit is heavy, super heavy, which means it’s slow to recover after a big move. it definitely has enhanced strength, so getting close is a one-way ticket to another ass-kicking. and it has hydraulics, which means it can break.

jungkook’s lips curve into a grin.

“alright, big guy,” he mutters, rolling out his shoulders. “let’s see what happens when you stop moving.”

with that, he shoots a web at a nearby streetlight and swings hard, aiming straight for the thing’s back.

it hears him at the last second, turning just as he lands feet-first onto its shoulder.

“miss me?” jungkook quips, driving his web-shooters straight into the crevices of the exo-suit’s joints.

before the guy inside can respond, jungkook fires.

thick webs burst from his shooters, jamming themselves into the gears and hinges, clogging up the hydraulics in a mess of reinforced webbing.

the exo-suit whirs, sputters, tries to move, but the entire left arm locks up. jungkook grins.

“aw, what’s wrong?” he taunts, flipping over the creature’s head before landing on a nearby car. “can’t throw me across the city anymore?”

the guy inside snarls, trying to yank the arm free. jungkook doesn’t give him the chance. he dives, rolling under the thing’s legs before webbing the back of its knees, pulling tight.

another loud hiss—another joint jammed.

the suit stumbles.

jungkook flips backward, landing a safe distance away as the mechanical beast groans under its own weight.

“y’know, buddy,” he calls, panting, “maybe you should’ve invested in better hinges.”

the exo-suit lurches forward, trying to force itself free, but the joints are already straining. jungkook doesn’t wait. he fires two more webs at a nearby light post, swings himself high into the air, then comes down fast, both feet colliding directly with the already-weakened left knee.

the suit collapses.

metal crashes against the pavement, sparks flying as the massive frame finally buckles under its own weight. jungkook lands on the ground a few feet away, chest heaving. the guy inside groans, struggling, but he’s stuck, and just like that the fight is over.

jungkook stands there, catching his breath as the riot of noise around him settles into something more distant. sirens wail as cop cars pull up, officers pouring onto the street with their guns drawn—not that they’re needed anymore.

the exo-suit guy is down, tangled in a mess of metal and reinforced webbing, completely immobilized.

one of the officers approaches, cautious at first. “nice work, spider-man.”

jungkook nods, barely hearing him.

because right now, all he can think about is you.

the way you had cheered him on earlier, loud and carefree, like you knew he’d win. like you had never doubted that he would.

he wonders, would you be proud of him?

he hopes so.

because right now, standing in the aftermath of another near-death experience, barely holding himself together, that thought makes it feel worth it.

jungkook exhales, rolls out his aching shoulders, then fires a web at the nearest building.

the cops can handle the rest, he needs to get out of here.

his muscles scream as he swings off into the night, his grip weaker than usual, his head pounding. every movement feels slower, every pull of his body through the air making his ribs throb in protest. by the time he lands on an abandoned rooftop, his knees buckle on impact. he barely catches himself, arms shaking, breaths coming in sharp and uneven.

his body feels like it’s about to cave in.

his ribs burn, his limbs feel like they’re filled with lead, and he’s pretty sure if he takes his mask off, there’s at least one nasty cut hidden underneath.

but for now, he just lays back against the rooftop, stares up at the stars, and lets himself breathe.

you sigh, rolling your shoulders as you walk home, the scent of fresh paint still lingering on your hands. today had been a good day—no interruptions, no chaos—save for the slight hiccup. well, a little bit more than slight, but for once you'd been left entirely unaffected. just you and your mural, slowly coming to life. but as you round the corner near your building, something catches your eye.

or rather, someone.

spider-man is there, hanging upside down from a web attached to a nearby fire escape. you slow your steps, noticing he’s not moving much. the thought makes your stomach twist. “hey,” you call out, stopping just below him.

his head tilts slightly, like he’s only just noticed you. “oh. hey.” his voice is off—lower, a little rougher than usual.

you narrow your eyes. “are you… okay?”

he waves a hand. “yeah, yeah. just—” he makes a vague gesture, “—taking a breather.”

you cross your arms. “uh-huh. taking a breather by hanging upside down?”

he shrugs, but the motion looks lazy, like he’s conserving energy. your eyes scan him quickly, and that’s when you notice the way his suit is ripped just slightly at his side, the dark material stained a little darker.

your stomach drops. “you’re bleeding.”

he sighs. “technically, yeah, but it’s—”

“not a big deal?” you finish for him, unimpressed.

he pauses. “...yeah.”

you glare.

he sighs, like he already knows what’s coming.

“look,” he says, still hanging there, voice lighter now, “i appreciate the concern, really, but i’ll be fine. i just—”

“come inside.”

he stops.

“what?”

you nod toward the entrance of your building. “my apartment is literally right here. you need to clean that before it gets worse.”

spider-man hesitates. it’s subtle, but you see it—the way his shoulders tense just slightly, the way his fingers twitch where they grip the web. “i’m good,” he says. “really.”

you cross your arms. “you don’t look good.”

“charming,” he mutters.

you huff. “i’m serious. that looks bad. and if you just leave it, it’ll get worse.”

he’s still quiet.

you narrow your eyes. “what, scared of my decor?”

“no,” he says quickly, then pauses. “should i be?”

“depends on your taste,” you say, shrugging. “but i do have a first aid kit, so. your call.”

he still doesn’t move.

you sigh. “look. if it makes you feel better, you don’t have to stay long. just long enough to patch that up so you don’t pass out mid-swing and eat pavement.”

he exhales a small laugh, but you can tell it’s just for show. still, after a second, he sighs again—deeper this time, more resigned. “…okay.”

you nod, ignoring the way your stomach flips a little.

“good,” you say, turning toward the door. “then quit hanging around and come on.”

he groans. “oh my god, was that a pun?”

“it absolutely was.”

“i regret this already.”

you grin. “no takebacks, spidey.”

spider-man lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders before finally reaching up and releasing the web holding him in place. the second his feet hit the ground, his knees buckle. he stumbles forward, the world tilting around him, and he barely has time to process it before your hands are on him.

one gripping his arm, the other pressing against his chest, steadying him before he can completely collapse.

“whoa—okay, nope,” you say, tightening your grip, voice sharp with concern. “you are so not okay.”

“i—” he starts, but his ribs scream when he tries to straighten up, and his vision tilts again.

he would have gone down if you weren’t already half-carrying him.

“jesus, spider-man,” you mutter, struggling under his weight. “could’ve warned me before you almost ate the pavement.”

he exhales a laugh, but it’s weak, winded. “wasn’t—planning on it.”

you scoff, shifting your stance to better support him. “yeah, well, you’re not walking on your own, so just—don’t fight me on this.”

he wants to protest, but he can’t.

because as much as he hates to admit it—his legs are barely holding him up, his ribs are fucked, and right now? he needs you. so instead, he just sighs. “…fine.”

you huff. “good choice.”

with slow, careful steps, you guide him toward your building, your grip firm, your touch warm even through the material of his suit.

the trip up to your apartment is hell.

for him, probably because he’s in pain.

for you, because he is heavy as shit.

you’re practically dragging him by the time you reach your door, his arm slung over your shoulders, his weight leaning into you more and more with every step.

“you know,” you mutter, shifting him against you as you fumble with your keys, “for a guy who moves like a damn gymnast, you’re really bad at this whole walking thing.”

he lets out a breathless laugh. “sorry—not my best day.”

you huff but don’t respond, finally unlocking the door and shoving it open.

the second you step inside, you aim for the couch, and as carefully as you can—which, at this point, isn’t much—you practically toss him onto it.

he lands with a sharp, pained exhale, body sinking into the cushions.

you wince. “whoops.”

he lets out a weak, breathy chuckle, but his whole frame tenses as he shifts, a clear sign that he’s not doing great.

you step back, hands on your hips, trying to catch your breath.

“alright.” you clap your hands together. “stay put.”

he huffs, tilting his head toward you. “yeah, not a problem.”

you roll your eyes but don’t argue, already turning on your heel and heading toward the bathroom. you need your first aid kit. and maybe a lot of patience.

because if this guy even tries to act tough about how messed up he is, you’re not going to let him hear the end of it.

you return a minute later, first aid kit in one hand and a wet washcloth in the other. he’s still slumped against the couch, head tilted back, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.

“alright, sit up,” you say, kneeling beside him.

he groans but obeys, shifting just enough to let you get closer. “the suit stays on,” he mutters, voice rough.

you snort. “wasn’t planning on stripping you down, spider-boy. don’t flatter yourself.”

he huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t say anything else. you reach for his mask, fingers brushing the material lightly. “just gonna move this up a little, okay?”

he nods, barely perceptible.

you pull it up slowly, stopping just above the bridge of his nose.

…huh.

your brows furrow slightly as you take in the lower half of his face. it’s… weirdly familiar.

not in a striking way, not in a this is someone i definitely know way, but in a nagging at the back of your mind kind of way. like maybe you’ve seen him before.

but that’s ridiculous.

you shake the thought away and press the cool washcloth to his face, wiping gently at the blood and dirt smeared along his nose and cheeks.

he flinches slightly at first but then relaxes, letting you work in silence. his lips are dry, slightly cracked, and there’s a faint bruise forming along his cheekbone.

“you look like hell,” you murmur.

he exhales a soft chuckle. “feel like it, too.”

you shake your head, dabbing at the last of the blood before sitting back.

“stay put,” you say again, standing up.

“not going anywhere,” he mutters, eyes already half-lidded.

you walk into the kitchen, open the freezer, and grab the first thing you can find—frozen peas. good enough. when you return he peeks one eye open, and you toss the bag onto his chest.

he grunts. “ow.”

“don’t be dramatic.” you plop down onto the armrest of the couch, watching as he begrudgingly lifts the bag and presses it to his ribs. “you need ice, and that’s all i’ve got.”

he shifts, adjusting the peas against his chest. “…thanks.”

you shrug, playing it off. “don’t mention it.”

you linger for a second too long, eyes flicking over his face once more—his bruised cheekbone, the faint cut near his lip, the way the mask rests just above his nose. you don’t know why you keep staring, so you shake it off and push yourself to your feet.

“stay here,” you say, as if he’s in any condition to go anywhere.

he grunts in response, now holding the frozen peas to his face.

you head to the kitchen again, pulling open a cabinet and grabbing a bottle of painkillers. you pop two tablets into your palm, then fill a glass of water before making your way back to the couch. he looks up as you sit beside him, shifting slightly to make room—not that there’s much room to be made.

you hold up the painkillers. “open.”

he blinks. “what?”

“your mouth,” you clarify, tilting your head.

his lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, maybe protest, but instead, he just sighs and does as he’s told. you drop the tablets onto his tongue, then lift the glass of water to his lips.

he hesitates, just for a second, before wrapping his fingers loosely around yours, steadying the glass as he drinks.

it’s quiet. too quiet.

your pulse jumps, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are—of the way your knees are touching, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the way his throat moves as he swallows. it’s… uncomfortably intimate.

you know you should pull away, but for some reason, you don’t.

his fingers brush yours as you lower the glass, his breath warm when he exhales. he shifts a little, glancing at you. “i could’ve done that myself.”

“could you?” you quip, tilting your head, aiming for smug.

but it falls flat.

because your voice is quieter than you meant for it to be, and you’re still too close, and your brain is suddenly too caught up on the details—on the little things, like how soft his lips looked when they parted, or how his jaw tensed just slightly when you touched him, or how his presence alone feels weirdly overwhelming in your tiny apartment.

he stares at you for a beat, and your breath catches.

he holds your gaze for a second longer—just long enough to make your pulse stutter, just long enough for something to settle thick in the air between you. then, finally, he exhales.

“you should head to bed.” 

his voice is rough, softer than before, like he’s trying to gently remind you that it’s late, that you’ve done enough, that you don’t need to be sitting here looking at him like that.

you hesitate. “what about you?”

he shifts slightly, adjusting the ice pack against his cheek. “i’ll go when i’m ready.”

you frown. you could argue, could tell him to rest, could insist that he shouldn’t be running off anywhere in his condition—but something about the way he says it makes you pause. because you get the feeling that whatever ‘ready’ means for him, it’s not something you can change. so instead, you sigh.

“fine,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “but don’t be an idiot, okay? if you still feel like crap, don’t leave.”

he huffs out something between a laugh and a breath. “i’ll be fine.”

you shoot him a look. “i mean it.”

he grunts in acknowledgment, but you don’t know if it’s a promise or just a way to get you to drop it. still, you let it go. you linger for a second longer, but then you force yourself to turn away, padding toward your room.

you push the door open, step inside, fingers curling around the handle.

just before you close it, you hear him say;

“…thank you.”

quiet, rough, almost like he wasn’t planning on saying it but couldn’t stop himself. you pause. your throat feels tight for a reason you don’t want to think about.

but you don’t turn around.

you just nod, even though he can’t see it, and gently close the door behind you.

taglist : @rpwprpwprpwprw @haru-jiminn @glossdebut @knivesdoingcartwheels @mimi1097 @angellekookie

[luveline]

Hi !!! Can I request something romantic between shy reader and spence? maybe he’s like trying to teacher her something and they’re alone? IDK WRITE WHATEVER U WANNA RIGHT ILL EAT IT UP REGARDLESS <3

Your stomach hurts and you need to pee, but you’re stuck. You’ve been trying to submit your virtual paperwork for the last two hours. Why have they made it this difficult? You’re beginning to wonder if you’re being hazed. 

Spencer told you it was easy. Well, he’d put a cup of tea on your desk (for which you hadn’t asked but gratefully accepted), seen you were starting your paperwork, and said, “I’ll see you for lunch in half an hour?” with a knowing smile. 

You’d smiled back. You want to be in the know with him, even if you’d needed a ten minute recovery period after he left to learn to breathe through your nose again. 

But it became clear after half an hour you wouldn’t be taking lunch, let alone joining him. Nervous sweat dampens your hands and the back of your shirt, and your face burns with heat —why is the office scorching? You’re in hell. 

You click another button, sure you’ve found the right process, but a yellow triangle appears with an exclamation mark inside. Function suppressed, it says.   

“Oh, good,” Spencer says, approaching from behind, a coffee. “I thought you stood me up. You’re struggling with the system?” 

“I wouldn’t say struggling.” 

“You don’t need any help, then?” 

“Please,” you say softly, worried someone else will hear you. You don’t want anyone in the team nor the unit to realise how inept you are. It’s bad enough that Spencer’s cottoned on. “I can’t get it to work.”

“I was kidding,” he says, smiling tentatively at you. “Let me get my chair.” 

Spencer tortures you sitting beside you, knee to knee and arm over your arm as he guides your mouse to the right page, then the correct paperclip. His watch falls down his wrist and brushes your skin with each direction, spurring chills all over. “You’re pretty much done,” he says. 

“I don’t know why I was so confused,” you say bashfully. 

“Because it’s a confusing system.” He smells like warm vanilla. You wish you could ask him about it, but you’ve a job to talk this close to him. 

“Thank you for helping.” 

He clicks through the last part of your file to check for any missing paperclips before he sends it off. “You’re welcome.” Then, because he secretly hates you, he takes your arm into his hand with achingly careful fingers. “Are you cold?” He rubs at your goosebumps. He has really nice hands, with strong veins. He moves purposefully. 

Another rush of goosebumps down your arm. “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyebrows tugged together worriedly. 

“I’m just,” —mortified— “embarrassed about the paperwork. I didn’t know there would be this many online responsibilities involved, I would’ve looked them up.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise as your sentence ends. You’d mangled ‘looked them up’, said it breathless as his hand curled around your fingers. 

“Don’t worry about all of that. You can always ask me for help. Right? I sit right there.” He points to his desk. “Did you forget?”

Something about his tone suggests that he already knows you didn’t forget, but he takes your thank you gracefully, and continues pretending you’re cold rather than physically affected by his touch. He’s nice like that. 

“Here, in case you’re still cold,” he says, too casual, draping his suit jacket over your shoulders.

Not that nice. 

[rottingfern]

all the wine is all for me || a Bad Omens fanfic

Summary: Noah’s just admiring his gains. Perhaps he’s a little more proud of his progress than the average guy. There’s definitely not a secret third reason for why he’s spending so much time in front of the mirror…

Pairing: Noah x himself lol

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unbeta'd trash. masturbation. narcissism in the greek mythology way not the psychology way

A/N: I drank a lot of wine (what else is new) and also @throughwoodsanddirt showed me that one panel from the comics that made me cackle so hard because damn Noah just really thinks he's hot as fuck huh and then I cackled until I wrote this fic

Brainrot Club: @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @throughwoodsanddirt @cowpokeomens

Masterlist here.

Title taken from All the Wine by The National; banner made by me (using Caravaggio's Narcissus); dividers by @saradika

Noah’s reflection is smiling at him. 

That, of course, is explainable by the fact that he himself is smiling; grinning, in fact, because he just looks so damn good. His gains this month were frankly goddamn impressive. Already he can see the widening of his chest to form an inverted triangle of his torso, the definition building in his bicep when he flexes.

What worries him, though, is the naughty glint in his reflection’s eye, the too-sharp canines, the raise of a single eyebrow that he definitely is not capable of reproducing. Never has been. 

He knows this look. Once, he had a fling with this girl who was an absolute freak, gets him half-hard even just remembering half the things she got up to between the sheets. And the fucking cherry on top: she loved making movies. Editing those for her unfailingly devolved into multiple-hours long dates between him and his hand. The face he’s making - his reflection is making - is the one that painted his face in the movies when she, pointing her phone to get his reaction, would ask him for the nastiest shit he’d thought only a fantasy in porn. 

So it makes no sense that he’s looking at his reflection like this, because it’s not like he’s into himself. 

His hand beelines south down the expanse of his strong (so goddamn strong, he’ll have definition in his six-pack any day now) stomach. That’s definitely not something he’s doing of his own volition. He’s not that self-absorbed. 

