#One day I’ll put in the effort to draw bodies properly

[babacontainsmultitudes]

@this-is-specifically-for-art Sorry about the ping but you have to know that since seeing your drawings yesterday I’ve been unable to get the thought of butterfly Nick out of my damn head

So it was imperative that I sketch him yes!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write headcannons for Smoke and Bihan with their s/o who's overworked themselves to the point where they hardly get sleep and barely eat?

Tomas Vrbada

He’s naturally going to be concerned about your well being the moment you rejected food and or sleep on multiple occasions across a period of time.

Tomas understood that your work was important that that you’ll have a fair few nights where you went without sleep or eating, but he quickly draws the line when he could start to visibly see the physical toll your overworking tendency has taken. You could barely stand on your own two fucking feet without constantly shifting your stance, as your eyes struggled to stay open and the dark begs beneath them got worse.

To Tomas no job was worth someone’s health and well-being and this job certainly wasn’t worth yours in the slightest. Your work be damned but he wasn’t about to watch you slowly deteriorate overtime, whilst he’s stuck stood at the sidelines, knowing deep down that he could stop this before it becomes too late to make change.

‘Why?’ You asked when Tomas asked you to take some time off from work, biting back a yawn, thinking you were slick. ‘I’m in the middle of something important for work and I have to cover for two long shifts later this week, seeing as my coworker had dropped them on a extremely short notice…again.’ You muttered the last bit under your breath but Tomas heard it as though you were speaking at a normal volume.

‘That!’ He pretty much exclaimed before composing himself and sat beside you at your desk, taking one of your hands in his whilst his thumb rubbed your skin soothingly. ‘Look I get that you love this job and want to build a career for yourself, which I’m all for but,’ he looks into your eyes where you saw just how worried he was, ‘I don’t want to stand by and watch you destroy yourself for a job that doesn’t commemorate all you’ve done for them.’

Tomas rested his forehead against yours, his heart melting when he saw how easily you learn into his warmth. ‘So please, take a break, sleep and for my sake please eat because I can’t bear to watch you destroy yourself for others who don’t value you like I do.’ He whispered against your lips. ‘I see the effort you put in but there has to come a time where you must walk away from situations that don’t benefit you.’ You sat on his words and allowed yourself to feel just how exhausted, how heavy with fatigue your body was that you could barely lift a finger.

Tomas was right, like he always was, maybe a break wouldn’t be so bad if it meant you could cuddle into him and indulge in his cooking as much as your stomach could handle.

Yeah, that sounds way better than working.

‘Okay.’ You said softly. ‘I’ll call in tomorrow.’

‘No need, I already told them that you’d be taking a break and to not be contacted until you feel like you’re ready to go back in.’ Tomas admitted and you couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Unbelievable.’ You teased, only to yawn soon after before nestling yourself again him. ‘But I’m not complaining if it means I get to annoy you for the next few days.’

Tomas was the one the chuckle this time and kisses the top of your head. ‘Jokes on you, I love having you annoy me. Now get to sleep, baby. You’re more than deserving of it.’

Bi-Han

I see him as the kind of person to do the same but I could be wrong. He just strikes me as the type to not properly take care of himself, ya know? That’s just my opinion.

Bi-Han runs himself into the ground to become stronger for himself and for the future survival of the Lin Quei but the moment you begin to run yourself into the ground for other people at your place of work? He becomes the biggest hypocrite known to man.

So he wouldn’t think much of it at first but the more it happened, the more it became apparent to Bi-Han that something was wrong, very wrong and he needed to step in.

He finds your desire to make a career for yourself admirable but not like this, you don’t get respect from the people who’ll never understand the importance of a hard days work. In Bi-Han’s, everyone else should strive to earn your respect for the shit you put yourself through. Seeing as you weren’t given no thanks for your efforts, but instead countless more expectations to pick up your coworkers slack.

So I wouldn’t put it past Bi-Han to demand that you take a break, Grandmaster’s orders and all that.

‘Bi-Han I can’t just take a break! I’ve got important work to do-‘

‘Work that isn’t yours to complete.’ Bi-Han interrupted but he was right, you had finished your work in advance and now multiple people at work suddenly claimed that they had other obligations to do theirs, thus pulling them onto you instead with nothing other then fake smiles and even faker gratitude.

Curse your people pleasing tendencies!

You sighed, rubbing at your aching eyes that have only seemed to have gotten worse over the course of the past couple of days. ‘Then what do you suggest I do? Not finish them and let them bitch at me for their lack of responsibilities?’ You asked rhetorically, knowing that with Bi-Han, you’ll never win this argument as he always has something to back up his claims.

And besides you were too tired to argue against something that you both knew was true, it wasn’t your work to finish and so by that logic, no blame would befall you entirely. At least you hoped not.

‘It is due to their lack of responsibility that has caused you this fatigue, beloved. They’re more then deserving of the punishment.’ Bi-Han said. ‘You shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for other people’s decisions nor destroy yourself into looking reliable to your peers. You’re better than them, more resilient, dependable, hard working, determined but most of all; you take responsibility for any and all of your decisions applicably.’ Bi-Han sat back at his chair and gestured to the food before the both of you that had yet to be touched. ‘But now it’s time you rest and eat as much as you possibly can.’

[velarisbynight]

Silvery Pink And Powdery Blue

Gwyn x Elain

Day 1 for @acotar-omegaverse-week — Nesting: Surely there's a perfectly normal, completely unsuspicious reason they're feeling an irresistible urge to arrange and rearrange the blankets and pillows... right?

a/n: have I ever mentioned how much I adore Gwynlain? 

