#and then i thought. you know what would make him worse. if the guy was a shapeshifter. shifted into kenobi.

[nadvs]

first prize desire (one-shot)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary your brother’s friend, rafe, is good at a lot of things. hiding his infatuation with you isn’t one of them. one night, you stop teasing him and finally give him what he’s been dreaming of.

tags college au where rafe and reader are varsity volleyball players. reader is a noncommittal f-girl. rafe is down bad for her. mentions of past infidelity. lots of angst and some light smut. not a happy ending.

» masterlist

note hello, i’m back!! a little while ago, i got an ask about a f-girl reader who’s been hurt in the past and is a little mean to rafe and i’m obsessed at the thought of him pining and lowkey being a simp for her?? this one goes out to my girlies with trust issues <3 divider credit.

You have to be doing it on purpose.

Rafe’s grip on his gym bag tightens as he steps out of the men’s locker room. The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud.

The girls’ team has the court now. You’re by the end line closest to him, only a few feet away as you stretch. You’re bent over with your back arched and he slowly paces towards the gym exit, his mouth going dry at the way you look.

The sight of you in those little shorts always throws his thoughts into a frenzy. Seeing your ass perched in the air like that makes him feel even more disoriented.

The varsity volleyball schedule is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has happened to him. Twice a week, Rafe steps out into the gym, exhausted from practice, to see you warming up, always tormenting him with how good you look.

You stepped into his life a few months ago at the beginning of the school year. His friend had mentioned that his sister would be starting college and that she plays volleyball, too.

The first time you came over to the house he shares with your brother and a few other guys on the team, he knew he was going to like being around you.

Until he got to know what a tease you are.

You stand up from your stretch, placing your hands on your hips as you look over your shoulder.

“Hey, Rafe,” you sing-song, your voice sweet as sugar. His hair is wet from his post-practice shower, hanging over his forehead. “Your hair’s cute like that.”

He was right. You are doing it on purpose. You knew he was there and you purposely put yourself on display for him like that, like a treat he knows he can’t have. For fuck’s sake. He’s never wanted a girl this bad.

Rafe’s lips flatten as he nods in greeting, stopping in his tracks. You’re not sure if the rosy tint to his cheeks is a product of a rough practice or a distressed blush from having seen you in such a suggestive position.

“Are you coming to watch our game tomorrow?” you ask, just loud enough over the voices echoing through the gym.

Rafe steps closer. You adore it about him, how he always looks like he’s been hinging on a opportunity to talk to you.

“Should I?” he asks.

“Sure. I know you like any excuse to look at me,” you reply with a shrug.

He scoffs, a mix of incredulity and amusement. He’s obvious about how bad he wants you, he knows he is, and that’s why it makes it ten times worse that you toy with him like this.

“You never watch our games,” he responds.

“I’m a busy girl,” you laugh.

He knows that. And he wishes he didn’t. He wishes he didn’t have to see you jump from guy to guy, snuggled up to a different one at every other party, never staying long enough to call any of them your boyfriend.

A couple of weekends ago, Rafe had been one too many beers deep. Pressed against the wall at a house party, he gazed at you through heavy lids and asked if you were ever going to find a guy you liked enough to actually keep around. You laughed and told him, “I’m not the commitment type.”

“I’ll see if I can make it,” Rafe says, because even though he’s a goner when it comes to you, he tries to keep at least some dignity intact and feign indifference.

“Hope you can,” you respond, smirking. His eyes go a little brighter. You know that means he’ll come.

You’re a whirlwind, a storm constantly passing over him, leaving him spinning. Time and time again, he gets just close enough to the edge of thinking he has a chance with you, and then you pull back.

Your flirty looks and dirty jokes are maddening and any time he’s tried to do anything about it, you’d say you’re not going to complicate things with your brother’s friend, especially when he lives with him.

Off limits, you’d once whispered in his ear at a party, but your body was pressed up against his so tightly that it didn’t seem like you wanted a boundary between you two at all.

Rafe’s name echoes from behind him. He turns to see your brother leaving the locker room, donning a confused expression.

“You leaving without me?” he laughs, walking towards him.

Rafe would never tell him that he purposely rushed out to get a glimpse of you.

⫘⫘⫘

The minutes before the start of a game is when you feel the most pressure. More than during the actual match. You know if you don’t feel proud of your performance, you fall into a funk nobody can pull you out of.

You rub your palms together as you wait for your turn in a spiking drill. The other team just arrived, warming up on the other side of the court.

You thought you didn’t mind these opponents all that much. Their team is usually weaker than yours. But they have a new player and seeing her familiar face makes your blood boil.

Rafe makes it to the gym after class, two sets into the match. It’s 1-1 and the air is heavy with tension. The gym is quiet as he settles in the bleachers, the thumps of hands hitting the volleyball rolling across the court.

You’re panting as you hurry around, dodging your teammates while never letting the ball hit the floor.

You look more stressed than usual.

He almost gets right up again to leave, irritated at himself. This is the crap a boyfriend would do; come watch your games, worry about the anger etched on your pretty face. Yet all he gets called is a friend while you entertain other guys right in front of him.

But then he smirks a second later when he sees you frustratingly mutter something to your teammate after the opposing team wins a point.

Rafe revels in seeing your temper come out. It’s cute. And it makes him feel better about his.

A few minutes in, though, he sees anger flare up in you like never before. A girl on the opposing team blocks your spike and seems to murmur something to you.

You fight back, loud enough for him to hear. You snap at her to shut up. One of your teammates holds you back. The ref blows the whistle.

It’s a misconduct foul. Something’s up with you and he doesn’t know what.

The rest of the game has an added level of intensity. It results in a loss for the home team. You’re wearing the disappointment in your expression.

Rafe decides to leave. You always take your sweet time after a match and he’s not about to make an even bigger fool of himself by waiting outside for a girl who messes with him for wanting her so bad.

But still, because he’s so pathetically into you, he texts you later on: rough game. you good?

You don’t respond.

⫘⫘⫘

The next day, Rafe hasn’t gotten over you ignoring him. He’s not really one to let go of things all that quick.

And he’s had enough. Of the teasing and the flirting and the indifference you have towards him while all he does is long for you. You have all the power and he’s sick of it.

It’s not hard for him to find the girl you’d argued with on the court. It’s a matter of searching on her college’s athletic department website, learning her name, and finding her on social media.

He chats with her, invites her to his house party the next night, and because it’s easy for him to get any girl to agree to hang out with him, unless she’s you, she accepts.

He can’t wait for you to see him with her.

⫘⫘⫘

You make it to the house the next night, showing enough skin that makes Rafe’s stomach grow tight. You nudge your brother’s shoulder in greeting, then shuffle closer to Rafe see him nursing a beer.

“Hey,” you say over the music. He towers over you, a crease between his brows. He wears everything on his handsome face, incredibly easy to read.

“You mad at me for not texting back?” you ask playfully, squeezing his forearm. “Sorry. I was in a shitty mood after that game.”

“Why?” he asks, reluctantly softening up. You hardly ever show him this side of yourself. You’re usually a few drinks in if you do.

“Did you see that girl I yelled at?”

He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing with a nervous swallow.

“I know her,” you explain, “and she’s not very nice.”

“You’re not very nice,” Rafe jokes.

“Then imagine how bad she is if I’m the one calling her that,” you say with a soft laugh.

“What’d she do?” he asks.

As expected, you wave a dismissive hand, rolling your eyes, blocking him out.

“Nothing worth repeating,” you reply. You bring your hand up to his bicep, squeezing the hard muscle. “Did you go to the gym today?”

Rafe’s eyes dart down to his beer, the attention from you another hit to his bloodstream, a dopamine rush he’s been missing.

“Hit a PR,” he replies.

“Wow,” you flirt. “We should go to the gym together. You’d be a good personal trainer.”

“You couldn’t handle me,” he replies.

You bite your bottom lip, smiling up at him. Nobody gets your heart racing quite like Rafe does.

And it’s why you stay away from him. Getting involved with a brother’s friend is already a bad idea just because it could get messy, but really, it’s the effect he has on you that scares you away.

You’ve been burned. The summer before college started, you discovered your serious boyfriend had never really respected you. You’re pretty sure someone’s first love always leaves a wound. But finding out they were cheating on you the whole time leaves a scar that never closes back up all the way.

“I don’t know,” you reply, pushing away your thoughts. “Pretty sure you couldn’t handle me.”

Rafe’s pink lips part as he looks down again. He shuffles in place so faintly that it’s nearly imperceptible.

“Not like you’d give me a chance to try,” he mumbles with a defeated smile.

No. You wouldn’t. Because the more you get to know Rafe, a man who at first seems hard and aggressive, but really just wears his heart on his sleeve, the more you can see yourself falling for him.

His intensity is overwhelming. It’s something you don’t see in most people. He’s a beautiful rarity of a man and you stay far away from any kind of real intimacy with him, because while you can hook up with other guys with no attachments, tangling yourself up with Rafe would make you susceptible to another wound.

“You know you could get any girl you want, right?” you say to him, voice gently dropping into a serious tone you don’t often use with him.

His phone buzzes in a staccato. He pulls it out of his pocket. Damn it.

“Hey, I’m here,” she says when he answers.

“You’re here?” he blankly repeats.

“You invited someone?” you tease. “And you’re standing here flirting with me? Shameful.”

You offer him a smile to show him you’re kidding around. The dull sting you feel from knowing he’s probably talking to a girl is a good reminder of why you keep him at an arm’s length.

It may not be reasonable to be a little annoyed, considering you’re always running around with different guys right in front of him, but you can’t help it.