Well, that’s a lie. He’s not gay (unless you count the exploratory hand stuff him and Nick did as teens), but if he could, he’d totally fuck himself. 

It takes a bit of effort to shuck the grey sweats he’d worn down his hips with one hand, distracted as he is with the shapes his other arm makes as it continues to flex in the mirror. These used to be pretty loose, just crossing the line of oversized on him. Now, they’re filled by thick thighs and marble-cut hip flexors. With a single finger, he traces the vee framing trimmed pubic hair. These used to show just a hint of the magic underneath. Now, his hardness bulges a vulgar display. 

Dropping the band even just an inch springs the tip of his cock, leaking and ready to play. It’s the only part of his body he’s never been self-conscious of, because God or whoever else decided he at least deserved a win in that department when they decided to make him a skinny bitch with weak lungs. Gives the girls who settle for him a nice reward. 

Except, he never gets this hard for all the pretty girls he bags. This - the red, burning tip, the feeling like if he touches it he’ll cum in just a few strokes, the pain of wanting to draw the pleasure out as long as he can - is reserved only for the times he’s fucking his hand. 

There’s a quiet battle of wills that follows between giving up inspecting his gains and giving into his own touch. He cups his balls through his sweats, head kicking back tugged by an invisible hand at the squeeze. Noah’s sure the column of his throat looks positively delicious like this, has seen enough photos of himself in this devout escape onstage, and thinks he’s no better than all the commenters saying they’d like to lick it. He’d do it instantly, and he knows it’d feel good.

In the end, the sweats come down his thighs. He’s never denied himself pleasure so heavily mounted, not when paraded before him so, not when the boundaries are inexistent. He won’t let himself be fucking tease.

The drag of the calluses on his fingers against the tenderhot flesh of his cock sends gooseflesh up his arms. 

His toes numb for a moment as he finally takes himself in hand at the base, breath hitching wetly as he watches his hand wrap against himself. He’s heavy in his hand even to himself, so thick and veiny and so hard. A drop of precum splashes his thigh before he even has a chance to run his hand up the length. He collects it with his pinky when he reaches the tip, not daring let it go to waste. 

Thunder thighs has always been a confusing insult to him. Thighs are the strength in legs, the support to a body, the place you put your hand to hint your desire to a lover. Thighs are his handles when buried in a lover - the cradle to what every person wants most from another. Years of touring and running out of underwear have made him accustomed to going commando, but since his thighs filled out - though he now can afford to just buy a five-pack Hanes on a whim - he prefers it. There’s never a better cradle for a commando cock than a thick set of thighs. 

The overeager spit bubbles as it mingles with the precum on his palm, glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. The way they rapidly deflate feels like a countdown, one he’s determined to beat, and so finally, finally, he takes himself in hand earnestly. 

He can’t help the strangled hiss that escapes.

Noah’s usually pretty quiet in bed. Doesn’t like the vulnerability that comes with voicing his pleasure, with sharing the secret of how easy to please he is with a partner. But, fuck, does he love talking himself through it. “C’mon, baby,” he chants to his hand as it increases speed. “So fucking good,” he groans through gritted teeth. 

His voice is so fucking smooth. So fucking deep when he speaks through his chest. Just the perfect amount of grit that, if he shuts his eyes, he can feel reverberate through his nape and scalp and bang against the back of his nose as the sound waves travel to his cochlea. 

He won’t shut his eyes now. Never - not when he’s looking like that with his brow furrowed, gaze hard and nearly icy, nostrils flared and jaw clenched tight. 

He clenches it tighter, raises his chin just so to create the illusion of that perfect jawline. 

“Noah,” he moans, “god, Noah, fuck.” It echoes in his ear, and it is his voice, but he swears he didn’t feel his lips move as he watches them round around each syllable in his reflection. 

His name sounds so good rolling off his own tongue. 

Release hits Noah not like a full-speed bullet train, but the way it feels when you pulled your first tooth: slow, painful, and with each tug more builds up until it just pops out. Only after does he register the relief, the shoot of tension up his spine to burst behind his eyes and temples, the numbness in his fingers as he struggles to jerk himself through. 

Just those few final caresses. His cum blinds him with exploding stars and broken breaths. It paints the mirror in sloppy strokes of seminal goo, but he supposes that’s what Windex is for. 

Before he registers the signal from brain to limb he kneels, the rough of his wall-to-wall carpet digging into his knees as he releases his eager tongue. The spend is saltybitter when it coats the bed of his taste buds, slimy as it runs down the ramp of his throat. Noah makes sure to collect every single drop. 

He doesn’t feel shame when his eyes meet his own in the wet, distorted reflection once he’s done savoring himself. “You did so well, baby,” he says. “Such a good baby.”

His reflection nods eagerly, eyelids fluttering blissfully, head dropping as Noah’s neck stays stiff and still, eyes wide open. 

God damn, he is a sight to be seen.

[mistxmood]

this wasnt supposed to have so much thought but i got sucked into it. like YEAH a self-insert is always fun and i couldve just made them our blogsona but also this is way more interesting to me.

does this still count as a self-insert or is this just a gf x utmv au crossover. who cares!

image description under read ill explain more in a rb because i feel silly

[ID: Bill Cipher floats with his hand outstretched. It's aflame. He says, "Think of it like a partnership! I help keep that flame stroked, and you tell me the secrets of the multiverse." It cuts to a Ink Sans, his hand in the middle of taking Bill's hand. His eyes are white and hollow, and he looks expressionless. "So how's about it?" Bill continues.]

[ID: Bill and Ink are now shaking hands. Bill thinks to himself gleefully, "Screw overthrowing one universe I'm about to bag the whole multiverse." Ink however is now looking at the viewer and he is smirking as he thinks, "bro doesn't know." An arrow points to this thought bubble, connected to text that explains, "Without paint, Ink normally goes back to being a corpse, aka stops responding, thinking, etc." another arrow points to this text, leading to text that has been cut out of the frame.]

[ID: Ink is now strolling away, eyes closed and smiling as he says, "Welp time to go catch up on Twin Runes!" Floating behind him, Bill, now bodyless and only visible in a ghost-like form similar to Dipper when Bill was possessing his body, is staring at his hands in bewilderment, sweating, not quite sure what exactly the deal accomplished or what happened to him.]

[ID: It slowly hits Bill, now off-screen, yet he still feels as if he has to ask Ink, "What did you do." Ink, now sweating a little bit, is thinking to himself, "Here it comes."]

[ID: "Yep." Ink thinks to himself as he turns around. His face is obscured by this, body still turned away as he looks at Bill, who has now grown in size and is in a state of extreme frenzy. A mixture of fear, fury- it's unknown what he's feeling as he exclaims in unstable text, "What did you do to me!"]

[ID: Bill gets up to Ink's face, hands clawing into his shoulders despite being intangible as he screeches, eye wide, "Whatever you did, it does not."

He slowly shrinks, letting go of Ink. "It does not matter. it doesn't. It doesn't." He's growing a little fainter in visibility, and while his rage is still present it feels like he's becoming distant.

"The deal's…" But Bill doesn't finish his sentence. His accusing, pointing finger slowly droops. He lingers in the air yet his conviction drains off him like paint in a running sink. He looks at Ink still, but he also doesn't know what he's feeling anymore.]

[ID: As Bill becomes faint in the background, losing his sense and losing his self before he could comprehend what he's missing, Ink speaks up. "It kinda sucks yeah."]

[ID: The drawing is not looking at Ink from around Bill's perspective, as he turns to face him. He's got a hand rubbing his cheek and he sighs as he tries to explain himself with a waving hand. "Okay listen. I'm sorry but not really. We both know you're a danger to everyone around you but! This is temporary."

"I think."

"I don't know it depends on if you want it to be or not."]

[ID: "And that depends on if you wanna change. Which. I'm skeptical on. But that's fine. You and I got all the time in the world. In the end, you're stuck here and that's fine with me."

He's got his hands on his hips now as he looks at Bill properly now. His pupils have changed to a pair of yellow triangles, except his right pupil is hollow still. Bill is still floating in front of him in a state akin to dissassociation. "… You're not listening to yeah you're ignoring me." Ink sighs.]

[ID: But because I'm so nicey I'm still going to hold my word." Ink turns away now, grinning as he pulls his giant paintbrush, Broomie, off from where its been shealthed on his back. He's grinning wide now, still looking at Bill as he continues, "You probably already saw most of the popular AUs, but we're going anyways. I'm giving you a first-class tour of the multiverse!"]

[konigsberg]

Midnight Ocean Chapter 89 Notes

Please note that I've tried to provide content warnings for specific mentions or discussions of myths or topics that would generally be considered upsetting. But, in case, I'm going to reiterate some warnings here, because while I didn't expand on some of the topics in the actual chapter, I do so more in these notes.

Content Warnings: Ancient Greek mythology-typical bestiality, cannibalism, incest, abduction, sexual assault

“How much of eros consists only of this—this dancing around and around? How much of myth?” is a reference to Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson. To explain the whole thing, I would have to spend an hour, but a quote from the text is this: “For in this dance the people do not move. Desire moves. Eros is a verb.”

This is said in reference to a poem by Sappho:

He seems to me equal to gods that man who opposite you sits and listens close to your sweet speaking and lovely laughing—oh it puts the heart in my chest on wings for when I look at you, a moment, then no speaking is left in me no: tongue breaks, and thin fire is racing under skin and in eyes no sight and drumming fills ears and cold sweat holds me and shaking grips me all, greener than grass I am and dead—or almost I seem to me.

Part of Carson's examination of this poem is this:

We see clearly what shape desire has there: a three-point circuit is visible within Sappho’s mind. The man who listens closely is no sentimental cliché or rhetorical device. He is a cognitive and intentional necessity. Sappho perceives desire by identifying it as a three-part structure. We may, in the traditional terminology of erotic theorizing, refer to this structure as a love triangle and we may be tempted, with post-Romantic asperity, to dismiss it as a ruse. But the ruse of the triangle is not a trivial mental maneuver. We see in it the radical constitution of desire. For, where eros is lack, its activation calls for three structural components—lover, beloved and that which comes between them. They are three points of transformation on a circuit of possible relationship, electrified by desire so that they touch not touching. Conjoined they are held apart. The third component plays a paradoxical role for it both connects and separates, marking that two are not one, irradiating the absence whose presence is demanded by eros. When the circuit-points connect, perception leaps. And something becomes visible, on the triangular path where volts are moving, that would not be visible without the three-part structure. The difference between what is and what could be is visible. The ideal is projected on a screen of the actual, in a kind of stereoscopy. The man sits like a god, the poet almost dies: two poles of response within the same desiring mind. Triangulation makes both present at once by a shift of distance, replacing erotic action with a ruse of heart and language. For in this dance the people do not move. Desire moves. Eros is a verb.

I believe Hades Game shows us that shades have some level of control over their appearance, depending on their circumstances. For example, many of the shades we see have set appearances, in a sense. The mobs have appearances defined by the state of their soul/minds. Soul Catchers are a good example. You have a bunch of souls “congealed” together, and they come to share an appearance (bright pink butterflies).

Another example would be Achilles and Patroclus. They seem to be frozen in the appearance they bore when they died. This is shown by Patroclus still wearing Achilles’ armor, which he died in. This can also be seen in how they are almost see-through until they’re reunited, and then they are given more weight.

This, however, is countered by Theseus and Asterius. Asterius absolutely couldn’t have been wearing matching outfits with Theseus when he died. This is clearly something he’s gained since death, not something he died in. I also really doubt he looked as healthy as he does in death.

I believe that this shows shades can and do have control over their appearances, at least when they’re in their right minds/the soul is in good shape (perhaps it’s also a specific right reserved for shades in Elysium). It may not be as flexible as the gods, who can appear however they like as Aphrodite and Demeter state in a conversation together (thank you @CrowLady0_0 for finding this for me), but there’s some level of influence.

I can’t find it now, but I do believe it’s also true there were ancients who had different opinions about what a shade would look like, as Zag describes.

Now, as this relates to Medea: It’s unclear how old Medea was when she married Jason. It’s a question that has and will continue to haunt me. Medea must have been reasonably old when she passed away, but how old, and how her divine heritage might influence the length of her life and/or how old she actually appeared.

In the game, Achilles writes of Elysium: “Greatness is evaluated here, by several judges entrusted to consider the many cases the Master himself cannot see to personally.” I’m not sure if there’s other clarification about this, but I read it as a reference to the judges from mythology, who Medea mentions.

The judges were granted their station due to proving themselves honorable rulers in life, though like most things in Greek mythology, this can be sort of confusing and mixed up, mostly due to the question if Minos is one person or if there are multiple people named Minos lol. Minos is sometimes depicted as a really shitty dude and other times as a great king (though I’m not sure if this could just be explained by the usual extreme variations in Greek mythology).

Zag mentions Minos offending Poseidon. To properly explain this one… I will need to provide some warnings. The light version is this: Minos, King of Crete, asked Poseidon to send him a sign to help prove his right to be king or something along those lines. Poseidon sent a giant bull out of the sea. Minos first said he would sacrifice this bull to Poseidon, but then went back on his word, wanting to keep the bull for himself. This inspired Poseidon’s wrath.

(CW: ancient Greek mythology-typical bestiality) Minos was married to Pasiphaë (Medea’s aunt, sister of Aeëtes and Circe), so Poseidon cursed Pasiphaë to be… obsessed with the bull, let’s say. This led to the birth of the Minotaur, Asterius (so he’s technically Medea’s cousin, isn’t that fun?). (end of bestiality stuff)

(CW: cannibalism…) Anyway, Minos ordered Daedalus, the great inventor, to make a labyrinth to put Asterius in. Minos had this big conflict with Athens, the details of which don’t really matter at the moment, so he ordered Athens to send seven young men and seven young women to Crete to be sent into the labyrinth and, well, fed to Asterius. Thus Zagreus saying Asterius was a cannibal. Anyway, all of this ended when Theseus, Prince of Athens, offered to go into the labyrinth and succeeded in killing Asterius. (end of cannibalism stuff)

When Medea says “Even the gods’ kingdoms fall—the Progenitors’ to the Titans’, the Titans’ to the Olympians’” she’s referring to the generations of deities. “The Progenitors” here refers to the primordial gods who came and ruled first (ie. Uranus, Gaia, etc.). They birthed the Titans, who then overthrew them. Specifically, Uranus was overthrown by Cronus. The Titans then gave birth to the Olympians, and the Olympians overthrew them (Zeus overthrew Cronus).

Zag mentions shades drinking from the Lethe to be reincarnated, and to be clear, I think that may come from Virgil (in other words, this may be a Roman idea and not a Greek one, but I’m not sure). Medea is referencing the shades you fight in Elysium when she talks about those who drink from the Lethe and assist in defense.

From the Wiki:

The shades of the dead were required to drink the waters of the Lethe in order to forget their earthly life. In the Aeneid (VI.703-751), Virgil writes that it is only when the dead have had their memories erased by the Lethe that they may be reincarnated.

Circe was known for her powers of transformation. Medea is specifically referring to her transforming Odysseus’ men into pigs when they reached Circe’s island. Zagreus mentions her turning Scylla into, well, Scylla.

From an earlier chapter: Scylla was a beautiful nymph. The god Glaucus was in love with her, and Circe was in love with Glaucus. Jealous, Circe poured a potion into Scylla’s bath and she was transformed into a monster which is probably much more familiar to most people. This monstrous form of Scylla is the most famous one.

Idyia, the Seeing: Taking this straight from the wiki. “Her name means ‘the fair-faced’ or ‘the knowing one’ derived from the Greek word εἴδω (eídō) meaning ‘to see’ or ‘to know’.”

Perse, the Destroyer: Again, from the wiki. Her “name has been linked to … πέρθω (pérthō), ‘destroy’ or ‘slay’ or ‘plunder’.”

In relation to Idyia, Medea is saying, of course, that her name is directly related to this concept of “Sight.” With Perse, she’s saying that the “destruction” was wrought by her power.

A part of Helios’ power/mythology is that him, being the sun, can watch what’s happening below and thus knows a bunch of shit. He has the epithet Helios Panoptes, meaning "the all-seeing Sun".

(CW: the myth of Persephone’s abduction/sexual assault) This actually means he was the only one who witnessed Persephone’s abduction by Hades, while Hecate was the only one to hear her scream. And while Hecate helped Demeter, she didn’t fully know what happened, so Helios was the one to finally tell Demeter who took Persephone and where.

Flowers Medea mentions

Green-winged orchid: A flower found throughout Eurasia.

Snowdrop: A flower that’s thought to possibly be “moly.” (From a past chapter: Moly is an herb of note in Greek mythos. It’s described as growing from the ground where a giant’s blood/divine blood has fallen. Hermes gives it to Odysseus to protect him from Circe’s magic when he goes to her island.)

Golden pea: A pretty flower that can be a super, super mild poison.

Iris (grossheimii): A particular type of iris from the Caucasus mountains. Irises can also be mildly toxic.

Crocus: This flower, of course, is important in Greek mythology. Crocus was the name of a young man who was Hermes’ lover. During a game of discus, Hermes accidentally struck him in the head, mortally wounding him. Overcome with grief, he turned Crocus into a flower.

Fritillaria: Strange flowers that are known for smelling weird, if not gross, and for being used in traditional medicine. A lot of them are also extremely toxic, or at least parts of them, such as their bulbs, are.

Milkwort: A pretty little flower the ancient Greeks thought… increased milk production in cattle? Who knows.

Poppy: A flower with all sorts of medicinal uses, as most probably know. Their seeds contain codeine and morphine. Their association with Hypnos is due to their sedative effects.

Honeysuckle azalea: From wikipedia, “The nectar is toxic, containing the neurotoxin grayanotoxin; records of poisoning of people eating the honey date to the 4th century BC in Classical Greece.”