word count: 1.7k~

~~~~~~~~

“This would be perfect, don’t you think?” 

Pink, rosey lips curve in a smile, the cocoa-eyed female presenting a rectangular teapot clutched delicately between her hands. It seems to be fashioned after a house, with creamy-pale bricking, and lush green vines clambering up the sides; clusters of four, small, powdery blue squares are set into the ceramic work to act in the stead of glass panes; a single, rouge door is in the centre of each of the longest sides, matching the hue of some of the flowers that have been lovingly painted on. 

“Are you thinking of it as a gift?” Gwyn asks, eyeing the teapot, remembering the two others she’s bundled to the back of a shelf: one pale with fat dots of colour spotted across its glazed, round body; another painted in a shimmering, rose pink. 

Straw-coloured brows draw together atop pale skin. “No, I was thinking of it for us. Wouldn’t it go perfectly beside the vase? The one we found in that mountain-top marketplace in Dawn.” 

Gwyn smiles. “But what would we do with our other three? We hardly have need of one teapot between the two of us, let alone four.” Elain’s brow pinches further, pink lips pressing together. Cocoa eyes dip briefly away, before fixating on Gwyn’s teal set.  “Don’t you think it would look nice, though?” 

Gwyn takes a moment to pause. Look at her wife properly. Then she elevates her chin by a singular degree, carefully softening her own expression, a thought passing tentatively through the back of her mind. “I think the teapot’s lovely, but let’s look around some more. Then we can see what else there is on offer and think on this one.” Elain sighs, setting back the teapot where she found it. “I suppose that would be the more sensible option.” Then she glances back to her wife, “don’t let me forget it?” Gwyn smiles, teal eyes dazzling as they twinkle with affection. “I’ll remind you.” 

————

Throughout the pleasantly heated morning, Gwyn observes as her wife flitters about the market place, eyeing up patchwork quilts with gaudy red stitching then fluttering over to a different blanket, one comprised of  the recycled fabrics of various coloured shirts; Elain peeks at pillow covers, ones with burnished gold tassels, others with rabbits in strawberry patches embroidered to the front, briefly assessing a floral case with bumblebees stitched along the hemming. The cocoa-eyed female browses silverware engraved with tessellating patterns that look like honeycomb, crockery with dashes and dots of warmly-coloured ink strokes painting the pale ceramic, more teapots and more sugar cups, tiny golden utensils fit for spooning crystallised honey or slicing squares of softened butter. 

Gradually, the belief in the thought strengthens, and Gwyn begins compiling a mental checklist of foods they’ll likely need to get in—ones that require minimum effort to put together. Perhaps some cordials, too. 

“Gwyn!” Elain calls, drawing her attention. Her wife has now moved onto clothes, and is holding aloft two silk pyjama shirts, one pale pink, the other powdery blue. Gwyn can’t help the affectionate curve of her tips as she paces over to stand at her wife’s side. “What do you think?” Elain contemplates, “I know we have a few sets, but will you feel these?” Gwyn smiles, taking the fabric between her fingers, feeling the cool slip of silk beneath her skin. She can’t deny how her heart beat quickens whenever Elain suggests something like this of her own volition, in this case it being mismatching sleepwear. They seem fairly light, too, and breathable, though that’s likely why Elain picked them out in the first place. She excels at seeking out perfect clothing on a good day, but now, with…something happening… 

But they’ll tackle that when they get home. For now, it’s a pleasant day at the market. 

————

When evening falls and food is prepared, the two take up position on the sofa, a plate balanced on either end with forks in one hand and books in the other. It doesn’t take long once Elain has finished her meal however, to sidle closer to her wife, curling her body into the dips and divots available, seemingly only half interested in the book she’d selected for the night. 

Gwyn smiles, glancing down at her omega, nosing lightly at the crown of her head. Elain releases a sound of contentment, pressing closer still, almost preening at the attention. Gwyn’s eyes twinkle knowingly, discarding her own book to pull her wife closer. “Tired, yet?” Gwyn murmurs, dropping a kiss to Elain’s forehead when she pulls back. “A little… I don’t want to go to bed yet, though.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

Elain’s eyes twinkle, and Gwyn’s blood heats at that look. But then Elain’s simply tucking herself closer, practically in her wife’s lap now, pushing her face to the crook between Gwyn’s shoulder and neck, huffing faint, ticklish breaths against the creamy skin. “You smell so good…” Elain murmurs, sounding how she gets around the afternoon, drowsing in their garden atop a picnic blanket, laying beneath dappled shade with a chilled glass of cordial at her side. 

Garden-roughened palms push at Gwyn’s neckline, urging the fabric out of the way so as to unveil more skin, to taste and scent. Sure enough, Elain breathes in the familiar fragrance of her wife’s skin, able to differentiate between the shea butter and vanilla essence shower oils they have contained to a little metal rack in their washroom, and the distinctive crisp freshness of the outdoors that has returned to Gwyn’s skin after two years of shying from it. 

Clipped-down nails loosen the strings to Gwyn’s dress, pulling them free lace by lace until Elain can push the fabric down from full, rounded shoulders, revealing the swell of muscle on her upper arms, the freckles that speckle her skin from days spent training in the early morning heat of summer. Elain trails the pads of her fingers along her wife’s collar bone, her pink lips skimming just behind, nosing along the elegant length of her throat. Elain’s tongue follows soon after, thighs shifting so her knees are either side of Gwyn’s hips, hands sweeping bright-coloured hair out of the way to make room for her mouth. 

“Elain…” Gwyn murmurs, allowing her palms to open along the curve of the omega’s spine, fingers dancing a skipping march until they reach lower, one hand laying appreciatively atop the swell of her hind while the other travels midway up her back, stroking in circles. Elain’s scent has sweetened since this morning in the marketplace, her body feeling much more tender beneath Gwyn’s reverent palms. 

Elain kisses her way up the length of Gwyn’s throat, pausing beneath her arched ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. Teal eyes gaze back at her when she pulls away. “Bed?” Elain murmurs, a drowsy smile on her soft, pink lips. Gwyn nods back, content to find what mischief Elain will unknowingly seek out once they reach their bedroom. 

Sweet omega. 

————

As Gwyn had predicted, Elain spends the better part of an hour shuffling pillows around on their bed, swapping out cushions from sofas, and borrowing blankets draped over the backs of armchairs. 

Gwyn waits peacefully, bathed in that powdery blue silk, watching as silvery-pink flits around the bedroom. It’s certainly come earlier that either of them would have expected, but it’s no matter. 

When Elain finally comes to a pause, anxiously glancing over the wrappings, Gwyn takes her chance, silently stepping up to wrap blue arms around a pink torso. “That looks perfect.” Gwyn murmurs, pushing a kiss to her mate’s somewhat flushed cheek. “Do you think so?” Blunt enamel tugs at the plushness of Elain’s lower lip, “it’s missing something…” 

“Probably its occupants.” 

Elain huffs, shimmying out of her wife’s hold before making her way over to the armoire, nosing through the clothes until she finds what she’s looking for: a thickly woollen scarf Gwyn’s certain she hasn’t worn since the chill of the early new year. Cocoa eyes brighten with their find, hurrying over to the bed to trail it between the two healthy stacks of pillows. Elain beams, stepping back. “Now it’s perfect.”

Gwyn smiles secretively to herself, wondering if Elain’s aware of what’s going on, or if this is all instinctual for her. It’s certainly happened in the past where it’s taken a few days of supposed ‘spring cleaning’ for it to dawn on either of them, though those short days were swiftly overtaken with locked doors and messy floors, clothes strewn across the lovely carpet. 

Gwyn follows when Elain settles into her nest, the sheets and blankets pooling around her middle before she wriggles down into the comfort, pressing her face to the woollen scarf. 

“It’s certainly cozy,” Gwyn comments as she tucks her omega closer, noticing a further shift in her scent. “You like it?” Elain murmurs, fatigue evident in the heavy droop of her eyelids. 

“It’s perfect.” Gwyn presses a kiss to the soft crown of burnished gold ringlets. “The perfect nest.” 

A beat passes between them, Elain’s tender body briefly stiffening, before she’s groaning loudly, tilting her chin upward to gaze into amused, twinkling teal eyes. “How long have you known?” Elain huffs, laying her palms flat to Gwyn’s stomach, pushing gently at the muscle beneath her fingertips. Gwyn’s lips stretch into a smile, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she dips down, their brows almost touching. 

“Only since this morning,” Gwyn whispers, doing nothing to fight the grin on her features. “This morning, Gwyneth?” Cocoa eyes gaze up at her wife, pretty pink lips parted in indignant disbelief. Gwyn chuckles, squeezing her omega tighter, feeling the fluttering pulse beneath her calloused touch as she guides ringleted hair from Elain’s neck, sweeping it over a silken shoulder. “It was only a thought,” Gwyn reassures. “I wasn’t certain until you mentioned my scent. And spent upwards of an hour rearranging our bed—that looks wonderful.” Gwyn takes care to stress that last part, so as to not upset her mate. 

Elain narrows her sleepy eyes, but eventually the mild scowl gives way to a resigned sigh. “It’s not supposed to be here for another fortnight,” Elain huffs, giving into the soft pull of her wife’s touch, pressing against Gwyn’s chest. “I guess it decided to come early this time,” Gwyn muses, stroking Elain’s hair. 

Narrow, elegant lips curve, mischief twinkling in teal eyes as she breathes in the already sweetening scent of her omega. “I promise I’ll take good care of you.”

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

AAAAANNND here are the OCs I’ve been drawing all week every single day! Posting this early without the third character cuz I got tired and impatient. I’ll probably add him in later though, so don’t worry bout him just yet :)

(Also, yes these are fnaf ocs because I'm not original...)

Soooo this is Loup Doop, Otherwise known as Loop de Doop/ Loop to kids. (She doesn’t like her name much, but it’s what the company branded her as and she can’t exactly change it.) I have a few bullet points about her: *pulls out list and clears throat*:

She’s 6”7, a tall one!

Her hands are not attached to her body, they’re more 3d holograms you can feel (don’t ask me how it works, I dunno either). it does take some conscious effort to have them out, so she doesn’t usually unless she’s with someone or needs to convey something. If you grab her hands, though, she can feel it and it does have a similar effect as pulling a real connected hand: if you’re strong enough, you can drag her along with it. (And yes, she has four fingers and they're never properly drawn, I'm sorry I can't draw real hands...)

She doesn’t have a voicebox. She communicates with sounds and simple pictures (you’ll see what I mean if/when I post comics of her).

She used to belong to a different company before being sold into Fazbear in some merger between the companies. (which comes in later, hehe…)

She was originally built with an outgoing, extroverted personality, but it developed into something more meek and quiet.

Her lil orange cheek things get bigger or smaller depending on her emotions.

She doesn’t usually hang out with the main star animatronics because they treat her badly. She prefers chillin with the mapbots, staffbots and wet floor bots, or the DJ if she has the chance. Because of her affiliation with the staffbots, it leads a lot of members of staff and guests to believe she is one, and they treat her as such often.

She is a bit of a people pleaser, and feels there's something wrong with her when she gets told off for not 'wiping the floors and doing her @$#% job'.

She cannot curse, by the way, it carries into her speech pictures as signs, sorta like the smurf comics. She doesn't like cursing much anyways, so it's not something that usually happens.

When kids come up to her on occasion (because she is sort of a performer), she'll ask them for their autograph on a picture with them, then print two. One for the kid, and one for her personal collection. She remembers every kid she's ever talked to before.

Her charging port is in the 2nd lil ball on the left side of her head.

The balls aren't anything special, just some soft, styrofoam-like material for kids to enjoy.

She doesn't interact with other animatronics, as said before, but is occasionally forced to by Bloo (see his description below) and puts up with it. On that note:

- She doesn't like Monty or Roxanne very much, but she does interact with Monty the most. Although most wouldn't call 'grabbing your younger brother to keep him away from the big scary bot he sees as an idol' an interaction.

- She's never actually met Freddy before, but she hears that he's nice from the Wet Floor bots. She personally doesn't want to meet him, either, assuming he's just like Monty and Roxy but worse because he's the face of the company.

She's seen Chica around, but...Chica means well, but she treats Loup Doop more like a kid than like an equal.

- She loves the DJ. They're best buddies in her eyes. They'll do remixes together, she'll ride on his back, babysit the minis, anything.

-She...doesn't really know what to think of the Daycare Attendant. The yellow one seems okay, just a bit too loud for her liking. The dark one, on the other hand...she's heard the stories from the STAFFbots and decides to steer clear of him if she can.

-Unfortunately, she can't stay as far away as she'd like cuz her brother in bolts has to look up to the strangest role models.

She actually meets them before Bloo does.

Thiiiiis is Bloo! He's a slightly newer model from the same company that Loup Doop is from, also from before the merger.

He's Loup Doop's lil brother.

He's around 3''4, depending on the shape of his droplets. The body itself is maybe 2''10.

He's mentally about 8 years old.

He's...not really sure what his job is. Neither does staff, so they just let him do whatever. He's pretty sure he was just supposed to be a sign to encourage kids to stay hydrated, but he tries not to think about it too much.

He doesn't have a voicebox, either, so he also communicates through pictures.

The droplets on his head move without conscious effort, but he can move'em around if he wants to as well.

His left hand has a bubble shooter, his right is his charging port or USB drive.

His left hand can also serve as a tazer, but Loup Doop won't tell him why he ccan't see his own blueprints, so he doesn't know about that.

No incident has ever happened where he finds out thus far.

He's very social, loves messing around with kids even though he isn't an actual featured attraction. He does push out a ton of bubbles for kids 'like him' to pop and play with.

He reaally wants to play with other kids, but he doesn't see much of them too often.

He likes being in the spotlight.

He, like Loup Doop, hangs out with the STAFFbots and Wet Floor bots. Unlike her, however, he doesn't mind hanging out with the other animatronics.

- He thinks Chica's great, he doesn't mind being treated like a kid. They paint nails together and play with dolls sometimes.

- He doesn't talk to Roxy much, only when he's with Chica.

- He thinks Monty is super cool, despite his sister's discouragement. He snuck into Monty's room to try on his glasses once and got caught. Turns out Monty didn't really mind, he liked having another fan. He tries to teach Bloo to play bass when he's not busy.

-Bloo hasn't seen Freddy much, either. He's watched all the performances, though, so he's pretty informed. He thinks that Loup Doup's a bit too cynical towards Freddy. He's sure Freddy's just as nice as everyone else.

- His relationship with the DJ is sort of like how kids talk to their friend's parents. He'll say hi, give all the pleasantries...and then immediately go off to mess around with the minis once he's finished talking.

He loves engaging in harmless pranks, so anyone else who does is a solid bud in his book.

He's the reason Loup Doop ever sets foot in the Daycare at all. He loves Sun and Moon, thinks they're very cool. He collects candy wrappers, keeps old worn plushies he finds in storage, drew the poster to hang in his 'room'...

-He doesn't get to see Sun much, mainly cuz Sun's busy with the kids and he can't be in there with them for fear of Management raising complaint. If he goes in real quick before closing, though, he might be able to pop in and say hi. Maybe a quick game of checkers if he's lucky.

- He sees Moon much more often because he catches him on his night patrols. Moon doesn't mind the company, apparently, because he actually engages with the kid when he talks to him. It's been a while since he was able to take care of kids...

Bloo likes cheerleading.

He wishes he could eat. He wants to try the cupcakes and cookies at Chica's bakery, she talks them up and he wants to know for himself. She's not really supposed to eat, either, but he's good at keeping secrets.

Aaaand I think that's all for now! I'll update this if I come up with more, but here's that.

[miraclesnail]

Will you ever continue the patientam operatur AU?

I will one day 🥹 I just know if I put in a fraction of the effort I do for 1000 ways for this series it would definitely be further along. But I just get writer’s block so easily 😭 and in 1000 ways if I get writer’s block I can just hop to a different character in a different year with a different plot. I can’t with chronological fics.

But I do have up to three chapters done! Andddddd I’ll just chapter one under a read more.

Attempt 1

It always starts on the chariot — where it all began, where their story really began to kick off.

He would smile that crooked smile of his, laugh in that carefree way, poke fun like he always does, tell his stories that are ten sentences too long. He would sit on top of the chariot’s head and swing his legs mindlessly like he’s not thousands of feet above the ground. He would hold the reins loose in his nimble fingers, body angled straight ahead at the horizon, face turned to him as he hops into the next story without a break. And they would stay like that for a minute or two — a tranquil and fragile peace.

Then, like clockwork, the chimera arrives and shatters the tranquility. It crashes into the chariot, the metal box rocking back and forth. The pegasi whine and buckle in terror.

But history diverges here.

His hands wrap around the bow slung on his back. His mind is clear rather than panicky. He draws the string back and it feels natural, not awkward.

He focuses and aims the arrow with practiced ease. Then he releases.

It hits true.

The danger is gone.

Lollypop and Starlight fly straight to Camp Jupiter, alive and well.

Travis is alive too, crushing him in a hug that he can never imagine properly and saying words he can never grasp. The touch is faint and unreal, the words fleeting, but Will grabs onto them tightly and pulls Travis closer to him by the shirt until they’re nose to nose.

Will presses forward just a bit more, enough to feel just a faint ticklish breath caress his mouth and he hesitates, he always hesitates no matter how much he tells himself not to, before leaning the last few inches to seal their—

But it’s always here that Will wakes up and violently remembers.

Xxxxxxxx

Will denies it for so long. For days and weeks and months afterwards. They’re not dead. They can’t be dead. How can they be dead? It just can’t happen. They’re a staple. Hermes Cabin is literally defined by them. How can there be a Cabin 11 without those duo troublemakers?

But he forgets. Demigods die young.

It’s a fact all of them have come to learn, experience, and accept.

Lee. Michael. Bianca. Beckendorf. Castor. Connor. Travis.

Demigods die and they die young.

It’s sad. And depressing. But life moves on.

The camp mourns. The cabin makes two shrouds and burns them in honor of their longest counselors. People cry. Cecil is announced the next counselor. Then everything goes back to normal. Not a single hiccup in the daily activity, not a single word about the pranksters, not a single possession of theirs left in the cabin, all leftover belongings bagged and stowed in the attic alongside all the other tossed and ignored memoriphilia.

Life moves on.

Forcibly.

Vigorously.

No time for grief. No time to think.

No one talks about them unless asked, just like they all did for the others.

Demigods die and life moves on.

It’s soul-crushingly depressing to think about so Will pushes it out of his mind and just lives his life like nothing is wrong. It’s not going so well, but Will’s a great actor and an even better pretender with an excellent poker face. Hardly anyone can tell he’s upset and crashing inside.

Xxxxxxx

Wake up. The archery range. Fail and try again only to fail again. Get the cabin ready. Breakfast. Lessons. The range again. Fail over and over. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Get his emotions under control. Stop spiraling.

Smile. Laugh. Converse. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine.

Lunch. Free time. Dinner. Campfire songs.

Jog. Go to the range one more time. Fail. Shower. Brush teeth. Get everybody to bed. Wait and wait some more then sneak out for another quick practice. Fail. Fail. Fail. Sneak back into bed. Sleep. Dream happy, impossible dreams. Then wake up to do it once more.

Day after day. The same thing over and over. It’s monotonous and simple. Normal even.

That’s why the notepad stands out to him even with its generic, unassuming white lined papers and cardboard bind and back. It’s a common item you buy at OfficeMax or a stationary store. It lays in the center of his bed. Will flips through it with disinterest, all pages empty. He flips it to the back and sees the words printed in comic sans: pick a date, pick a time and see for yourself — From your awesome Dad.

Will just rolls his eyes, scribbles the first date that comes to mind, and leaves his cabin for the archery range.

Xxxxxxx

That night the dream starts like all the others — on the god-forsaken chariot. Except… it’s different. The world is brighter and saturated. The sun is beaming into his eyes that has him squinting. There’s air rushing around him, a strong breeze pushing his hair back. The reins in his hands, they’re frayed and rough in his palms and the sky is blue with little poufs of clouds far in the distance and the ground far below is nothing more but a blur and Travis is here beside him like all his other dreams. Except this time—

“Solace! Hey! HEY!”

This time Travis is —

“Stop spacing out!”

Travis is strangely —

“Behind you! It’s right behind you!!”

Travis is inexplicably, unexplainable, for some strange reason, 240 turn 1080hd, so very much in detail like everything else.

Right down to his messy, unbrushed, chestnut-brown hair. Right down to his sea-blue eyes that’s wide in panic for some reason. To his ten-beaded camp necklace hanging above his orange camp shirt that’s fraying at the seams from years of use.