Rafe hangs up, a tinge of regret pinching his chest. It took a few seconds with you to realize his spitefulness just fucked things up.

“Go get your girl,” you say with raised brows, stepping aside. “I need a drink.”

“Hey, it’s…” Rafe’s face pinches with concern, leaning to be closer to you. “Don’t be pissed off at me.”

“Pissed off?” You usually do a great job feigning indifference around him. You hope he doesn’t somehow see the crack in your armor.

“It’s that girl,” he replies. “The one from…”

“The game?” you say soberly.

Rafe hates the way your smile drops. The way your eyes search his face for an explanation.

“Whatever,” you reply after a beat. “Do what you want.”

It’s kind of a sick thrill to have the upperhand for once. He’s flustered when you tease, but now, your eyes are sharp with frustration, your lips turned down in a scowl that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.

“You sure?” he says. You nod curtly.

“Not like I’m your girlfriend or anything.”

He’s sure you say it just to twist the dagger already lodged in his heart. It works.

⫘⫘⫘

Your stomach is in a knot. You’re at the back of the living room, purposely as far away from Rafe as you can be.

And she’s there, looking up at him with a sickeningly bright smile. The same smile she used on your ex. The same smile you’re sure she wore when she texted you how it’d been ‘weighing on her soul’ that she’s been sneaking around with him.

It was all bullshit. You know she was proud to play a hand in your heartbreak. She never looked torn up about it at all. If she did, she wouldn’t have provoked you at your past match.

Missed, she’d said mockingly. It took everything in you not to hit her.

Again, you’re inches away from doing it. Every minute she stays here, you get closer. You wouldn’t normally be angry at the woman your boyfriend cheated with if she didn’t know. If she was a stranger, she wouldn’t have owed you any loyalty.

But she knew. She was your friend.

You’ve been trying not to care anymore. You started this year with the intention to leave all the high school shit behind and have fun and not give your heart to a man. Not for a long time.

But seeing her brings it all back.

“What’s up?” you hear. You look up at your brother.

He knows how your relationship ended. When he heard what your ex did to you, he offered to beat the shit out of him, but no amount of revenge ever felt like it could undo your pain.

He never met your ex-friend. He has no idea who the woman Rafe is flirting with is.

“The music sucks,” you reply, wincing as the bass reverberates through the room.

“You always had shitty taste,” he replies. You crack a smile. It falls when you remember how he’d said the same about your ex, long before the breakup.

“I need a breather,” you say.

It doesn’t happen very often, so when you see worry wash over your big brother’s face, it jolts you a little.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just need to spare my eardrums.”

He huffs a laugh, gently pushing you as you step away from him.

⫘⫘⫘

Come upstairs.

Rafe stares down at the text from you, sent three minutes ago. He looks up at the girl he invited as she comes back to him, arm linked with a friend she’d called to join the party.

He’s stiff as they make introductions. Then he tells them he’ll be right back.

Rafe’s bedroom is lived in, but it’s not quite messy. Clothes are strewn across an open drawer and on the back of his desk chair, but his textbooks are neat on the shelf and his bed is made.

You turned on his dim nightstand lamp. You stare ahead at the calendar on his closet door, practices and games written in black pen.

You lean against the headboard, squeezing your fingers, teetering towards crying. It’s a sick joke to like a guy again just to watch the same woman enamour him.

The door opens with a soft click, music spilling in for a moment.

Rafe has dreamed of this, coming up to see you in his bed. But in his dreams, you’re not staring at him like he just massively fucked up.

He doesn’t say a word. He only looks at you with confusion.

“I take it back,” you say, sitting up. “I don’t want her here.”

“What?” he says.

“Tell her to leave.”

Hope warms his core. Are you jealous?

“It’s my house,” he answers flippantly, giving you the same blasé attitude you’ve always given him.

You scoff. He crosses the room and sits at the foot of his bed, the mattress sinking with his weight. He’s never heard this thinness in your voice before.

“Can you just do it? Please?” you say shakily.

“What happened between you two?”

“You know what?” you scoff frustratingly, swinging your legs over the edge. “Fuck it. I’ll just go.”

“Stop,” he says sternly. “Tell me.”

He may have never seen you this vulnerable, but you’ve never seen him this mad. At least, not at you.

You thought Rafe had a soft spot for you. It hurts that it doesn’t seem to be there anymore. But then he sighs, head tilting slightly as he takes your hand.

“If you– you…” he begins, words fast and tumbling together. You’ve noticed he stammers when he’s on edge. “If you need me to kick her out, then, fine.”

“Really?” you say.

He sighs your name in exhausted resignation, looking up at the ceiling. You’re not jealous. You just really don’t like this girl. It has nothing to do with him and that hurts.

He nods in response. He knows you know he’d do anything for you.

Despite your instinct telling you to call an end to the conversation, the warmth of his hand on yours is piercing. You look down at your lap, turning his big hand over, calluses on his fingertips similar to yours from volleyball.

He gazes at you, his pulse picking up as your eyelashes stay low over your eyes, blinking quickly.

“I had a boyfriend,” you say quietly. “He cheated on me. With her.”

Rafe’s body goes cold. The irritation he was feeling has been replaced by biting guilt. He would’ve told her not to even bother coming in if you had just shared the truth.

“I didn’t know,” he murmurs. The shame is worse with every second that passes. He got what he wanted; he hurt you. And he hates himself for it.

“Yeah,” you say. You find his eyes, bottomless seas of blue. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“I don’t want it to be like that,” he admits. “And I make it pretty damn obvious.”

You look down again, huffing a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, you do,” you reply.

You’ve always felt a sense of control over Rafe, but it’s chipping away, pieces being taken from you and given to him. You shouldn’t have opened this wound. Because now, you just want to smother it with temporary bandages.

Rafe’s jaw tenses as he watches your hand on his. Silence settles between you, your breaths heavy, the music muffled.

He’s not sure what’s next.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say.

“I won’t,” he rasps.

“Not about that,” you say. “Well… yeah, about that. But I meant about this.”

You shift to straddle him, the backs of your thighs resting on his lap. He meets your eyes as your noses nearly brush together.

You lean in. His breath stops when your lips meet his.

His heart-rate skyrockets. Fuck. This is really happening. His hands find your thighs, fingers pressing into your flesh.

You gently grind up against him as your kisses grow hungrier, mouths opening, breaths shortening.

You take him in, the smell of his aftershave and the taste of his tongue, as your arms link around his broad shoulders. You already feel better, feeling him hold you and kiss you like this.

He’s getting hard. It makes fire swirl in your stomach.

“Tell me,” you whisper against his mouth, desperate to feel even better, “how bad you want me.”

“You’re all I fucking think about,” he admits breathily.

“Which parts of me do you think about?”

“Everything,” he groans. “Fucking everything.”

You wish he would’ve just said something physical to solidify this as the casual hook-up it is. You can’t handle it being more.

“We’ll keep this a secret, okay?” you whisper.

“I know.” Rafe kisses you again, willing to say anything just to keep this going.

You gently push his shoulders so he lies back. Clothes are clumsily shoved off, kisses grow messy, and once you feel all of him, your head swims with euphoria, blocking out the impending regret.

You stay on top to at least hold onto some of the control you have left.

He comes with a groan, clinging onto your waist with trembling fingers as if you’ll run away from him.

But you do run away. It’s over and you sit up and scramble to put your clothes on again, the high gone, the crash on its way.

“Shit,” you whisper.

Rafe’s smile fades, his chest heaving. He sits up.

“Why are you acting like you regret it?” he asks.

He wants to give you his shirt, stay in bed with you, trace his fingers over your skin and tell you how badly he’s always wanted you.

You look at him with furrowed brows.

“We can’t tell anyone.”

“You already said that,” he mutters. “It’s not like we have to give details, but… nobody’s going to lose their shit if we’re together. Your brother isn’t like that.”

“No,” you shake your head. “This was just sex.”

It’s not a sudden break. His heart cracks slowly. It’s a fracture, spreading through his chest. He’s empty.

“So, I’m just…” He scoffs, tongue jutting under his cheek. “I’m just another one of the guys you do this to.”

“Don’t,” you say softly. “I told you I don’t date.”

You did, but he thought he was different.

You stand, smoothing your hair.

“Because of one asshole?” he murmurs, angrily picking up his t-shirt.

It hurts that something you told him in a vulnerable moment is ammo now. He’s being harsh and you know you are, too, but it’s the last thing you need right now.

“Don’t bring it up again,” you say with a strain in your voice. “Any of it. I knew I…”

Your throat starts to feel raw as you pace past him towards the door, desperate to get home and be swallowed in your blankets. Alone. Like you should be. Not chasing temporary relief in hook-ups.

“What did you know?” Rafe says to your back, tone softened. His anger is gone. It takes one glimpse into your pain to erase his own. He just wants to make you feel better.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” you murmur, staring at the door handle. “I can’t trust anyone.”

You leave. You gave him what he thought he wanted most, but he can see now that this hollow version of having you is the last thing he’d ever want.

You’ve ticked him off your list. You’re done. He’s in your rearview now, a quick hook-up that you wish you didn’t have.

⫘⫘⫘

You’ve been home for less than five minutes when your phone buzzes with a text from Rafe.

Make it home okay?

You swallow hard and respond: yes. didn’t mean to freak out. friends?

Rafe chews on his lip as he stares at his phone. He hasn’t left his bedroom.

yeah, he replies. There’s no point in pretending he doesn’t want you, even if you push him back into the role he’d been playing before.

Fine. He’ll be your fucking friend. He already lost his pride long ago. But tonight is the first time he’s truly lost the hope he had in you.