Small-fruited cherry bushes: A flowering plant that can be used both as a medicine and as a poison. It can also be used to make a gray-green dye.

Wayfaring tree: Not seriously toxic, but just a little.

Valerian: An herb with various medicinal uses.

Whortleberry: Medea is referring specifically to Caucasian whortleberry. Big berry plant.

[samuelroukin]

Listen, my coworkers are still. Being themselves, and we have tech issues (what else is new, I know). So. Just for you. Ray gets to Live. This time:

Roach doesn't make a sound when he comes up to Jimmy, making the greenie he was idly playing a little head game with startle.

Jimmy had already turned and smiled at him of course, so the boy has no reason to think his wide rabbit eyes are the reason for the smirk. It's only part.

Roach respecting him enough to not scuff a boot because he knows Jimmy's always listening is a little joy. Bigger than what he was getting scaring the kid bloodless under the guise of giving good advice, anyway.

Roach drops down and the little one scarpers. Jimmy doesn't even watch him go.

Roach is deserving of his attention, one of the few.

And he wouldn't be annoyed at Jimmy having a bit of fun. It helps them, makes them stronger. Or gives Jimmy buttons to push, as needed, but the balance is positive, in the end.

"Doc's pissed," Roach says, sounding casual, but his eyes are hard.

"He always is," Jimmy answers, smile a little too wide now.

Luria is generally upset, sour bastard that he is, but if Roach is here he's displeased with that. Which displeases Jimmy. Normally, he stays out of it, their little balance maintained.

"He's come into extra work," Roach says, face still flat.

Not that he can move it much, but normally there is at least a little rippling to the freckles when they talk to each other.

Jimmy does like to keep track of them, he'd been so filthy when they met, it had been months before he saw enough to know which was dirt and which was skin. Of course, Jimmy had been far dirtier. That he didn't want to think on.

"Flu going round?" and Roach gives him just the tiniest twitch. Corner of the mouth. Amused. Point to Jimmy.

"Seems that Ray's out of commission at the moment, so Luria's doubled up"

"Ray?"

Ah, a twitch again, but tensing of eyelids. Annoyed. Point against.

Playing too dumb, then. But calling him Ray... Jimmy's irked himself. And he'd been feeling so well, after making Ray pay for being so terribly, horribly annoying. And just generally too there.

"Medic Morova"

Jimmy almost says something else like oh is he sick? but Roach won't smile at that. He looks back, steady trying to say alright yes, but aren't you, at least a little, proud? And if you aren't, it's not permanent. It's not like he's dead.

"Twisted his ankle, I hear," Roach adds, light and Jimmy makes a suitably sympathetic sound.

There's that twitch again, untensing jaw. Says Alright, my point's made. You get this one, and you did manage to get away with it or we wouldn't be having just a chat, so that's that.

Roach moves up, away, and then gives Jimmy a very particular look.

One Jimmy tries very much to not provoke.

Don't do it again.

Jimmy should have known better, true. But Roach and medics...

He gets their use, but they're also, on the gripping hand, generally rude. Handsy. Prying.

But. Orders given are orders obeyed. No more loosening handrails. For now.

Jimmy sighs, and gets up himself.

There have to be some recruits about, and he's got energy to spend.

Can't be too hard to get them at each other's throats, with a comment or two. Five.

He sets a bet against himself, It'll take me three versus It'll take me seven and a win for each. One of them won't even get him in trouble.

He whistles as he goes.

[THAT'S RIGHT, RAY LOSES TWICE OVER BC IT'S NOT ABOUT HIM BUT THEIR FUCKED UP LOVE TRIANGLE TENSION BULLSHIT. And yeah that kid was sweating but never realized Twohey was fucking with him deliberately. No one ever suspects Twohey re: Ray, except Roach who Knew Right Away and Luria who has A Feeling He Can't Prove. Oh and it takes him four, before one hits a nerve about someone's sister and they start fighting and don't even remember Twohey was around when it happened later. It's a draw so Twohey gets no treats. For the best, really]

hjdgkhdfshgft i love this messed up dude, ray's lucky he got away with nothing permanent.....and he does have a point, they are rude and handsy and prying, but he's only a little guy...a sweet guy, really. and yeah no treats is for the best, he had (a tiny bit of) his fun lmao

[pubbybutch]

It’s been a year since I’ve officially been with my gorgeous darling amazing sweet kind beautiful wife. Over that time I kept a list of most (if not all) of the things she has said that have made me laugh to the point of nearly passing out. I think she’s hilarious.

Things my wife has said:

- “technically, is Juno the original MPreg movie cause it’s Elliot Page?”

- “who gave smeagol growth hormones?”

- “BILL! YOU FUCKING TRIANGLE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” (About a fictional tlt meme (see end))

- “They just fuck each other in the asshole!”

- “What are you doing?! It’s tickling me!” - “You mean breathing??”

- “She could be talking about him having his dad’s dick!”

- “I THOUGHT IT WAS THE INCEST BITCH.”

- “Baby Numnum stormed the capital. 9/11!”

- “me too, grandstrappy. (In regards to aiglamene)”

- “why’d you take the weenus away??”

- “You could never have enough of these yiddies!” (Says whilst bouncing on the spot with no bra)

- “UGGGHHHH!!! I’m looking for faggots being gay!!”

- “Bread! I want it… but why is it there…?”

- “honorary lesbian, Gerard Way.”

- “John Gaius is… (dramatic pause)… wherever he is. Doing crack and taking it up the ass.”

- “I just look over and THUD, your head’s against the wall, you’ve tried to roll over into the wall while asleep. Idiot!”

- “Take that naked gay man off my screen. And put him back on Grindr.”

- (extremely sad) “John Gaius when I catch you…”

- “he cured cancer! …I guess? He made miracles happen!”

- “Leave our honorary Bambi lesbian alone!”

-“YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER WHITE MAN!”

-“if young Sigourney Weaver had blood cancer.”

-“fucking your brother ain’t it-“

-“tee hee hee, you can drink! But you can’t piss!”

-“it was (dramatic pause) Florida Hatsune Miku”

- “they’re eating wine, cheese and ass.”

-“it’s also about fisting.”

- “I can’t wait to have shitty, flavourless meat water.”

- “what if we fucked to my immortal?” “That would be worse than us fucking to watership down.”

- “Cytherea and Mercymorn are my poor little meow meows. Cytherea has committed crimes.”

- “Im not baby girling Ianthe, I am baby girling Cytherea.”

- “Cytherea is just the local dominatrix into ball busting.”

- “tumblr is the reason we have the word Femcel.”

- “wait… (long pause) did I get a tiktok on my fyp about that deku cosplayer earlier…?” (neither of us have seen mha)

- “…I thought you meant boku no pico…” (whispered/ashamed)

- “Frodo baggins. Big naturals.”

- “I would be a bad cannibal…”

- “little angsty 16 year old boy just sweating milk”

- “I think Ianthe deserves to be pissed on, personally.”

- “You have a piss kink. And you want Ianthe to piss on you.”

- “Your brother looks like he’d willingly have blue mayonnaise”

- “I just stare you down. Autistically.”

- “You’re the ciggie fairy? Is that because you’re a faggot.”

- “I need mercymorn in a blunt rotation.”

- “My brain feeled like moosh.”

- “I have a study in bunology!”

- “I am an honour roll student of dumb bitch 2025.”

- “What happened? Oh yeah- I stole it!”

- “Sue Sylvester also looks like Ianthe!”

I do think my wife is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me and I will forever be grateful that she let me see and hold her heart. That she chose me when she could have anything or anyone she ever laid eyes on - I am forever in awe of the beautiful person that I am lucky enough to call my wife. My bunny. My Bambi.

[raccooncityriots]

I finally found the Athrun and Cagalli pre-Freedom short story and it’s 4am, so I need to talk into the abyss about it.

I didn’t like it. End post.

I’m kidding, it was cute, but I'm not sure when exactly it takes place. The setup makes it seem like not too long before Freedom, but that doesn't make a ton of sense to me.

Anyway, the basic premise is that Cagalli invites Athrun to a restaurant to get his latest report from Terminal. They do briefly talk about the implications of the intel, but then she tells him she mostly invited him out because she wanted a day off to relax. Athrun mistakes her security detail for enemies and proceeds to make a scene. He pretty quickly realizes what’s happening, but says fuck it since she wanted a day away from her job and commits to kidnapping the leader of the country from her own security. After running for a while, he lifts her on top of a wall to hide and the guards unknowingly run past them in some Looney Tune-esque shenanigans.

Mu and Murrue are contacted by the security guards that tell them Cagalli is missing via Athrun kidnapping and they are both laugh it off. Mu says to leave them alone as they aren’t children anymore. Murrue says she’s sure Cagalli is safe with him, but Mu questions if ‘safe’ is the right word.

Cagalli and Athrun find themselves on a beach and enjoy a few moments of peace before Cagalli returns to her security and they begrudging do not arrest Athrun.

This was one of the little pamphlet stories they gave out the first week of the movie in Japan as sort of an early viewer reward. I’m not sure how 'cannon' it’s supposed to be (I'll get into that later) and full disclosure I’ve not seen Freedom since we don't get it here until May and I don't know Japanese, so 99% of my info is from fan translations. OKAY facts over, opinion time.

1. My biggest takeaway from the story is that they aren’t together anymore. The story is mostly from Athrun’s point of view and he thinks to himself that while he’s excited to see her because it’s been a while, it’s also awkward as they used to be inseparable and now they have work meetings. This is why I question when this takes place? They're 100% not back together yet in this story and nothing I know about Freedom has them 'getting back together' per say, they just are.*** I dunno, it doesn't matter too much, I'm just wondering about order of events here.

2. My second biggest takeaway is that despite the love triangle angle of that, like, one poster, Athrun seems infinitely more bothered than Cagalli does. Love to see it. Yes, I am a Cagalli stan above all else. Yes, I am still mad about Destiny. He clearly misses her and is overthinking everything. At multiple points he thinks/jokes about if her wanting to eat lunch with him was a "I want to spend the rare time I get alone with you" situation or an "ayye bro, I love this food and I had to meet with your ass for this intel anyway so". We get from his internal monologue that he 'desperately wants her to see this from his perspective' and I guess give him some sort of either hope she might still love him or closure that they're over. She gives him neither. I choose to believe purposefully. Come on, she has to know what inviting her ex-fiancé to lunch looks like and after Destiny, I'd like to think she's just fuckin' with him a little.

3. She asks what he's been up to and he starts to talk about his Terminal work with Meyrin and then immediately gets hung up as he says that, afraid that mentioning Meyrin would makes things awkward for Cagalli. All it does it make her concerned and start grilling him if something bad happened and if Meyrin is okay. He assures her that she's fine and thinks about how he made it weird by thinking Cagalli wouldn't want him to talk about Meyrin. Not only does she not visibly react at all to the fact he's still working with Meyrin, she actively brings her up again later and is like, "tell Meyrin I said hi and I hope she's doing great!" Athrun is sweating at how unbothered she is. Again, she has to be fucking with him, if only just a little. I gotta think this was written by another else ex-asucaga shipper that also spent half of Destiny wanting to straggle Athrun. I've read this fanfic 15 years ago, I stg. My people. Again, love to see it.

3.a Between this and the remarks Meyrin makes about Cagalli in the second movie novel, I have decided that they are actually besties now and I am not longer accepting any bullshit love triangle angst from anyone other than Athrun, thanks.

4. Despite what I may sound like in points 1-3, it's clearly supposed to be a very asucaga story. Once the 'kidnapping' starts, the awkwardness is over and they spend the rest of the story holding hands as they run through back alleys. At one point he's physically carrying her (during the Looney Tune shenanigans) and talking about feeling her heartbeat, Cagalli gets a drink that's literally called, "my first love", etc.

5. At the end of the story Athrun looks at how happy Cagalli is walking next to the ocean and thinks about how (as Mu pointed out to Murrue) they're adults now and how much they've both changed/matured. They part ways with Athrun telling her to hang in here and being satisfied with himself that he could make her day off a little more enjoyable.

*** Yeah, again, I've not seen Freedom, but from what I have seen, I have to assume they're back together. Why would Athrun be thinking about Cagalli naked during combat and Cagalli clutching her engagement ring while she prays to her dead father if they're not back together? That's on them. I ain't taking any responsibility on misreading the room.

From what I've heard, I don't think the Destiny callback memorial scene in the novel is in the actual movie because I've not heard anyone talk about it before the novel came out, I lowkey hope I'm wrong about that because it is a pretty good moment.

I'm gonna have to wait until I see the movie with my own eyes before I make any final judgments, but at the end of the day I'm so grateful to have more content of a series that had such a huge impacted on my life and I might remove the "ex" from my ex-asucaga fan status. Might.

I just want my girl to be happy.

[fuwushiguro]

I Can't Feel My Hands

Track Five: When The Gloves Come Off | 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Haruchiyo Sanzu x f!Reader Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: OHHHHHHHHH i want him so bad help me Warnings: toxic relationship, hinted baby trapping, love triangle, dirty talk, degradation, pregnancy, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, exhibitonism, mutual pining (i think??), drug use (ecstacy), dacryphilia.Words: 2.9k

You don’t see the way his eyes flit from side to side when you aren’t here. You don’t see the way his hair sways with each movement of his head as he continues to look for you. Chifuyu has been attending your fiancé’s underground fight club for just over a year now. It was a way to make some extra cash for the holidays; he could earn a quick buck while beating the shit out of someone.

So, he didn’t join because of you – but it would be a lie for him to say you didn’t influence his decision to stay.

Even despite the cool chill of the winter air, you are like a ray of sunshine to him. You’re bundled up so nicely in a plum purple duffel coat and a matching beanie hat. You greet everyone as you enter, full of smiles and adoration for all of the attendees. Whether they are fighters or merely spectators, everyone lowers their guard around you.

He waves at you, and you wave back.

Chifuyu takes note of the way you look both ways as if you’re about to cross the street. You’re scanning the room. He wonders if you think he’s buying your performative art. That you’re pretending to be happy. You’d lie, of course, if he called you out on it. Why wouldn’t you be happy?

He knows.

“You’ve been fighting already, huh?” you ask, taking his hands in your gloved ones as you inspect his gauze covered knuckles. Blinding crimson seeping through the ragged material. He pulls them away from you, laughing in an attempt to make light of his busted and bloody skin.

“Never mind that. I take it the decorations were your idea. They’re nice, probably too nice for a shit hole like this.” Chifuyu jokes. You nod, there was no reason somewhere like this couldn’t benefit from a dose of holiday cheer.

The fact that your partner agreed to liven the place up with Christmas décor was no small feat. He was dead set against it, at first, claiming it ruins the ambiance. There was no ambiance, just sweat, fear and testosterone. Just how it should be. But if people feel better, they’ll fight better. He supposed you had a point, giving you his credit card and allowing you to run wild and buy whatever you wanted to spruce the dingy place up.

“Oh, I got you something.” he told you. He began raking around in his pockets for whatever it was he had gotten for you. Your eyes started to vibrate; you could cry. He’s so sweet, so thoughtful, he spent his hard earned money on you.

“For me, really Chifuyu? You didn’t have to do that.” you explained. He was having trouble finding it, you did your best to keep a giggle to yourself as you realised your staring was likely giving him performance anxiety. “Fuck, who’d have thought a bunch of guys fighting in one place would make a room so damn warm?” you questioned, starting to un-toggle your coat.

And he found the box.

His beaming smile turned into a defeated one as he looked at you. At your body. You were unshielded by your coat and it all came rushing back to him. A painful reminder that you belong to someone else. He doesn’t know why he likes you so much besides the fact you’re attractive and kind. You’re his reason for being here. He’s your favourite fighter of them all.

Is he wrong to think there’s something between you?

“Here, sorry it’s a little… I don’t know. I hope you like it.” he tells you, handing you a box. A ring box. It makes your heart race. He bought you a ring. It took everything you had to steady your breathing. It was overwhelming. You were highly emotional and at a total loss for words. He began to laugh as he saw your eyes well up with tears. “Quit being a cry baby. Just wanted to get you a little something for Christmas, I guess.”

You opened it, a feeling of joy exploded within you. It was a simple gold ring band with a turquoise gem in the middle. He didn’t need to tell you, you already knew why he chose it.

“Your birth stone? Chifuyu…”

“Wait,” he instructs, fishing around his pockets once more. He pulled out a simple chain and held it in the palm of his hand. You quickly noticed the chain had been threaded through a ring like yours, and he picked it up gently with his thumb and fore finger. “I have your birth stone here. I’m gonna wear it every time I fight, like a good luck charm.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, for the gift, of course. But…”

“’m sorry if you don’t like it. But you’ve been a great friend to me since I started here and I really value our friendship. I think I’ll fight better knowing a part of you is close… you know… to my heart.”

You looked around the room dramatically, praying to God that no one could hear him. It took you no time at all to get closer to him, eyes staring at him with deadly derision. Too damn loud. Too damn stupid.

“Are you trying to get us both killed? I appreciate it, I do. You know how I feel about you and how much I care about you, but we can’t do this. We can’t do anything.”

And you’re a fool.

You’re a fool to think you could do anything at all without his knowledge. Whether he is present or not, he has eyes and ears everywhere. But today, he just so happened to be staring down at you from his office.

Sanzu likes to watch the fights behind the window while he sits comfortably in his luxurious leather chair. He can see everything from that window. You should have looked up, silly girl. If you had, you would have seen a tall, pin stripe wearing prince in his den of debauchery. He’s been watching you the entire time. Watching you with him.

Neither of you notice when he emerges from the room and starts to descend the stairs. A face like thunder and heavy steps to match. And still, you don’t fucking notice. Too wrapped up in your side piece, he supposes, or maybe you’re just that dumb. Nobody bothers trying to interact with him, there’s never any point when Sanzu has that look in his eye.