Travis is in detail in a way that he never dreamt of before, in a dream that felt more real-like than all the others, and Will doesn’t know what to think other than that Travis looks great. He looks amazing. He looks really handsome actually and —

Oh wait.

“What are you doing just standing there?!”

That’s right. The chimera.

“Get down!”

He feels rather than see the chimera breathing down his neck. No time to dodge. No time to duck. He just raises his arms to protect his head and hopes for the best. A paw the size of a basketball knocks him off his feet, claws slicing deep into his flesh. His back hits the metal rail of the chariot with enough force that he topples over the side.

“Will!”

And as he falls, Will stares at the familiar chariot leaving him as it straggles forward.

Starlight is limp. Lollypop is struggling to stay afloat. Boxes are falling out of the chariot, lids flipping open, and Will sees pencils and brushes falling out. Oh, he forgot about the art supplies they were delivering to Camp Jupiter. There’s droplets of blood (oh hey, that’s my blood, he realizes) falling with him albeit slower.

And Travis.

He sees Travis, leaping onto the chariot’s back ramp, a hand clinging to the frame, hair whipping back and forth from the wind, his eyes searching the skies for a moment before meeting his own.

They harden with resolve as Travis slings his backpack to his chest and tighten the straps.

Then Travis takes one step back, jumps, and dives for him.

Xxxxxxxx

It’s like a nightmare and a daydream all at once.

Starlight is dead before his eyes, Lollypop is going to die soon, he himself is hurt and the pain is incredibly, indescribably, insanely real-like. Not to mention excruciating. When Travis tackles him mid-air it actually jolts his arms and fuck, now it hurts ten-times more.

Travis is bear hugging him with one arm while his other is digging into his backpack. It hurts. Travis is squeezing him way too tightly, but … warm. Travis is warm and he’s talking, apologizing, ranting, complaining as they’re freefalling thousands of feet through the air.

Will can’t move his hands or twitch his fingers. Either the pain is frying his nerves or they have just been sliced off all together. The fact should bother him more probably. But all he does is close his eyes and bury his face in Travis’s neck and imprint the smell in his mind.

He hears Travis yell in triumph, the flap of the winged sneakers, and their fall slowing from breakneck speed to break-leg speed. But Travis hugs Will tighter to him and flips them around so Travis is at the bottom. Will wonders why and opens his eyes to see the canopy of trees within arms length.

Oh.

That’s why.

The first jolt is the worst. The branches of the pine tree they land on cracks and splinters. The second branch did no better. Nor the third and fourth before they hit the ground. Will knows Travis took the brunt of the force, is probably unconscious with a broken rib or punctured lung or dead (no no no not again) or something.

He needs to check. He needs to get up, to do something, to stop being useless like he always fucking is.

But the fall knocks the air out of Will and it’s taking all his effort to just even stay awake.

He’s not going to stay awake.

It’s too much.

He’s going to pass out in a few minutes.

The chimera breaks through the canopy a few seconds after them, branches and pines falling and hitting his face. It lands just a few feet from them and already, it’s roaring and charging towards them.

The last thing he sees is Travis in front of him, struggling to his feet, with that familiar ice pick in hand, bleeding all over, a bone sticking out from his left arm, right ankle mangled and bent, but still trying to protect him.

Xxxxxxxx

He wakes up in his bed in his cabin, sore and tired and arms burning, with Austin kindly ripping his sheets off him.

“You’re late for breakfast,” he tells him, tossing his sheet over his head.

Will tugs it off, wincing as his head aches.

“Huh?”

“You overslept. But don’t worry, Kayla and I got everybody up and ready. We’re all waiting for you at the pavilion.”

“Oh.” Gods. His head is killing him. “Uh, thanks. It’s okay to wake me up if it happens again. It’s my job to do that. Head counselor and all,” Will says as he swings his feet off the bed. He stands and immediately his knees buckle. His scarred palm from that Fury attack scrapes against their floor and he recoils back as it stings and aches and burns. It takes all he has to just hiss rather than howl. Maybe if he was alone in the infirmary, he would shed a tear or two. But Austin is right there in front of him and he already troubled his brother enough.

“Fuck! This is why we let you sleep in, Will,” Austin scolds as he helps him to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he fibs, “I just had this really … a really weird dream. Everything’s fine.”

He smiles to top his white lie off but it feels unnatural and fake.

And it doesn’t appease Austin either. He scowls further, crossing his arms. “Well, you’re overworking yourself and none of us like it. Training yourself to the bone. Studying random and obscure hymns dead into the night. And now drawing these — these — these weird, gibberish scenarios? We’re worried about you and we all think you should go see a therap—”

Will’s head shots up. “Wait, what? What scenario?”

Austin points to the notepad on his bed, no longer empty and blank. There’s a drawing of a crude chimera and two stick figures with Xs over their eyes. Below that are three lines in neat, printed Greek text that’s easy on his dyslexia.

Xxxxxxx

August 8, 2010 11:01 AM

Condition Violated: Will Solace died.

Attempt Terminated.

[153-cm]

10/11/23

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m immensely mentally ill. When I get lost in thought, I can’t fight feeling like I should k1ll myself. I usually get thoughts of su1c1de ideation. Not that I’m seriously going to do it, but I do daydream about how people would carry on if I weren’t here. I know it’s morbid. It’s just what I think about in my free time. I’m not gonna try anything stupid, though. What’s the point of living? I find solace in Christianity, but every time I draw nearer to it, the more I get scared. To be honest, people in church always extend a hand to me. I don’t reciprocate because I’m scared of forming connections with people. 

I have friends, but I don’t. I mean I do have friends, but I have trust issues. I don’t think I’ll ever have a deep, platonic relationship with anyone ever again. I’m so scared of making friends. I generally find a lot of people mean. People don’t seem to think. Let me elaborate: people are so quick to judge others but don’t look in the mirror for one second. How you view the world affects your judgment. You have biases. How can you be so sure about forming an opinion? Is your opinion appropriately substantiated? Is your opinion well-informed? How can you talk so much about someone or something when you don’t have in-depth information? The judgments people make are extremely surface-level. I feel that people don’t ask “why” enough.   

I accept that I am more than my body. I accept that I’m more than what people think I am. A lot of people have labeled me as a slut in the past. I have a strong desire to shake that image off. I don’t necessarily view being a slut as a bad thing. It’s just that people will refuse to take you seriously if they think so. They will automatically put you in a box and only view you as a one-dimensional stereotype. Well, fuck you if you think I’m one-dimensional. I know I’m not. I’m a multi-faceted human being. I am capable of so many things. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! 

A lot of people have treated me badly in the past. I don’t deserve to be treated with 0 respect. I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with respect. Basic, minimal respect. What I’ve learned though, is that people will view you the way you view yourself. If I start changing the way that I view myself, and act accordingly, people will follow suit. People have dehumanized me. People have objectified me. I deserve better.

I have a lot of potential, I’m just not living up to it. I got back my results for one graded essay and one mock exam in school. I almost failed my graded essay. I did very well in my mock exam. I almost failed my essay because I put very little effort into it - I didn’t care to research properly. I’m fairly OK at writing within a time limit, so I guess that was exemplified in my mock exam. This can only mean one thing: I have the potential to do very well in school, it’s just that I am not living up to it. Thank God the first year is only 10% of my total GPA, if not I can say bye-bye to first-class honors. I need to put more effort into my work. My dream for grad school is Yale’s drama school in the US. Not that I am super excited at the idea of studying in Connecticut, though…lol. But…Yale. It’s an Ivy League school and I dream of studying there. Maybe then people will take me seriously. 

The school holidays are coming soon and I plan to read and write way more. I have really good books lying around at home. I should read them. In terms of writing, I don’t only want to write diary entries, I also want to write screenplays, essays, and music/theatre reviews. I need to brush up on my writing. 

I’m unsure about living in Singapore for the rest of my life. I’m kind of sick of the scene here in Singapore. I want something new, something refreshing. However, I do strongly believe in the idea that anywhere will suck if you think everything sucks. Someone asked me the other day to think about a happy memory and my mind went blank. I was really unhappy after my grandmother died. I still am. Maybe the problem isn’t Singapore itself, but my mindset. I daydream about living in NYC and working at a theatre company. That would be so dope. I’m hoping to get an internship in New York City over my summer break next year. I’ll see if I can make it happen. 

[itsdanii]

Because I’m an angst-addicted ball of misery, is it okay if I request drabbles of Fuckboy!Atsumu and Fuckboy!Oikawa being the crush of the reader but she knows of how they treat other girls and doesn’t want to end up heart broken and since she’s shy and introverted, the boys barely know her aside from her being a classmate?

She tries to keep a simple distance away from them until said boys randomly show an interest in her and they start showing her attention, love, and treating her better than the girls they messed with until after a few weeks she overhears from them or their teammates that it’s out of pity/they were bored because Y/N seemed easy to mess with.

Y/N doesn’t let them know she overheard them, instead a switch is flipped and she’s emotionless around them and avoids them. When they ask why she’s like that, she simply says “I won’t let you hurt me like the others.” She basically treats them like they don’t exist (she’s friendly to everyone but them) and said f!boys regret it and bust their asses to fix everything between them (I read how you felt about full angst, so the reader just blocked their number, social media’s, and treat them like the plague until they prove that they truly love her or regret messing with her :) )

Hey, bub. Sorry for the slight delay! I hope you don't mind me making slight adjustments about the plot for my comfort 🥺 And uh... this drabble turned out to be a oneshot because I got carried away. I only did Atsumu's part which went over 3k+ works 👁️👄👁️ Anyway, I hope that you still like it. Have a good day, stay safe and hydrated! ♥️

Karma's a b*tch

genre: angst to fluff

warning/s: rude behavior (resolved), cursing, self doubt and insecurity(?), do message me if I missed any

a/n: please do read the warnings before you proceed. warnings have been put there for a reason

ft. fboy!atsumu miya, f!reader

never play with a girl's feelings. wanna know why? just read the title.

You stared at the back of Atsumu's head dreamily, your elbows propped on your desk as you basically ignored the world around you.

Contrary to the belief that noisy students always sat on the back, Atsumu and his twin were actually seated in front. Despite being in the middle of a class discussion, the two kept on chattering as if the teacher didn't exist. The teacher basically gave up already trying to shut them up since they never listened anyway.

You knew that she could've just sent them to detention but of course, who would do that to the miya twins? People almost worshipped them and your teacher wasn't excluded. Everytime she entered the room, you noticed how she would always cast a glance at the Miya twins and smile "politely."

The two, of course, took advantage of it. If it meant being able to get away with their noise by just simply smirking at the teacher in front of them, they'd do it. They already did anyways. They never did anything more than that though, and for some reason you were thankful that they never crossed that line.

You jolted up slightly when the bell suddenly rang, a loud yelp slipping past your lips out of shock. With your eyes widening like saucers, you felt your cheeks heating up when majority of your classmates turned their head towards your direction, some having a grin on their faces while the others having a look of displease.

However, their stare didn't matter as much as a specific person's did. A pair of brownish eyes stared at you intensely, his gaze so intense it was enough to make you almost squirm in your seat.

Feeling your heart rate picking up along with the shiver running down your spine, you looked down at your lap, successfully cutting your eye contact with Miya Atsumu - the guy you secretly liked despite being hailed as your school's certified f!ckboy.

"Make sure to finish all your requirements this upcoming weekend. You're all seniors so I have high expectations on your outputs, understood?"

With a series of "Yes, ma'am," the class was dismissed.

The room was filled with different noises - subgroups gossiping with each other, the footsteps of students hurrying their way out, the rustling of papers, clanking of chairs and the voices of the class representatives reminding the assigned people to clean properly.

It was lively, for them at least.

As for you, you preferred being alone. No, you weren't some weird nerd kid who acted as if they hated the world. Instead, you preferred categorizing yourself as one of those people who were naturally shy and introverted.

You don't really like crowds nor socializing. You've always opted on sitting by the corner, just enjoying the calmness silence brings you.

Grabbing your books from your desk, you stood up and made your way to the door, head casted a little downwards to avoid making eye contact with people, knowing that doing so will result to interactions, and who has time for interactions anyway? Certainly not you.

With the lack of paying attention, you failed to notice someone who was rushing their way out. Like a cliche movie, your body collided with them, the impact causing you to stumble backwards, loosening your grip on your books as they fell on the floor.

Luckily, the person behind you managed to catch you on time, their hand gripping the small of your back to keep your bum from meeting the floor.

"Whoa, there. Ya alright, princess?" spoke the familiar voice just behind your ear, his breath against your skin giving you small goosebumps.

Instantly, you jerked away. Turning around to face him, you bowed down while muttering continuous apologies. "Miya! I didn't mean to bump into you, I.. I swear. I was just walking out and then somebody j-"

Chuckling, Atsumu placed a hand on top of your head, giving your hair a small ruffle which eventually made you look up at him. "Calm down, I ain't mad at ya. No need to be so flustered."

With a stiff nod, you mumbled a small "Okay," before bending down to pick your books off the floor. You didn't fail to notice how your hands were trembling and you silently prayed to whoever diety was watching over you that Atsumu won't notice it.

"Yer y/n, right?" Atsumu asked as he bent down as well, one hand clutching your book as he let his finger trace over the name written on it. "A pretty name fer a pretty face like yers."

You wouldn't be surprised if he'd ask if you were doing okay because by now, you were a hundred percent sure that your face must be looking like a red tomato. "Thanks I guess," you said, giving him a shy smile before taking the book from his hand.

The small encounter was cut off by someone calling for Atsumu's name. Turning your head to the direction of the noise, you noticed Osamu walking towards you with a small frown on his face, one hand gripping the strap of his bag as he went on how they're going to have to run extra laps again if they ever got late for practice.

Atsumu only chuckled at Osamu before turning his focus back on you. With a cheeky smile, he booped the tip of your noise fondly. "Guess I'll see ya around, pretty thing. Careful not to stumble again, alright? Don't want another man catchin' ya."

With that, Atsumu went on his merry way, turning around one more time to send you a wink, chuckling as you gave him a slow wave before his figure disappeared from your vision as a mere dot.

"See ya later..." you whispered on thin air, lips unconsciously curling up as you stared at the direction he went off to. Once you snapped out of your daze, you bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing like a school girl in love.

Well, technically, you were a school girl in love, right?

That night, as you laid on your bed staring at your ceiling full of glow in the dark stars, you thought that maybe it wasn't so bad making conversations with people every once in a while.

-

The days went by pretty quickly.

At first, you thought that everything will be back to normal. After all, you never tried associating yourself with people. Your high school life was basically nothing but waking up early for school then going back home after class and then repeat.

However, something was strange. In fact, it was very strange. Not only were people trying to befriend you but the one and only Atsumu Miya was actually making an effort to talk to you, and to say that you were confused would be an understatement.

He basically didn't pay attention nor spared you a glance before, until that day you bumped into him.

You knew that it wasn't a good practice to judge someone based on what other people say but he wouldn't be called as your school's f!ckboy for nothing. He'd change his girlfriend almost every week as if he's only changing clothes, cruelly dump those who did not meet his certain standards and doesn't care even if a girl cries infront of him. Those are exactly why you tried not associating yourself with him nor his twin.

But there was something about Atsumu Miya that kept on drawing you in. You didn't know if it was his annoying piss colored hair, intense gaze, or the aura surrounding him. You couldn't help but wonder how someone like him, the exact type of person you swore you hated, managed to keep you attracted like a moth on to a flame.

It was weird.

And yet you loved it.

"Ya know y/n, ya kinda wound me," Atsumu said, plopping himself down beside you on the cafeteria.

With your hand clutching the chopsticks mid-air, you surveyed your area, noting how some heads, specifically the Inrizaki VBC's, turned to your direction. "Sorry, what do you mean?" you muttered as soon as your eyes met Atsumu's.

"I literally thought we're already friends when I saved yer ass from falling backwards," Atsumu answered before stuffing his mouth with an Onigiri, no doubt made by Osamu.

Placing your chopsticks down, you wiped your lips with some napkin before speaking up. "I'm sorry for asking this but... what's with the sudden interest, Miya?"

You were aware of how snappy you sounded, but in reality, it was your own defense mechanism acting up. Just how were you supposed to ignore him when it's he himself who kept on clinging to you?

"Hm, what do ya mean? Is it so hard to believe that I'm trying to befriend ya?" Atsumu tilted his head a bit to the side, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Why not try givin' me a chance, princess? That isn't so much to ask for."

You organized your now empty bento, placing it on the side before focusing your whole attention to the man in front of you. "I've seen how you treated girls before," you said with a low voice, averting your gaze from him to avoid melting into a puddle.

Damn stupid feelings.

"I see..." Atsumu said with a slow nod. "Then I guess that makes it more of a challenge."

Your eyebrows immediately furrowed upon hearing that, your curiosity spiking up at what his words meant. "Challenge? What do you mean?"

Instead of answering you, Atsumu just stood up, his bento in hand with the side of his lips curled up. "I'll see ya around, princess."

With that, you were left alone in your table, eyes still trained on Atsumu as he made his way back to the Inarizaki VBC's table. You watched as most of his friends chuckled while patting his back, some even sending a glance towards your direction.

Deciding that pondering over it would only be a waste of time, you stood up and made your way back to your classroom, failing to notice a grey haired Miya watching you.

-

You let out a small squeak as someone behind you reached for the same book you've been trying to get for almost 5 minutes now. Tilting your head back a little, you were met with an upside down vision of Miya Atsumu's face.

With your arms still raised in the air, you spun around to face him, your back flush against the bookshelf keeping you basically trapped. "Miya," you mumbled while looking up at him, one hand fisting the side of your skirt to release some pressure.

"Here," he simply said while handing you the book, obviously holding back from laughing at your flustered expression. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna try anythin' that would make ya uncomfortable. I was just passin' by and saw you strugglin'."

"And he even tucked my hair behind my ear!"

"He did that?" your cousin spoke from beside you.

Both of you were seated on top of your bed, legs crissed crossed as you gossiped about your interactions with Miya Atsumu.

For the past few weeks, you've been having encounters with Atsumu - in the cafeteria, in the library and even outside of school where he claimed that he was out to buy some ingredients for Osamu and only managed to bump into you "coincidentally". Name it and he'll be there.

With these constant encounters stirring up your feelings, you had to resort on calling your cousin for some girl time in order to save your sanity. Luckily, your parents had no objection. They were even happy that you were actually trying to open up to other people. It was only your cousin but according to your parents, "A small step is still a step."

Plopping your back on your bed, you grunted as you placed both of your hands on your cheeks. "Mhm. I just don't get it you know? He's basically this popular guy that plays volleyball, has a group of girls swarming over him and has the face and body that looks like it's been sculpted by God himself, and yet he's wasting his time on me."

You looked at your cousin with a small pout, one hand reaching out to poke her thigh. "Am I just overthinking things?"

With a breathy chuckle, your cousin laid down beside you. "Maybe? I can't really say for sure since I don't know this Miya guy except your description of him, but what I think is that you should give him a chance."

Hearing that, you laid on your side to face her, elbows propped up against the mattress as you rested your cheek on your palm. "Aila, have you been listening to me? He is a f! ckboy. Dangerous, treats girls like shit, and undeniably sexy. What if his sudden interest is only a one time thing? What if he's just messing with me?"