(the end)

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[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Gorp, Questionable Child Rearing, Progressive elves and some campaign lore!

As always, I apologize if your ask isn't here/ hasn't been replied to, it is unfortunately impossible for me to answer to every question I get to the extend I would like to. Occasionally I also just don't have a very interesting answer to offer 😅 and I try to avoid spamming people's feeds! But thank you so much to everyone who interacts with my stories, characters, art, and is curious about my thought process and writing! The response is frankly just as overwhelming as it is deeply appreciated, and every word of encouragement or message about how I inspired you to draw or write more of your own stories makes my day.

DU drow and Gortash had what I would describe as a "Toxic Friendship". They got along well enough, had little friend dinner-dates, drank together, superficially shared their woes in ways that benefited no one, and DU drow ultimately had a great deal of respect for Gortash - except you would have never known that by the way he treated him.

DU drow belittled, harassed, and even destroyed Gortash's property on whim alone. Every compliment was back-handed and every display of friendship was somehow sarcastic. Gortash let everything slide right off his back for reasons I like leaving obscured. Here's a particularly intense write-up I did about their relationship a long time ago that still stands. I think it serves really well to illustrate how intense DU drow could still be about his friendships.

PFFTT, I don't know why that would be a female-child only thing, but maybe that's just a colloquialism?

DU drow actually talks pretty similarly to children as he does to adults! He just doesn't set the same expectations on them. Children don't ask stupid questions because the world is still new to them, nor do their respond reasonably to everything, they also don't understand some big words or complex ideas depending on how you present it to them - he understands this and adjusts accordingly. But otherwise his tone would be the same, even with his his own child. He's that guy who's good with kids on the basis of treating them as to-be adults rather than.. Well, just a child.

The Astarion assessment is fair, LOL.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

(Surface) elven kind strikes me as fairly gender-indifferent overall! And while I enjoy theorizing about how their culture has shifted over the years from exposure to "urban life", for both better and worse, I like to think this is an aspect that has remained mostly unchanged, even for elves who may have had a really mixed-up upbringing from living in a city as diverse as Baldur's Gate.

I believe Astarion (and by extension Shadowheart and DU drow) are fully aware that they read as their respective genders and that for other races, such as humans, that means something; but for them that is a different custom that doesn't really apply outside of pronouns and reproductive expectations. So, I actually believe that Astarion would be pretty indifferent to life as a woman save for occasionally missing having a dick for the obvious reasons (only to then shift back and lament the opposite, probably).

ALL THE TIME!

But I know that you meant to ask if I will ever draw it.

VERY LIKELY THAT I WILL.

As a side note, thank you for showing interest and excitement for male-on-male sex that isn't just anal, LOL.

CW for the obvious, though nothing too descriptive or awful.

I understand if people disagree as a knee-jerk reaction, but I would say that Astarion's character demonstrates a shocking amount of self-control and emotional regulation. I went into this more in detail in an older post, but basically: the guy always brings himself down from his own outbursts, is exceptionally good at reading the room, is extremely forgiving and pragmatic, and knows when to send the jokes outside and respond to vulnerability in kind. I stand by this as more than a headcanon; it's in his actual writing and dialogue.

All that to say, I don't think Astarion would ever lay a violent hand on his own children. I also don't HC him as having endured corporal punishment as a child, hence not really having that instilled in his mind as a possible example to draw from.

I could see DU drow implementing physical punishments that he doesn't consider to be actually painful, like pulling, pinching, or squeezing a child while you reprehend them; things a parent might do because they think it's harmless. Astarion would probably be the one to say he's not really achieving anything - so it would likely be short-lived.

I DO think they would both be okay with setting up their children to pretty arduous physical labor, though, both as punishment and just in general to toughen them up. You could argue there's a way to do this that is reasonable, but they would prooobably push that line into dubious territory.

Buddy, WHO said low fat, what do you think the meat and taters that he's eating is swimming in!

But back to your question, he can enjoy a sweet treat every once in a while! He just far, far prefers savory. Personally, I think the guy would go crazy for a panettone. Or a big sugar-powdered crepe with some berries.

I kind of flew through the Circus in DU drow's playthrough because I was SO excited to get to Baldur's gate. They were only there long enough for DU drow to make Astarion mildly pissed off during the dryad's weird love quiz.

I also somehow missed Lucretious and never got the Dribbles quest - probably for the best.

Becoming a big ol' squid seems like a deal-breaker for his character in-game - so, same thing applies here. He'd let him down gently but potentially want a friendship for as long as DU drow is still himself.

... Buuuut it would never come to that; DU drow would most likely end his life pretty swiftly if he were to turn into a mindflayer, so Astarion wouldn't have much to worry about 😬

Alas, she pretty much never crosses his mind since he has no recollection of the type of relationship they had prior to DU drow's amnesia.

Or at least she won't as long as nothing weird ever happens that potentially jogs his memory 😇

Hello! I also love the escorts, but due to both DU Drow's and Astarion's respective attitudes towards drow and that kind of activity they didn't really hire his services. I do like to think him and his sister had a lot to gossip about as soon as they turned their backs, though, LOL.

[suzukiblu]

Fifth ( and final! ) 1k of the thank-you 5k I promised y'all behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon hurls his barely-off jacket out of the Super-Cycle and across the garage to hit the wall without even looking, without even making any actual decision to, and then nearly bursts into tears again like a fucking idiot. Idiot. Stupid, stupid, stu–

He doesn’t know if the others would care about him borrowing their scents for his nest, but he already–he already knows–

Superman told him to go be with his pack. 

Told him to go. 

And “El” isn’t Superman’s pack name. So–so Superman definitely, definitely doesn’t wanna be in his nest. Not even as just as a blocker-muddled trace of scent. 

Kon doesn’t–doesn’t need another stupid pillow anyway. Even if it’s his stupid jacket. 

He grabs Red Tornado’s cape again and unrolls it, then drapes it over the side of the Super-Cycle’ nesting pit, and then wants to cry even worse because he hates how it looks like that. Folds it up square instead, and then doesn’t like how that looks either and shakes it back out and then rolls it up again but that’s not good enough either so he shakes it out and– 

He wishes he could put his jacket in his nest. He–he likes his jacket. 

Superman wouldn’t want him to, though. Not as long as it smells even a little bit like him, anyway. 

Kon just–just buries himself against the pillows he’s already folded and curls down in on himself and drags Red Tornado’s cape halfway over his head and wraps his arms over it and makes himself as small as he can in against them and–and–

He thinks he’s gonna sob, but what actually happens is–is–

He keens, is what actually happens. Not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose. Definitely not. 

Keens an omega call. An omega call for . . . for their pack. 

So–no, it’s not on purpose. Kon’s fucking stupid, yeah, but not–not stupid enough to have done any shit like that on purpose. 

But once he’s done it, it feels like he can’t stop doing it. 

Kon shoves his own fist in-between his teeth and digs them in hard through his glove and against the bones of his knuckles and tries desperately to just sob, to just cry, to–to–to at least muffle the stupid–the stupid keening, the stupid calling, to–to–he doesn’t want anyone to hear that, that’s so pathetic and stupid and pathetic, a stupid useless stray calling for a pack he’s never even had like he–like he’s stupid enough to think–think that–and he doesn’t want anyone to ever, ever know he’s that pathetic, that stupid, that– 

The Super-Cycle’s engine rumbles in a purr so loud it drowns out Kon’s stifled keening completely, and he buries himself in tighter against the folded pillows that smell like the team and tightens his grip on Red Tornado’s cape that smells like him and hides under–hides under it, and tries not to cry too hard. 

And doesn’t wish he had his fucking jacket. 

“Th-thanks,” he chokes, his voice cracking. He doesn’t even know if the Super-Cycle did that on purpose or not, but . . . “Thanks. Sorry, I–I just–thank you.” 

The Super-Cycle keeps purring away, and without having to freak out about the chances of anybody hearing him doing something so fucking embarrassing, Kon manages to calm down enough to stop–stop the fucking calling, at least, and then stop the sobbing, and then even stop the crying. It takes a little bit, but . . . but he manages it. Red Tornado hasn’t come back yet, so that’s . . . some fucking mercy, anyway. 

A lot of fucking mercy, honestly. 

He feels really stupid, still, but the Super-Cycle’s being . . . being really nice to him. Like–way nicer than it has to be. Especially since it likes Robin and Bart both way better than him and probably all the girls too. But like, especially Robin and Bart. Which, sure, way to be grateful for a guy breaking you out of the dig site with his badass custom-designed TTK, but–

Well. If the Super-Cycle’s doing this for him, maybe it likes him more than he thought it did. 

Kon sniffles a couple more times, then scrubs the last of the tears off with the heel of his glove and sits back up to roll up Red Tornado’s cape again. The rolled-up pillow really was the best option, he thinks. Like–most cushioning and all to it. So like–best option, yeah. 

So he rolls it up again, tucks in the ends again, and puts it back against the side of the nesting pit opposite all his other makeshift pillows. The roll and the tuck are both a little neater-looking now, actually, so . . . that’s good, he thinks. Maybe he’s gettin’ the hang of nesting, a little bit. 

Maybe he won’t suck at it, if he practices a little more. Even if he didn’t, like–get to do it before he presented or anything. Like, maybe he could be . . . okay at it, he thinks. 