Your heart grows cold when you feel a hand slip into the small of your back. He pulls your body into his, you can’t help but laugh when you feel so awkward. And his glimmering grin is oh so fake. You feel his body tense against yours when you slip the ring into your pocket.

Don’t be shy now. You were both flaunting them a few moments ago.

He faces you, it’s a command for a kiss. And of course, you comply.

“You shouldn’t hide Matsuno’s gift that he so generously gave you.” he tells you, arms perfectly long enough to dip into your pocket to retrieve it. And you’re both cringing. He really did see everything. You really are fucked.

“It’s fine, uh—”

“Put it on,” your fiancé instructs, pulling apart the box to reveal what’s inside. And he laughs, as if the ring is so awful and pathetic. But it’s beautiful, you think, you don’t see what’s so terrible about it. “It’ll look nice next to mine. Take your glove off and put it on sweetheart. Now.”

You sigh. But what can you do? Only what you’re told. Always. Reluctance fuels the action as you begin to tug lightly on the tips of the black pleather. It’s agonising to say the least. Sanzu’s scarred mouth bearing his teeth as he grins from ear to ear in anticipation. Chifuyu knows what’s coming, and still his stomach is doing flips. It’s just so… real. Too fucking real.

There is a rock on your finger the size of the sun. A brilliant diamond so dazzling, Chifuyu is almost blinded by it. It lights up the room, and he doesn’t dare even estimate how much that thing cost.

“I don’t want to wear them on the same hand, Haru, they don’t go together.” you explain, preparing to cover your hand with your glove once again. But he’s too quick for you, snatching your wrist and pulling it towards him. He takes the ring, forcing it down your middle finger.

“Now now, don’t tell lies sweetheart. Look, it looks lovely.” he tells you, pulling your hand around to show it to Chifuyu. “A ring worth more than your life, the one I got you. Right next to some cheap costume jewellery. Hah. Balance, y’know? It works.”

You don’t want to risk apologising on his behalf. Not even a silent mouth movement. You hope your eyes tell him, though. They are filled with so much sorrow and remorse. He understands. Loud and clear.

“Anyway, lets head upstairs and let him prepare for his next fight. Being down here can’t be good for your stress, and the baby.” Sanzu announces. You hold your hand on your stomach, you suppose he’s right. And Sanzu revels in the way Chifuyu’s face drops at the remembrance that you’re carrying his child.

You’ll never be his.

You’re Sanzu’s, forever.

“Later.” Chifuyu huffs, heading towards the bathrooms to splash water in his face.

“Oh, Matsuno. How many fights have you got today?” Sanzu questions, holding your upper arm flesh in a deathly grip as he began to lead you upstairs.

“I’m going home after this next one.” Chifuyu answers.

“Hm… No. I don’t think so. You’re going to do four more fights today.”

“That’s not what I—”

“If you don’t like it, Matsuno, feel free to find another fight club. Another way to make money. And… better company to keep.” he finishes his statement as he references you. Your eyes flutter shut. Honestly, it would be better if he did leave. Nothing could ever happen between you. So why do you insist on punishing yourselves?

“Tch…” he huffs, walking away from you both.

There was an undeniable raucous roaring from downstairs. And yet, whilst with Sanzu in his office, everything was deathly silent. There was nothing but you, him and your erratic breathing. You were bending over his desk, one knee raised on the wooden oak and the other holding the rest of your weight.

He mocked you as your pastel blue panties dangled so raunchily around your ankle. What a slut, his slut. And he reminded you that you were his each time his hand wandered between swiping his thumb over your clit and caressing your swollen stomach.

His.

Only his.

“It seems I’ve misjudged you. I didn’t think you were as stupid as you look, and yet…”

“P-Please, Haruchiyo. ‘m sorry… What did I—”

“Playin’ dumb too, huh? Dumb slut, look at you. Pussy spread nice ‘n open for me. Gonna remind you who you belong too, angel.” he explains, coldly.

You shudder as you hear the familiar sound of him tugging down the zipper of his expensive designer trousers. Two fingers come down on your pussy lips in the shape of a ‘V’, each digit opening you up in a beautiful display for him. His gorgeous girls divine intimacy.

You hear a trademark, manic, snicker. It’s because of him, and he takes great pleasure in that. It’s because his bulbous throbbing tip slipped unassumingly into your eager, drippy cunt. Your pulsating heat practically sucked it in the minute he made contact. You know you belong to him. You body is his home and you can’t decide whether or not it’s unfortunate that he is the one who holds the key to unlock it. The one who deposited his personal belongings inside.

His hand finds your blossoming baby bump again. You’re only four months, but you’re showing so perfectly for him. He did this to you. And he’d do it again and again, if he could.

“You can’t be so stupid that you think you can get away with making a fool of me, baby. I just don’t believe it.” he tells you. His body is still. But a distinctive: shluck shluck shlucking tells you that he’s rubbing his length with only the head of his cock resting inside of you. It’s so nonchalant, it’s almost lulling you into a false sense of security, so serene and lackadaisical. It’s enough to disarm you; he’s fooling you to believe everything is alright. Everything’s peachy, you can at least pretend.

“Didn’t mean to make a fool of you, Haru, honest. H-How did I?” you ponder.

The sweetest little sound he’s ever heard, a gasp in the form of a screeching inhale, ran wild and free from your swollen lips as he sank his length deeper inside of your wet walls. He pulled out completely, earning a downtrodden sigh from you. The feeling of emptiness too much to bear. He leaned against the desk beside you for a moment. And in an instant, you knew what he was up to.

“Y-You promised you wouldn’t touch ecstacy anymore. Haru you promised. You swore when I got pregnant you’d s-stop…” you reminded him, salty tears welling on your messy lash line.

“And I believe you made a silent promise to be mine when I proposed, isn’t that right? I even knocked you up for good measure.” Sanzu states as he swallows his pill and returns to your waiting slot. He slowly plunges inside of you, right up against your aching little cervix.

“But, I am yours…”

“So why were you flirting with Matsuno, huh? Been leading the poor guy on, letting him buy you gifts. You’re sick, just a money grabbing whore. That’s the only reason you wanted me, right? For my money.” he hissed, bullying himself into you and thrusting against your sweet spot slowly. Each pummel is a targeted hit. He wants your head to spin and thoughts to blur as you try and make sense of his words – like he’s purposefully trying to trip you up.

“That’s not true at all. I love you… I—”

You yelp softly as he yanks at your hair and forces your head to smack against the window. You’re humiliated. It was already terrifying to think people may look up and see what the two of you are doing, but at least you were hiding your face. Now, if anyone were to look up, you’d soon have a gaggle of spectators.

“There’s your little boyfriend down there. Think he’ll look up? Seems like he’s a bit busy getting the shit kicked out of him.” Sanzu teases nastily as he forces you to observe the ongoing fight.

He was right. For as long as Sanzu had been tormenting your poor cunt, you’d spent even longer in silence in the office. It was a fun way of punishing you, he thought, the silent treatment always makes you work up a sweat. It’s because you never know what’s going on beneath that rosy, pink head of hair. In the deep creases of his troubled mind. He could conjure up any sick twisted thought in there. And you’d simply have to accept it.

Chifuyu was on his final match. He lay in a near death like state on the floor. Poor guy. It’s all thanks to Sanzu’s jealousy. His opponent repeatedly stamping on his head with his bare feet. You can see so many cuts, bruises and bloody gashes all over his body. You wish you could help him; if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’d given up.

Your tears began to smear on the glass as Sanzu picked up the pace in his penetrative assault. Sweat coated your skin, blurring the cold window to the shape of your figure.

“I wonder if he thinks you’re even prettier when you’re crying like I do.” he wonders aloud.

His opponent is pulled away from him, and still, Chifuyu makes no attempt to move. He’s just lying there like he has no life left in his body. He doesn’t think you’re prettier, as he watches you get fucked against the office desk and window from his place on the ground. He just thinks you’re beautiful no matter what.

And even Chifuyu can hardly stop himself from crying when your body gives in to your fiancé. If he fucks so perfectly against one spot again and again, there’s only going to be one outcome.

You can’t stand that Chifuyu can see you like this. Coming undone around Sanzu’s length. Convulsing and eyes crossing as you give yourself over to him. Fuck, he’s so mean, but he’s such a good lay.

It makes you wonder what Chifuyu like. So soft and so gentle, you imagine. It would be so loving. You think he’d ask you again and again if you’re okay or if he’s hurting you.

That’s just the type of guy he is.

But, you suppose you’ll never know. And as he watches you reach the end of your spasms and practically collapse against the window, he supposes the same. You’ll never be his, and he’ll never be yours. He’s got the message from Sanzu loud and God damn clear, he thinks.

Maybe it’s time for him to find a new fight club, after all.

© 2021 fuwushiguro

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[onyourhyuck]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐊ᵃ𝐫𝐦𝐚. | 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐨.| (M) | PT 9.

synopsis; park areum is a small journalist who gets mistaken for a sex worker one day. she gets kidnapped and then given to lee jeno, an infamous mafia for creating war and havoc.

warnings; lower caps intended!!, this is part 9/20 ,action, fighting scenes, short love triangle, mafia romance, cursing/mature language, jeno falls in love hard, !jealous mafia jeno, enemies to lovers, smut!!, makeout scenes, gripping, degrading, praising, jeno is a bit of a dick but we been knew. park areum is a bad bitch <3.

previous part 8 link here! | masterlink to other parts here! | PART 10 HERE.

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a bright light slaps areum across the face, feeling like her mind was a small globe spinning and rotating endlessly; a striking headache impacting her head. eyelids were heavy, threatening to shut close again. the mental struggle wasn’t the only thing stopping the young brunette from waking up. it was physical now too.

the body felt limp, numb and furthermore quite doze. she sits up fighting through the crappy pain, a groan coming past her red lips, back and neck cracking in the processs. “shit, what happened last night.” areum said out loud.

eyes widen when noticing the place changing. areum slides off the bedsheets finding it to be her old bed. she slowly walks out in the hoodie she found nearest by and sweats. mafia armed workers walking downstairs, no one on the second floor because it’s prohibited.

areum was back at the mansion.

the girl skips along the cold floor downstairs. areum wasn’t sure how she actually looks but she is more than sure it’s not flattering, not like she cares though. areum goes down the marble stairs, running straight into haechan’s chest.

the boy winces when he looks down seeing the girl. “oh it’s you, I am surprised you’re still alive.” haechan flaty said. areum looks up glaring, great— that’s not who she wishes to see this early in the morning. “move out of my way.” areum said, haechan slightly gasps as he leans closer to her face.

“you move out my way ms black eyebags,” he points out dramatically. areum opens her mouth offensively. “no you move out my way and i’ll have you know my eyebags are sexy, now piss off.” she would gall.

a soft soothing hand on areum’s shoulder was placed, a taller male with light hair colour and the soft caring eyes would be curved into a frown when watching the tan boy in annoyance. haechan lightly gulps bowing his head a little to the deputy leader.

“jaemin,” areum quietly lets out. jaemin turns to areum with a side eye, “welcome back home, areum-ah.” was the first thing he says to the girl, he was happy to have her back and safe.

his words made areum’s empty heart, full of love as she felt her cheeks rose into a smile like a little kid would to their role model idol. jaemin’s kind persona he has to areum would suddenly switch in matter of millisecond into a cold unforgiving persona towards haechan. “aren’t you on house arrest?” jaemin said.

haechan nods slowly mumbling a disoriented ‘yes sir’ jaemin kept the stern expression on the boy, “then go back into your room and don’t come back out until me or jeno give you permission.” jaemin watches haechan go into the solider dorms as he said this. areum seeing the extroverted mischievous boy turn into a timid smaller beta in the same time frame was a satisfying sight to see from areum’s eyes.

especially with how haechan would often tease areum.

Jaemin finally turns his whole attention turn to areum where he now lightly exhales all the worrisome scenarios he played in his head all this time. thank god he made sure to check the emergency cabin home otherwise they would never think to check there.

areum went slightly shy when she felt jaemin slowly stroking her head down, the hand lowering on the back of her head where he now moves areum to embrace in a chesty hug. “jaemin..?” areum questions in the shy voice wondering if he was okay, the boy tells her, “don’t say anything please, i was so worried you died when we couldn’t find you or jeno.”

the girl carefully wraps her arms around jaemin patting his back softly against the black solider uniform. she would throw in a joke to lighten the mood up, “I’m not that easy to kill y’know,”

Jaemin saw areum pull away looking at him with a childish grin. “I mean you probably should know that by now considering I’m alive under the Mafias care.” she slightly rolls her eyes whilst talking and jaemin would shake his head, chuckling with his deep voice.

“oh come here you,” jaemin awes squishing areum’s face in his hands. “was jeno rough on you or anything?” jaemin alerts forward, knowing exactly how jeno and areum are together. by together he means they don’t get along on the best of terms.

areum’s simply nod caught jaemin in surprise. “yeah he didn’t do anything, we did our best to survive so yeah. Oh also,” areum calls out. “i saw an octopus and gun tattoo on the intruders.”

jaemin opens his lips in a darken expression now. “about the tattoo,” he stops for a moment. “i want you to forget about it completely. erase it from your memory.”

“wait what why?” areum quickly blurts out squinting eyes forward, feeling dishearten now, full of worry too. she hates to admit it but her curiosity is killing her, she needs answers too! she deserved to know after all she almost died out there because of them. jaemin shakes his head. “don’t ask questions areum it’s better that way for you.”

when jaemin saw areum trying to say something again he turns away to something that caught his full attention. “jeno,” jaemin suddenly said. areum turns to look to the right side noticing jeno in a white shirt and black trousers with a belt. the white shirt having 3 buttons completely unbuttoned revealing the chest. he had a chain around his neck and hair was slightly slicked back styled.

areum and jeno shared a small eye contact before his eyes travel to jaemin fully. “jaemin,” jeno said back. the boys shared their deep eye contact as if they were communicating telepathically. the two had such a strong bond that their words were not needed.

“jeno,” areum calls out catching the man’s attention. the man looks at areum no words shared. “about the tatt-”

somehow areum should’ve saw this coming. the whole atmosphere felt stiff, jeno wasn’t who areum saw when they were at the cabin, he was someone else now. he was the Mafia leader. jeno quickly disgards areum completely leaving her out cold. “outsiders should not ask questions unless they have a death wish.”

the black voidfull eyes filled with emptiness wide to areum’s doe-shape honey brown iris’.

those words were what he said to areum at the very beginning, treating areum as an outsider— someone unimportant and their prisoner. jeno walking away with hands tucked in front pockets with the two soldiers guarding him. jaemin giving areum a ‘i told you to forget it’ look before following jeno from behind with his own two soldiers.

the loud footsteps belonging to them fading the more they left. areum was left alone confusion and not only that; she felt so lost again. for once when she thought her and jeno had slight progress in their relationship, it all went back to zero once again.

areum was not going to let jaemin and jeno leave her out in the cold. she needs to know! this might just be those journalist urges but she genuinely does the opposite to what people tell her to do.

who is better to ask than lee haechan himself?

areum skips through the narrow shape hallway, each door was identitcal but had a name on it. she stops in front of the door initials ‘L.HC’. areum knocks on it earning a half creek open door with the tan boy peaking out.

his expression widens when realising its areum. “what the fuck are you doing?” he whisper yells. this wasn’t allowed, this actually feels illegal to him. areum opens the door widely as she pushes hyuck away into his room. now that she forcefully intrudes in the room she closes it.

haechan falls on the small single bed in panic. “areum what the hell, if jeno and jaemin find you in here you might die.” he whispers in paranoia watching his door. areum slightly crouches to look at haechan eye to eye. “i need your help.” areum hustles to the boy.

he breathes in, “with?” areum rests her hand on the side of his bed. “i need information on the octopus gun tattoo.”

Hyuck’s anxiety rose through top when hearing this. he shakes his head, “no no no no no, areum! you’re actually insane, mentally insane.” Haechan spat, sitting up on his bed walking around his room in circles as he spoke with his hands to the girl.

“that information i don’t have but its very fucking important like top secret. only jeno, Jaemin and someone else in the base knows.” he prates.

“who is that someone else?” areum raises her eyes in response, haechan holds his breathe a little before speaking. “he is… someone you shouldn’t mess with,”

areum gave an impatient sigh, “Haechan!” she’d shout, the boy puts his hand over her mouth to muffle her loud voice. “shh shh, shut up you’ll get caught in my room.” he spat.

“he goes by the name johnny, he is the person that runs the torture system. he is fucking messed up, everyone is feared by him.” he slowly explains, “johnny is rumoured to play with his victims before killing them.”

areum saw the fear in the tan boy’s large eyes, as if it was genuinely terrifying. his words were matching the timid and scared body language he gave her. she analysed everything about him and he wasn’t lying.

“if you want to find the exact information, jeno keeps his files in his room somewhere. pretty sure it’s underneath something.” he removes his hand from areum’s mouth. “whatever you do, do not get caught Aruem, it won’t end good for you.” he warns for once, he was being serious.

Haechan gave areum good information to go off on. she knew going into Jeno’s room would be easy because no one else is allowed on the second floor except for three people; areum, jeno, jaemin.

areum looks around, having a hand over the doorknob, she slowly opens it now entering the dark bedroom.

once areum got in she turns the flashlight on that she found somewhere luckily before going ahead with the plan. the room had dust particles flying about, jeno seemingly needs to find himself a cleaner, the bed was nicely tucked in. all his room was neat and in place, areum found nothing strange sticking out.

she looks under the bed finding nothing unusual there. she murmurs to herself, “haechan said something underneath…” She trails her hands on the wooden flooring. “he better not be lying to me or else i’mma end a bitch.” areum said.

her hands would trace on the floor picking up unnecessary amounts of dust and all, but nothing like a trap hidden door.

she groans, maybe she won’t ever find the files. areum lays down slightly giving up with her flashlight in the darkness of jeno’s room. that was until areum suddenly shifts towards the shiny area in the corner underneath the mirror.

she tilts her head at the sight of the shiny lock, areum hits the back of the flashlight towards it, breaking the lock open. she gasps noticing the white files.