"And what if he isn't?" Upon hearing no reply, your cousin took your silence as her cue to continue. "What if people just labeled him as this so called 'f!ckboy' because that's what they perceive him to be? What if inside him is just someone who's vulnerable, trying to protect themselves from getting hurt by people so they end up hurting others first to save themselves from the pain? What if he's just waiting for someone who wanted to really know him, the real him? Would you really deprive him of that opportunity just because of what you hear from other people?"

"I... I don't know.."

"Miya isn't here to defend himself and I'm not trying to defend him, but don't you think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt?" Aila smiled as she settled herself on a comfortable position. "Give him a chance, y/n. Everyone deserves to get one. It's up to him to prove whether he's worth the chance he was given."

You sighed deeply, letting her words sink in as you also shifted yourself on a comfortable position, raising your comforter up until it reaches just below your chin. "Then what happens if he isn't worth the chance he's given?"

With a hum, your cousin just shrugged. "Then you either forgive him and let it go or... give him the finger and tell him 'f!ck you' for messing with your feelings," she said with a short giggle.

"It's something only you in the future can decide. Goodnight, y/n."

With a thankful smile, you turned the lamp off as you whispered, "Mh, goodnight, Aila."

-

"Let's be friends," you said as you slammed a box of onigiri in front of Atsumu, a smacking sound resonating in the air making the rest of the boys look at your direction.

Even the sound of balls whooshing in the air stopped, replaced by the sound of them dropping suddenly on the gym's floor.

With his lips parted, Atsumu shifted his gaze from the onigiri, Osamu, Suna and you. "Ah..." he muttered as if he was just as shocked as you for having the guts to come inside the gym in the middle of their training.

Feeling your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment due to his lack of response, you looked down and started to fiddle with you fingers. "You said you wanted to be my friend and I kept on keeping my distance from you so I thought you might appreciate those onigiri as my peace offering." You scratched the back of your head before giving him an awkward smile. "A-anyway, that's all! I'll see you around, Miya!"

Atsumi could only watch you as you dashed out of the gym. Snapping out of his daze, he looked down at the box of Onigiri, smiling unconsciously as he noticed the sticky note posted on top with "Good luck on your practice, Miya! :))" written on it.

"Interestin'," Atsumu whispered before standing up, Kita's voice filling the air as he called the team back for practice.

-

It's safe to say that after that embarrassing moment, you became friends with Atsumu. You even became close with his twin because they were always with each other. It wasn't long then when the usual duo became three - Atsumu, Osamu, and you.

It was hard to adjust at first. Your female classmates would always glare at you and spout out some nasty remarks but the twins were always there to defend you. In fact, you even met the whole team and hanged out with them when you didn't have some academic tasks to finish.

It was fun, and you were thankful for your cousin who gave you the advise of giving Atsumu a chance.

But there was a downside on the situation.

Your feelings which you kept hidden for a long time was only growing day by day, and you were afraid that it was slowly showing signs.

How?

Everytime Atsumu was near, your heart would beat so fast that you felt like you just finished a 4 kilometer run. Your hands would become clammy, breath would hitch, and face would heat up whenever he teases you, and don't even forget to add that one time you literally froze when you spun around, only to come face to face with him - nose almost touching, lips ghosting against each other with only an inch keeping you apart.

You were playing a dangerous game and yet you had no intention of stopping, not knowing that it wasn't only you who had a secret.

Because Atsumu Miya was also playing a game - something much more dangerous than yours.

-

"Where's 'Tsumu?" you asked as you peeked your head inside the gym.

Kita, who was about to walk out, gave you a smile before opening the door wider for you to come in. "Atsumu's in the storage room. The twins made a mess again so I told them to go clean up before we start practice."

"Typical," you said with a short giggle. "Anyway, I'm just going to drop off Atsumu's hoodie that I borrowed last week. I'll watch over them while you do your business."

"That would be great. Thank you so much, y/n-san. Call me if something happens," Kita said, giving you a small nod before leaving.

As you entered the empty gym, you grimaced upon seeing something that looks like spilled milk on the floor. With a shake of your head, you made your way near the storage room sneakily in attempts of scaring Atsumu.

However, as you got closer, you heard two familiar voices. It was Atsumu's and Osamu's voice, and basing from the way they were speaking, it seemed as if they were in the middle of an argument.

"The fuck did ya say?" It was Osamu.

"I said I was only playin' with her. I mean, she's so easy, don't ya think? It basically only took me a couple of weeks and she came runnin' to me with that box of Onigiri, claimin' she wanted to be friends," Atsumu said, followed by a chuckle. "As if I didn't notice the way she acted around me. I'm telling ya, that girl is in love with me."

"And so, what if she is? That's not an excuse for ya to play with her feelings, dipshit."

Hearing Atsumu huff, you slightly backed away from the door, only to freeze when you heard his next words.

"Y/n is nothin' but a toy to me, somethin' I can dispose of when I got bored."

Biting your lower lip, you clenched the handle of the paperbag you were holding before running out with tears streaming down your face.

You ran as fast as you could, ignoring the worried looks you're getting from the people you were passing by. Even Kita was shocked to see you yet he didn't bother calling out, thinking that you might be needing some alone time for yourself.

You skipped class.

Throughout your whole Highschool life, this was the first time you skipped your class and it was a bummer that the reason was Atsumu Miya.

Stirring your strawberry milkshake from a nearby cafe, you thought about Atsumu's words, another batch of tears streaming down your face as you realized how pathetic you were for believing that he isn't what others say.

Maybe your cousin was wrong.

Atsumu Miya wasn't worth the chance he was given, because he only proved that once a f!ckboy, always a f!ckboy.

-

You blocked Atsumu's social media accounts.

In fact, you even blocked and deleted his number to stop getting in contact with him.

Even in person, you didn't bother paying him any attention unlike before. You stopped coming to their practices, stopped giving him food and stopped talking to him.

You basically acted as if he didn't exist.

It was hard because you knew that your heart belonged to him, but you had to endure it. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction for playing with you. You know your worth and there's no way you're going to let some f*ckboy ruin you.

"Y/n, would ya stop?!" Atsumu said as he grabbed your wrist, effectively stopping you from walking away from him any further.

"Get your hands off me, Miya. I don't wanna talk to you." You struggled against his hold, trying to take your hand back, only to fail when he tightened his grip.

"The hell's yer problem? What's with the sudden attitude? Yer basically ignorin' me and I don't have any idea what I did. Just tell me what I did wrong instead of actin' like a little brat." Letting go of your wrist, Atsumu groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair out of frustration. "I.. I don't like this."

You laughed, eyes squinting as you let out a fit of giggles before pointing at him. "You don't like this? Why not, Miya? I'm just a toy for you, right? So, I don't really get why you don't like this. Is it because you're not bored of me yet so you're not willing to dispose of me?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a serious expression. "Well, I'm sorry to say this but I'm not going to let you hurt me like the others. I'm not a plaything nor am I desperate like those girls pining over you. Have fun looking for a new toy. You're not worth playing with anyway."

That being said, you turned your back on Atsumu, ignoring the whispers that suddenly filled the hallway as the students parted some space for you, leaving Atsumu with his lips parted and feet frozen on the ground.

Serves you right, Miya.

-

Atsumu felt hollow.

With every passing day that you're ignoring him, conversing with people whom you never bothered associating yourself with before, the more he regret taking advantage of your feelings.

It was only supposed to be a game, nothing but a pass time and yet why did it felt like something was missing?

"I wasn't supposed to care," Atsumu said desperately while clutching his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table as he opened up to his twin. "F!ck...I think I like her, 'Samu."

"No shit, idiot," Osamu answered without taking his eyes off the stove. "I told ya several times to stop messin' with people's feelings and did ya ever listen? No. That's what ya get for bein' stupid."

Groaning, Atsumu rested his cheek against the table, facing Osamu's back. "Help me."

Slowing down from stirring the pot, Osamu looked at Atsumu through his shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, I'm yer twin. Aren't ya supposed to help me? Plus... y/n acts fine around ya." Atsumu sighed before sitting up properly. "I won't bother ya fer a week if ya help me out. I already did everythin' I could. Flowers, chocolates, even payin' attention in class just to impress them! Nothin' worked."

Osamu chuckled at the desperation and frustration in Atsumu's voice. "Deal." He turned the stove off, covering the pot before making his way to Atsumu. Sitting down, he crossed his arms over his chest while staring at the brokenhearted Miya. "Y/n is actually kind. Well, not until that moment she found out about yer stupidity. Have ya tried showin' her that yer willin' to change?"

Atsumu nodded. "I did. I even gave her the usual things girls like."

"I asked if ya showed her that yer willin' to change, not tried winnin' over her through bribery." When Atsumu didn't respond, Osamu let out a 'tsk' before continuing, "Just stop botherin' her and prove that ya regret what ya did."

"Easier said than done," Atsumu grumbled which earned him a smack on the head.

"Will ya stop bein' a sad boy already? I have a plan."

-

Its been two weeks.

Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu trying to apologize. Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu following you like a lost puppy while holding either chocolates or flowers.

Instead, what you were getting were these random post it notes on your locker, your desk, everywhere. Wherever you go, there would be random post it notes with various messages. Some contained cheesy quotations, the others short apology letters.

And despite how mad you were at Atsumu, you wouldn't be able to deny how cute the act was. Not only did he gave you space but also exerted an effort of silently letting you know that he'd be willing to wait for you.

You noticed how he stopped acting like a boss in class, opting to jot down notes instead of chattering with Osamu like usual. You also noticed how he stopped having a random girl beside him during breaks. Everytime you would pass by, no longer would he try to block your way and flick your forehead, but instead give you a hopeful smile before proceeding on his way wordlessly.

But what made you realize that he indeed regret what he did was that one time.

You were walking back to your classroom after forgetting your umbrella. The sound of the heavy rain tapping on the ground resonated on the empty hallways, the cold wind making you shiver as it whooshed in the air.

Wrapping your arms tightly around you, you entered your classroom, eyes widening as you saw Atsumu trying to fit something on the space below your desk while mumbling something.

Clearing your throat, you noticed Atsumu jolting up slightly before turning around to face your direction.

He smiled sheepily before scratching his nape. "I know it's yer birthday tomorrow so I was tryin' to fit this here. I guess there's no point hidin' it already since ya caught me anyway." Sighing, Atsumu picked up the fox stuffie and handed it to you. "Happy Birthday, y/n. I know yer still mad at me and ya probably hate me but I still wanted to give ya a present."

You stared at the fox in your hand, your fingers poking the fluffiness of the material as you fought back the urge to smile. "Thanks," you answered with a dismissive tone.

For a split second, it was silent, and you were aware of the intensity of Atsumu's gaze burning on your forehead, yet you refused to look up, knowing that once you did, you won't be able to hold yourself back and might just forgive him there and then.

"I like ya, I really do. I know I messed up big time fer taking advantage of ya and I'm sorry fer that. It was stupid and childish of me to think that the people around me are nothing but mere toys fer me to play with. I regret hurtin' yer feelings and I'll be willin' to wait until ya forgive me. Just know that I won't stop until ya do."

Hearing something rustling, you looked up and noticed Atsumu taking off his jacket. Within a few steps, he was already infront of you, draping his jacket over your figure. "I'll see ya around, princess. Don't get sick, alright?" Smiling, Atsumu gave your cheek a small pinch before heading out.

You were left in the empty classroom with nothing but the fox stuffie serving as your company. Atsumu's scent was swirling around you from the jacket you were given and at that moment, you haven't notice the single tear sliding down your cheek.

Because of all people, you never expected for Atsumu Miya to be the first one to greet you without having to remind them.

He was the first person you knew outside of your household to ever remember your birthday.

You hugged the stuffie close to your chest, burrying your face on top of its head as you let the comfort it brings envelope you.

-

You stared at the empty space infront, your head swirling as you thought of the possible reasons why Atsumu haven't been in class for three days now.

It's currently your last subject and throughout the whole day, you've been doing nothing but wonder where he was. You haven't asked Osamu about it yet since he was excused from the class due to the preparations for the upcoming match.

And so, the moment your class was dismissed, you rushed your way out, making your trip to the gym. You were thankful that they were in the middle of a water break so you had the chance to call out Osamu's name without having to worry about Kita.

"Y/n?" Osamu's eyebrow shot up upon seeing you. Suddenly, a knowing smile made its way to his lips. Standing up, he walked over to you. "He's sick," he said without even waiting for you to say something.

"Oh.." you muttered, shifting from one foot to another nervously before tugging at the hem of Osamu's jersey. "Do you... uhm, do you think it would be alright if I visit him after your practice? I wanna see if he's doin' alright."

"Alright. I think 'Tsumu would appreciate that. Why don't ya sit on the bench and wait a little for us to finish practice then ya can visit our house after?"

Upon hearing that, your face instantly lit up. You smiled at Osamu as you nodded.

Osamu only chuckled at you and fondly ruffled your hair, a habit he and Atsumu shared.

You waited patiently, and it wasn't long then when their practice finally finished. After Osamu took a shower, you both went on your way to their residence.

As you entered their house, Atsumu's voice immediately met your ears.

"'Samu! Cook me somethin', I'm starvin!"

You looked at Osamu who only shrugged as if he was already used to it. You took your shoes off and wore the slippers you were given before placing your bag on the couch.

"Our room is on the right. Go ahead and talk to him." Osamu said as he pointed on the door at the end of the hallway.

With a nod, you slowly made your way to their room, knocking softly before sliding your way in.

The first thing that greeted you were the mess of opened junk foods on the floor. Roaming your eyes around, you grimaced at the sight of empty water bottles littered around along with the volleyball laying on the ground.

Averting your eyes away from the trash, you looked at Atsumu whose back was facing you, his shoulder raising up and down evenly, indicating that he must be asleep.

Carefully, you walked claser and sat on the edge of his bed, your hand immediately feeling his forehead. "You're burning up," you mumbled, brushing his hair away from his face.

Suddenly, Atsumu's hand gripped your wrist, his eyebrows furrowed as he squinted his eyes. "Am I dreamin' or are ya a ghost?" he asked with a raspy voice.

"I'm not a ghost, 'Tsumu. I'm really here."

You watched as Atsumu slowly nodded before letting go of your wrist. "What're ya doin' here? I thought ya were still mad at me." Sitting up, Atsumu held the comforter close to him as he shivered.

"I heard you were sick. I'm no longer mad at you. I guess I'm still upset but I just can't hold a grudge against you forever, can I? That's not something I can do," you said with a shake of your head. "I really like you, you know? Despite your title of being a f!ckboy, I still fell for you. You were the first person I tried opening up to aside from my cousin. It's just a bummer that you ended up taking advantage of that vulnerability."

You felt Atsumu reaching out for you, his hand enveloping yours as he gave it a small squeeze. "I know, and I'm sorry. I really am."

"And if I give you another chance, will you prove me that you deserve it?" you asked as you looked at him, "I'm still hurt about what happened so I hope that if I give you this chance, you won't waste it."

"Yes. God, yes," Atsumu answered breathlessly, "I promise it won't happen again and I'll try to be better."

Suddenly, Atsumu wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you on his lap as he settled his head on the side of your neck. "Thank you," he mumbled repeatedly against your skin, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid of letting go.

And he never did.

Indeed, there was something about Miya Atsumu that kept drawing you in, and despite the bumps and dangers that came along your way, you didn't withraw.

Because as you closed the last page of your photo album eight years from then, you realized how right your cousin was alll along.

Atsumu Miya was worth the chance he was given, and he proved it to you every single day, sealing it with the diamond ring now resting on your left hand.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

[may-b-a-u-shewritestoo]

The feeling is mutual | | Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader | |

A little fluffy 2 part series that I wanted to drop real quick to get back into the swing of things, I hope you like it! It feels good to be back but I’m terrified. I feel like a little deer in headlights! Feedback is most welcomed ALWAYS. ✨

PART 2

Summary; You’re both profilers, analysing behaviour and making connections. So why is it so hard to read each other?

Includes; mentions of sex, mentions of being on period, mention of serial killer unsub (if you know what movie i’m referencing then I love you), fluff! ✨

Word count; 1.2k ✨ (second part will be longer! this is just a little part 1 to see what y’all think)

“I literally want nothing more right now Spencer but I can’t.”

Stood in the break room at work, you mixed the sugar into your coffee and sighed at the very eager colleague beside you.

For a few months now, you’d been having a physical relationship with Spencer. No deeper or hidden feelings had been discussed, you guys were friends who had needs, and those needs could be met by each other. Nothing but trust, friendship and safety with a side order of good sex.

However, Spencer was usually good at keeping things subtle; he’d at least wait until you were both off and out of work to pursue things further. But not today. He’d clearly woken up with a motive. Which was apparently to be inside you by the end of your shift.

Unfortunately for him it was that oh-so-wonderful time of the month and as much as you debated it in your head the second you saw the dark desperation in his eyes, you were not in the mood for all the effort of cleaning up after. Especially not at work.

“You called ME last night, Y/N. It took all of my self control to NOT to get in my car and take you until sunrise.” Spencer grew closer to you, his attitude not remotely intimidating because of the whiny tone in his voice. He was right, you’d been particularly needy the night before; calling him up and breathily whispering down the phone in an attempt to get him to come over. But you both had an early start so you eventually changed your mind.

You just giggled and sipped your drink, misjudging how hot it would be.

“Ah you - stupid fu-‘ Immediately grabbing a bottle of water from a mini fridge below the counter, you took a gulp to soothe your throat.

“I’m just saying, what’s suddenly changed in 16 hours and 42 minutes that’s so drastic?” Spencer looked down at you, ignoring the entire hot drink charade, but having a genuine concern on his face for something else.

Rolling your eyes and standing up to speak to him properly, you took a hold of your coffee cup once again and attempted your most serious face.

“First off, I’m allowed to change my mind. Secondly, I got my period this morning and - no, before you even attempt to convince me ‘oh it’s fine’ I’m not in the mood. Now get your blood rushing back to the right head because I do believe we’ve got a case.”

***************

The unsub was suspected to be a woman in her mid to late 30’s, using a technique similar to that of Ted Bundy and Aileen Wuornos. So far the team had deduced she would lure the victims with seduction at local bars in the area, pretend to be extremely drunk in order to attract creeps and when they took her home she would kill them.

The plan would be for Derek to go undercover at a bar that all the victims had attended and hopefully find the unsub. But first they all needed rest. They’d been working from 8am, after landing at 7am, and now it was 11pm.

Hotch had agreed everybody needed to recuperate and get together around midday the next day, as he knew the unsub would only be out and preying from late evening.

The hotel you guys were staying at was actually pretty luxurious considering the urgency and location. Hoping to share a room with Tara or Emily so you knew you would get some sleep, you grabbed your bags and headed up to see your roommate.

Keying the card and gaining entry with a jolly beep, you noticed it was still dark. Had you been lucky and scored your own room? Flicking the lights on, you let out a frustrated groan when you saw him sitting against the headboard.

A smug grin stretched across his face before it dropped back into that familiar pursed concern look.

“I didn’t do this to annoy you Y/N, I just wanted to spend more time with you. I can switch with JJ.” Spencer began to shuffle off the bed and you just tutted and put your bag down.

“No, stay. I’m not mad. At least not annoyed mad. I’m frustrated. But not with you. I’m just-“

“Y/N.”

Tiredly dragging your palms down your face, you opened your eyes to finally make eye contact with the poor man who was victim to your hormones.