Kon watches the video again for a refresher on the tips in it and for ideas for what to do with whatever else Red Tornado’s gonna bring. He figures it’ll just be, like, a couple blankets or maybe a stack of towels or something, so probably he’ll just fold ‘em up the same ways he did with either Cissie’s towel or Red Tornado’s cape, ‘cuz he already knows how to do those folds and it’s, like–it’s good practice, right? Because . . . because he’ll be doing this again. Like . . . a lot. 

He’ll be doing this the whole friggin’ rest of his life, and nobody can tell him he’s not allowed to even if they do think he’s, like, a bad omega or a slut or whatever. He’s still an omega either way. He’s still allowed, either way. 

Even if he’s not in anyone’s pack, at least he doesn’t have to smell anything like Westfield. Doesn’t have to be anything like Westfield. 

Doesn’t even have to be an alpha, which . . . he really hadn’t thought he was gonna get out of having to be an alpha. Really hadn’t thought . . . 

He just–hadn’t thought he was gonna get out of having to be an alpha, he guesses. 

But he did. 

Kon sniffles one more time; scrubs the cuff of his glove across his face one more time. Lets himself just feel–just feel all the weird, giddy relief, one more time. Then he focuses again and starts rearranging all his makeshift pillows, because if Suzie actually does come, he really, really has to have a nice nest ready for, like . . . 

He just–Kon really needs to have a nice nest ready, he knows, though he’s not really sure . . . why, exactly? Like, now that he’s thinking about it. Like . . . he doesn’t know why he feels so much like he just really needs to have it. 

He definitely does, though. Like–definitely feels like he needs it, and definitely also does need it. 

. . . he hopes Suzie’ll like it, if he actually does manage to do an okay job. He hopes if she likes it enough, she’ll stick around for a little while and, like . . . watch some of those videos with him or something, or just stream something on his phone with him, or just hang out or talk or . . . 

He hopes if she likes it enough, she’ll get in it with him. Which–it feels kind of dumb, Kon thinks, how much he hopes that, but . . . yeah. He hopes she will, at least for a little bit. Maybe she’d feel safe in it too. 

He just . . . he thinks he’d really like it if she would, is all. 

[contamination-zone]

warning im a yapper

hello ummm just wanted to say!!! i really like the dynamic you give fresh and nightmare/color with the whole “cat who goes to different houses to get fed twice” thing. nightmare and his weird cat that he has probably locked in a basement a few times. color and this guy he picked off the road because he looks weird and decided he can solve this mess. fresh does not have any strong personal feelings towards either of them.

i very much so like the comic thing where nightmare and ccino were talking about fresh and ccino thought he was a kitten cat,,, no he is not but he acts like one. “he keeps crawling on my lap” that is a grown man get him away!!!! he has a dog cage i think that he is put in sometimes for naughty behavior. he doesn’t really care because he’s allowed his gameboy though. do you think nightmare ever sprays him with water when he does something bad. and this is like a grown adult. what

maybe i just like the trope of dehumanization (bonus if with someone who’s weirdly chill with it like fresh) but whatever,,, your art!!!! it gives me life!!! i very much enjoy the pixely type style and how freak you draw fresh. he’s a fucking creature he is. something is wrong with that guy. and i love him soooo much. so creature. he’s the kind of guy to do that thing where you walk on all fours up the stairs.

AND the way you characterize him is!!!! so good!!!!!!!!! he is so fucked up and weird and terrible and manipulative!!!!!!! he takes advantage of others’ empathy and feelings because he has very little of it himself and whenever he does feel it he does not like it!!!!!!! he looks at a guy with a savior complex and goes yeah i can mentally fuck him up for the next seven months to get something cool i want. he’s just actually terrible and i love him for that.

i also!!! don’t know too much about CB but i feel that fresh’s dynamic with them (him?? i forgor) is very interesting from what i have seen!!!!!! and their shimeji is very cute i still need to download it but i like it a lot :3

OKAY UHHH BYE!!!!! I LIKE UR ART A LOT…… HAVE A GOOD DAY!!!!!! 10/10 fresh posting on your blog love him a lot he is my wife (he feels nothing towards me)

THANK YOU!!! I see you mass reblog things sometimes it makes me giggle :-]

I yammer back...

Glad you like the dynamics haha X] Fresh having very little personal feelings about people is fun and interesting to me. As someone who has trouble connecting and low empathy, its nice to depict someone like me. [Guy interacting with people who are a Lot more invested than he is ghghg]

Fresh would only accept being put in the cage because he can teleport out. Anything like that is only for the Aesthetic, which I think Nightmare would still be down for. Shove that thang into some awful little crate, as a treat. [Honestly I think Fresh would like to get in some nice dog crate with a blankie. Small hide / den thing to nap in :-]]

ALSOOOO dehumanization and freak who doesn't mind is my favorite dynamic <333. Fresh doesn't mind because... he isn't a monster? or a human? And he doesn't have a human/monster centric view of the world. Being seen as a human/monster isn't in anyway important to him, because he doesn't seen it as better/worse. He is the way he is, why does it matter?

Its like, I don't think a cat has very strong opinions on the fact it isn't a man. I also think Fresh is incredibly self-centered and when he's on a high point, sees himself as above humans/monsters. Of course he's not seen as human, he's Fresh! he's a sick-nasty parasite! way cooler. [annnddd way cooler that he gets to eat dog-treats. heck yeah!!]

Also I drew up a little thing with CB and Fresh. Its ahh, I like them a lot I just get nervous speaking about them because its suuuch a oc & canon are besttties that it makes me feel a bit cringe... I also get nervous because CB and Fresh have a very, toxic?? friendship.

Fresh is very possessive and strange about it, because this is his Only friend and he has very dysregulated emotions. Not being able to feel positive emotions often makes it so when he does, he gets very odd about it. So its a lot of... trying to keep CB to himself, at the detriment to CB's goals and ambitions. [CB is trying to track his family down, and Fresh uh. knows. where they are. and is not telling him :-)]

I dunno I think Fresh being genuinely friends with someone but also an awful person about it is like, sorely missing from the fandom landscape. He's a bad person but bad people can still form meaningful relationships and!!! I think that should be explored :-]

[They do eventually get somewhere more healthy. As in, Fresh's whole Thing is revealed, a lot of shinanigans happen, CB lives with his family and Fresh and CB reconnect and become friends again, just with like. Fresh trying actively to do "good person things" to make sure CB's family doesn't shoo him off [I ADOREEE good actions for morally ambiguous reasons!!!], and CB with the understanding that his best friend is Kinda a Freak.]

[cyberhughes]

Could I please get a rum & coke? #17 with Connor Bedard

cyberhughes 200 follower special ⋆ .˚

rum & coke coming up!!

prompt #17: "i can't get you out of my head."

warnings: breakups, angst angst angst

fuck sorry this one kinda hurt i think im projecting w this one guys LOL (god help me.)

prompt list

connor bedard was the love of your life.

was.

officially, you had been with him for two years, but you knew him longer than that. the two of you sharing a bond stronger than anything throughout your childhood.

it had been one year since the end of said relationship, one year since he had left you crying in front of your apartment as he walked away with your heart, and one year since you had lost your best friend and lover in one fell swoop, your twin flame.

you grieved like never before. it was almost worse than grieving someone who was dead, because he was still out there, keeping your heart captive.

you couldn't even remember what the first few weeks after the breakup were like. you had locked yourself away in your apartment, letting your entire being be consumed by sorrow.

it truly came out of nowhere, the two of you were happy. or at least, you thought you were.

"connor, what are you talking about?" your smile faltered as he stood in front of you, hands in his pockets while he stared at you with that emotionless expression he always had. "it's just not working." his words rang in your ears and you could feel the reality settle in.

your lips moved to speak but shut just as quickly. you didn't know what to say, how could you? the two of you just worked, he was your soulmate and you were his. he had seen every part of you, felt every part of you, taken every part of you. you gave him your everything,

so what the hell wasn't working?

that's the question that you had destroyed yourself over for the past year. when connor left you, he had taken a piece of your soul with him, and you weren't sure if you'd ever get it back. and so, you'd spend the rest of your life yearning for that piece, yearning for him.

while you were together he was always on your mind of course, but now it felt as if he had taken over you, your thoughts consumed by nothing more than him. you could only think of the sound of his comforting voice, which was now starting to fade away. you could only think of the way his smile could make your heart melt in an instant. you could only think of the way his lips molded to yours as he kissed you. it was like he had left a poison in you when he left, ensuring that he would be the only one you'd ever love.

it wasn't healthy, is what your friends told you. it wasn't healthy to still be hung up on your ex boyfriend after a whole year. but he was more than that, he was your partner, in every sense of the word. you had gone through everything with him, been there for him when no one else was.

now the only thing you were going through was his instagram, scrolling the feed that had already been graced by that little red heart. he was doing good, better than good. maybe you were holding him back, not allowing him to shine as bright as he could. that's all you ever wanted for him, so why couldn't you accept this?

you found yourself going through old photos and texts, not having deleted his number even after a year. soon you found your thumb hovering over his name in your contacts, your mind daring you to call him.

and so you did.

it rang once.

then it rang twice.

and just as it was about to ring that third time, as you were about to hang up knowing he'd never respond, you heard his voice.

"hello?" he spoke softly and you felt your whole body tense as you heard the voice that you once sought out for comfort. sure, you had put yourself in this situation, but you didn't think he would actually pick up.

your breath was shaky as you spoke, "i can't..." your voice cracked, and you were glad he couldn't see you in this pathetic state.

"y/n?"

"i can't get you out of my head." your voice was barely above a whisper, yet he caught every single word.

"it's been a year." he spoke sternly, as if you didn't recognize that, and suddenly it felt like you were being transported right back to that night where he had first broken your heart.

your eyes welled with tears as you heard him sigh over the phone, did he not miss you the way you missed him?