‘okay so maybe haechan won’t have to die today’, areum thought.

the girl would sit on the ground holding the flashlight between her teeth tightly, she moves the light on the files as she flicks through the large immense of writings.

until an attacked image of the octopus gun tattoo came in sight, areum pauses not pushing up to see further information.

bold red lettering, ‘Japanese uprising group’ recently started hacking and overtaking mafia territories in Seoul at the sight of January 9th. leader identity known as ‘seijin’.

areum flips on the page when an interesting piece of information. “NAYOUNG DEATH”

‘who the hell is nayoung…’ Aruem thought, curiosity practically made her do this. she knew this was invasion of privacy but she can’t help herself.

flicking to the nayoung page, gruesome images of a girl brutally killed and tortured. areum left a gasp out, dropping the flashlight on the ground. the flashlight rolling across the room causing sudden attraction to jeno’s bedroom.

areum panics putting the files back into the hidden box and then shutting it tight. her hand reaching for the flashlight before the footsteps approach the door and open it with a swing.

the young brunette hid underneath Jeno’s bed, hiding every inch of her. she held her ragged breathe when she hears Jeno’s voice.

“sir?” one solider calls out. jeno looks back to the newbie boy soaring him a small glance. “you may leave.”

the newbie boy bows his head before leaving the room.

the room was still for a moment or two. Jeno walks out to the front where areum underneath his bed could see his polished shiny shoes. the woman felt like if she were to breathe or make a slight sound she would be found out instantly. her stomach clenched due to areum being on her stomach, the oxygen felt less significant from the small space underneath the bed itself.

the cold atmosphere drops once jeno stops in front of the bed immediately pulling in the veiny scarred hands, a deep grip held on her neck. areum forcefully pulled out from underneath, flashlight rolling on the ground as she looks up with scrunched face the moment the light hit her face. jeno darkly gazes over areum, taunting his deep husky voice at her.

“oh areum-ah,” jeno calls, shaking his head. lifting the girl he throws her on his bed. she sits up in panic, gulping. “i can explain jeno,” she said.

jeno was amused when he heard this. he leans forward as he took off his shoes, crawling on the bed towards areum with her wrists being pinned from above the head.

“explain then. what are you waiting for?” he jeers. areum feeling not only the dangerous gaze on her, she felt his skin on her from the way his hands clench around her wrists so tightly. his breathe hitting her skin so easily, it was so overstimulating for areum to take.

areum stood quiet. what can she say to explain herself in this situation? Absolutely nothing. jeno saw her uncertain silence as a way to suspect.

“seems like cat got your tongue huh,” jeno voice traces over areum’s one. “did poor areum forget how to bullshit her way out of things?” jeno spat. areum flinches with every word, eyes glaring at him with the disrespect he was giving her.

“this really wouldn’t of happened if you weren’t such a narrow-minded dick about this.” areum saying abruptly. jeno gave a soft laughter before racing a hand over areum’s face, grabbing it roughly.

“maybe if you learned to be good for once and do as you were told you wouldn’t be in these situations.” he said back. areum stiffens at each word, breaking away from the hand grip by pulling the head back.

areum remarks quickly not sparing a chance to jeno. “it’s funny how you always end up pinning me on the bed jeno,” her mischief eyes glued now on those empty black orbs. Jeno listens attentively despite areum being a complete cheek. “by how many times you done it now, I would have to think you want to fuck me”

jeno diverts his face closer with occupied smirk. “be careful what you say to me, it might just come back and bite your ass.”

their eye contact were locking in as if there were a key to it. areum felt jeno’s hands trail from the very thin side up and down, the waist and hips held as their bodies were squishing against each other.

“maybe i want it to bite me in the ass.” areum tells jeno who showed a toothy smirk. she wraps arms around Jeno’s shoulder slowly, waiting for his next move.

something within them both changed super fast; their connection was not the same as it were before. areum felt the intensity of how much she now craves him— Jeno was so lost in her it was impossible to control himself anymore.

areum gasps once the feeling of jeno’s lips latch onto her skin leaning wet sounds to erupt in the silence. her hands grip tightly on the edge of the white clean shirt tugging down onto it. jeno grunts feeling areum’s thigh moving up in between his hips.

the way she reacts to him was something he has never saw or felt before, areum sinking right into the soft bedsheets and pillows, as if she were floating in the air. Jeno’s lips were so powerful once it connects to areum’s soft lips.

she wasn’t sure if it were sexual frustration or the sexual attraction instead, but there were certainly hints of elements of it.

his lips smashed against hers, as if trying to flatten and destroy her mouth. She hungrily pushed back, her mouth open, tongue pushing past his clenched teeth to the moist space within. The curls edge of her bangs scratched softly scratch against his forehead as she gripped his head firmly, as if it were to keep him from escaping. She worked her mouth against his, their tongues battling back and forth like wrestlers, each trying to pin the other.

he was refusing to let areum win over the dominance, biting down on the inner lip, she escape out a gasp. his warm mouth marking her lips as his own by biting down on it temporarily.

the woman underneath him tightens her thighs on his waist once jeno pulled away, areum already half undressed and exposed along with jeno, he works his way down with his hand down to her abdomen.

shutting eyes tight a small breathy gasp came out of areum’s lips. jeno looks up in a lustful gaze, his fingers caressing her sex.

“oh god,” areum jolts upwards the hips, this felt so wrong but so right. just minutes ago the two of them were arguing, but now areum is letting jeno completely destroy her with his fingers.

jeno was feeling the seep of wet arousal from the panties rubbing down the thumb for a few seconds before fully feeling the naked clit and womanhood. “you’re already so wet areum,” his deep honey musk voice taunts her.

areum left out another gasp feeling one digit finally entering the desperate walls. jeno had her gripping the sheet just by the first finger only. he chuckles darkly, thrusting it in and one, the way the body sunk him in was amazing, it was tight yet pulsing like crazy. the effect jeno had on her was truly beyond his expectations.

he felt lost in the way areum’s walls sucked him in, soon adding in the second digit. areum moans out as she slightly grins Jeno’s hair softly now. “fuck jeno,” areum groans. he looks up at her humming deeply, “you like it? you like how my fingers feel in you?”

areum shifts her hips against his fingers, humming in response as she was too shy to respond. jeno grips tightly on areum’s thighs. “use your words, areum” he stops his fingers from moving so suddenly hoping it would make the girl talk, he knew the warm knot sensation build up in her lowering abdomen was going to disappear quicker than it was building up.

areum panics quickly gripping on jeno’s hands with a soft whine. “i like it so much jeno, please don’t stop— fuck. i was close.” she bites the bottom lip, watching the dark eyes glare right into her.

“how many do you want in you hm?” jeno asks waiting for a response, areum’s breathe comes out quickly in begging manner— she was so lost and fucked out in the moment. areum needs a release soon or else she is about go to crazy.

“all of them, fuck, don’t leave me waiting please. i want them all.” areum murmurs, watching jeno with such innocent wide eyes but the way her voice sounded was so lewd and sinful to jeno’s ears.

“You’re such a whore, areum.” jeno spat roughly pushing in all five digits, each thrusts bringing areum close to the edge. the girl was a moaning mess and at this moment of time, areum was glad no one lives on the second floor except for them because she could not contain her loud squeals and moans.

jeno had areum jolting and shaking by the time he made her cum twice. the girl wasn’t sure if she came the third time as she was wet all over. jeno licks his fingers before pursing them through the enraged pulsing walls.

he loves the way she feels inside and out, it made his mind ecstatic and jeno knows he is not the only one feel this way. areum pants heavily out, following a string of long curses “fuck fuck fuck,”

“I’m coming,” areum cries out, jeno hums a satisfied moan at the sight of the rushing arousal of her cum on his fingers.

areum had the most feverish cheeks as possible against the beautiful clear glowing skin and jeno had the most intense eye contact laid on her. he wasn’t going to look away from areum’s fucked out beauty.

the two share a final glance with their eyes, areum felt the orgasm peak, so she was out of it a little. but jeno on the other hand felt more confused by their relationship when he just realised what he had done.

he bit the bottom of his lips, blaming it on the frustration of not able to have sex lately. areum on the other hand (*no pun attended*) had no freaking idea what just happened.

she just let someone finger her! and it was lee jeno!

blame it on the sexual attraction? maybe, jeno has the appeal to get any woman. but areum is not the type of woman to seemingly get herself in these scenarios. the silenced spared between the two were broken when jeno stood up, gritting his teeth.

“you with me?” he asks as he notices areum break out of the pre-orgasmic post, humming. “i am.” she replies softly.

“good,” he lifts areum up slowly, putting the shirt she had on previously, back on her body covering her chest. areum slowly took a hold of Jeno’s hands as she glanced up to dark hair male.

Jeno thickly gulps. thinking, ‘break it off now, tell her it was a mistake, say it jeno.’ his brain said this many times to him all over again. “forget this happened areum, it was a mistake.” he tells coldly. areum understood why jeno said this— it was a heat of the moment, both of them got lost in each other. he was a mafia leader and he can’t have a relationship of any sort like this. jeno saw the girl give him a straightforward nod.

“agreed.” areum half whispered. why did it feel disappointing on her end though? and why did jeno feel confused even more than before?

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@onyourhyuck please refer from copyrighting and plagiarising my work!

don’t be shy to reblog and share! <3

[thegardenofbae]

i’m FINALLY ready to be serious and take care of myself so I can be the best version of myself. I also want to be more feminine with my looks and how i carry myself. Any tips? thank you!

Hi there! First, I want to say how proud I am of you for deciding for yourself to become more in tune with your femininity. Here are some tips I can offer personally that might help you on this journey.

Become a more eloquent speaker.

Some people will say that to be feminine you must have very soft-spoken, but that's not the case. If you look at some feminine icons such as Dorothy Dandridge, Jane Russell, and Rita Hayworth, they had deep, sultry voices that were alluring and very feminine.

Make sure when you speak, you’re saying your words as clearly and evenly as possible to be understood.

Be confident in all you do.

Your body, your mind, everything about you has been wonderfully made, don’t forget that. when you walk, keep your head high. Maintain eye contact with people. No one is above you, and you should never let anyone try to intimidate you. Smile baby, you’re blessed!

On the topic of walking, make sure your posture is good!

Stand up straight, slouching and bad posture isn’t a mark of a feminine woman. Walk with one foot in front of the other with your shoulders pushed back. walk slowly, you are in no rush. Let people look at you, I’ll say it once and I’ll say it again: You’re beautiful ♡

Invest in your lingerie.

I’d highly suggest getting rid of any old, tattered undergarments. As beautiful as you are, you should only have adornments that are half as beautiful and of good quality. Now remember, you don’t have to break the bank for this. I prefer victoria’s secret undergarments to pinks. there are also brands like aerie, wear lively, and ThirdLove that have wonderful underwear! below, I have linked some of my favorite pieces.

Aerie

real power balconette bra (I have one in every color)

eyelash lace racerback bralette

new bloom lace padded triangle bralette

lace strappy triangle bralette

Victoria's Secret

lacie bralette

cosabella sweetie bralette

esme triangle bralette

wicked unlined balconette bra (I have this bra in the black + nude, soft plum floral, sage dust, and lace black. It's one of my favorites if you couldn't tell.)

Have superb hygiene.

Feminine women are known to be soft, supple, fragrant creators. Make sure you bathe daily. For your body, use a fragrant body wash. For your under area, use a white soap with no fragrances and no dye. Make sure you wear a deodorant as well as a beautiful perfume. If you aren’t able to use perfume, scented oils are always an excellent choice. Always make sure your breath is brushed and clean and smelling fresh. Make sure to always wear clean, freshly pressed clothes. It goes without saying, but top-tier hygiene is everything. I've included a list of some of my favorite perfumes for the spring and summer seasons.

Bright Crystal by Versace

Dylan Turquoise Pour Femme by Versace

Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana

Lazy Sunday by Maison Margiela

Under The Lemon Tree by Maison Margiela

Si by Armani

La Vie Est Belle by Lancome

Be mindful of what you wear.

Wear clothing that flatters the body. They should accentuate your best features. Wear more skirts and dresses. It took me a while to get to the point of wearing dresses because I grew up a tomboy wearing oversized t-shirts, sweats, and sneakers every day. But now, once spring rolls around, my body is itching to pull out my light dresses. If I do wear pants, they're usually satin wide-legged trousers or linen shorts. I rarely wear denim shorts, but when the outfit calls for them, I wear them. I love sandals, wedges, and espadrilles as feminine footwear. I still wear sneakers from time to time. I have created so many mood boards that showcase my style if you're looking for inspiration.

Never stop educating yourself.

The mark of a truly feminine woman is an educated woman. Never stop learning, even once you get your diploma. Make time to read books, watch films, and learn about the world. A good conversationalist makes the most interesting of a woman. I love cinematography, so I watch a lot of classic films. I also am immersed in a creative space, so it's important to know things about art, history, and things like that. Find something you're interested in, and never ever stop learning.

Good luck again on your journey ♡

[dendro-bunny]

SO I JUST READ A SCENARIO ABOUT YK HQ BOYS WHEN YOU PLAY WITH THEIR HAIR. WITH KENMA YOU BRAID/PLAY WITH IT TO GET HIM TO SLEEP. NOW ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS WHEN HE TAKES THEM OUT.

So let me just start from the beginning right. Let's say kenny has been doing long ass streams, right? So he's tired and chugged a bunch of coffee multiple times in the past day and a half he's been awake. His body just can't shut down. He can't even close his eyes, however you who is also awake, because you actually got proper sleep, and is just a night person, notice the way your room light is still on. So when you go into the room and see him looking around for his sleeping pills.

"Kenma, you know your doctor said to stop taking those right? So we threw them away." You lean against the door frame.

"Damnit. I can't sleep babe, the coffee was too strong." He chucles and drags his hands over his eyes into his hair.

You laugh and sit on the bed. "C'mere, i got you."

He walks over and lays his head on your lap. This already being a routine at this point.

So now he's knocked out as you continue to braid all of his head. Not tightly, cause his poor scalp couldn't handle it.

NOW THE PART I'M CAN'T STOP THINKING OF,

Waking up around 1 pm, Kenma looks over to see you laying back against the pillows tuckered out. It always fills his heart with joy waking up with you every day. The best part of his day besides getting to hold you, go out with you and everything that has to do with you. But laying here has to end as he has a meeting soon. Ao he gets up and goes into the bathroom, as he does he scratches his head to feel the braids you did. Smiling to himself, he looks in the mirror and examines them closer. Deciding not to take them out right away he goes into the shower and in the process his hair gets wet.

Getting ready for the day means he had to take out the braids and dry his hair. BECAUSE OF HIM SHOWERING WITH THE BRAIDS AND DRYING THEM HIS HAIR IS CURLY AND SOFT!

The sound of a blow dryer wakes you up and you see him in his sweat pants blowdrying his now curly hair and you swoon!

"Kenny~ you look so cuuute~" you're voice is groggy as you wrap your arms around his torso.

"mmmm, I don't look that cute, it's just curly hair." He starts to style his hair in his bun, but you stop him.

"Just for today, leave your hair out.... Please." You give him puppy eyes and he sighs, giving his signature smirk and kisses your forehead.

"Just for you, I'll be sure to let the hair dressers for the photoshoot know not to mess with my hair, cause you said so." He laughs as you make a triangle face.

All the moments he shares with you are his favorites.

[teklarn]

𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾

character(s): katuski bakugou x gn!reader 

a/n : y’all this was gonna be for kirishima bc i love possessive kiri but like it works so well with bakugou. first part will be from third pov, following parts will be from second pov (reblogs are greatly appreciated !! <3)

summary: bakugou x gn!reader. they have feelings for one another but have no idea how to express them, however y/n has someone pining for their attention. 

genre: uhh idk a lil bit teeny-weeny dash of angst i guess 

warnings: mild cursing, possessive bakugou, mutual pining, jealousy, aged-up to third year, possessive y/n, love triangle (square?), implied manga spoilers but not directly stated, tiny bitta tokage slander (sorry lol), slow burn romance (like SLOWWW SLOW BURN), lowkey enemies to lovers, like a lotta tension between bakugou and y/n 

word count: 3k

UNEDITED w/ minimal or no typos. i shoved it into grammarly’s ass and prayed for the best okay 

here’s pt 2 loves <3

- - - 

y/n was used to picking and their skin, irritated at the girls fawning over bakugou. they were always on the sidelines, watching from afar, jealousy warping their heart. could these stupid girls not see that bakugou didn’t even care for their attention? 

this time it was setsuna tokage who was begging for his eyes on her. y/n assumed it started in their first year when they’d been put against one another when the classes still had a clashing rivalry. (they still did, much more tame now, however.) 

she leaned forwards, tugging on his short sleeve. bakugou’s uniform jacket was slung over one shoulder. he’d lost a lot of his angry demeanor from when he was younger, however it was easy to tell when he was pissed. it was inevitable he wasn’t going to lose his temper entirely. 

it was easy to ignore the girls—most of the time, at least. what was ticking y/n off the most was the fact that bakugou didn’t seem pissed at all. his face was neutral, almost like the perfect mirror of todoroki on a daily basis. his eyes were not fired up in his usual ‘get the hell off of me’ manner. he was relaxed. 

it didn’t seem like he reciprocated tokage’s feelings, however he wasn’t doing anything to get her off him and it was pissing y/n off to no end. 

her sensuous lips were pushed into a slight pucker as she spoke, arching her back in a manner that made it appear much more provocative than she probably intended. 

bakugou stood there, eyes flicking from her grasp on his sleeve and back up to her eyes. he didn’t say anything, didn’t move, only kept looking her up and down. not in a romantic way, of course. right? 

y/n scoffed at themselves. they swallowed the lump in their throat, shoving down the pinging envy in their chest with it. why wasn’t he reacting? 

heat rushed to y/n’s cheeks. why do i care? 

tokage was nearing his face. she didn’t have any intent to press her lips to his, which y/n was more than glad for. 

y/n had come to the conclusion they had feelings for the explosive boy weeks ago. perhaps they always had, but now that they were fully conscious of them... gosh, it was frustrating. 