“I’m sorry. I’m just miserable.” you walked around to the side of the bed where Spencer sat on the edge. His eyes followed you, watching your face in an attempt to profile whatever you were thinking. His hands came up to rest at your sides, thumbs stroking lightly across your hips.

“Do you want me to leave so you can get some rest? You’re tired, I can tell.”

“Don’t profile me Spencer.” you chucked lightly, your own hands coming to rest over his. He smiled softly up at you, waiting for your answer.

“Stay please.” Matching his gentle smile, you looked over at your bag before looking back at him. “I need to shower and then I’ll be right in okay?”

Spencer nodded and leant to reach just beside you, where his bag sat on a chair. You knew he was getting a book out, so that he would distract himself while waiting up for you; the one thing you admired and got excited about was falling asleep next to him.

******************

“Do you always do that? I’ve never noticed it before?” Spencer asked quietly into your ear.

You were cozily tucked into his neck, one hand resting against his chest and the other squished between your bodies. Legs entwined with one another, you were absentmindedly rubbing your foot up and down along his. It was a comfort for you, you mostly did it to yourself when you were sleepy.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s cute. Are you anxious? Or stressed? It’s actually a very common limbic response to anxiety, it releases endorphins so you know, you’re essentially giving yourself a massage.” Spencer rambled onto the top of your head, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.

“ ‘M not stressed. Not anymore.” you hummed into his neck, snuggling in closer than you thought possible. You could feel his pulse quickening slightly against your cheek, hear him swallowing with nervousness as you readjusted yourself; throwing a leg over his hip and latching onto him like a little koala. “Calm down Spence, I’m just getting comfy.”

“Sleep well Y/N.” He spoke so softly it almost lulled you into sleep. His breathing settled as yours did, the arm he had wrapped around your shoulder holding you tight. His other hand drawing lazy lines up and down your spine as he too adapted a comforting stimulation that was going to send him off too.

Spencer couldn’t help but think about how perfectly you slotted against his body, how much you felt like home. The sharp but sweet scent of your shampoo overloaded his senses and bypassed the oestrogen-filled attitude, the drop in energy and the rise in other types of tension. He would do anything you asked him to. But he was sure you didn’t know that. He was even surer that he wouldn’t tell you. Instead, he would appreciate the seconds, minutes and hours you spent together and let his mind drift off onto what the next day would bring him.

[spencerreidsconverse]

When Evil Doesn't Sleep

summary: Spencer has been gone far too long on a case and when he finally returns home, reader shows him just how much she missed him.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, implied dom/sub undertones, pet names

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: My first fic!!! I hope you all enjoy! <3

“Y/n I’m really sorry but it looks like the case is going to take a lot longer than we thought. We had a recent development and the profile is now pointing to a partnership so now we’re hunting down two unsubs”. You sighed as Spencer rattled off his apologies through the phone before putting him out of his misery “Spencer honey, you don’t have to apologize. Quit worrying about me and focus on catching the bad guys.”

To say you missed Spencer would be the understatement of the century. He had been in Utah for six days already and now with a pair of psychos your odds of finding him in your bed by the end of the week were growing increasingly slim. It didn’t help that you had been swamped prepping for an extra class you’d agreed to take on at Georgetown where you worked as a Criminal Psychology professor. Between both of your hectic work schedules you hadn’t had a real weekend to yourselves in a few months, and while you knew when you first started dating Spencer that it was an inevitable of his job, it had never been this crazy before. They say evil never sleeps but lately it hasn't even taken a catnap.

“I love you Y/N. I promise I’ll come home to you soon and take you out on a real date. I’m sorry darling, I have to go. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel tonight and if you’re still up we can talk for a bit okay?”. “Alright Spence, I love you too. Stay safe okay?”. “I promise, goodbye love.”

Your farewell barely made it past your lips when the dial tone cut you off and once again your boyfriend of three years vanished from your side of the country. You let out an exasperated sigh before reminding yourself that there were other people who needed his help and that you could wait for his attention - at least until that night. Continuing the trek up the stairs of your and spencer’s shared apartment, you managed to haphazardly balance your grocery bags in one hand while unlocking the door and disabling the security alarm, internally cringing at the high shriek that rattled through your brain.

Walking through the living room, you sat the bags on your kitchen counter and began reorganizing the small fridge space to fit all the perishables you had brought home, absentmindedly hoping they wouldn't spoil now that it would be just you for several more days. Moving to the cupboard you replaced the few grab and go snack boxes you had made up to try and encourage Spencer to eat more throughout the day and refilled the paper plate stash that quickly became a requirement after you realized neither one of you could tolerate doing dishes every night. You ripped open the cardboard packaging of yet another microwave dinner and set the timer before leaving to change into more comfortable attire.

Opening the door of your shared bedroom, the smell of vanilla wax melts and dryer sheets hit you like a brick and immediately sent a pang of loneliness through your chest. Spencer was usually around by the time the chores needed done, and you rarely had to do them yourself. Unfortunately, the laundry was piling up and you needed something to distract you so you spent the day running errands and cleaning the apartment more thoroughly than necessary. You walked over to the stack of black dresser drawers and pulled out the first pair of pajama pants you touched, Spencer’s old caltech sweats that now fit you far better than him considering he had received them when he was 14. They looked more like capris on him now and it was embarrassingly difficult to convince him to buy a new pair that fit him properly. You slipped on a tank top and pulled your hair back before making your way lazily to the bathroom to take off the remnants of your simple makeup.

After scrubbing your face clean and pulling your dinner out, you moved to ready the couch for yet another night of binge watching cheesy 90s movies. You selected Clueless and watched the vibrant colors pop across the screen while you dived into your meal, making a poor attempt to ignore the slight freezer burnt taste that lingered after every bite. You finished your dinner and set the bowl aside before covering yourself with a blanket and allowing yourself to sink into the cushions, desperately awaiting Spencer's text.

You were jolted out of your doze by the loud buzzing of your phone against the wooden coffee table. Clumsily you reached for it and managed to swipe the answer pad before it sent your genius to voicemail. “Hello?” you managed before a yawn ripped its way through you suddenly. “Hey Y/N, I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn't mean to wake you, I figured you’d still be up. You should go back to bed love.” For the first time, you noticed the neon green numbers on the microwave. 12:30. You stifled another yawn and shook your head in an effort to wake yourself further “No way, I just dozed off while watching a movie. I was waiting to talk to you. Besides, I’m up now anyways so you might as well stay on with me for a bit. Did you get any further today?” “Well, JJ had the idea that the partners were originally a typical dominant/submissive partnership but that something in the dynamic must have changed because the MO began to deteriorate. We think the partners must have split up now, because we’re finding similar pieces of the previous MO at separate crime scenes.”.

You processed the information he fed you slowly due to your semiconscious state but eventually you put your words in order well enough to respond. “That should be helpful though yeah? I mean, they’re used to working in a partnership so being suddenly separated from your other half so to speak would throw you off track quite a bit right?”. You could practically hear him smiling through the phone as you drew the conclusions the team had come to only a few hours prior. “Yes. We’re hoping to be able to draw them out and trap them. Play them against each other.”.”Does that mean I can stop sleeping on the couch soon?”. You heard him let out a dejected sigh - you knew he hated that you would force yourself onto the cramped couch when you had a king sized bed a few hundred feet away but he understood.

When he had come home in the early hours of the morning after an abrupt end to a case a few weeks after you had moved into his place, he had caught you curled up on the sofa with a throw pillow stuffed under your head. When he questioned you about it the next morning, you simply answered that the bed felt too big without him and that you couldn’t stand the empty feeling. “Sooner than later I hope my love. Y/N I really wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s horrible for your body. It can put you at a much higher risk for chronic back and neck pain as well as-”. “Spence. I’m not a giant like you are. I fit on the couch much better than you do, and I barely notice the difference.”. You both cringed, hearing the lie clear in your voice. Still, Spencer must have felt bad because he humored you. “If you're sure. What did you do today my love?”. You smiled sadly hearing in his voice just how desperate he was to escape from his reality and come home to you.

”Well, I straightened the house. In fact, it’s so clean i think we could use it as a sterilization room.”. He let out a soft chuckle and you could hear him begin to relax as you recounted the rest of your day, excluding the part about the microwave dinner. Spencer loved to tell you how many of the ingredients were one step away from processed garbage and you decided to opt out of the lecture for the evening. He had more than enough to worry about without having to focus on your diet while he was away. After a half hour of light conversation, a loud yawn betrayed you as you were excitedly discussing the cute puppy you had met on the way to the market. Spencer immediately requested that you hang up and get some more sleep but you refused. After a few minutes of bickering, you relented on the condition that he would read to you until you had fallen asleep. You curled up under the fluffy blanket as Spencer’s even voice recited the collection of Grimm’s fairy tales quickly lured you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning as sunlight peered through the curtains, stretching your body out to ease the aches from the previous night. You smiled softly as your screen lit up with a text from Spencer wishing you a good morning and an update that they had a solid plan for boxing in the two unsubs that afternoon. “If all goes to plan I should be carrying you to our bed before midnight tonight.”. Your smile widened and you sent back “Can’t wait to truly see you - and love you- tonight. I’ll be waiting.” You plugged your phone into the charger and straightened up from the night before when your phone went off again. The one word message glared at you from the screen and you let out an involuntary giggle. “Tease.”. You hoped it gave him something to look forward to until he was back in your arms. You sent back a simple “XO” before deciding to reread one of your favorite books for a few hours to kill some time. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch and had a few glasses of water as the clock slowly ticked by. You were over halfway through the lengthy novel when you received another message.

“We apprehended both unsubs. Hotch is postponing the paperwork until Monday so we can go straight home. I’ll see you in a few hours baby.”.  You jumped slightly in celebration before finishing your current chapter, marking your place, and all but skipping to the shower to shave and exfoliate your skin. You knew Spencer would still be heavily worked up once he arrived home and luckily, his favorite release included intertwining your bodies as close as possible and loving you sweetly and slowly.

You took your time in the shower careful not to nick yourself with your razor. You scrubbed your scalp with your nails, letting your stress and soreness melt away under the steam. You waited until the water ran cold before turning the knob and stepping out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel and blow drying your hair until it layed perfectly even. You applied lotion all over your skin and stepped out of the bathroom to slip on your black silk robe, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to dress up further. Spencer would be desperate to feel your skin against his and any fabric in his way didn't stand much of a chance.

You made an actual meal for dinner, a pasta dish with chicken that could be easily reheated for Spencer when he grew hungry later in the night. You helped yourself to a serving and after quickly cleaning up the kitchen and storing the leftovers, you retreated to the bedroom to wait for his return.

You were half paying attention to the feed you opted to scroll through on your phone when you heard the door creak open and bags drop to the floor. You set your phone on the bedside table and ran towards the foyer, all but throwing yourself at the exhausted man in front of you. He took a step back from the impact but still enveloped you in his arms and pulled you impossibly tight into his chest. “Hi baby.” you whispered against the scruffy skin of his jawline, peppering kisses up towards his earlobe. He let out a long sigh of relief and picked you up off the hardwood floor, wrapping your thighs around his waist resulting in a high pitched giggle to erupt from your throat. He kissed you then, slowly at first but quickly building more passionate. Your lungs were burning when he finally allowed you to pull away, opting to kiss down your neck to your collarbones and the skin of your chest that was newly exposed as your robe slipped open.

He carefully made his way back to your room, continuing his kisses back up to your shoulder, stopping only to leave marks you knew would only grow darker as time passed. At the very least he was sure to only mark you in places you could cover with little difficulty. “I missed you so much Y/N. The entire ride home all I could think about was you waiting for me in our bed. My gorgeous girl.”. You felt your chest heat up at his words of admiration, wrapping your fingers into his curls and pulling his lips towards your own once more.

You felt him groan against you and moved to quickly unbutton his shirt, slipping it down his arms and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He pulled you up with him then, so you were both on your knees, chest to chest as he pulled your robe fully down your back to the swell of your ass where he grasped at you through the slick fabric. You let out a whine and you pulled his belt off, undoing his jeans desperate to continue. He grinned against your neck and pushed you down so you laid flat on your back, completely exposed to him. He kissed at your stomach, making his way down to your inner thighs. He licked a slow wet trail from your pelvic bone to the top of your clit as you whimpered desperately. “Spence, please… I need more”. He humored you, creating slow small circles with his tongue moaning at the taste. You cried out as he created the perfect amount of pressure on your clit, legs threatening to close around his head when he moved to slip one of his fingers easily inside you as the mix of your own wetness and his saliva aided him. He smirked as he felt your thighs flex before using his left hand to throw one of your legs over his shoulders at a time. He pushed a second finger in, curling them up to perfectly reach your g-spot with every thrust. Soon though, you grew impatient with just his fingers. You needed more and you knew just how to get it.

“I want you so bad Spence. I’ve waited for so long and I just can’t anymore. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”. You were positive those words would leave him just as needy as you were and he proved you right when he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and went to line himself up against you. “Wait.”. He stopped immediately, examining your face for any indication of what was wrong. “What’s the matter baby? Are you okay?”. You shook your head and smiled at his concern before switching your positions so his back was resting against the pillows as you straddle his thighs. He smirked at you as he caught on, trailing his hands up the front of your legs to rest at your hips. “You gonna ride me angel?”. You responded with an eager nod and he squeezed your hips, pulling you up further so you were hovering above him. “Sit pretty like my good girl then.”. You whined softly at his words before slowly sinking yourself down around his length, sucking in a harsh breath at the stretch. Even with how wet you were, the adjustment took longer than usual due to the dry spell you were both suffering from as of late.

When you finally felt stretched out enough to move, you slowly ground your hips forward flush against his. He groaned out, lifting you back up so you were almost completely off of him before pulling you back down. You moaned both at the sensation and the idea of being manhandled by the genius below you. You realized what he was asking though, and began bouncing yourself up and down his cock, stopping every few thrusts to grind your clit down on him. You let out soft moans, and after a few more minutes you felt his fingers dig deeper into your hips and his breaths quicken. You knew he was close and as if on cue you started rubbing fast circles against your clit as he spoke again.

“Baby girl I’m getting close. You gonna cum with me angel?” You nodded furiously in response and you felt him start thrusting up to meet you. You panted as you hurried towards the edge of your orgasm, holding on until his thrusts grew sloppier. “You ready to cum with me baby? You gonna cum on my cock?” “Yeah.. gonna cum all over your cock Doc.” You fought to keep the grin off your face when he moaned at the title. He thrusted deep into you twice, before he ordered your release. “I want you to cum now baby. Cum all over my cock.” You felt your orgasm rip through you, electricity shooting through your limbs. Spencer groaned loudly as you tightened around him before pulling you down deep and releasing inside you.

You both fought to catch your breath as you rode out your highs before you found yourself slumping against his chest, suddenly drained from your activities. You felt him chuckle at your drastic change in energy as he wrapped his arms around you again. “I know you just washed the bed sheets and we’re both sweaty but do you think a washcloth will suffice for tonight?”. You nodded against his chest before slowly lifting yourself up and off of him, rolling onto your back on the other side of the bed. Spencer swiftly made his way across the hall, returning to wipe you down gently with the warm fabric. You shivered as the cool air dried your skin, watching him move throughout your room.

He slipped on a fresh pair of boxers before tossing the washcloth in the hamper along with his previously discarded clothes. He hung your robe on the back of your bedroom door then flipped the light switch off before rejoining you in bed to slip under the blankets with you. You immediately curled up into his chest, sighing contently as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. You kissed his chest and whispered goodnight, drifting into your first real sleep since before he left.

The next morning you and Spencer went shopping after you successfully convinced him to upgrade to a smart phone with video call abilities. He had begun to shut down the idea as he always had before but after the mere suggestion of what it could do to better your late night hotel room chats he was the one pulling you towards the nearest phone shop. You smiled politely while Spencer took his sweet time weighing the pros and cons of each model, letting your mind drift to the first time it would come in handy. As you finally neared the checkout counter, you took Spencer's hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. After running his card through the machine, the salesgirl gave him the small plastic bag and wished you both a good afternoon.

As you exited the shop, you looked up at him, nudging him to get his attention “What do you think of an app controlled vibrator?”. He stared at you incredulously for a few moments, almost stopping dead in his tracks. After recovering from the initial shock at the vulgarity of your suggestion, he shook his head with a soft smirk and nudged back against you. “Tease.” he called you once more. “That’s the reason you love me right?”. He pulled you into his side, kissing you softly. “One of many Y/N. One of many.”

[divinefireangel]

Hello ✍️Writer✍️, I would like to 🤌request🤌 a reaction where their s/o likes ❣️kissing❣️ their ❤neck❤ 🌠Innocentlly🌠but it 🌌turns the 🕺Bois💃 on🌌 🤡accidentally🤡 Thank you for blessing us with your Beautiful 🤌 beautiful 🤌 works✍️❣️

Idk why but so many emojis are making very happy 😂

I HAVE SO MANY DRAFTS HELP

Warnings: Suggestive? Fluff? Crack? Well idk. Mentions of food. Domestic af SF9. Yes that is a warning. Sensitive neck! SF9. Just go with it 💀.

Youngbin

"I'll hug you and you click the picture"

"Okay. But you'll have to help me angle it properly cause of your outfit."

"I know I know. Just turn it a bit towards me. Okay. Yes!" You exclaim finally happy with the angle. Clicking a good number of selfies with your boyfriend Youngbin, you check them to make sure that you atleast got a few you can post.

Monitoring the pictures along with you, Youngbin holds you close to him even after the photo session. You see, there was a wedding. One of your friend's. And being your boyfriend, Youngbin offered to be your date.

So here you both are, all doll'd up and pretty, finally taking couple pics after what seems like forever. Smiling happily you bounce on your feet. The pictures turned out perfect!

To celebrate, you kiss him joyfully, well you ended up kissing his neck because that the height you are able to reach with your heels right now. Pulling away with a small smile, a frown takes over when you notice your lipstick mark on his neck.

Widening your eyes, you panic trying to figure out how you can remove the mark quickly. Remembering that you have tissues in your bag, you take take it out and begin to clean.

"I'm sorry. I forgot I had lipstick." You say sadly, but concentrating on the task in hand. Youngbin, however, is still frozen in his spot, not even moving his eye lids. When you finish and move away, he breathes out contracting his chest.

"Jagi." He huffs slowly. "You, you can't just do that." He says in a small pout.

"Do what?" You look in his eyes. Realizing that you meant nothing by it, his face just breaks into a smile.

"Nothing. Let's go. Or we're going to be late!" He exclaims wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you to walk with him.

Inseong