"why did you end it?" you asked, feeling your heartrate increase, you shouldn't have called him like this.

"y/n why are you-"

"tell me." you pleaded as the tears fell down onto your cheeks. a lifetime ago he would've been the one to wipe them away, telling you he'd never let anything hurt you, but he ended up being the one to.

the other end went silent for a moment before he spoke, "i didn't love you anymore."

you felt your heart drop deeper than it ever had, never expecting him to answer in such a way. "why? did i do something wrong?" you didn't know why you bothered asking, he didn't give you a reason then, and he probably wouldn't now.

"i had more important things to focus on." he rubbed salt in the wound, as if you were never important to him. as if you weren't the first name he'd call for whenever something happened to him, as if you weren't the one to carry his weight when he felt like he couldn't continue, as if you weren't the one who kept the flame of his soul alight. he didn't care as much as you did, he never did.

and so you hung up.

call ended.

connor looked down at his phone, "fuck." his lip quivered as he tried to hold it together.

you were always the most important thing to him, and that's why he had to let you go. he didn't want to tie you down, a ball and chain keeping you from pursuing your own dreams as you followed him around the nhl.

he knew you'd be alright eventually, and he knew that you’d find someone who could give you all their love in ways he couldn’t. after all he knew you better than you knew yourself.

and that's why he selfishly kept a piece of your heart, because he never truly wanted to let you go.

[keepingitformyself]

older (and wiser): iii

A/N: well here we are! the final chapter of “older (and wiser).” this will not be the end tho! i plan to write a prequel series going more into depth about wanda and readers past, how they came to be, how they fell apart and what not. i do want to to make one more thing clear before you continue reading; this story is meant to be as realistic as possible. meaning the ending may not be for everyone. i specifically wrote this with intent of giving these characters an emotional arc they deserved. so, without further ado, enjoy this final chapter!

synopsis: wanda comes over for dinner one last time.

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader

genre: angst

warnings: it’s gonna be sad lowk. get the tissues ready.

MASTERLIST series masterlist

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

wanda spends most of the night back at her hotel, staring out the large window that overlooks the city. neon signs flicker in the distance, their glow casting fragmented patterns across her room.

she leans her forehead against the cool glass, letting the city hum around her, lost in thoughts of you. she imagines what you could be doing right now. if paul’s arms were wrapped around you, if he makes you laugh the way she used to. a hollow ache settles in her chest as she lets herself sink into the deep loss of not having you anymore.

the next day, early morning, wanda’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. she reaches for it groggily, only to find a message from you at the top of her screen.

come by at 6:30? here’s the address: 150 west 26th street, new york, ny 10001. see you soon!

for a moment, wanda just stares at the screen, her thumb hovering over the message. she exhales slowly, closing her eyes as a wave of uncertainty washes over her. part of her wants to pack her bags right then and there, to book an early flight and leave you in this city behind.

she doesn’t know which is worse. never facing you again or having to sit across the dinner table from you and your husband-to-be.

she spends the rest of the day mentally preparing herself for how this evening could go, running through endless scenarios in her head.

what would one talk about when having dinner with their ex’s fiance? especially when said ex is someone you’re still seemingly in love with.

oh yeah, your fiance used to look at me the same way.

or

of course, i know what her favorite song is. ‘do i ever cross your mind?’ by dolly parton. i performed it for her on our eighth month anniversary.

yeah, i paid the tech guy in the theatre department extra to let me use the theatre after hours.

the thoughts make her cringe, but the bitterness is hard to suppress. she tries to bite back the small, unwarranted hatred she’s developed for paul. everything she’s learned about him—despite her best efforts not to—has been nothing but positive.

he’s generous, patient, successful, and clearly loves you. and wanda knows you wouldn’t be marrying someone who didn’t treat you like you deserved the whole world.

it’s all pathetic in its nature. she should have been over you long by now. but she doesn’t know how to explain to you— to explain to herself—that leaving you is still something she’s trying to process. that even when she didn’t appreciate you enough, you felt like everything to her. you still do.

and she doesn’t know how to make sense of any of it.

by the time the sun sets, wanda’s resolve is still fragile. she dressed carefully, standing in front of the mirror for far too long, fussing with her appearance. she wants to look composed, unbothered. as if seeing you happy with someone else doesn’t feel like dagger to the heart. one that you keep twisting without trying.

at 6:15, she steps outside her hotel and hails a cab, clutching a bottle of wine she bought earlier as a polite gesture. as the cab weaves through the bustling streets of new york, wanda wonders what kind of expression you’ll wear when you see her. will it be warm, nostalgic, indifferent? she braces herself for anything.

when the cab drops her off in front of a sleek residential building in tribeca, she lingers for a moment before buzzing in. the door unlocks with a soft click, leading her into a quiet corridor toward an elevator. she steps inside, pressing the button for your floor with a hand that feels unsteady.

the walls feel too close. the air feels too thick.

by the time she reaches your door, her nerves are frayed. she knocks twice, her heart hammering.

four seconds later, the door swings open, and there you are, beaming at her like no time has passed.

"hi! it’s so good to see you."

before wanda can say anything, you pull her into a hug, warm and familiar. she exhales sharply, caught off guard, but she lets herself sink into it, just for a moment.

when you pull away, she notices the man standing just a few feet behind you, a cat in his arms. he watches the interaction with a patient, kind smile before gently setting the cat down.

“sorry about that,” paul says, laughing as the cat immediately tries to sneak toward the door. "he bolts every chance he gets."

then, without hesitation, he steps forward and grasps wanda’s hands in his own. his grip is firm, his smile genuine.

“it’s really nice to meet you, wanda.”

for a second, wanda is stunned by the ease of his kindness. she had spent so much time building him up in her head as an obstacle, an enemy, but standing here now, faced with his warmth, she almost felt guilty for ever resenting him.

“thank you for having me,” she manages, recovering quickly. she glances around, taking in the space. "you have a lovely home."

then, as if suddenly remembering, she reaches into her bag.

“i brought some wine,” she says, handing it to you. “the expensive kind. i know my stuff.” she huffs out a small laugh, forcing some lightness into her voice.

paul chuckles, taking the bottle from your hands to examine it. “i like her already.”

and just like that, wanda knows this is going to hurt more than she thought.

dinner passes in a blur of polite conversation and well-meaning smiles. paul is gracious, effortlessly kind, and wanda hates how easy it is to like him. she hates that there’s nothing about him to hate at all.

she watches the way you lean into him when you laugh, how his hand absentmindedly finds yours on the table. it’s second nature, the kind of comfort that only comes with time, with certainty.

and wanda knows, without question, that she has none of those things with you anymore.

paul has made it a habit to ask about how you and wanda met. even though she’s sure he already knows most of the story, he’s always genuine in wanting to hear more, especially the parts you tend to leave out.

“you got any funny stories about this one?” paul asks, flashing wanda a pointed smile. “something embarrassing, please.”

wanda huffs out a quiet laugh, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. she has plenty. but as she glances between you and paul, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. some memories feel lighter than others. some carry more weight than she knows what to do with.

still, when she sees the way you’re watching her; curious, amused, trusting, she decides to tell it.

“oh, i’ve got one,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “back in college, we tried to break into the theatre department after hours. it wasn’t really breaking in, technically, the door was open, but we definitely weren’t supposed to be there. they had this whole wire rig set up for the upcoming peter pan production, and somebody—” she tilts her chin toward you “—thought it would be a great idea to try it out.”

paul turns to you, amused. “why am i not surprised?”

you groan, already bracing for the rest of the story. wanda smirks but continues, her voice softer now.

“so, there she was, strapped into this ridiculous harness, so sure she was about to soar across the stage like some theatrical prodigy. but the second she tried to lift off, the harness jammed, and instead of flying, she was just—”

“i was dangling there,” you chime in, groaning at the memory. “like some tragic shakespearean ghost.”

“and then, of course, security walks in,” she says, shaking her head. “and instead of, i don’t know, explaining, she panicked and yelled, ‘i have done the deed. didst thou not hear a noise?’”

paul bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. “you did not.”

“she did,” wanda confirms, laughing softly. “the security guy just stood there for a second, like he was reconsidering every choice that led him to that moment, then sighed and said, ‘get down.’”

paul grins, shaking his head. “so, what happened next?”

“i had to help her out of the harness before we both got kicked out,” wanda says. “and then we ran. fast.” she pauses, her smile dimming just a little. “ended up at that all-night diner by campus instead. sat there for hours, drinking burnt coffee, still laughing about it.”

her voice drifts for a moment, lost in the memory. you swallow, feeling something heavy settle in your chest, but before the silence can stretch too long, you force out a small chuckle.

“i could’ve flown,” you say, shaking your head. “i just needed a little more time.”

wanda looks at you then, and there’s something in her gaze. something paul doesn’t quite catch, but you do.

“yeah,” she murmurs. “maybe you just needed more time.”

paul laughs again, unaware of the way wanda’s fingers tighten around her glass. “you two were absolute menaces, huh?”

and just like that, the moment passes. the air lightens again, and Wanda takes another sip of her wine. but the memory lingers between you, heavier than it should be.

“did she ever tell you that we watch some of your movies sometimes?” paul cuts in, his eyes bright with genuine curiosity. there’s an eager energy to him, the kind that makes it clear he isn’t just saying it to be polite—he actually wants to talk about her work.

wanda raises an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh?”

you offer a small, sheepish smile, and paul continues before you can respond.