“you’re staring again.” 

y/n turned to see kirishima, the only other person who knew about their feelings for bakugou. he’d lost the twinkle in his eyes after first year. he’d picked up a dominating sneer and a withering glare reserved for anyone who desired to cross his friends. everyone at UA had after what went down. it was a shock most of them survived anything. 

“so?” y/n snapped, shoving their hands away and kicking a pebble before them. kirishima and y/n continued their walk through the courtyard. 

“so it makes you look creepy.” 

“no, it doesn’t. he didn’t even notice me.” 

kirishima snapped his fingers. “partially my point here. that’s bakugou katsuki, you really think he’s going to notice you?” 

“excuse me?” 

kirishima pursed his lips, twiddling his thumbs. “i didn’t mean it like that, y/n. it’s just...well, he has so much to work for.” 

y/n raised a brow, questioning his nervous antics. 

he continued. “bakugou works hard. probably the hardest worker in UA aside from midoriya. and it’s bakugou. he doesn’t really see a point in relationships. you know that.” 

“it’s not like i’m looking for anything with him, though. gosh, kirishima, you’re acting like this is some school girl crush.” 

he tilted his head, giving y/n a look that screamed, are you really sure it’s not though? 

y/n huffed out a breath, crossing their arms. they’d already vomited up their feelings, why all of a sudden call it a crush? sure, it was a tiny crush that was no larger than the brain of a dinosaur. 

“i can swear that it isn’t, kirishima. you’re looking too deep into things,” y/n defended once again. 

the red-head held his hands up in surrender, sucking his lips in to avoid another snarky comment slipping out. 

the two looked up at the towering building that had been home to them for the past three years: Heights Alliance. 

during their second year, the teachers had settled with having the dorms set up in a way that allowed the students’ rooms to be set up in a gender-neutral fashion. they’d been able to select new dorms beside whomever they wished. rooming next to kirishima was a blast, but the only person bakugou wanted to room next to was him. 

mina had moved in next to you, and kaminari to her right, and sero right across from y/n. 

y/n had no issue being squished between a group notorious for their goofiness and ability to never take anything seriously, however (especially on weekends) they were exceptionally loud to the point they were sure China could hear the blaring music. 

friday was finally going to be over in a few hours. y/n felt a giddiness well up inside them, anticipating the weekend. it’d been a rough few days, for everyone, not just them. 

class 1A had been bombarded with assignments and pop quizzes. y/n was lucky they finished it all in class. some of the homework was finished when they’d sacrificed their precious free time to get it done, but in the end, it was worth it all. 

y/n let their bag sag down their arms as they entered Heights Alliance. 

- 

bakugou had just been asked out on a date. for the third time. first time, he’d denied. second time, he had to shove tokage off him. third time, he’d calmly accepted her offer, and she’d skipped away with more than a smile. 

she’d squeezed his bicep, gave him a wink and an unnecessary peck on the cheek that bakugou had wiped off the moment she turned her back. he was now in his bathroom and, despite her not wearing any lipstick, he was scrubbing his cheek raw so that the skin was a blotchy red. 

the date was tonight, and he found himself wanting to go, and questioning why he accepted in the first place. 

bakugou forgot about tokage the second he won that match his first year and tossed her in the cage. he only noticed her when she and her group of friends giggled and passed by. (it was mostly her chortling, but whatever.) 

he continued rubbing his cheek aggressively with a scratchy towel. he was repulsed by how he had stood there without bothering to snap at her to leave him alone for the third time. 

instead, bakugou’s mind had buffered, and if he was in a video game, he had surely glitched. he should probably just tell tokage he didn’t want to go anymore. in fact, he never wanted to go in the first place and wants to jump out his window and escape. 

it was almost comedic. the thought of him going out on a date? goodness, he wanted to throw up. 

as he continued scrubbing the cloth along his cheek, bakugou found himself more than grateful for how much his quirk made him sweat. if it wasn’t for the nitroglycerin-like substance he produced, his skin would be scratched and dried up. 

a knock sounded at his door. silence came, until the knock found its way to his ears. a set of three knocks, then five, then it was a needy banging. 

whoever was on the other side heard his audible groan and shuffling feet dragging across the floor, because they knocked a lot harder. 

he swung the door open, hinges crying out. 

bakugou’s upper lip curled in disgust. tokage twirled her hair around a finger, eyelashes sticking together with mascara. “katsuki,’ she greeted. 

his eyes narrowed on her. “don’t call me that.” 

“what should I be calling you, then? baby? or honey?” 

oh yes, bakugou wanted to vomit. what even was her name again? whatever, it didn’t matter. “lizard teeth, listen. i-” 

“lizard teeth? why would you address me like that?” 

“because i don’t know your damn name, alright? i don’t-” 

“tokage. need me to spell it out for you?” 

“no. shut up. i need to-” 

“you should remember it, because i was one of the few who got in through recommendations, remember?” 

“and yet here you are in class 1B. can you shut the hell up now?” 

“well, you’re just being shitty.” 

“why are you here, tokage.” more of a demand than a question, as bakugou’s questions always came across if he ever bothered to ask them. 

“because, for our date tonight, I need to pick up some things and I really hope you’re up for coming with me.” 

“no.” 

“please?” 

“no. stop pushing. and I don’t want to-” 

“come on, grouchy.” tokage activated her quirk, one scale slipping into his dorm and pushing him towards her. she gripped the collar of his shirt and grinned. “come with me for a short bit, and I’ll count that as our date, m’kay?” 

bakugou opened his mouth once more to protest, but tokage silenced him by pressing one slender finger to his lips. 

“I’m fully aware you don’t want to go on this date with me.” 

he relaxed, shoulders slumping. if bakugou was younger, if he was even just a little bit more stubborn as he had been before, perhaps he’d be out of this mess already, or never in it in the first place. 

tokage let her hand fall back to her side—both of them. the scale returned to her lower calf; the jet-black leggings she wore now had a perfect hole in them.

“do you think i’m dense, bakugou?” 

“then why ask me out?” bakugou felt himself leaning back. 

“because if i can get under the skin of that stupid little...what do you like to call them? stupid little extras? yeah, that stupid extra who can’t stop fluttering googly-eyes at you every minute, then i’ll be perfectly content.” 

“who the hell are you talking about?” 

“alright, so you are oblivious.” tokage took a step back and crossed her arms. “are you both unaware of how you’ve both been pining for each other’s attention? y/n, that classmate of yours.” 

“...y/n?” 

“do you know their name or do i have to describe in excruciating detail what they look like?” 

“no, no i know who you’re talking about. but you’ve got to be shitting me, alright? there’s nothing there.” 

“i’m from 1B, and if there’s something going on in 1A, monoma is going to tell us.” 

“shithead, get out of my face.” 

“you still have to go out with me.” 

“why the f-” 

“because, bakugou. if you don’t, i’ll be sure to make sure y/n knows about your feelings, whether they’re real or not.” 

“why would they care? more importantly, why would you care?” 

- 

y/n kicked their feet up and down, a lollipop in their left hand, phone in their other. kirishima was in his bathroom while y/n was playing a game on their phone. they’d stashed away a bunch of candy back in their dorm and had snatched a handful for the two of them to share while hanging out in kirishima’s. 

he was currently combing a hand through his hair, and then proceeded to rummage through his cabinets. 

kirishima emerged with his lips puckered. “want to come to the  drug mart with me?” he stuck a thumb to his door. 

“what for?” y/n didn’t take a glance away from their phone. 

“this.” he chuckled softly. when y/n looked up, kirishima had two fingers parting his hair. the roots were a jet black, just growing long enough to become the slightest bit visible. 

“you’re going to fry your hair.” they were already shoving their phone away and tossing their sucker into the trash bin. 

“it’s a monthly tradition to do this, y/n. it would be fried by now if i was bad at it,” he joked, tapping his roots once more. 

y/n laughed alongside him as they exited the room. 

-

it was late, and the lights made everything feel like it was set in a world of backrooms. when the rest of the world is sleeping, it is more than quiet, and nothing feels real―possibly in the best ways. 

kirishima scratched at his chin, staring intensely at the hair-dye boxes lined neatly on the shelf before them. 

y/n tapped their foot, not out of impatience, but because of the creep staring at them through the aisle. yes, through. 

between the boxes of hair dye and scattered makeup products, the beady eyes of setsuna tokage could be seen. she smirked when she tugged her hostage closer. 

bakugou’s height had shot up to around six feet in the past two years, so all that was visible was his chest and the black sweatshirt loosely hanging off it, however his grumbling and stream of colorful language was unmistakable. it was him. 

“you okay?” 

y/n’s head snapped to their friend. “what?” 

“you seem on edge. is something wrong?” 

“nothing. nothing is wrong.” 

“you sure? if you need to talk, i’m here.” 

“yeah, yeah, i’m okay. don’t worry.” 

“alright.” kirishima held up a box, wiggling it in one hand. “got it.” he gave y/n a toothy grin. 

“good.” y/n snatched his arm up and dragged him along. 

“woah,” kirishima released a breathy chuckle, tugging his arm back. “what’s got you in a hurry?” 

“nothing,” y/n said, shrugging. “just wanna get home.” 

gosh, kirishima knew them too well. his eyes squinted just a bit, and there was that playful grin lingering on his lips, just ghosting over his face, barely visible to anyone who didn’t know him. instead of pointing out the obvious, which was standing just a few aisles behind, kirishima decided to play around. “goodness, honey, the kids are going to be fine back home.” 

heat raced to y/n’s face. “what?” 

kirishima winked. “it’s nice that you care about them, but care about me a little, would’ya? i miss you, too,” he said a tad louder. 

this caught bakugou’s attention. his eyes clashed with y/n’s, and he didn’t look away until y/n did. even a few seconds after, y/n still felt the blaring heat of his gaze upon them.

kirishima slung an arm around his friend, enjoying their flustered image. of course, he would never even think about pushing boundaries. the thought never crossed his mind, but he knew they’d let him know if they were uncomfortable. 

when y/n looked back as kirishima led them away, bakugou’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes were alight with jealousy. 

of course, y/n didn’t notice the emotion flaring. 

tokage smirked, clutching his loose sleeve. 

y/n looked back to their friend, and kirishima flashed them another knowing smile. bakugou was getting antsy with his best friends’ hands all over y/n. well, not all over, but a tap on the shoulder was enough. 

despite the way kirishima’s face dropped, y/n swiped his arm away and wandered over to tokage a bit more angrily than intended. they glanced up to bakugou, who was reaching up to retrieve something for tokage. 

“what brings you guys here? didn’t expect to see you.” inside, y/n was screaming. gosh, their heart was angry. 

“just running errands together.” 

bakugou? going for errands? with tokage? 

“cool, cool,” y/n said, nodding. “i was doing the same with kirishima.” they paused, awkward silence filling the space. 

impatient as ever, bakugou tossed the item into tokage’s basket and clicked his tongue. 

y/n didn’t know why. why were they being so stubborn? despite their protesting thoughts and their entire body screaming to hold back, y/n wrapped their fingers around bakugou’s wrist. 

“actually, bakugou, i have something to ask you. i need your opinion on it. you’re smart, right?” y/n’s voice lifted at the end. although they couldn’t see the, what the hell are you doing face kirishima was making behind them as subtly as possible, they could definitely feel the glare burning into their back. 

“tch, of course i’m smart, shithead.” 

“good.” 

“we’re actually kind of in a rush,” tokage spat out, snappier than usual. 

“do you think i fight okay? i need someone  with a perspective like yours to know if i do.” 

“what kind of question is that, dumbass? i don’t care if you can fight well or not, just so long as i can beat the shit outta ya.” 

tokage let out a low growl. 

y/n smirked, hand still around bakugou’s wrist. “i’d like to know if i can beat you, then, so you can tell me if i’m good or not.” 

ohgoshohgoshohgosh where was this coming from? 

bakugou squinted. he leaned in closer, like he didn’t hear them. “speak up.” 

y/n knew he heard them correctly, but he got awfully close. 

feeling a little sneaky themselves, y/n ghosted their fingers over his strong jaw, tilting his head closer so they could speak clearly into his ear. “let’s train together,” y/n said, staring tokage dead in the eyes. 

it was a stupid rivalry, really. they’d both been accepted through recommendations. they’d been friends all throughout middle school, and yet when y/n made it into 1A, tokage felt it a necessity to excel at everything and rub it in their face. no way was y/n letting them get away with this. 

“i want to see how strong i am.” y/n let their voice drop just a bit. “you’re strong, right?” 

“are you taunting me?” bakugou said, voice nearly a whisper. he still hadn’t moved from leaning down and hadn’t bothered to move y/n’s fingertips from his jaw. 

“absolutely not.” y/n sent a small grin in the direction of their rival. “let’s just see who can beat who. we’ve never been against one another like this.” 

tokage huffed, tugging bakugou back. his eyes were softened when they met y/n’s, and there was simmering, small grin on his face. 

tokage, however, looked less intrigued. “he’s not your boyfriend.” 

y/n shrugged, already backing away. they spread their arms in a mockery of surrender. “he’s not yours, either.” 

[bruhstories]

Fate

Summary: The Abduction of Persephone or how Levi couldn’t get you of his head.

Pairing: Hades!Levi x Persephone!Reader

Warnings & Content: nsfw, mentions of rape & incest (cause, you know, Zeus is a fucking entitled asshole and nobody fucking likes him), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, language, loss of virginity

Word Count: 5.1 k

A/N: literally the only thing I have to say is that for the purpose of this fic, Hanji has she/her pronouns, and the first few paragraphs are written in third person xD happy reading!

Help me...

Please...

Help... me...

Sweat drips from his forehead and his eyes shoot open. That damned dream again. That sweet voice again. Levi Hades can't comprehend why he was dreaming. Gods don'tdream. His bed seems empty, but he never needed anyone in it. For some reason, now he feels like someone is missing. He gets up, naked body and blank eyes watching over his realm from the balcony of his castle. Empty. Other than the souls of the dead that quietly dance around like little flames, it's empty. Other than Cerberus sleeping peacefully, it's empty. And so damn cold. Mortals mistaken the Underworld for a scorching hot place, but in reality, it's as cold as Levi Hades' heart. If he even has a heart.

He wraps his toga around his sculpted body, a wreath of laurels on his coal-black hair, donning his arms with silver bracelets and rings. Time doesn't exist in the world of the dead, but Levi Hades sticks to a strict schedule. He waves his hand and a scroll and quill magically appear on his marble desk. He can't trust Hermes with this message, and so he gives it to one of his dogs to deliver it to Hanji Hecate. Who better to interpret the meaning of his dream than the goddess of witchcraft herself? LeviHades surrounds himself in thick, grey smoke before he disappears from his bedroom.

Somewhere on Earth, Y/N Persephone is being watched by Zeus. The powerful god cannot resist such a beauty, and he is known for having his way with anyone, even his own daughter. But it's not her time, he thinks, not just yet. She knows this, she knows what will happen to her when she reaches the age of marriage, and at night, when not a soul is awake, she sobs and prays that someone will find her and help her. She is willing to do anything to escape her father's clutches and her dark future. And every night she cries, it rains — it pours.

At the outskirts of the Underworld, Hanji Hecate receives a message. She reads it carefully, and a knot forms in her stomach. The goddess heard the pleas of a girl, whom she believed to be a mortal, but if Levi Hades heard her, too, then it could only be another deity. HanjiHecate closes her eyes and performs a spell in the hopes of locating the desperate girl. It doesn't work. It doesn't work because, unbeknownst to her, Demeter is hiding her daughter from the preying eyes of Zeus.

They searched for weeks, mortal weeks, for the crying goddess, but none of them had any luck. Y/N Persephone is somewhere in the shadows of Demeter, but even she knows her mother can't protect her forever. Zeus gets what Zeus wants eventually. The sun rises over the meadow, but Y/N Persephone doesn't know that because she's stuck weaving in a cave, sweat dripping down her forehead, hairs sticking to her face. The drakons Demeter placed at the entrance of the cave followed Y/N Persephone outside, guarding her as she washes herself in a nearby stream. He isn't supposed to be there. Levi Hades isn't supposed to peer at her naked body and the way she splashes the crystal-clear water. He was supposed to meet with Hanji Hecate and take a walk. He was supposed to go back to the Underworld after that. Yet here he is, spellbound by her gestures, her face, her eyes. And then, she sings. Y/N Persephone begins to sing and all the flowers around him bloom. Levi Hades goes into a shocked state, eyes wide open, brows raised. He knows that voice. He knows it because he's been dreaming it. His scent is picked up by the drakons and he disappears, leaving behind a trail of smoke.

"I found her, Hecate. I found her, but I can't get close to her."

"What do you mean you found her? Just like that?" Hanji Hecate's fingers trace the bark of a tree.

"It was fate. It must be." Levi Hades is desperate now.

"Calm down, Hades. I've never seen you so... twitchy." She laughs, kneeling in the grass. The witch plays with some fallen leaves, brown hair flowing in the wind.

"That's because you didn't see what I did. She started singing and flowers bloomed! I don't know what kind of nymph she is, but she is beautiful. Nothing like I've ever seen before."

"Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day Hades falls in love." Hanji Hecate laughs again. "So why didn't you approach her?"

"Tch, because she was surrounded by drakons. I don't understand why a mere nymph would need so much protection."