A lovely afternoon spent with your boyfriend. Aka. You having your nose in your novel and him having his nose in his novel. It's actually something you both do often. And then comes the regular discussing favourite parts, which he claims is the best part of your mini book club.

You were both seated at opposite ends if the couch, when you huffed closing your book. Now, normally you would've finished it, but for some reason your eyes were starting to lose focus. Maybe it was stress or overworking. Keeping the book on the table in front of the couch, you slowly crawl away from your side to his.

Peering over his shoulder, you try to see what page he is on.

"What are you doing?" Inseong asked with a smirk.

"Nothing. Just cuddling my super cuddly boyfriend" you said whilst moving your legs on his lap and hands landing around his shoulders. Kissing his cheek with a smile, you nest your head in his neck, closing you eyes when you feel his arm on your back.

Blinking your eyes open, you mindlessly pout, tired and a bit bored. 'Hmm, he smells nice', you think to yourself. Sliding your head back a little on his shoulder, you start to drag your pouty lips against his neck, occasionally pecking it too.

Biting his lip, Inseong shuts his eyes, moaning in satisfaction as you kiss his neck. Giggling at his reaction, you stop what you're doing. "Are you actually getting turned on by me just kissing your neck? " you ask with the biggest smile on your face.

Reciprocating your smile, Inseong chuckles, opening one of his eyes to look at you. "Not my fault. You just know how to drive me crazy for you." He says leaning forward to capture your lips in a dizzying kiss.

Jaeyoon

Sitting on a chair near the dining table, Jaeyoon scrolls through his phone, scouring for a new recipe to try out. Finding one that seems interesting, he clicks on it and starts to read. Being so engrossed in learning it, he fails to notice you come out of the bedroom.

Almost walking past him towards the fridge, you stop in your tracks and decide to have some fun. Tapping his left shoulder, you wait for him to turn but quickly move to the right. Snickering silently, you repeat the same action again, now tapping his right side, but he notices your hair before you moved.

Chuckling he looks down shaking his head. "Jagiya, you're very cute. But not very slick." He laughs when you whine into his neck. Relaxing onto his back, you pout sadly.

"What are you seeing?" You ask curiously.

"A new recipe you might like. I think we have all the ingredients, so I was planning on trying it. What do you think?" He hums in question, raising a hand to pet your hair.

"Okay. I'll be happy with whatever you feed me." You reply genuinely. Playing a kiss on his cheek first, he turns to look back to his phone smiling. But you wanted to kiss him more. So instead you just choose to kiss his neck.

Licking your lips a little, you press a medium kiss on his neck, making his stop everything he was doing. Unfazed, you walk to the fridge to take a cold water bottle from it. Turning you gasp, almost colliding into Jae's chest.

"Jae... " you say looking at him, wondering why he's standing so close to you. Sighing he leans down to your height, kissing you on the lips once. Twice. Thrice.

Keeping the water bottle on the kitchen counter next to the fridge, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, feeling his back muscles as you make out with your boyfriend. Loving your reciprocation, Jaeyoon lifts you off the ground and makes you sit on the counter, not breaking the kiss for one second...

Dawon

You gasp in surprise when you feel a strong chest hug into you. Kissing the side of your head, Sanghyuk smiles, happy to finally have you in his arms after another long day of work.

"Hi"

"Hi baby. You took a shower?" You ask, noticing that he's wearing only sweatpants.

"Yeah. I went to the gym after work." He replies, walking towards the mirror to apply his moisturizer.

Nodding you change out of your work clothes, finally feeling like you can breathe again. Now it was your turn to hug him.

Approaching him slowly, you tickle your way around his torso and abs, resting your forehead against his ear you sigh satisfactorily. Smiling widely at your clingyness, Sanghyuk continues to moisturize. "Tired?"

Humming a response you open your eyes and breathe out, having closed your eyes as soon as you hugged him. Pluckering your lips, you lean up to kiss one long sweet kiss on his neck. And then another next to it. And another.

"I thought you were tired." He says in a deadpanned tone.

"I am" you hum.

"Fuck it. I'll do most of the work then" Turning around, Sanghyuk stares down at you, biting his lip sexily making your breath hitch and mind go blank. Grabbing your waist in one hand to pull you flush into him, he leans down to connect your lips together while his other hand cups your butt, asking you to jump into his arms so he can take you to bed for a long, long night.

Zuho

You were laying across the couch, you boyfriend Juho sitting on the ground, his back on the same couch near your head. You were waiting for your lunch to be delivered, the app saying it'll take only a few minutes.

The day was spent well with taking the cats to the vet, then going grocery shopping and coming back home and putting them in their respective containers. Of course the whole ordeal tired you both out. So you decided to treat yourselves by ordering in.

You laugh silently as Juho played with Kompangg, making weird sounds to get the feline's attention and to make her meow. Huru of course the rebel, in his own world, sleeping cutely in his bed.

Pulling yourself forward by your arms, you place you head on Juho's shoulder, trying to help him play with his younger pawed child. When she finally meowed after a lot of both of your efforts, you cheer extending your arm to pet her ears.

Smiling at her doey eyes, you place an innocent kiss on Juho's neck, resuming your previous position on the couch.

"Why did you do that? " Juho asks, putting Kom in the ground. Turning to you with a smirk, Juho leans his hands on the couch.

"Do what?" You ask quizzically, cause you really didn't know. Looking at your clueless expression, Juho realizes that you didn't mean anything by that kiss. Pursuing his lips, he looks down on his lap, cringing at his dirty mind.

"Did you think I wanted sex?!" You accuse him when you figure out what he was thinking. Scratching the back of his neck, he laughs timidly trying to think of an excuse when the front door bell rang.

"Ah! Yes food's here!" He says quicky, sprinting off towards the door while you laugh.

Rowoon

Sprawled widely on the bed, Seokwoo replies to his texts with a pout on his lips while waiting for you to join him so he can cuddle you to sleep. Jumping onto the bed, you grab your pillow and lay on top of it for support while looking into his phone too.

"Why do you have so many at this time? "

"I ignored the group from morning." He replies.

Nodding your head, you sigh in exhaustion from the day's work. Pushing half of your body on his, you rest your chin in his neck and close your eyes. What you've been addicted to since dating him, was situating yourself on top of him whenever where ever he lies down. It always gave you warmth. And him a sense of feeling small. He also loves it when you give him a back massage or draw on top of his wide back, just for the fun of it.

"Okay! I'm done. Let's sleep." Seokwoo says making you open your eyes in surprise.

"Okie" you say in a small voice, bending down to peck his neck before rolling off him onto your side if the bed.

Opening his mouth for a good ten seconds, he licks his lips and turns his head to look at you. Seeing you wrap yourself in the comforter like a burrito, he blinks in confusion.

Once settled, you look at him in question, wondering why he isn't tucking himself in. "Why are you not turning? Are you okay? "

Your words pull him out of his trance. Opening his mouth to answer, but closing it again when he realizes that he doesn't have one, he just looks at you.

"Nothing. Good night." He finally says, wondering why such a simple action took him by so much surprise.

Yoo Taeyang

Smiling lovingly Taeyang stands in the kitchen preparing an even more love filled meal for you. He knows how you've only had a small breakfast, so he took it upon himself to make you something delicious for when you come out of the bedroom after attending all your meetings.

Humming along with the song playing in the background, he stirs the contents of the pot. "Y/N will like this." He says to himself. And as if you cue, he hears the bedroom door open and from there came out a very tired you.

Walking into the kitchen, you let your feet drag you till you're behind Taeyang. Wrapping your arms around his torso while being careful of the hot vessel on the stove, you rest your head on his back. "I hate work" you complain pouting.

"I know. " he agrees, chuckling at your childish behaviour. Taking in a deep breath, smelling the aroma of your lunch, you sway in happiness while still hugging Taeyang. Rising on your tippy toes, you place a small kiss on his neck, squeezing him tightly in your arms. Freezing he widens his eyes as his shoulders tense at your actions.

"You're amazing" you compliment him. Pulling away you begin to walk towards the bathroom, completely failing to notice your blushing mess of a boyfriend.

"You can't just do that!" He complains loudly to a still very clueless you.

Hwiyoung

Tired from overworking yourself, you close your eyes leaning back in your chair. Youngkyun was sitting next to you, doing his work. Noticing your despair immediately, he pauses and saves his work first, then yours.

"Let's go take a nap. We've been here long enough." He says, worry laced in every syllable.

Nodding you push your chair back a bit, until your legs are out. Lifting your arms up to him, you silently ask him to carry you to bed. Smiling at your cuteness, he obliges, not having the heart to say no to you. Like always.

And so he gently picks you up bridal style and walks to the bed. And just as, if not even more gently, he places you on the bed. Unfolding the blanket, he spreads it on the bed before getting in with you, making sure you are tucked in well.

Attacking him as soon as he's settled next to you, you throw one leg across his torso and intertwine your hands on his chest,nuzzling your nose shamelessly in his neck. Chuckling he starts to pat your shoulder, back and head, to put you to sleep.

Releasing a breath finally feeling relaxed, you turn your head up to kiss him, not really caring where you ended up kissing him, but you kiss him. "I love you" you mumble against his skin.

Biting his lip, he continues to pat you to sleep, while he lays there wide awake, still feeling the aftermath of your simple kiss. Little do you know, he's silently begging his hormones to calm down or else he will never hear the end of it.

Chani

A typical Saturday afternoon for the two of you. You are engrossed in your work while Chanhee is on his desktop playing games. Being cooped up in your work for so long, you decide that you needed to take a break. Probably a snack too.

Getting up from your position, you walk towards Chanhee's chair to wrap your hands around his shoulders. Smiling when he feels your presence behind him, he just continues to play his game. Playing a sweet kiss on his cheek, you lean your head against his temple, averting your attention to the screen.

"What"

"Nothing. Just trying to see what's so interesting in the game."

Lifting your head to look at him for a moment, you bend down and press your nose to his neck. Giggling at your action, Chani is about to protest when he freezes in his spot. Playing tiny pecks of admiration on his neck repeatedly, you close your eyes happy to be in his warmth.

"Stop! " Chani exclaims in surprise, pausing the game.

Opening your eyes at this sudden outburst, you look at him with curious eyes. "Why?"

"Do you- Are you- ah.... " Gulping he is at a loss for words. Staring at your with wide eyes he just opens and closes his mouth.

Blinking you giggle at his flush state, not really catching what's going on in his mind. "I'm gonna make myself a snack. When you decide what and how you want to tell me, I'll be ready." You laugh exiting the room, leaving a very dumbfolded Chani in your wake.

[painless-innit-colourful]

Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily. 

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out. 

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until: 

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..." 

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!" 

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing. 

Call that a drug van success story. 

--- 

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they? 

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit- 

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor. 

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon. 

--- 

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care. 

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage. 

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all. 

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?" 

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks. 

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands. 

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet. 

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world?  "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice." 

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares. 

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor. 

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that? 

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is. 

"Where are you?" 

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No. 

No. 

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say. 

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait- 

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right. 

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad. 

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret. 

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass- 

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing. 

"Give him the disc." 

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again. 

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo." 

--- 

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur. 

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it. 

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault. 

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time. 

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

[youareinlovees]

LA Lockdown (submission)

(um hi, hope you don't mind me submitting this to you but I got inspired to do some ~creative writing and Nat got deactivated 😭)

May 2020

It’s a beautiful day in LA. Joe sits at one end of the couch on the outdoor terrace, absorbed in his book. Taylor is sitting at the other end, looking out at the view across Beverly Hills and occasionally looking at her phone, her feet up on the seat and her legs draped across Joe’s lap. It’s an idyllic scene. Lockdown might be boring him stiff, with all his upcoming acting projects being pushed back indefinitely, but he knows that he does have it pretty good.

Joe gets distracted from his book by the sight of his phone screen lighting up with new messages in the Frosty Crew and partners group chat. Picking up his phone, he sees that Jesse has sent a link to a Reductress article entitled, ‘Have you made the Bon Appétit focaccia yet or do you live with someone you can fuck?’

He chuckles, but before he can respond, another message pops up in the chat.

Taylor: Not to brag but some of us have managed to do both

She looks across from the other end of the couch and smirks at him. In response, he taps out a message of his own.

Joe: And it was thoroughly enjoyable Joe: Orgasmic one might say Joe: I am of course referring to the baking that Taylor did yesterday

Taylor: Aw baby I didn’t know you liked it that much Taylor: We can have it again later if you like

Joe: Later? That’s an awfully long time to have to wait

Jesse: do you two know you can just text each other directly if you want to schedule sex?

Taylor slides her legs further across Joe’s lap, intentionally rubbing herself against his groin and shuffling closer to him. He grins, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in so he can press a few light kisses to the side of her neck.

Billy: Text each other? She’s probably sitting in his lap right now.

Joe momentarily pulls away from kissing down Taylor’s jawline to add a final message of his own.

Joe: Oh shit, busted Joe: Billy you need to stop spying on us through the security cameras Joe: Anyway I’ll talk to you lot later

Taylor tugs his phone out of his hands and puts it down next to her own on the table, her eyes sparkling. ‘Now that you’ve finished telling everyone that we’re about to fuck, can we actually get on with it?’ she teases.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking straight into her hypnotizingly blue eyes, ‘I think you’ll find you’re the one who started it, actually.’

‘Excuse me, Joseph, but which one of us was too impatient to wait until later? It’s only the middle of the day. I would have been perfectly content waiting until after whatever movie you’ve picked out for us this evening.’

She’s a vision, her messy hair falling across her shoulders, dressed in an old Rolling Stones t-shirt and a comfy pair of short shorts that cling tightly to her ass. They’d played a game of tennis earlier and he certainly hadn’t been complaining about the view whenever she bent down to pick up another tennis ball. Now, he runs his hands up under her t-shirt, over her stomach and round her back.

‘Well,’ he says, pretending to be disappointed, ‘if that’s how you feel, I guess I’ll go back to my book.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ she says breathily, straddling his lap properly and grinding into him. He takes one hand out from under her shirt and pushes it into her hair instead, pulling her head firmly down towards his until their lips meet.

They kiss passionately, desperately, Taylor moaning into his mouth, breaking apart only to pull off each other’s t-shirts. She’s still moving back and forth on his lap and driving him wild. He’s almost fully hard by this point, and suddenly he stands up, taking her by surprise. She’s still wrapped around him, her long bare legs encircling his waist.

‘We’re going back to bed,’ he says firmly.

They could just have sex where they are, or on one of the many other couches downstairs - they’ve done it plenty of times before - but he has a sudden urge to show off to her a little, give her a practical demonstration of the benefits of all the working out he’s been doing during lockdown. He carries her through the house and up the stairs to their bedroom as she bites his earlobe and kisses his neck in a very distracting manner.

He lowers her onto their bed, climbing on top of her to kiss her again. ‘You’re still wearing far too many clothes,’ he murmurs into her ear. She shivers in anticipation - he knows how much his voice turns her on when it’s right in her ear like this - and lifts her arms above her head in response, allowing him to pull her sports bra off and turn his attention to her breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples. She gasps as he aggressively sucks a hickey onto her underboob, pushing her hips up against his body in an effort to seek out some much-needed friction.

‘Joe, please,’ she begs. ‘Enough with all this teasing, I need you now.’

He smirks, pressing his hips firmly down into hers, stopping her grinding motion. ‘Well, since you asked so nicely…’

He draws back to kneel on the floor at the side of the bed, pulling her hips towards him. He can practically hear her heart thudding in her chest as he hooks his long fingers under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them off in one motion along with her underwear. As he pushes her thighs apart and drapes her legs over his shoulders, he can see that she’s soaking wet. He decides to cut out the teasing, having made her wait for long enough already, gripping her hips and going straight for her clit.

The sound she makes in response is almost enough to make him come then and there, but he’s made of stronger stuff than that. As he continues, he can hear her breath catching in her throat, feel her perfect thighs tightening around his head, her body squirming under his attentions as she gets closer and closer to orgasm. Before long she’s coming, her whole body shuddering and her back arching off the bed as she moans out uncontrollably, ‘oh, Joe.’

He works her through her orgasm until eventually he looks up from between her legs to see her lying with her head thrown back, breathing heavily, hands clutching the sheets on either side of her, and a blissed-out expression on her face. She’s radiant, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he feels a surge of satisfaction at being the only person allowed to bring her to this state.

‘Fuck,’ she mumbles deliriously, her cheeks flushed red. ‘That was so good, babe.’

But they’re not done yet, because he’s as desperate for her as she is for him. Pulling his sweatpants and boxers off, he climbs back onto the bed and hovers over her, repositioning them so that her head is on the pillow now. Taylor whines softly as he pushes into her, clearly still sensitive from the high she’s just had, so he starts off at a gentle pace. She feels so so good around him, and he nuzzles into her neck and groans softly into her ear. He loves feeling connected to her like this, their bodies intertwined and her hands in his hair. He lifts himself back off her slightly to look into her eyes.

‘s okay,’ she whispers to him, ‘you can go harder.’ He notices her gaze lingering slightly on his arms, which have bulked up noticeably in the last few months. He suppresses a grin. If that’s what she’s after, that’s what she’ll get.

Without any warning, he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head, thrusting into her with a newfound aggression. She moans, her mouth falling open and her eyes rolling back as she hitches her thighs up higher around his waist. She writhes in pleasure underneath him as he hits her spot, taking advantage of the new angle to penetrate her more deeply. With her hands restrained, she can only tighten herself around him and respond to every stroke by undulating her hips up into him. ‘Don’t you dare stop,’ she gasps, ‘I’m so close, Joe.’

The desperation in her voice turns him on even more. He can feel himself getting close, so close, and he quickly moves one of his hands down to her clit, repositioning the other one so that it’s still pinning down both of her wrists. ‘Are you going to come for me, Tay?’ he asks, his voice low and commanding. The combination of his fingers, his relentless thrusting, and his voice pushes her over the edge for a second time, and he feels her whole body shaking and clinging onto him as she comes hard.

The sensation of her body clenching around him is enough to make him explode as well, and he collapses on top of her, finally releasing her hands. She winds her arms around his shoulders and through his hair, which by this point is a complete mess, as he lies with his head on her chest, both of them slowly getting their breath back and letting their heart rates come back down to normal.

Joe can feel Taylor smiling against the top of his head. ‘Sorry for tearing you away from your book, babe,’ she says cheekily. ‘I’ll have to make you some more of my - how did you describe it? - orgasmic focaccia to make it up to you.’

He laughs at her silliness as they both get up to look for their clothes. ‘That’s okay, love, you’re good enough to eat on your own.’ Taylor snorts and pretends to smack him on the arm with her shorts, but she can’t resist replying, ‘In that case, maybe I can arrange a special dessert for you after dinner tonight.’