“i mean, seriously,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “i’m already a pretty emotional guy, but your movies? they wreck me.”

wanda lets out a soft, amused laugh, her fingers absently tracing the stem of her wine glass. “that’s very kind of you to say.” she takes a slow sip before adding, almost offhandedly, “i guess i just have a thing for playing characters in distress.”

paul barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head. “yeah, well, you do it very well. it’s almost unfair.”

wanda smirks, but there’s something thoughtful in the way she tilts her head, as if considering his words. then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she leans in slightly and says, “i take it you’re a crier, then?”

paul places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “absolutely. no shame.”

that earns a more genuine laugh from wanda, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders eases. the air between the three of you feels a little lighter.

when the plates are empty and the conversation slows, paul pushes back his chair with a contented sigh.

“i’ll start on the dishes,” he says, already stacking plates. “you two should catch up.”

you smile at him, appreciative, and wanda feels something twist in her chest. she shouldn’t be here. she doesn’t belong here.

still, she doesn’t move.

you refill your wine glass and lean back in your chair, watching her carefully. wanda swirls what’s left in her own glass, staring at the deep red before speaking.

“maybe i should’ve tried to convince you to run off with me,” she jokes, her voice light, almost teasing.

but when she finally looks up, she sees the way your expression falters, just for a second. you know, both of you do, that it isn’t really a joke.

you let out a small breath, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “that wouldn’t have changed anything, wanda.”

“wouldn’t it?” she asks, a little too quickly.

your eyes search hers, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the past is sitting between you, untouched, waiting.

wanda wonders if there’s a universe where you had run off together. if there’s a version of you out there, tangled up in her arms instead of in someone else’s.

she swallows hard. “i wish i had tried a little harder.”

your face softens, but it’s not enough to undo the distance between you. “you couldn’t help it,” you say, voice gentle.

"i could have," she insists, her hands gripping the stem of her glass a little too tightly. there’s frustration in her voice, but beneath it, there’s something raw. regret, maybe.

you don’t argue. you won’t. because the truth is, she could have.

"yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper. "maybe."

silence settles between you. wanda watches as your gaze shifts toward the window, toward the street where people pass by, oblivious to the ache sitting between you both.

she doesn’t know what she was expecting. maybe some kind of reassurance that she still lingers in your mind the way you linger in hers. that if things had been different, if she had been different, this could have been her home, her life.

but you don’t give her that.

paul’s voice calls from the kitchen. “babe, where’s the dish soap?”

you blink, turning toward the sound, and the spell is broken.

wanda forces a smile, downing the last of her wine before standing. “i should get going.”

you don't question it.

you grab wanda’s coat from the rack and walk her to the door. she doesn’t ask you to, but neither of you are quite ready for the night to end without one last moment.

“leaving so soon?” paul asks suddenly, his voice light but tinged with something unreadable. both you and wanda turn to face him.

she nods apologetically, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “i have an early flight tomorrow,” she admits, offering a small, regretful smile.

“oh.” paul’s disappointment is subtle but there, it flickers in his eyes before he shapes his expression into something more polite. “well, it was really nice meeting you, wanda.”

you glance at him, catching the way he shifts slightly, rubbing his thumb over the inside of his palm. a small habit of his when he’s holding something back. you wonder, briefly, if tonight was difficult for him too, if he’s been carrying the weight of this evening the same way you have. you decide you’ll ask him about it later.

stepping forward, you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the way his jaw relaxes at the familiar gesture. his hand finds yours easily, his fingers warm and steady against your own.

“i’m just gonna walk her out,” you murmur, giving his hand a small squeeze.

paul nods, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he offers wanda another polite smile. “safe travels,” he says, his voice kind, sincere.

as you lead wanda toward the door, you feel the weight of paul’s gaze lingering on you, as if he knows that this goodbye is heavier than it appears.

the air outside is crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city. wanda stands beside you on the curb, her arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth of her coat. the streetlights cast long shadows, and for a second, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of something you’ll never get back.

her uber is a few minutes away. that’s all the time you have left.

she exhales softly, eyes fixed on the passing cars. then, as if she’s been holding it in all night, she finally asks, “do you think we could have worked things out? if we had been different people? under different circumstances?”

the question hits you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. because the truth is, you don’t know.

maybe in another life. maybe in a world where you didn’t leave the hotel before she could see you, where you both didn’t have to love each other from a distance, where you didn’t have to wonder if loving her meant waiting for something that wasn’t enough.

but this isn’t that world.

you swallow hard, staring down at the pavement. “i don’t know, wanda.”

she nods, as if she expected that answer, but the sadness in her eyes deepens anyway. “me neither.”

the uber pulls up, headlights cutting through the night, and you both turn toward it. this is it. the real goodbye.

wanda hesitates, then reaches for you, pulling you into one last embrace. you don’t know who’s holding onto who tighter. when she pulls away, her hand lingers on your arm for a second too long before she finally steps back.

“take care of yourself,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

you give her a tight-lipped smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you too, wanda.”

she slides into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, you stand frozen on the sidewalk, watching until the taillights disappear around the corner.

and then it hits you.

the weight of it all crashes down at once. the grief, the finality, the understanding that there are some lives you’ll never get to live, some love stories that will never get their second chance.

you press a hand to your mouth as your chest tightens, eyes stinging, but you force yourself to turn back toward the building before you fall apart completely.

when you step into the lobby, you’re not surprised to see paul waiting by the elevator. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t have to.

the moment you reach him, you break.

a choked sob escapes you as you fall into his arms, and he holds you without hesitation, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other wrapped firmly around your back.

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple. and you believe him.

because this was never about leaving him.

you love paul. you’ve never questioned that.

but love doesn’t erase the what-ifs. it doesn’t quiet the ache of knowing there’s a version of you out there who loved wanda differently, who had a life that was beautiful in its own way. one that you’ll never get to live.

paul presses a kiss to your hair and just holds you, letting you mourn what could have been.

and when you’re finally ready, he walks you up.

[luckypunklemonade]

| "I'm Going Nowhere You Won't Find Me."

[Smut MDNI 18+; Established relationship; fem!reader; 3k words] BackwardsCap! Stiles Stilinski didn't mean to worry you. Don't worry, he'll make amends.

This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

“You could’ve gotten shot?!”

You slapped the table, standing up as Scott spouts excuses. All “I didn’t even want to go in!” and Stiles counters with “Scott found the key! And he wasn’t gonna shoot me!”

You shake your head, trying not to overreact and deciding between if it’s okay now that they’re here and safe or if you should freak out. “Are you kidding?”

Stiles followed your unsure train of thought, “Look, we talked to him, and we left. He was never really gonna shoot us.”

You brushed him off and uncomfortably kept your eyes out the window into the dark. Imagining a gun pointed at your boyfriend and his best friend was already scary, given how often it could happen. He didn’t seem to understand your anxieties being on the outside. He thought the fact that it was over would calm you down. You did, too. 

Your big issue was that he didn’t tell you he was about to enter a dangerous situation. You knew what you signed up for in being his girlfriend, but that was one of your requests. That he at least told you so you weren’t left with nothing. He promised you would never be in the dark if he could help it. It was a mutual agreement that you could help, so he’d trust you, and you’d trust him You weren’t mad, but you couldn’t articulate just how you felt. You figured you’d be able to after a night's rest and then some.

“You guys need to get home. It’s late, and your parents are probably worried and clueless.”

Scott nodded and grabbed his coat, but Stiles stood firm in front of you.

“C’mon, can we talk?”

He stepped up to you, hands sliding around your waist and asking for your attention.

You ignored the ploy, “Did you drive Scott here?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, get him home. It’s too late to be out in this town. Please.”

“Okay, okay,” he noted the frantic tone in your voice, emphasized by how much you knew about the supernatural in this town from him. Stiles grabbed his keys and walked with Scott outside. “Love you, honey.”

“Love you.”

And then he came back. You were lying in bed, taking deep breaths and winding down when he knocked. You shot up, sifting through what you know about the supernatural for something that could mimic his knock. You padded over the cold floor to the door and looked through the window at the top. It was Stiles. Of course, it was Stiles.

You opened the door, and Stiles stepped inside without hesitation. As you were closing and locking the door, he pulled you by the waist into him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad at me.”

“Stiles, I’m not mad. I just- I wish I weren’t left so clueless. I hate looking stupid, and then you come to me with something like this. I would feel much better if I had known you were going into that, I could’ve been prepared.”

Stiles smoothed your hair behind your ears, “I know it was stupid, and you should not have to suffer because of it.”

“I’m not saying you can’t go out and do whatever you want like you did before. I won’t ever want to change that. I don’t want to be the overbearing girlfriend who mothers you. I’m just– What if you go out there and get shot or hurt or worse, and I’m not there to help? I don’t want to be clueless and helpless when it comes to you. You know I’ll always be here for anything, and I can try to chill out, but-“

“Listen, you don’t need to do anything. I didn’t text you. That’s my fault. I agreed to let you know if I had planned anything stupid and failed. I wish you wouldn’t have to worry, but I’d do the same thing if it were reversed. I’m glad I have you on my side, okay? I’ll do better, I’m sorry.”

You huffed, not satisfied with him taking the full weight of shame that comes with an apology. “I just care about you. And Scott. I guess.”

He smiled and kissed your cheek, “Thank you.”

Another kiss, followed by several more peppered around your face, punctuated with, “Thank you, thank you, thank you-“

You cracked a smile and limply attempted to push him away. He shook his head, languidly walking you back from the front door into the kitchen. His lips followed in pace, listlessly pressed against your temple. 

“I should’a known better. Should’a known you wouldn’t be satisfied with that.” He mumbled as he guided your hips to the counter. “Not my girl.”