The goddess gasps, all traces of happiness gone from her face, replaced by disappointment and anxiety. Levi Hades takes notice of this and places his cold hand on the witch's shoulder, but she flinches.

"You can't have her."

"You knowher?" His voice is condescending, offended that his good friend hid something like this from him.

"Hades, she's Demeter's daughter, Persephone. She's not just some nymph, but the goddess of spring." Hanji Hecate brings her palms together, forming a triangle. "We can't talk here."

Levi Hades nods and lets himself transported to the Underworld, back to the familiar souls lingering in the air.

"Talk, Hecate." He is impatient and demanding, arms folded across his chest.

"Zeus wants her, and Demeter and I are keeping her hidden." The deity explains with pain in her voice.

"Yes, well, you're not doing a very good job, now, are you?"

"Oi, the drakons noticed you. You don't think they would notice Zeus?" She snaps back, traces of arrogance in her voice.

"Hecate... it's Zeus. What would stop that brat from turning into a drakon fool her?"

The goddess shivers, shifting her weight from side to side.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I do, actually. I'll bring Persephone here." LeviHades proudly states, but his face is still blank, not once betraying his true feelings.

"You'll... what?" Her mouth is slightly open, bewildered by the god.

"It's the only place Zeus doesn't have access without an invitation. Face it, Hecate, it's a good plan. Better than yours, anyway."

Hanji Hecate is speechless, completely at a loss for words. She ponders over the idea, a hand brought to her chin to think better.

"Alright, but what makes you think she'll just stroll through the gates of the Underworld without a complaint?"

"Oh, you've mistaken my words. I'll forcefully bring her here." He tilts his head, a semblance of a smirk on his lips.

"For fuck's sake, Hades, she's not what you'd expect. And what about me? I promised Demeter I would protect her!" HanjiHecate throws her hands in the air, her shadow taking the form of a raging dog.

"Do notchallenge me, witch. You know I can destroy you in the blink of an eye." LeviHades growls and her shadow restores itself to its natural shape. "Besides, you would still protect her. The Underworld is where you abide."

She knows she shouldn't carelessly be out in the open one hour before her coming of age. But Y/N Persephone, with tears streaming down her beautiful face, embraced her future. She knows Zeus will come for her, and so she willingly gives herself to him. With poppy seeds, she put the drakons to sleep and left the cave, clad in a sheer toga, her body visible through the transparent fabric.

"If you want me, come and get me, father!" Y/N Persephone screams at the skies, the flora surrounding her slowly turning a dark shade of brown and dying, just like her innocence would die tonight. The earth shatters behind her, marigold flames and ashy smoke cracking open the soil. Shadowy figures emerge, grasping the young goddess' limbs and they drag her down, down, down to the Underworld. She is afraid, her heart beats faster as the moonlight disappears, and all she can see is darkness.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be gentler, but I didn't want Zeus to get the wrong idea."

"You're Hades, aren't you?"

"Yes, but please, call me Levi. Persephone, I presume." Levi doesn't smile, but his voice is warm, contrasting the cold that surrounded your body.

"Don't call me that." You spit back, confused as to why you were in his realm in the first place.

"You should be a little more grateful that I saved you, brat." He narrows his eyes down at you.

"Saved me? You abductedme. You're no better than him."

Hanji Hecate was right, you had fire in your soul, and an attitude that would drive Levi over the edge.

"Tch, don't compare me to that pretentious cock." The god scoffs and your expression softens.

"Zeus is a... cock? With a beak and feathers?" You giggle and he almost wants punch himself. How could he forget how innocent you are? Clearly, he's been spending too much time with Minthe.

"That's one way to put it."

"Is there another way?" You ask with your index finger brought to your lips, pure curiosity in your eyes.

"Forget that, you said you didn't want me to call you Persephone. How else should I address you?"

"Y/N." You tell him, eyes peering to the balcony of his castle and you skip to it. "Oh, this place is huge! What are those?" You point at the colourful flames dancing in the air.

"Souls." Levi joins you, resting his arms on the marble railing.

"They're beautiful!" You are in awe, and he is just as mesmerised by your beauty. Not one sane god or goddess would consider the souls of the dead beautiful.

"Look, Y/N, I heard you. In my dreams, I mean. I'm not going to hurt you, I brought you here to rescue you." He lies through his teeth. Levi did want to save you, he still does, but he can't deny the fact that he wanted you all to himself. "I'm gonna mind my own business, you mind yours. Try not to break anything. And don't, under any circumstances, make a mess out of my castle, or my realm."

You lean on the railing, nose scrunched and a hand on your hip.

"What am I supposed to do, then? And what about my mother? What about when spring comes and I have to bring it? What about Zeus?"

Levi grits his teeth, almost regretting his decision of saving you.

"Tch, I'll deal with Demeter. I'll tell Zeus I'm marrying you. You can go bring spring when it's due. Happy?" He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"And you won't taint my innocence?"

Oh, he will taint it, alright. But not just yet.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"You still didn't answer my first question. What am I supposed to do?" You shift your weight from one leg to the other, impatiently waiting for a proper answer from your captor.

"Anything you want, just don't get in my way when I'm dealing with the dead."

"You're an aggressive little man, you know that?"

Levi can feel a blood vessel bursting on his forehead. You were truly annoying, but he couldn't just sit around and wait for Zeus to have his way with you.

"Anyway, I suppose it is safer to be here." You rolled your eyes. "Got any books?"

"What, you read?" He snorts, a condescending brow arched.

"Don't patronise me. You're the one who abducted me, you could at least try to be nice to me."

Levi sighs. This wasn't how he imagined things would go. He imagined you'd make the perfect housewife and keep him some company.

"First floor. Just stay out of the restricted section."

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Zeus' beard, are you always this irritating?"

"Are you?" You chuckle, a hand hiding your smile.

With another sigh, Levi disappears, leaving you alone. "Great job, Y/N, you made the only person who took a crumb of pity on you to go away." You say to yourself, a pout on your lips.

The Underworld wasn't as bad as you thought. Sure, there was the occasional fire popping from the ground here and there, and you had to be careful not to burn yourself, but overall, it was serene. Some parts of it were scorching hot, but mostly it was cold, and you always brought an extra cloak with you when exploring the realm. Levi wasn't always with you, in fact you haven't seen him in days, but you met his three-headed puppy. Well, puppy wasn't the best word to describe the creature, and it did try to eat you the first time, but you stood your ground and tamed the beast with your singing and eager belly rubs.

"This is a sight I never thought I'd live to see." Levi is shocked, watching his raging dog so calm. "Cerberus never lets anyone but me touch him." He gives the dog a few pats on his back.

"Well, Cerberus likes me better, don't you? Who's a good boy? You are, yes, you are!" You kiss all three muzzles and hug the gigantic beast, the heat of its fuzzy body warming you up.

"Oi, don't get ahead of yourself. Come here, Cerberus." Levi extends his arms and the creature is confused. "I said, come here."

The dog stops wagging its tail and plops next to you with a groan, one head resting in your arms. The shit-eating grin on your face is enough to make Levi sigh.

"See? I told you he likes me better." You poke your tongue out in triumph. You wave your hands and the god watches how you place three daffodil wreaths on each of Cerberus' heads. "Much better!"

"Y/N, he looks silly."

"No, he looks adorable! Here, I made you one, too."

Levi takes the flower crown and inspects it, careful not to crumble the petals.

"What is this?" He asks, marvelling at the beauty of the ice-blue colour of the plant.

"Uh, a flower crown?"

"Yeah, no shit. I meant what flower is this?"

"Oh, it's a blue poppy. One of the rarest plants in the world." You smile. "I think it suits you."

"You're an oddball."

You sit in a lavish chair, all kinds of foods displayed on the table in front of you. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you decide to wait for Levi anyway. It's bad manners to start eating without the host, Demeter taught you that. Gods and goddess don't eat mortal foods, but sometimes they indulge in it, and tonight was one of those nights.

"Here, try this." Levi offers you a strange fruit, something humans have on earth, but different.

"What is it?" You poke your finger at the juicy fruit, sucking the sweetness from your digit.

"It's a pomegranate that only grows in the Underworld."

You pick at the seeds, popping one in your mouth. You couldn't believe something so good could grow in a cold place like this.

"So, what's the occasion?" You ask Levi as you eat three more seeds, the crimson juice staining your lips.

"Our wedding."

You accidentally swallow, choking on saliva and the pomegranate seeds, your fist hammering your chest as you gasp for air.

"What?"

"I told Zeus I'm marrying you and now he wants proof." Levi bluntly states, a chalice of nectar in his hand.

"No."

"You don't have a choice, unfortunately."

"But… I'm supposed to be a virgin. Marriage implies consumption of it." You slam your fists on the table. "My mother-"

"Your mother lied to you. You're a goddess of fertility for fuck's sake." He shrugs and you're shocked by how chilling his voice sounds. Sure, Levi was always brooding and silent, but now he was just inconsiderate. "However, I'm not a man who breaks his promises. I told you I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"Oh, how niceof you. I'm leaving." You stand up, pushing the chair away.

"And go where? Demeter can't protect you forever, and you don't stand a chance against Zeus."

"You know why I hate my name so much, Levi?" You growl, fingernails digging into the wooden table.

"Do, tell."

"Because it means destruction. A fitting name for a goddess of ‘fertility’, don't you think?" The table splits open and all the plates fall to the ground. Your normal, bubbly aura changes suddenly and there's a hint of red in your Y/E/C eyes. "You think I don't stand a chance against Zeus? I'm his offspring." You snap, and instead of flowers falling out of your hair, there's thorns, spikes and rusty leaves all over the place. The uglies, most poisonous plants sprout from the ground and you're no longer the goddess of spring, but the bringer of slaughter, and Levi is impressed. Now he really knows it was faith that brought you together, he knows your place is with him — with the dead.

"Marry me." He says, unmoved by your little show. Unmoved on the outside, because on the inside he wants to bend you over and fuck you silly. His words shouldfuel your rage, but you're too surprised by the fact that he still wants to marry you, despite your outburst.

"Why? Because Zeus wants that?" Vines protrude from your skin and your fingernails turn black. You were completely different than the helpless little girl he rescued that night. You were terrifying. But not to Levi — to him you were fascinating.

"Because I want that."

It was safe to say you had fallen in love with Levi in those nine months since you came to the Underworld. He accepted you the way you were, he accepted your darkness, something not even your mother could do, and that's what triggered your feelings for the god of the dead. You still didn't allow him to call you Persephone, because you still hadn't fully embraced that part of you. Spring was almost due, but you promised Levi you'd go to earth after your wedding. Everyone would be there, including Demeter, which you haven't seen in a long time.

A soft knock interrupts your thoughts.

"Y/N, are you ready?"

"In a second, Hanji!"

"Oh, thank the gods for calling me that. I keep telling everyone I'm tired of Hecate but they don't care." The witch scoffs from the other side of the door.

"Has my mother arrived?" You ask, concern visible in your voice.

"Yes. And she's not happy."

"Hey," you open the door, "thanks for taking the blame and explaining things to her." You hug the goddess and she holds you tight.

"Don't worry about it, kid. It's me who should thank you. I don't know what you did to Levi, but he seems happier. He won't show it because he's a prick, but I can feel it."

You flash Hanji a genuine smile and ask her to fix your veil, to which she gladly accepts before escorting you to the castle grounds. Your mother should do this, but she hated her future groom, or your father, but he was a sick man who only decided to leave you alone because he respected Levi.

Every god and goddess of Olympus is here, even your uncle Poseidon. You emerge from the castle, arm looped around Hanji's and you smirk at Levi's shock. He never thought you could be more beautiful, yet here you are, dressed in silk, flowers on your hand and a thin veil clinging from the peony crown on your head. You catch a glimpse of Demeter before drifting your eyes to your future husband.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gods and goddesses, we have gathered here today to witness and bless the union between Levi, god of the Underworld, and Y/N, goddess of spring." Hanji proudly declares. The ceremony doesn't last too long, and when Levi's lips crush yours in what is your first kiss, thousands upon thousands of plants sprout from the soil, colourful flowers blooming and letting out the sweetest smells known to mankind. Love, he thinks, that's what love smells like.

You're tired from the party, tired from all the talking and mingling, tired from your mother's lecture, and tired from avoiding your father. At least Hera was nice enough to wish you a happy marriage. You pace around your bedroom, sitting on the bed, then standing up again. Levi went to his chamber after the party, but you were expecting, no, you wanted to consume the marriage. You walk to his room, a toga lazily draped over your shoulders, and open the door without a single knock. He's in bed, the only light source being the colourful souls levitating outside his windows. You carefully push the covers and climb into the bed, gently scooching closer to him.

"Psst, husband, are you sleeping?" You poke his shoulder.

"Tch, not anymore." He sighs, not bothering to open his eyes and look at you. "What do you want?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked! Seeing as we're married now, I thought it's only natural for a wife to sleep with her husband." You roll on your side, propping yourself on your elbow. Tentatively, you tug on the fabric of the toga, exposing your shoulders and part of your breasts.

"So sleep." Levi finally lolls his head to the side, facing you. He did not expect to see you sprawled on his bed like that, in a lewd position and a playful smile on your soft lips. "You don't have to do this just because we're married.

"I'm doing it because I want to. And I know you want it, too, Levi." You purr, your fingers grazing over your collarbone.

"It's going to hurt." He warns you, but his hand is already on your thigh.

"I know. But you'll take good care of me, won't you?"

Levi has no idea which one of you is talking — Y/N, goddess of spring, or Y/N, goddess of destruction — and frankly he doesn't even care at this point. As long as he has your approval, he knows he can do whatever he wants. You pull him into a sloppy kiss, obviously inexperienced, but he likes it that way. He likes that you have no idea what you're doing because he can be in control. His hand runs up and down your thigh and you can feel heat building in your core.

"Tingles..." You mumble in his lips with a hazy smile.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" Levi pulls away and you nod. "Show me."

You feel embarrassed and small, but obey nonetheless. Your hand travels between your legs and your fingers touch your already swollen clit, rubbing it in circular motions. Levi watches you with hungry eyes, wanting very hard to abstain, but he can't, and so he takes your nipple in his hot mouth. You whimper at the new sensation, electricity shooting through your body as he snakes a hand between your thighs, two fingers diving into your cunt.

"Ah! L-Levi! So big!" You mewl and he throws his head back, releasing your poor nipple.

"That's nothing compared to what you'll get, you needy brat." He curls his fingers, hitting that sweet spot, and you buck your hips. Despite being a virgin, your body naturally knows what to do. Your spongy walls clench around his digits and Levi can already feel how tight you'll be around his cock. "You're so wet."

"Is t-that a good thing?" You're innocent and pure and you rock your hips back and forth, pathetic moans escaping your lips.

"Fuck, yes." Levi kisses you, and it's nothing like the kiss from your wedding. It's desperate and greedy, and he wants you all to himself. The pace quickens, he's pumping his fingers in and out of you faster and you don't know what to do, so you keep rubbing your clit and the familiar heat of your orgasm flushes through your body. You come undone on his hand, the sinful, squelching sound echoing in the bedroom.

"It didn't hurt at all!" You look at your husband, but there's a hint of mischief in your voice, a playful glisten in your eyes. Levi clicks his tongue, because the worst — and best — is yet to come, and you know it — you're no saint.

"Come here." Levi orders and yanks you by the hair, his aggressive gesture sending a shiver down your spine and into your cunt. "Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth for me."

You obey and part your luscious lips and then you see his cock for the first time — thick and veiny, it slaps your face as it pops out of his undergarments, the tip grazing over your cheeks.

"Levi that's... that's too big." You chew your lower lip and lean back.

"You'll be fine. You said it yourself, I'll take good care of you." He cups your face with one hand, thumb caressing your chin. "Now suck it. Make sure to use lots of spit."

You feel your cheeks hot and test the waters by giving the glistening tip a few licks, tongue swirling around it. It tastes salty, and you find yourself liking this. Levi pats your head, but you feel him tensing with each movement of your tongue.

"Shit." He curses under his breath and when you look up at him with doe eyes, his heart pounds into his chest. You courageously take the tip into your mouth, and with hollowed cheeks, you move further. "Yeah, just like that. Take it all."

Bobbing your head up and down, you try to take it all, but the girth and length is just too much, and tears pool at your eyes from the lack of air, but also from how good it feels to have a fat cock in your mouth. Muffled moans reverberate in your throat, and Levi can feel the vibrations tickling him. He firmly grabs your nape and holds your head in place.

"Trust me and relax, can you do that for me?"

You half-nod, anxious and somewhat excited for what is about to happen. Your husband rocks his hips back and forth slowly before aggressively fucking your poor throat, and you feel the arousal building in your core again. So much for promising your mother you'd always stay a virgin. You want to touch yourself again, but Levi slaps your hand away and thrusts into your mouth, holding your head still until you choke, your fingernails digging into his arm. The god pulls out and you gasp for air, and he almost feels sorry when he sees your pathetic state.

"A-again!" You flash him your pearls in a sultry smile, spit dripping down your chin. Who knew you liked asphyxiation?

"Needy brat."

"Please!"

"Tch, later. Right now, I want to fuck you." Levi growls and he already has you pinned on the bed, arms above your head and legs spread open for him. His cock presses against your slick slit and you brace yourself for the incoming pain. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

You don't have the time to nod when you feel a burning sensation between your legs. Squeezing your eyes shut, you bury the back of your head into the pillow and grip the sheets so tight your knuckles begin to lose their colour. Levi slowly pushes further, another inch buried in your cunt, and you bite on your lower lip. But you don't tell him to stop, instead your spongy walls clench around his cock and another inch gets lost in you.

You never thought gods could feel such immense pain, yet here you are, with a bloody lip from digging your teeth into it and a sore pussy. But the worst thing faded bit by bit when Levi bottomed out into your cunt. The two of you sit still, your husband allowing you to get used to his girth.