[thechekhov]

Hi Chekhov! Really enjoying your white diamond au! I had a quick art question: How do you start comissions? I've been improving my drawing skills and thinking about drawing for others after having fun in artfight, but I don't know where to start? How much to charge, how to get paid, etc. Do you have any tips? Hope you're doing well! :)

Alright, since a few people have asked, I’ve decided to put together a few things about how to get started on commissions - what you need, what you should make, and how to keep things organized. 

This will get a little long, so I’ll divide it into 4 main sections:

1) Draw Art - Getting started

2) Get Commissioned - Making a commission sheet, Advertising

3) ??? - Communicating, Setting Limits, Running the Business

4) Profit - Pricing Yourself and Getting Paid

* Disclaimer: I’m an artist, so this How-To will be illustration-focused. I’m sure many of these tips can apply to ANY types of commissions, but I will be focusing on the type I know best. If you are proficient in other types of commissions for other types of art - music commissions, photography, etc - feel free to chime in and leave a comment or make your own tutorial!

1) Draw Art

I think this is probably the most obvious part, but it needs to be said:

Before you start making art for other people, you must first be comfortable making art in general.

I’m not saying your art has to be Disney-quality, or industry-level! Not at all. 

BUT! You must be comfortable creating what you sell. If you try to sell something you have little confidence in, you will stress yourself out and possibly end up losing time AND money.

Don’t shoot for the moon if you haven’t landed on it even once. Sell what you know you’re good at. Your commissions don’t HAVE to include full-body illustrations if you don’t know how to draw feet/solid stances. Limit yourself to what you can do.

Things you need to should probably have before starting commissions:

1. Access to art materials or a fully downloaded art program

DO NOT - Use a free tutorial version that will expire in a month and leave you without a way to draw! If you are having trouble finding a program, try free ones like MediBang Paint Pro. 

2. Free time to complete the amount of commissions you want to take.

DO NOT - Take on or offer commissions if you KNOW you’re going to be overwhelmed with school or personal life for the next 2+ months. Pace yourself, otherwise you’ll burn out, get stressed, and get discouraged.

3. A reliable way to communicate with your customers like a commissions-only email 

DO NOT - Use your friend/family/college email. It’s hard to keep track of things as it is, and creating new emails is easy and free. And keep it professional if you can! Not many people will reach out to dong-wiggles20434 to ask for a design. Ideally, your email should be close to your brand - however you want to brand yourself. Usernames are fine!)

DO NOT - Use Instagram/Twitter/Tumblr to collect commission info unless you are ready to do the organizing yourself. Some people make it work, but in my experience, if you use these SNS sites to communicate with friends and network... you’re going to be losing commission inquiries right and left and accidentally ignoring people. Email is much easier to organize and sort into folders.

4. A portfolio or at least 2-3 pieces of each type of art you’re planning to sell. 

DO NOT - Advertise commissions without having any examples of the art you plan to sell. People will find it difficult to trust you if you can’t even give them a vague idea of what sort of drawing they’ll be getting. 

Disclaimer: These are not hard ‘do not’s. If you have had a different experience, I respect that. I’m simplifying for the sake of streamlining this advice. 

.

2) Get Commissioned

So - you have your art, you have your art program, and you’ve got all the time in the world. That means.... that’s right! It’s time to let the world know you’re taking commissions.

One of the most common ways artists signal to their audience that they can do commissions is by creating a commissions sheet. There are MANY ways to make this - and they range from simple and doodly ones to VERY complex designs. For example, here’s mine! 

There are many ways to organize a commission sheet. At its core, a commission sheet should display the types of art you WANT to be commissioned to make. Let’s go over a few ways they can be done!

#1.... Body Portion Dividers!

This sheet is most common with those who want to capitalize on drawing people and characters. If you want to draw lots of characters, this is a great way to offer several tiers of pricing based on how much of their character your customers want to see. 

#2... Complexity Scale

If you’re open to drawing many things but want to base your pricing off of how complex something is, you can split your tiers into done-ness. This type of commission is popular with those that draw characters AND animals, furries, etc.

#3....  Style and Type

If you’re more on the design side of things, or if you have various niche art styles that you can’t quite lump together, display a variety of your skills alongside each other! It helps if all the ones you have can be organized under a common customer - like those looking to advance their own business and get logos, websites, or mascots made for them!

.

3) ???

You got your first commission... what happens now???

Well, ideally you have the time, tools and motivation to make things happen! Now all you have to do is... sit down and... draw.......

I’m going to say something that may be a little controversial: 

Commissions aren’t fun. 

No, no, hear me out: I have fun doing commissions! I genuinely enjoy drawing characters and coming up with designs. But even with all that said, commissions are, first and foremost: WORK

I’m not saying this to discourage you, I’m saying this to keep things realistic. When I first began commissions, I thought it would be just like any other type of drawing. I would sit down, imagine a thing, draw it... it would be fun! 

But then I realized that I couldn’t just draw what I wanted - another person had an idea in mind and had asked me to do it. I stressed over getting the design correct from descriptions. I stressed over not having the right reference for the pose the commissioner wanted. I stressed over not being able to draw the leg right in the way I had promised I would do. I stressed about billing. I stressed about digital money transfers. It was difficult, and time-consuming, and I did not enjoy it. At all. 

And a part of that is definitely on the commissioner - we, as artists, NEED to demand proper references or descriptions. We, as artists, NEED to limit the amount of changes we’re going to make at the flick of a finger. We NEED to demand clear instructions and set boundaries. That’s also super important. 

But also - don’t be discouraged if you find yourself exhausted drawing your first commission. MANY artists go through this. Adjust your rules, fix up your limits, practice putting your foot down on finicky commissioners who expect you to read their mind! It does get easier, but you have to communicate and put in the effort and act as your own manager AND your own customer service AND your own accountant. That’s what you’re looking at. 

Good limits and boundaries to set: 

Limit the amount of changes a person can ask to make. “I want blue hair.” Next email: “No wait, yeah, make it red.” Next email: “Actually I changed my mind, can I get the blue but like, lighter?” Next email: “No, not that light.” ... At some point, we have to stop. I personally allow 2-3 changes on the final stages of a commission before I start refusing or start asking for extra money.

Demand clear instructions and/or references. If something isn’t described, you have to take artistic liberty and design it, but that’s difficult! And if the customer is not happy with it but can’t tell you more? That’s not your problem - the burden of reference is on THEM. You cannot read their mind, and that’s not your fault.

Get at least half the payment up front! This is a good balance between the ‘pay before art’ and the ‘pay after art’ conundrum that will limit the amount of woes between artist and customer. (I’ll touch upon this a little more in the Profit section.)

Organization:

Where possible, create good habits! Tag your emails and organize your folders. I have a tag on my emails for active and finished commissions. I also keep my emails on Unread until I have time to sit down and properly look at/reply to them.

My Commissions in the folder are also organized chronologically and I mark down which ones are paid and which ones are not.

(I understand not everyone can do this, but if you want to give it a try, it does make things easier in the long run. Again, this advice is just what I have found personally helps.)

One last thing - I do not want to shame ANYONE for taking their time with commissions! Commissions are complex, and they take time and work. You can draw in 8 hours, but some things take research, materials, etc. Some illustrations realistically take up to half a year, or, depending on what’s involved, several years!!

THAT BEING SAID - it’s good manners to be upfront with your customers about how long you expect the commission to take. If you think you’re busy, just say that! Explain that you have a lot going on, and you will probably take (insert time period here).

And if your commissioners are worried, work out a system to keep them updated! I send my commissioners updates when I finish the lineart/flat colors/etc and I try to be clear about how long everything will take. I try to estimate with a +3-5 days buffer to give myself extra time... and recently I’ve been using it. Always say a bigger number than you think you’ll need. 

If someone wants a rushed commission... make them pay more. If ANYONE wants a commission done ‘by the end of the week’ - that’s an automatic rush-job for me because I’m juggling an irl job and several commissions at once. I WILL charge a rush fee and I won’t feel bad about it. 

If someone wants a commission within 24 hours...... Well, they better be paying you 3x your normal amount, or more. And remember - you CAN refuse! It’s perfectly reasonable to say ‘No, sorry, that sort of turnaround time is not realistic for me.’

Food For Thought - Invoicing

Many artists I’ve commissioned in the past have not used Invoicing, but I’ve recently begun to fill out invoices and file them in my Commissions folder just to keep track of things. It’s not necessary until you start getting into the Small Business side of Freelancing, but it’s not a bad idea to get into the habit early in case you might need to do it later for tax purposes. 

Here’s what my Invoice looks like, for example. 

I’ve optimized it to help me remember who, what, and how much is involved! It also contains important info for my customers like where to send the money.

Which brings us to...

.

4) Profit

One of the hardest things for artists is pricing themselves. I’m not going to tell you which way is BEST - there is no BEST way, only the best way for YOU. 

One of the options available to you is pricing by the hour. It includes averaging out how long it takes you to draw a specific type of art (whatever you’re offering as a commission) and multiplying that by an hourly wage you’ve decided on.

When you do this, I stress - do NOT price yourself below minimum wage if you can help it. When you first start out, aim for the $15/hour mark and adjust accordingly. 

Other ways to price your art:

- Per complexity: Portraits vs full body should be scaled based on how difficult you find one vs. the other. You can also easily decide on a price for a sketch and double it for lineart, triple it for full color, etc.

- Per type: Look up for industry prices for website design and logo design. They may surprise you! You don’t have to charge that much, but it helps to keep things in perspective. 

It’s okay to change your prices! Keep your commission sheet image handy so you can update the amounts as you grow. :)

Payment up front or after completion?

Some artist take full payment up front. Some only demand payment after they’ve finished and sent out the piece. I personally think these are both risky for everyone involved. 

I recommend doing at least HALF of the payment BEFORE you start the commission. Calculate your full price and ask for half before you start working on it in earnest, to make sure the person can actually pay you. Then, when they receive the full piece and are satisfied, they can complete the payment. 

I personally work in this structure:

> Someone emails me with their idea/reference

> I send back a rough draft sketch that shows the idea/pose (only takes me 10-20 minutes so not a huge loss if they ghost) and quote them a price

> They can pay the full thing upfront OR pay half

> I finish the commission and send updates when I do the lineart/colors to double check anything so they have multiple chances to spot any errors

> If the person paid only half on completion, I send them a low-res version of the finished thing, they finish up their payment and THEN I send them the full-res version plus any other filetypes/CYMK proofs, etc. 

Many of the people who commission me pay me up front even though I offer they pay half - and I’m really flattered that they trust me that much! Because of that, I feel encouraged to update them frequently and ask for their input as I work, so they have the peace of mind knowing I’m actually doing their commission. 

Great, but how do I get PAID????

There are NUMEROUS ways - these days money is relatively easy to transfer over digital means, and you have a few options. 

Paypal is perhaps one of the oldest digital wallets and is geared towards businesses. By setting up a PayPal and connecting it to your debit card of bank account, you can tunnel a pathway from your online business directly into your hands in a matter of days. 

Paypal also offers Invoicing - you make an invoice, price it and send it to the person’s email and they can pay whatever way they need! (It also allows partial payments.)

Pros: transfers from PayPal to bank account are free, and take a couple of business days. It also has no upper limit to the amount of money you can move in/out each month. It can force refunds due to the nature of its business-oriented payment system.

Cons: Because it’s used by businesses for larger transactions, PayPal may demand a more rigorous proof of your identity. It may also take longer to set up and be harder to get used to. I’ve also heard that they can be a hassle when it comes to closing your account. 

Venmo is another type of digital wallet that acts much like paypal, except for a few key differences - it is NOT made for businesses (so depending on whether you’re officially registered as a freelancer, you may not be able to use it). I personally don’t use venmo, so I cannot speak to its usefulness, but I know a few people that use it for casual transactions. It’s easy and quick! :) 

Keep in mind that you cannot force a refund over venmo! The transactions are final.

There’s also CashApp, GooglePay (which could load gift cards but also allows peer-to-peer transactions) and I’ve heard good things about Due, though I’ve never personally used it.

Other ways to pay: I’ve had people pay me over Patreon by upping their pledge, and I’ve had people pay me over Ko-Fi by donating a specific amount. 

Many people even use Etsy - the website specialized for independent small businesses selling art - by listing their commission sheet and offering up several ‘slots’ of commissions, which allows you to track taxes AND allows your clients to pay using whatever they feel comfortable with.

If you’re in Canada, you can even pay by emailing money directly from bank account to bank account - check whether your country offers this type of service! There’s no shortage of ways to move money in the digital world.

Just like everything else, there’s no singular ‘Best’ way. It just depends on what works for you.

I think that just about wraps it up! I can’t quite think of what else to put here - but I’m sure other artists will chime in with their own advice. :) I’m very sorry this became so long but I hope it was helpful! 

Obligatory Disclaimer: I’m not qualified to give legal or accounting counsel. Please double-check the laws in your own country/state in regards to taxation of freelancing work and do your own research. If you are underage, DEFINITELY get an adult’s permission before you start doing commissions, and have the adult help you through the process.   

. . . . . . . . . . . . 

OTHER POSTS YOU MAY FIND USEFUL:

An Extended Post on Pricing Yourself for Commissions

Dealing with Imposter Syndrome/Feeling ‘Not Good Enough’

Growing Your Audience

Advice for Starting Digital Art

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

-

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash. 

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her. 

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry." 

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw. 

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..." 

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.' 

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand." 

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...' 

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan." 

There is a soft chuckle in her mind. 

"What's so funny? You love plans." 

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile. 

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.' 

-

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable. 

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last. 

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow. 

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view. 

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--" 

"You've done what?" 

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--" 

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..." 

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe." 

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword." 

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to." 

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm. 

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that." 

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave. 

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight. 

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things." 

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.' 

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now." 

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.' 

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...' 

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

-

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in. 

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd." 

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours. 

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

-

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing. 

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to. 

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

-

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago. 

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you." 

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again." 

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..." 

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool." 

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead." 

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--" 

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--" 

"You're no family of mine." 

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet." 

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you." 

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?" 

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat. 

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?" 

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays." 

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?' 

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

-

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think." 

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..." 

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her. 

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today." 

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail. 

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write. 

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts 

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk. 

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

-

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this... 

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company. 

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair. 

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case. 

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner. 

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.' 

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.' 

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely. 

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.' 

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man." 

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.' 

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace. 

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say. 

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives. 

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

[tobiosmilktea]

red ink — semi eita

2.5k words | genre/s: tattoo shop!au, friends with benefits, smut | warning/s: uhh badly written nsfw | pairing: musician!semi x tattoo artist!reader

↪︎ in which famous musician, semi eita is a regular at your tattoo parlor and only gets work done from you and you only. the only catch is that fans only know that much and definitely not the fact that you and him are friends with benefits.

a/n: happy belated bday for my good friend @kitsunetea. here’s my shameless second (third?) attempt at writing smut as a late bday gift bc fuck it, amirite haha ✋🏻😔

please take it easy on this one,, this is singlehandedly one of the worst nsfw pieces i’ve ever written and i just want to apologize in advance...

semi had forgotten the tingling feeling of a tattoo gun striking away at his skin. he liked how each indent of minuscule pinpricks would leave a mark on him forever. the pain, though not enough to make him grit his teeth like the first time around when he impulsively got one on the side of his ribcage, was actually quite nice. the sensation was almost addictive, however, it wasn’t as nearly as addictive as you.

it was no shock nor surprise that each reveal of his newest tattoo was always done by you. most would understand the practicality of going to one tattoo artist consistently. if anything, most of his fans would come to believe that he simply just liked your style of tattooing and artistry, but no one would even claim to think that you two had even a pinch of something going on behind the scenes. it wasn’t like he would always stop by your shop all disguised and covered up in a black cap and a face mask just in case there were any hidden onlookers that would blatantly assume the worst.

the worst being that semi eita, the nation’s current rockstar heartthrob, was hooking up with some obscure, back alley tattoo artist.

but it was safe to say he was as addicted to you as he was addicted to the infamous pain of receiving a tattoo.

it had been ages since his last tattoo. this one especially was placed on his right forearm of a snake that spiraled up and around his wrist in red ink.