“Well, it’s your girl’s bedtime.”

Stiles kissed behind your ear, just where he could reach, while he spoke in your ear. His voice was the same tone he used when he spoke up an innocent excuse, just a few octaves lower and so, so close. “Is it?”

“Yes, and you know how I get without sleep.”

You could practically hear him bare his teeth in a grin, his fingers tracing just beneath the hemline of your shirt, “How do you get?”

You laughed and pulled his hands away from your stomach, holding them in yours. He looked down at you, barely hiding how his eyes flicked to your lips every few seconds before ducking his head down into your neck. He subconsciously leaned into you, pressing your lower back into the counter. You felt him inhale deeply, his lips pressed into a spot just under where you applied your perfume. He went after the scent, however faded it was, and you felt him push his face deeper. His nose, his broad smile, his eyelashes all against your neck. He licked that spot on your throat before kissing it gratefully. His head dipped with each movement of his jaw, sucking at the point where he could feel your pulse on his lips. His fingers aimlessly tangled with yours on the counter behind you.

You had to give it to him. He could be reckless. Sometimes, it was hard to be his girlfriend, but he always made it up to you. He’d realized how little he’d been getting a hold of you and spend the next few days and nights with you, making sure you could see how much he loved you. He was erratic, but he wasn’t inconsistent with that part. He wasn’t on and off checking texts or stopping by; he was always committed to that, and it never stopped, but there were exceptions. Of course, you knew what you signed up for. He was worth it, you trusted him, and he was really good at making it up to you.

You brought your hand to the back of his neck, knocking his baseball cap sideways on his head. “M’sorry.”

Stiles bent slightly, hooking his hands on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up to sit on the counter. His smile hooked at the side, making every look of insane emotion sort of playful. He reached up, taking the hat off when you stopped him, “Keep it on.”

“Yeah?” His smirk grew more confident, a look you didn’t often see on the genuine side.

“Mhm. It’s hot.”

Stiles’s smile broke into a grin, although he was sort of distracted by the hickeys he’d left on your neck. Repeating what you say as fact, he let his eyes wander, “It’s hot.”

Your laugh pulled him back in, along with you grabbing a fistful of his flannel, “Very hot, sweetheart. Can you please fuck me now?”

It took him a second to think of a response, of course, after every thought he had was replaced with your words. “I can definitely do that.”

You helped him take his shirt off, repositioning the hat backward on his head after his shirt hit the floor. He smiled as you kissed his cheek and hooked your thumbs under his jeans, Mumbling against your lips as they traveled across his face and down to his neck, touching down every so often. Mumbling about how he’d wear whatever you told him if you liked it. Stopping you from doing any heavy lifting, he gently withdrew your hands from his waistband and led you to crawl into your bed. Instructing you to just sit there and look pretty, he slowly stepped out of his jeans and kneeled on the bed to help you with your shirt. At the pace he had going, by the time he had his eyes glued to your chest, you were already pushing your shorts down. When he saw your impatience, he chuckled and watched you struggle to maneuver them off underneath him. You huffed and gave up, moving your arms out of the way. 

“Atta girl.”

Your interest in his new look made him cocky. The attitude that came with it was no doubt attractive. You found yourself searching for more openings for him to use his confidence and for you to encourage it. You started by humming at the praise, watching him drop your shorts off the side of the bed. At the same time Stiles leaned down to kiss you, your hands flattened against his lower stomach, against his happy trail. You both let out respective sounds of need, and Stiles’s hips lowered between your legs. With the feeling of his dick through the thin material of his boxers came your hips bucking softly. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes slowly, huffing out what was going to be a grunt. “Shit, honey. You make it so easy, don’t you?”

You hummed in response, letting him press himself into you and tell you fondly exactly what a guy like him should do to keep a girl like you happy. “I didn’t just know what I should just do with you, y’know. I thought about it a lot.” Stiles’s mouth turned up when he saw you weren’t really focused on his words. He leaned in, “Like a lot.”

“Mhm, just—“

“Alright, I know. You like it when I talk to you, though, right?”

“Yeah, honey. I like it.” You smiled up at him, the gears turning in his head. Stiles slowly dipped his head to your chest, sucking another mark into where the skin got plush. His eyes tracked yours, doing as much as he could while keeping your eyes on him. You’d been so frustrated lately, not just with Stiles. School issues, problems at work. The stress was irritating, but you couldn’t imagine what Stiles was going through. That understanding was a bare minimum in your mind, but for Stiles, you were the most considerate person in the world. He didn’t want to make you feel like he was just using you because you were available. So, he made sure to check every box he could for you. 

“Fuckin’ love you.” He bit the breath coming out into his lip, and his eyelashes fluttered. He was doing everything to keep his eyes open and watch you. You mumbled it back, eyes squeezed shut as he thrust steadily, but he leaned his way into kissing your temple. “What was that? I’m sorry, honey, I can’t hear you.”

You cracked a smile; that’s all he wanted, but you ventured to use your hand buried in his hair to push his head back down so that his ear was by your lips. You held down a moan, replacing it with, “I love you, too.”

It came out with the same needy tone, though, and he found your mouth to kiss his smile onto yours. While he took a second to hold himself up and take a deep breath, your cheek rested against his wrist. When he felt you gently take his wrist between your teeth jokingly, he looked down and chuckled. “I deserve that. I’ll be a better boyfriend, promise.”

“Honey—“ You began, not wanting him to wallow in self-created guilt.

“I know, but still. Just let me…” Stiles’s smile opened as he moved his hips forward, hand molded around your thigh. He pushed himself deeper into you, eyes erratically trying to find something to focus on. Your face, your chest, your hands, down to where you took his dick so well, his eyes got overwhelmed. But he wasn’t going to close them. He’s not an idiot. He couldn’t figure out which would make him cum first. Closing his eyes and imagining you doing the thousand other things you had talked about, or keeping them open and watching you try to smile up at him through the haze, also struggling to keep your eyes up. It didn’t help that you tend to whine for him, showcasing how blank your mind really was. His thumb was less circling your clit than just trying to savor how messy he’d gotten you. He fed into his curiosity, which he would’ve done regardless of how good it made you feel, but especially because you arched your back off of the bed and pushed your hips up, meeting his thrusts, letting him bury himself deeper. 

He encouraged you, feeling the need start to deepen, pushing him harder. He was driven, you’d told him, thank god he didn’t gamble. Anything verbal was hopeless. He just mumbled emphatically at each movement. He opened his mouth, a clue he was almost there. He just needed a little more. Just having him like that made you clench yourself around him, moaning when he almost lost his hold of himself above you. 

“You gotta…” He almost ’woofed’ out his breath. “Fuck, honey, y’take it so good.”

His voice cracked on ‘honey,’ and you could see it sort of shook his confidence. He’d never really said anything like that with you. He was the first in the relationship to be vocal about most things. He said he loved you first, despite all the inner turmoil, even if it was sort of an accident. It was your encouragement that made him say it, your reaction to his confident demeanor. You saw an opening to make him feel good about himself; you took it. His eyes closed, gears turning and undoubtedly overthinking what he just said, but you said his name, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

With a sort of assured grin, you nodded at him, “Keep going. Wanna hear how well I take it.” 

He mirrored your smile, getting shy about it, but his next thrust had him to the hilt and holding it there. You yelped a little at the feeling of him holding you, of him driven into you and bracing you while you squirmed. You moaned, and he twitched, hearing it sound like he’d knocked the wind from you. “Look at you. Fuck, you’re doing so good. Just like that for me.”

Mewling his name, extremities limp, you let him see exactly how much you liked seeing him try new things. He liked the way you tightened around his dick when he pushed himself inside little by little until you started to reach for his arm, and he’d stop there. You strained a little, taking deep breaths, the muscles in your stomach contracting and squeezing your cunt around him. You came around him, cursing and fawning. Stiles let out a groan that turned into useless and incomprehensible praise. His hips slowly retracted, slowly met yours again, speeding up until he found the release he was chasing. He struggled to keep the pace, though. He’d revert back to his other method, get restless, and try to keep up with his needs. 

When Stiles came, his chest was pressed down against yours. All he had to do was turn his head, and he was kissing your neck again, breathing harshly. He built up the strength to roll over beside you and rest his head on your shoulder. He looked up at you with a little exhaustion when you sat up and brushed your fingers through his hair, the baseball cap forgotten for the time being. His fatigue was clear in his voice when he spoke, and he let his head roll off of your shoulder. “I’ll be better.”

You tilted your head, about to comment how what he just did was pretty damn good, but more than grateful he could recognize how stressed his being in danger made you. You leaned down to kiss his nose, laughing when he tried to croon his neck so that you met his lips. You reached over the side of the bed, your fingers finding the soft material of Stiles’s shirt and pulling it over your head. You managed to find his boxers as well, frowning when a hand took them from you. Stiles put them back on, still lying down and tired. You moved to sit on your heels next to him on the bed, your hand softly tracing shapes into his chest. Stiles tried really hard to keep his eyes open, but you ran your hand over his torso and up through his hair in a way you knew would put him out. He tried to keep talking, but every “mhmph” felt like a monumental effort from his entire body. He ended up letting you trace the veins on his arm while he listened to you, being soothed to silence and held just over the edge of sleep by your voice and your hands. When you finally lay down next to him, Stiles had fallen asleep. He liked waking up to find you had slid yourself into his arms after making him so pliable. Of course, you got a notification and had to check it before you went to sleep for the night, and, of course, it was Scott. He was asking why Stiles hadn’t been responding to his calls or texts and that he had a few ideas they could look over with Derek. You messaged him back that he’d been busy. That you both had been busy with heavy implications in the message. You sent a picture of Stiles fast asleep to help explain how you had put him to bed. Scott’s plain reply of “oh” was enough closure for you to put the phone down for the night. 