"Do you think I bled?" You ask, eyes filled with tears.

"Probably, but I promise it will never hurt like this from now on." He comforts you before licking the blood from your lips. The gesture makes your cunt flutter and Levi takes it as a sign to go on. Slowly, he rocks his hips back and forth, and the molten pain is replaced by tingles and arousal.

"You good?"

"Y-yes, oh, f- yes!"

"You can say fuck, you know?" Levi thrusts once, and it's so deep you feel his cock brush over your cervix.

"Fuck!" You cry out, legs wrapping around his waist to make sure he doesn't pull out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Good girl."

There's no more room for gentle touches and soothing words when your husband fucks you raw. Your hips buck against his to feel that sweet pressure you never knew you longed for. In and out, his cock makes you feel sore and hazy, and you want more. The sound of his balls slapping your ass makes your mouth water and your eyes glossy, and Levi feels selfish. He pulls out, turns you over and takes you from behind, like a rabid dog fucking a bitch in heat. And you are in heat — you love the way his thrusts make you feel dumb, the way his cock stretches you, the way he uses and abuses your tight little cunt. Everything is so new to you and you adore every bit of it.

"Shit, I'm close." Levi warns you, his fingers digging into your hips, and you want to be good for him, so you drag your hand between your thighs and rub your swollen clit in frantic motions.

"L-Leeevi! I think I'm-"

"Fuck!"

When you feel a hot liquid shooting into you, your legs begin to tremble and you come on his cock, head falling onto the pillow with a heavy sigh. He pulls out and you already miss the feeling of being full, your juices mixed with his own dripping down out of you, down your thigh. You curl up next to your husband, hand holding his arm before you drift to sleep.

A sweet smell fills Levi's nostrils and when he looks at your tired body, there’s flowers in your messy hair. He still can't get used to the way your divine, disorganised powers work, but at least now he knows what's been missing from his life, and the corners of his mouth slightly twist upwards into a genuine smile. The god of the dead, in love with and married to the goddess of spring. Order and chaos blending together in one beautiful, perfectly arranged mess.

It’s fate. It must be fate that brought you together — but it’s love that will keep you together.

tagging @starrynightlys @stolemyheart12

[spenciegoob]

A Short Film

A/N: hey hey hey... mid writing this I realized how much I jumped the gun and thought this was a good concept, but now that I’m thinking too hard about it, maybe it’s not. I also wrote too much of it to back down now, so hopefully someone out there enjoys this as much as I did in my head lol.

Summary: Spencer steps way out of his comfort zone to ask his film major girlfriend a question.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: nothing really...  Spencer hardcore struggling with technology

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

___

“Hey Garcia, do you think you could help with something?” Spencer asked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and not looking up from the floor of her office.

“Of course, Boy Wonder? What can I do for you?” Garcia answered while excitedly turning her chair back to her wall of screens.

Spencer grabbed the extra chair in her office and mumbled, “Actually um,” causing Garcia to completely abandon her position and fully face the genius.

“Spencer, are you okay? Is something wrong?” Spencer couldn’t blame her for asking. He was sweating more than usual, his face was bright red and he hadn’t stop fiddling with his hands since he shut the door.

“Oh no, nothing’s wrong. I just, uh, I don’t really know how to ask this,” Spencer stumbled back. It was the truth after all. No life experience had prepared him for such a request, one that in the grand scheme of things was not a lot, but to Spencer.

To Spencer, it was everything.

“That’s okay. Take your time,” Penelope stated back, and coming from anyone else, Spencer would have believed it was sarcastic in nature. But he also knew that Penelope was one of the only people he could never find judgement or maliciousness from.

You were the other.

“So Y/N and I as you’re probably aware have been together for 2 years now, and you also know that she just got her degree in cinematography and design, which is really funny if you think about it because I know nothing about any of that, but she knows everything. You know, sometimes she’ll explain to me what she sees through her eyes and it’s nothing like what I’ve ever been able to. I’m rambling now but I want to do that,” Spencer spurted out, and once he was done, he took a breath so deep Penelope whole-heartedly believed if he spent one more second talking, he may pass out.

“Woah there, slow down. First of all, that’s adorable. I love Y/N so much. Second of all, how exactly am I supposed to help you see things that way? Shouldn’t she be more help?” Penelope questioned, now completely confused about Spencer’s intentions with this very early morning visit.

“She can’t exactly know. It’s kind of a surprise thing,” Spencer answered shyly. He hadn’t even gotten to the punchline and yet, he was contemplating every move.

Was this a good idea?

But when he saw the way Penelope lit up before she yelled, “Tell me everything, and spare no details. None!” He knew he would stop at nothing to make this perfect.

“So here’s what I was thinking.”

That was 1 year ago today, and since then, Spencer has tried to figure out what to say when he revealed his big project. He stood in front of the mirror every day for 365 days trying to find the perfect way to put it. Still when you sat on your shared couch gazing up at him in amusement, confusion and adoration all at once, his mouth was dry and his throat clamped up.

“Spence, you’re starting to scare me. Are you okay?” You asked, watching as your boyfriend stared at you like a deer caught in headlights with a laptop and assorted cords in his hands.

“Uh, yes! Yes I am okay. I just need to um, this needs to go. You know what? I wasn’t told how to do this part, can you help me?” Spencer paced back and forth between you and the TV four times while he was talking before he stopped defeated in front of you. He wouldn’t have asked for help unless he was certain Penelope was smart enough to insert a black screen in the beginning of what caused the laptop to burn a hole in his hand.

“Yes, of course,” you said, slightly chuckling at his confusion. Spencer Reid and technology, whilst tragic, was also very adorable. “What are you trying to do?”

“I need the video on the laptop to play on the TV,” he stated simply. At least he knew what he wanted. That was a new, first step in the right direction.

“Okay easy. Just hand me that cord, and,” you drew out the ‘and’ as you bent around the TV and plugged in the cord. “Perfect. Now just plug this end into the laptop and hit play.” You handed Spencer back his end of the cord, watching as he examined the object and the side of the computer to know where exactly to put it. It almost felt like watching a toddler try and find the rightly shaped hole for the triangle piece, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t endearing.

Before he could break anything, you stepped in. “I know you’d be able to figure it out, but it’s that one.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled back sheepishly. 

“Okay so a little back story. A year ago today, I asked Penelope to teach me how to record videos on my new phone. Thank you for that by the way, the camera on it is really cool, and I’m not just saying that because it’s one of the only things I know how to work. Anyways, I started secretly recording videos of you, of us, anything that reminded me of you, and me talking about you. So I sent them over to Garcia and she pushed them all together, and I think what I’m trying to say is I made a short film? Home video? It doesn’t really matter, but I’m showing it to you now.” Spencer didn’t acknowledge the shocked look on your face as he settled next to you and put the laptop on the coffee table.

But as you watched him find the video and set up, your jaw stayed slack. Spencer Reid, the world’s biggest technophobe, figured out how to use an iPhone camera just for you. While to others it may not seem like a lot, to you. 

To you, it was everything.

“Spence, I don’t even know what to say. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” It didn’t feel like enough. The amount of awe, and love that filled your chest was so comforting, so warm.

It felt like home. It felt like Spencer.

“You don’t have to say anything, just watch,” he stated before hitting the spacebar, something he’s seen you do plenty of times.

The video started out with Spencer crouching down slightly to where the phone was set up against a bookcase in front of the couch.

“Is it recording?” He whispered, and when he realized it was, he took a step back and gave a thumbs up before rushing to sit on the couch. You couldn’t help but let a full smile stretch across your face, an involuntary act when it came to Spencer.

“Hey, love bug. It’s Spencer, but wait you knew that because you can see me.” There was a small pause as Spencer squinted to see if you could actually see him from his position on the couch. When he realized he was in frame, he continued. “This is totally weird that I’m technically talking to myself right now, but I hope future me gave you an explanation. I tried to wait for a good time to start recording this, and in the two weeks I’ve known how to work that thing,” Spencer said as he pointed to the camera. “We’ve been on a case. I came home tonight, and you’re sleeping right now, but if I stay quiet enough I can say what I need to.”

You looked over at Spencer as he was twiddling with his fingers. Something he only did when he was nervous. You reached over and grabbed one of his hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but when you tried to pull away so as to not truly disturb his fidgeting, he caught it. So, you intertwined your fingers together, and continued to watch past Spencer.

“I came home today, and all I wanted to do was hold you. Granted, that’s every day, but today was just, it was really hard. When I came home you were asleep on the couch. One time you told me you didn't like to sleep in our bed while I was away, something about it being too big. At first, I was mad because your poor back, but today I changed my mind because the amount of steps to get to you was much less.”

Spencer unlocked the door to the apartment, resting his head against the wood as he inserted the key into the lock. The most recent case had ended with the death of both the latest victim and the unsub, and he couldn’t bear another second of remembering the scene play out in front of him.

All he wanted to do was lay in her arms, but when he opened the door, the apartment was completely silent.

And then he saw a little fuzzy sock clad foot sticking out from underneath the huge, fluffy blanket on the couch. Slowly, he walked towards you, finding you fast asleep with a t-shirt of his tightly snuggled up to your neck and face.

Spencer got down on a knee in front of you, and brushed the hair that had fallen over your eyes. Slowly, they fluttered open at his feather touch, only to widen with realization.

“You’re home!” You squealed, throwing your hands around his neck. Immediately, he reciprocated the hug, tighter than usual. Spencer tucked his head into your neck and inhaled the scent of your shampoo, a grounding technique he would never tell you he developed. The hands he delicately placed at first across the expanse of your back grew heavier, drawing your body closer to his. 

You pulled your head back, him following your movements, and stared deeply into his eyes for a second. The moment you two locked eyes, he knew the jig was up. Spencer knew you could see right through him, and he knew that even if you weren’t there to witness what he had, you saw it replaying over and over in his eyes.

“You must be tired, let’s get you to bed.” Your words shocked him at first. Usually, the people in his life would ask insistent questions on his mental well-being, and while they were greatly appreciated, Spencer was never one to open up when asked to.

You, however, didn’t meddle, you didn’t push. You simply gave him a place to feel safe as you two settled under the duvet together, never letting go of one another even for a second. You held the back of his head, slowly brushing your fingers through his curls as he laid against your chest. Your fingers were medicinal to him, softly taking away the pain and violence of the day, and replacing it with security, comfort, love.

“No one’s ever been that excited to see me before, let alone knew how to take care of me the way you did. I just,” Spencer trailed off and looked towards our bedroom, where you stirred in your sleep looking for him. “You’re about to wake up and wonder where I went. Now you know what I was doing in “the bathroom” for 30 minutes actually meant. Alright, see you next video, love bug.”

The screen cut to Spencer obviously holding the phone close to his chest, the only thing in frame the space where his shoulder and neck met. The soft chords of the start of Vienna by Billy Joel can be heard from outside the room he was in. 

“Okay, I’m gonna have to sneak up on you. I’m sorry in advance.” 

Spencer finally addressed the camera. As the Spencer on the TV quietly left his position in what you could only assume was your bedroom, you looked over at your very real Spencer softly smiling at the TV.

When he caught your stare, he said “Watch, this is my favorite part.” Turning back to the TV, you watched as Spencer carefully tiptoed to the living room, placing the camera to lean against the vase in the middle of the dinner table to face the kitchen.

In the kitchen, you watched yourself very poorly sing along with Billy Joel using a whisk that you just got done washing as a microphone. The blush that crept up your neck and to your cheeks with embarrassment still felt the same as it did that day.

You hadn’t heard Spencer sneak up on you, not until he was right behind you and let out a soft chuckle at a note you missed. Spencer had never seen someone jump out of their skin as much as you did when he made his presence known. 

“Jesus Spencer, you scared me!” You yelled before a smile crept up your face. You couldn’t help it, even in the most embarrassing times, not when Spencer looked at you like that.

“Sorry, love bug. Although, I didn’t mean for you to stop the show.” At that you hit his chest with the whisk/microphone, both of you laughing fully now. “Come here.”

Spencer took your hand, pulling you softly to his chest where you laid your head to his heart. Wrapping his hand around your waist, the two of you started to slowly sway to the music. You both were incredibly offbeat to Vienna, but listening to Spencer’s heart, you realized that the tempo you were dancing at matched up. Unbeknownst to you, due to the adrenaline of being scared, Spencer could feel your heartbeat on his abdomen, and was swaying to that.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, dancing to the in sync beat of each other’s hearts.

The clip of you dancing however only lasted 10 more seconds as the next scene of Spencer bundled up for the fall played. You had met Spencer during the fall, and fell in love with the way the red, yellow and orange leaves contrasted against his honey eyes. This clip was no different.

“Hey, love bug. I’m on my way to deliver this coffee to you in between classes, but I had to stop so I can show you my new friends I’ve made along the way.”

The camera panned down to 4 little ducklings surrounding Spencer’s converse, most of them just waddling around, but one was insistently pecking at the rubber toe of his left shoe. Spencer pointed at the little deviant and said ‘that’s you’ before bringing the camera back up to his face.

“I may have made the mistake of feeding them the fruit I was bringing you, which reminds me I should probably go get you more. I don’t think you’ll be mad though. How could you? Look how cute they are! I kind of want to take them home, but I definitely know that’ll make you mad. Anyways, I just wanted to show off that you’re not always the animal person in this relationship. See you soon, love bug.”

“Oh my god, Spencer. That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but to confirm your thoughts, yes, I would’ve been mad,” you stated, the giddy smile never leaving your face, and giggles spreading themselves through your words.

“I know, I know. They belong in the wild,” he said back, holding up his free hand in faux defeat.

A new scene presented itself to you, this one being Spencer setting up the camera on the bathroom sink while brushing his teeth. You knew you were approaching by the music slowly getting louder.

You entered you and Spencer’s shared bathroom, Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by Elton John playing out of your phone. He was brushing his teeth, and you followed suit, not stopping the small dancing as you did.

You looked at Spencer, and started moving side to side, your free hand grabbing the crook of his elbow to join you. Looking in the mirror expectedly, you watched Spencer look up at the ceiling before joining you, a smile on his face.

Slowly, the two of you fell into a rhythm to the beat of Elton John, making funny faces to each other in the mirror as you did so.

You reached out fully to lean your head on Spencer’s shoulder as you watched.

The scene on the TV shifted once again to show a very flustered you standing in front of the TV with Citizen Kane paused. Your hair was in a messy bun, and you were sporting one of Spencer’s old Caltech t-shirts, and fuzzy black pants with little pumpkins printed everywhere.

Spencer was also wearing the same fuzzy pants.

“Spence, I’m gonna sound crazy here,” you sprinting off the couch after pausing the film you were currently trying to study for your film analysis class. 

“You’re not off to a great start here,” Spencer laughed out. Spencer once told you that no matter what he thought about a book or film, he wanted to listen to you ramble about it for hours. The first thing he fell in love with about you was the way you challenged his thinking, expanding his mind to the possibilities of learning about the difference between production design and cinematography. You taught him something that no class, book or person could ever.

Your mouth dropped open, an over exaggerated gasp leaving your lips, your hand meeting your chest softly. 

“Meanie.” Spencer and you chuckled at the antics, and when the laughs died down, you continued. “Here me out, though.”

And from there, you went into a deep dive about the unreliable narrator, and how it affects camera placement in the scene you two just watched. 

“Oh my god. I talk that fast?” You asked Spencer, who just let a breathy laugh out at your realization.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable,” he whispered the last part, the smile on his face turning from one of hilarity to one full of love.

30 seconds into your rant, you realize the phone he was attempting to hide close to his lap. Your eyes flicked between the camera that was pointed at you, and Spencer, who’s face filled with confusion as to why you stopped talking.

“Are you recording me?” You asked, a smile never leaving your face. Oh no, he’d been caught. Spencer has to think of a believable excuse, and quick.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I just uh... I figured instead of you trying to write it down later, you’d want all your notes now.” Perfect!

“Damn, that was good,” you said, nodding softly at his swiftness. You couldn’t be mad he lied, how could you when the truth was this beautiful?

“I know, right? I came up with it on the spot,” Spencer joked with you. As if TV Spencer knew he was interrupting a moment, a throat clearing came from the video. The Spencer you saw was from 3 days ago, and was sitting in his car in what looked to be the Quantico parking garage.

“Hi, love bug. I’m days away from showing you this, and I still don’t know what to say. I hope the me you’re with now has figured it out. So, uh, yeah. That’s it. Uh, take it away, future Spencer. Actually, you’d be present Spenc-” The video cut off, courtesy of Penelope Garcia.

“Y/N,” Spencer started, turning to face a very emotional you fully. “I still haven’t found the right words. None of them could express my love for you, and perfect doesn’t come close to describing you. I know you have a thing for supporting evidence, and I think I just provided a lot to prove that the best thing to ever happen in my life is you.” You let out a small giggle, the tears welling in your eyes breaking free. “Oh no, if you cry, then I’m going to.”

You let out a full laugh now as Spencer wiped the tears falling down your cheeks before continuing.

“Before you, I was reckless. I didn’t care what happened as long as I did something to help. Now, I have a reason to be careful, a reason to care. I can’t do that to you, and if I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, I need to live.”

You inhaled softly as Spencer reached into the pocket of his pants, taking your hand in his.

“Which brings me to my question,” he said with a small smile and cocked his head. Slowly, he dropped down to one knee in front of you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” Spencer opened the velvet box to reveal a simple silver band with a square cut diamond delicately placed on top.

“Spencer Reid, yes. I will marry you.”

With shaky fingers, he slid the ring on your fingers, the fit perfect. You couldn’t wait any longer, and grabbed his face in your hands to pull his lips to yours. Your lips molded together in perfect harmony, lulling you deeper into Spencer’s embrace. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

“I love you, too,” Spencer answered, only pulling back far enough to mumble before kissing you again.

Note to self: thank Penelope Garcia.

____

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