times like these—here, where your eyes are focused and locked onto his skin, making sure to capture each intricate detail, brows drawing together in concentration as you made swift and accurate runs over his skin—came to realize how much he missed the feeling of getting tattooed. but most importantly, he missed the feeling of you. the warmth of your skin, body blazing underneath him as your breath tickled at the nape of his neck.

at moments like these where he could just stare at your entirety for an hour and a half, admiring how the low lights cast shadows upon each and every curve of your body was enough to keep him occupied through the process.

you lifted your tattoo gun up as your other gloved hand wiped the area clean from any residual ink. you took one last look at your work, clean and well-done.

it was pretty good if you could say so yourself. the linework was easily one of your best, and the shading was even better. no wonder semi liked getting work done by you so much (other than the fact that you two are friends with benefits—he would joke, “i’ll give you the best night of your life and you can give me a free tattoo in return.”)

you’ve never seen that man back out of a joke that quickly in your life. regardless, you still found yourself taking him up on that offer, still paying for his tattoos as a good customer should. support local businesses as they always say.

“alright,” you say, breaking the last ten minutes of silence as you cleaned him up. “you already know the drill–gently wash it with warm soap and water at least twice a day, pat dry, and then apply ointment.”

semi looked up at you once you stood up to grab a box of saniderm from another station. he stands up, making his way to one of the large mirrors on the wall to inspect his tattoo as a smile crept onto his lips.

“how is it?”

“it’s perfect,” he says, “as always.”

“well, you shouldn’t expect anything less from me.”

“you know, you don’t have to be so professional all the time. the shop’s already closed and no one else is here but us.”

you give him a pointed look as you take out a strip of saniderm large enough to cover the circumference of his forearm. you press the thin plasticine carefully around his freshly bruised skin, peeling the protective backing off of the clear bandage. “technically, you’re still a customer. can’t really give you any more special treatment.”

“says the girl who literally gives me tattoos after the shop closes,” semi fires back.

“or you could actually come in during normal hours to get one instead of coming a minute before we close just so we can hook up,” you deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you as you turn around and made your way towards the front desk.

semi doesn’t miss a single beat in following right behind you, stopping in front of the counter as you were on the other side with the cash register.

“well if you didn’t want to fuck in the back room anymore, you could’ve just told me,” says semi as you tap away at the screen in front of you, “we can go to my apartment instead.”

“paying with card again?” you ask, completely ignoring the way your body heated up all of a sudden.

the musician in front of you nods, handing you his card quickly. you take the thin plastic out of his hand and swiped it in one quick motion, handing it to him once the machine properly reads his card. within seconds, the receipt comes out of the printer. you snatch it from the opening before shoving it into semi’s chest.

“so what do you say?” he presses, continuing to follow you around like a dog as you serpentine your way back to your station.

you let out a sigh, huffing as you start cleaning up, “about what?”

“about me taking you home. maybe spend the night?”

you swerve around to face him, a spray bottle of disinfectant in one hand and paper towels in the other. you give him a coy smile, “you’re funny,” you huff before pushing past him to spray the chair then wiping it down.

“come on, (y/n), it’s been a while since we’ve last done anything together.” semi gives you a mischievous pout, “don’t you miss me?”

his words immediately flush out your cheeks as you recalled the memory so vividly, it was like you could almost feel semi’s large hands exploring every inch of your body, memorizing every dip and curve like it was second nature. to think that all happened in the storage closet while there were people still in the shop. the simple thought of your last rendezvous with him went straight to your heat.

no wonder you haven’t done anything with semi in a while after that little stunt he pulled almost a month ago.

in order for a tattoo shop to run properly, it needed to be completely sanitary to prevent any health complications considering your job was to literally puncture tattoo ink deep into people’s skin, the risk of infection runs high in situations like these. so by law, fucking in a tattoo shop, regardless if it was in the backroom, was completely out of regulations. not to mention the scandals to potentially spread like wildfire that one of the world’s favorite musicians being at the root of all this.

those poor fangirls, you thought. drama was the last thing you wanted.

“so?” you say, trying to pull yourself together as you finish sanitizing the chair. you turn to face him, hoping that he couldn’t see the way your cheeks were burning up knowing he would only keep up the teasing. “why don’t you just fuck one of you groupies or something?”

semi scoffs, “i’d never stoop that low. besides, you’re the only one i’ve been with ever since this started happening between us.”

“good for you for not being a whore, i guess?”

you brush past him again, this time cleaning up the mess on your table. placing the spray bottle of water, rolls of paper towels, bottles of red ink, and your gloves away–you discard anything else in the bin.

“don’t be like that,” he sighs as he comes and wraps a strong arm around your waist. he rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose tickling at your skin as his mouth latches onto your neck. “i for sure missed you.”

“eita,” you say, attempting to hold back a moan as he nipped at the sweet spot on your neck. despite your efforts, quiet mewls escape your lips as his thumbs rubbed circles over your hips. “i-i still have to clean up. let me finish and then maybe we could—”

without another word, semi lets go of you and immediately starts getting to work, gathering up all the one-time-use disposable items and dumping them all in the trash. he moves quickly, rubbing down every nook and cranny of your station until it’s squeaky clean. your eyes widen at his state. it was clear he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so he can finally have you all to himself.

did he really yearn for you this much?

in just a few minutes, the job is already done. clean and spotless and ready for tomorrow’s workday as semi gives you a hopeful look. “is that all?”

you hold back a smile as you motion towards the boxes stacked up near the entrance of the backroom, “i still have to put those away and then we’re all done for the day.”

the man doesn’t even let you finish as he’s already making his way down the hallway. There was no sign of hesitancy in his actions as he grabbed two of the boxes, one stacked on top of the other as he barged into the backroom. you follow him in with only one box in your hand as you placed them in their respective places on the large industrial shelving.

you let out a grunt as you picked up the last box and inserting it into its spot. you sigh, dusting your hands as you turn around to face semi, “alright, we’re all d—”

semi doesn’t hesitate for a second to push you up against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with such desperation and fervor. he had been anticipating this for the past two hours. from the moment he walked in, to the moment you finished tattooing him; all he wanted was you.

you moan into his lips, his hand cupping your jaw while the fingers of the other were already working their magic. his touch greatly juxtaposed the zeal in the way he kissed you deeply, dipping his tongue between your soft lips as his finger, slightly calloused from years of guitar playing, gently trailed their way up your shirt.

there was a brief moment where you had to pull away from him in order to catch your breath. chest rising and falling rapidly along with the quickening beat of your heart, semi dived down to your neck, marking you with dark red bruising to anywhere he had access to. his large palms rubbed your sides before squeezing at your breasts to elicit a pleasurable groan from you. the pent-up heat within you only built the more he played with your body, fingers flicking at your nipples.

“what happened to taking me back to your place?” you asked breathlessly.

“i couldn’t wait any longer,” he mutters on your warm skin, feeling his soft lips twitch into a lopsided grin as before you knew it, he was already tugging your shirt over your head. “jump,” he says and you don’t miss a beat.

he catches you quickly, hands palming your ass as he steers you towards one of the supply tables. pushing away loose items and paperwork off to the sides.

semi’s lips meet yours again as he fiddles with the button and zipper of your jeans, diving his hand inside. he palms your sex, the pads of his fingers teasing up and down your slit as his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit. your moan muffles into his shoulder, breathe heavy and uneven.

you couldn’t seem to catch your breath as he dipped two fingers into you, pumping them in and out slowly. it was a nice change of pace from earlier, and yet you couldn’t help but let out mewls of impatience as you ground your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

semi knew what the hell he was doing.

he was a musician after all. his entire career was literally built off of his innate ability to play the guitar that each expertly placed finger and movement that accompanied it was guaranteed to send waves of pleasure throughout your entire body. he was good at what he did and he knew it. he didn’t need to see the way you were shaking under him, coating his hand with your juices, or have to hear your addicting moans to know you felt so, so good.

“eugh, eita–” your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you, rubbing the spongy spot deep within you in the best way possible. you curse under your breath, savoring the pleasure as you felt your release coiling in your abdomen.

“you’re close aren’t you?” semi didn’t even have to ask to know as your walls tightened around him. you nod hastily, eyes coating in lust and the desire to feel the release as you look at him.

the look that you gave him as enough to send him over the edge, his thoughts blurring once he quickens his pace, his middle and ring finger pistoning in and out of you.

you let out a cry, practically trembling under him. “oh my god, oh my god.”

with his other hand, he finds your clit again, rubbing you over the edge. it was all too much. from the mixing cacophony of the most obscene and vulgar sounds of sex emanating from the backroom to the absolute thrill of how good semi was making you feel—you were ready to feel that euphoric glow.

“fuck,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. “shit, baby, i’m gonna—”

semi doesn’t mind the sting of your scratches at his body as he was too busy paying mind to you cumming all over his hand. gushing fluid escapes from you in waves as semi continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace matching with the way your walls pulsated around him.

as you came down from your high, your arms that rested on the table to hold you up felt weak. almost immediately, your body slumps onto semi as he licks your pleasure off his fingers. you bury your face into the crook of his neck as you both stayed there for a few beats to catch your breaths, savoring the unique afterglow whenever you were with semi.

perhaps it wasn’t so bad doing this type of thing with him a bit more often. you didn’t mind what you had with him right now even if you two were just friends with benefits. you liked what you had now and asking for more would certainly cause a strain you don’t want to happen so soon.

your hand reaches up to run through his soft hair.

“hey,” you softly say. he only responds with a hum, “what about you?” you ask as your eyes cast down to the straining tent in his jeans.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he places a few kisses on your cheek and down to your neck before placing one of your lips. “let’s continue this at home, i have a surprise for you.”

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @anejuuuuoy

[wherethewordsare]

Wash the Day Away

I decided to try something new and I wrote some over indulgent smut.🙈🙈🙈 

CW: Explicit Sexual Content. Mind the tags kiddos. It’s gonna get Spicy™

It had been a very terrible no good day and all Jaskier wanted was to go home, flop into Geralt’s lap and watch bad television with a hand in his hair. To top off his very terrible no good day, when he got home he remembered it was Tuesday and Geralt was at the gym with his brothers and then would probably go out with them for the evening. 

He groaned as he stripped out of his clothes, and made his way for the bathroom, groaning again when the cold tile was unforgiving under his feet, chilling his toes. The water seemed to take forever to heat up but when it finally did, he stepped under and slumped against the wall, his eyes sliding shut. 

All he had to do was shower and then he could climb into bed and by time Geralt got home, he’d get to spoon up next to him and pass the fuck out. His hands worked out the lather in his hair before he leaned his forehead back against the tile, letting the heat of the water seep into his bones. 

When the curtain behind him shifted he let out a yelp, holding up the shampoo bottle as his only defense before the water cleared from his eyes and he saw Geralt standing there. 

“Oh, hello,” Jaskier swallowed lamely, turning to press his forehead back to the wall. “I figured you’d be out with the guys until much later.” He huffed, willing his heart rate to settle. It had been a very nearly impossibly terrible no good day and he felt jittery and frayed. 

Large warm hands wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him gently until he was pressed against Geralt’s chest, a scruffy chin sliding over his shoulder. “You didn’t text much today. Thought you might have had a bit of a day,” Geralt pressed a kiss to his neck, his lips twitching slightly. “Sorry I spooked you,” another kiss to the ball of Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Tension was already sliding out of him that he hadn’t realized he had been holding onto. Jaskier sighed and leaned back, his hands coming up to lace through Geralt’s. “I want to quit.” He groused, feeling petulant. 

“No you don’t. You love your job.” Geralt’s hands slid up and down his sides in long soothing motions, though they kept Jaskier close to him as he kissed and nipped at his skin. 

“I do love my job, but the people I work with are the worst and I hate it,” he couldn’t seem to maintain the same level of agitation he had felt when he had gotten home. “This is working a bit too well and I wonder if I should worry you’ve tricked me somehow,” Jaskier chuckled. He tried to turn in Geralt’s arms but he was stopped by fingers digging into his hips. “Oh ho ho, really?” 

“Hmm,” was all he got in response as teeth grazed near the top of his shoulder. Geralt slid one hand up from Jaskier’s hip, pressing gently at his back until he was leaning against the wall again, his forehead pressed to the tile as Geralt left a trail of hot wet open mouthed kisses down his spine. He felt as Geralt slid to his knees behind him, his hands cupping the globes of Jaskier ass as he bit into his side gently. 

“Holy fucking hell, Geralt,” he breathed, squirming slightly. There was a soft chuckle and another kiss at his hip before Geralt’s hand slipped between his cheeks and began to tease lightly at his hole. Jaskier nearly jumped at the sudden contact, his eyes fluttering. “I’m going to start having more bad days if I get to come home to this.” 

“Or, you could just ask,” Geralt deadpanned even as he lightly pressed against Jaskier’s entrance with his thumb. He hummed against Jaskier’s skin again as he slowly dipped his head down the curve of Jaskier’s thigh, simply teasing him now. 

“I don’t know if I’ll survive to the next time, Melitele, aah,” Jaskier pressed back eagerly into Geralt’s touch trying not to whine as he felt his prick grow more and more interested while Geralt’s hand roamed everywhere but where Jaskier was starting to need it the most. 

Behind him, Geralt only chuckled, working his way in a series of bites that would certainly leave a trail in Jaskier’s skin that he would feel for days. That thought alone made him twitch. It wasn’t until he felt Geralt’s hot breath just on his tailbone that he truly began to squirm. 

“Geralt, please, fuck, mercy.” Suddenly he didn’t feel steady on his knees and Geralt must have sensed it too because before he could say anything else, strong arms wrapped up his body, holding him steadily as Geralt swiped his tongue over Jaskier’s rim, causing him to gasp. Jaskier dropped his forehead to the tile with a thud and did everything in his power to stay upright. 

Geralt started slowly, drawing out each press of his tongue, his fingers twitching irregularly against Jaskier’s ribs as he held him up. The water was still blissfully hot but was nothing compared to where Geralt’s mouth worked over his entrance. When he finally pressed in it was all Jaskier could do not to collapse as his knees threatened to buckle. 

Resting his shoulders and chest against the cool tile, Jaskier reached behind him, his fingers sliding into soaked hair and tugging gently. It was all the encouragement Geralt needed before he was pressing his tongue in deeper, working Jaskier open. It left him breathless and needy, the slight burn of the stretch singing in his veins. 

One of Geralt’s hands on his ribs slid higher, finding Jaskier’s nipple to tease, tugging it until Jaskier was panting with effort, his still neglected cock jumping at the overwhelming sensation of being at Geralt’s complete mercy. He squeezed his eyes shut as his hips canted back, seeking more as words began to tumble from his lips, unbidden and unstoppable. 

“Geralt, fuck, so good. Gods, just… fuck need…” He moaned as Geralt pressed in, spreading Jaskier open on his tongue, teeth grazing from time to time on his sensitive skin making him jump and shiver and keen. Before too long, Geralt was pulling away, his forehead resting on the back of Jaskier’s thigh as calloused wide fingers probed gently at his slick hole. Jaskier pressed back into the touch, his head thrown back. “Geralt! Please,” he panted, not quite sure what it was he was asking for. 

Geralt seemed to know though as he pulled away from Jaskier just long enough for Jaskier to hear the snap of a bottle before the firm line of Geralt’s body was pressed against him again, his mouth back at Jaskier’s neck and shoulders, nipping and growling low into Jaskier’s ear. 

“Going to take you apart, sweetheart, and put you back together and do it all over again,” he murmured as slick fingers pressed into Jaskier, making his breath catch. 

“Fuck, you horny bastard. I was just trying to shower,” Jaskier tries but he’s leaning into every touch Geralt is giving him, his body trembling. Geralt only chuckled before a hand slid up to take Jaskier’s chin. His head was tilted up and back until he was in a filthy delicious kiss with Geralt, his heart hammering as Geralt worked him open with a second finger, almost too quickly but not nearly fast enough. He whimpered as Geralt stretched him open, his erection digging into Jaskier’s thigh. 

The water still ran hot and Jaskier felt like he might melt if Geralt kept this up. Just when he was about to start begging for Geralt to get on with it, he was turned abruptly and Geralt crowded him back against the tile, smirking at the noise of indignation Jaskier gave. 

“Was planning on fucking you instead if that’s alright,” Geralt’s hands slid under Jaskier’s thighs, lifting him with ease and pinning him against the cold tile. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, dear heart,” Jaskier groaned, tilting down slightly to kiss Geralt again, messy and uncoordinated as they shifted, trying to align their bodies properly. It wasn’t the most graceful sex they had ever had but it was quickly souring to the top of hottest. 

“Hmm,” was all the response he got as Geralt buried his face into Jaskier’s neck. He shifted his hips once more and the head of his cock bumped against Jaskier, making him shiver and squirm, needing more. Geralt got the hint, seemingly no longer in the mood to tease, he slowly pressed up into Jaskier, groaning as he bit down into his neck.

Jaskier’s fingers tangled into Geralt’s hair, tugging roughly as he started to move, pushing Jaskier up the wall slightly with every thrust. He wrapped his legs tightly around Geralt’s waist, clinging to him as best as he could. Their lips clashed together in something like an attempt at another kiss but ended up with them panting desperately into the same space, their foreheads pressing together as they chased their pleasures. 

Geralt’s fingers dug into Jaskier’s thighs pulling him up slightly, shifting him and the new angle made Jaskier see stars the next time Geralt slid home. He was winded and dizzy, his thighs trembling as he felt the heat start to coil tightly at the pit of his stomach. 

“Geralt, Geralt, please… So- fuck! So close!” He managed through a long low moan. Geralt only nodded slightly, his hips snapping up and making Jaskier cry out. It was too much and just the right amount of perfect, the weight of Geralt’s strength holding Jaskier easily against the tiled wall of their bathroom, the way he groaned every time Jaskier tightened around him, the perfect heat of the air wrapping around them. 

Within a few off rhythm thrusts, Jaskier was coming with a bitten off moan, his spend coating his chest where the water couldn’t get around Geralt’s broad shoulders. Geralt leaned into Jaskier, his forehead pressed to his shoulder as he gave in to a relentless pace for a moment, the heavy smacking of skin against skin ringing in the small space before he stilled, his body taught. He spilled into Jaskier with a litany of curses and half mumbled praise. He all but slumped into Jaskier who barely managed to catch himself let alone Geralt. 

They stood there leaning against the wall as the water behind them ran tepid, catching their breath. 

“Water’s getting cold,” Geralt said as if he hadn’t just left Jaskier completely shaken. 

“Well you’d still have hot water if you hadn’t been so preoccupied,” Jaskier shot back but there was about as much heat in it as there had been in the water. 

Geralt grinned as he pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder. Turning, he shut the water off and pulled back the curtain. They fell into an easy quiet as they got out and dried, finding themselves leaning into each others’ space more often than necessary to slowly kiss. Geralt just managed to get his sweatpants back on when he was backing Jaskier out of their bathroom, his hands on his hips, guiding him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jaskier chuckled, letting himself be kissed and manhandled, feeling far more relaxed than he had when he had gotten home. 

“I told you, sweetheart. Going to do it all over again,” Geralt gave him a wolfish grin as he scooped Jaskier up under the thighs, making him have to wrap himself around Geralt quickly or fall. 

He yelped slightly before dissolving into a fit of laughter as Geralt dropped him onto the bed before pouncing. 

It was going to be a wonderful very good night.