[chimuelo2005-blog]

More yapping about Jayce and his relationship with Viktor and Mel cause why not?

One of the most interesting things about Jayce’s character arc is how Mel and Viktor act as these two opposing forces in his life; both guiding him, both shaping him, but in very different ways. Mel represents power, ambition, legacy, the political weight of Hextech and everything it could be. Viktor represents innovation, raw intellect, and the heart of why Hextech even exists in the first place. Jayce is caught between them, constantly being pulled in two directions.

Mel teaches Jayce how to navigate Piltover, how to gain and control his power instead of letting it control him. She gives him the tools to actually use Hextech as more than just an invention— turn it into something that changes the world. Without her, he never would’ve made it onto the council, never would’ve learned how to play politics, never would’ve become the leader Piltover needed. But at the end of the day? Jayce was never truly Mel’s.

Because no matter how much Mel shapes him, no matter how much power she hands him, Jayce’s first and strongest connection is always Viktor. His first choice is always Viktor. Viktor is the reason Hextech exists. Viktor is the reason Jayce even believes in progress in the first place. And you see it in the way Jayce prioritizes him over and over again.

Mel offers Jayce power, and yeah, he takes it—but he hesitates. He falters. With Viktor? There’s no hesitation. Jayce is willing to risk everything for Viktor in a way he never does for Mel. Like, when Viktor starts slipping away, Jayce drops everything. He stops caring about politics, about his reputation, about the carefully constructed path Mel laid out for him. The second Viktor needs him, that’s it. He’s done playing the game. He’s ready to throw away everything if it means saving him. Mel is an influence in his life. Viktor is his foundation.

And what’s really sad about all of this is that Mel knows. She sees it. She knows that at the end of the day, she’s teaching Jayce how to be powerful, but Viktor is the one who actually owns his heart. She sees how quickly Jayce pulls away from her when Viktor starts getting worse, how his priorities shift without a second thought. She spent the entire second part of the show shaping Jayce into a leader, a politician, a visionary—but the second Viktor is in danger, Jayce doesn’t care about any of that. He only cares about him.

Mel may have given Jayce power, but Viktor is the only person he was ever willing to lose that power for. Mel was the one who taught Jayce how to build an empire. But Viktor? Viktor is the one thing that could make him burn it all down.

And that says everything about Jayce.

I've seen some people in the reblogs make good points I missed while making the post, so I'll add them here.

This post is about jayce's perception or what I think his perception is based on his actions. Once said that: No, Mel is not the black girlfriend, that's a huge disrespect of her character, she's a powerful, intelligent woman with complexities and flaws that go far beyond some guy.

I agree that Jayce loved Mel, to a certain point. His favoritism towards Viktor is not even conscious most of the time. He obviously loved and cared for her, if he didn't they wouldn't have been together. My point is that he loved her in a way that would never be matched to the way he loves Viktor, and that's ok. They are two separate people, it's obvious Jayce won't love them the same.

While writing the script, I believe the writers made their relationship to put Jayce between a rock and a hard place at times. Mel is progress, she's powerful, beautiful, kind, She symbolizes everything Jayce wants to achieve (talking about her symbolism in jayce's character, not her own character) . Viktor is his foundation, he's beginning, he's the constant in his life even before he knew it. That's what I mean by saying Jayce was never fully Mel's.

I agree that as a fandom we don't talk enough about characters individually, but I firmly believe that there are characters that you need to talk about while talking about others. You cannot really talk deeply about Mel without talking about her mom, her brother and so on.

I love my girl Mel and I will yap about her soon because she's just too pretty and interesting not to.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

The Devil’s embrace is warmer than fire.

Warning ⚠️; Depiction of PTSD, nightmares, panic attacks, trauma.

Pairing; Nogitsune!Stiles/Male!Creature/Reader

Summary; You meet Stiles at the University as your roommate. A very traumatized roommate that you quickly grew fond of and soon became protective of. And Stiles welcomed your embrace in his nightmarish nights.

Note: I got that idea after seeing a post saying something like “What if Stiles was left with powers after his possession or transformed into a Nogitsune and so Incame up with this!

Credit @cafekitsune

Starting University was a stressful period for anyone, but for someone like you, inhuman? It was worse. Not knowing who would be your roommate or even if you'll be compatible. Your biggest fear was being paired with another creature and fighting for the room. You didn't have the resources to get your own place nor the possibility to explain why you would need to change room.

But you were lucky and ended up with a human.

Stiles was one hell of a phenomenon. Full of energy, extraverts and as bright as a sun, but you saw through his act and quickly realized he was wearing a mask. His eyes, his smiles never reached them and the dark circles under them immediately told you your roommate experienced sleepless nights. And he was so reactive. The simplest sound was enough to make him flinch and tense like a deer caught in headlights. Stiles had been through some bad shits, it was obvious the moment the two of you met. Yet, he was still so welcoming of you and so happy to have a roommate. He spoke of movies and cinemas nights, going out for pizza and beer or even gaming together.

He won your heart just like that.

You thought your years of University would be easy, comforted you were to share your room with a nice guy like Stiles. Someone you could grow close to and call a friend. It would be nice to have someone with who going out and having fun. Someone who wouldn't judge you for what you were.

You were wrong and the first night proved it without a doubt.

You were woken up by the sounds of painful whimpers and hushed begging. You groaned, opening your eyes and searching for the source. In the dim moonlight coming from the window, you saw Stiles trashing around in his beds. All his blankets were in the ground, but he still fought like the devil was after him.

- “Please no… Derek!” Stiles whined and flinched in his sleep.

- “Ow, Stiles, wake up man. You dreaming.” You groaned, burying your face in your pillow as to dim the sounds.

But he didn't wake up.

So you got up and leaned down above him, gripping Stiles’s shoulder and shaking him. He woke up, scared and before you could react, punched you in the face. You fell on your ass, holding your chin, shocked. As for Stiles, you heard him panting and whispering how sorry he was. In his voice, you heard little sobs.

You said nothing, just sat next to him and held him until dawn. Until he finally calmed down.

But each night was the same thing; nightmares and impossible to wake Stiles up without him trying to defend himself. He never spoke about what happened to him and you understood. Who want to share their trauma to anyone? Especially when it was clearly still fresh. But it wasn't long before you learned he had encountered creatures like you and fought them. How in hell was Stiles still alive, you didn't know, didn't ask. How were you supposed to explain he talked in his sleep? How he cowered and begged Derek or others to help?

Stiles was pathetic and you pitied him. No human should have to go through whatever he did and be left alone after.

And as days passed, you began to notice little changes in Stiles. The way he smelled was changing just like the world around him. Things began to happen, chaotic almost like fighting in the corridors, students insulting the teachers and so on. You saw Stiles’ skin becoming paler and he had a harder time feeding. But then, he would get better after touching certain people while helping them.

But the nightmares didn't get better, in the contrary.

So one night, you made a bold move.

As Stiles trashed around, you woke him up by throwing a tennis ball at him to avoid being hit. Poor Stiles screamed and sat, shielding his face with his arms and panting like a dog. It broke your heart. You grew fond of Stiles and became close friends with the eccentric young man. But as Stiles looked at you, you joined him in his bed.

- “H-hey! What are you…” Stiles began, but you shushed him and wrapped your arms around his torso.

As you lay down, you pulled Stiles against your naked chest and shivered as you felt how cold his skin was. Ice cold and he was shivering like a leaf. You pulled the blankets over you two and grunted as you ordered dered him to go back to sleep. Of course, Stiles argued, tried to make it seem like he was fine, but you just wrapped your arms tighter around him. After a few minutes of rent, Stiles relaxed and even snuggled closer. His breath against your neck made you shiver and you closed your eyes.

- “I know what you are.” Stiles whispered, shivering lips brushing against your warm skin.

- “I swear if you are quoting Twilight, I will carry you to the nearest lake and throw you in it.” You groaned, trying to play it off, but your heart raced in your chest.

It wasn't possible, right? You were careful and never let anything show. So how? How could Stiles know and show no fear? Anyone with more than two brain cells would run away from you, not let you hold them like that.

- “It’s fine, I am not scared. I know you won't hurt me and I won't tell anyone.” Stiles added with a sigh. “Not the first one I meet.”

And with that, your roommate fell asleep in your arms, leaving you confused as fuck. You didn't know how to react or what to do. Should you abandon the university and run away? Should things stay the same? You didn't want to go and leave, you had made friends and Stiles had become important to you. You were protective of the little human for reasons unknown, but his admission scared you.

Raising a hand, you brushed Stiles’s hair and smiled weakly as you felt how soft it was. You closed your eyes once more, burying your nose in it. You couldn't leave, couldn't abandon Stiles. So you would stay and see where things went.

And so began a new habit. Each night you would join Stiles in his bed or he would you in yours and you would keep an eye out in case he had a new nightmare. Funny enough, Stiles never had one as long as he was by your side and you didn't know how to feel about that. It was proof he felt safe next to you, but you weren't used to it. You were a monster, something humans usually called the Devil, so why did Stiles feel safe with you?

It didn't make sense, until it did.

Alone in your shared room and bed, Stiles began sharing memories of the past years. You learned who was Derek and his pack and all the adventures Stiles went through. May they be happy or painful, Stiles shared them with you. You were horrified upon learning Stiles was possessed by a Nogitsune. You never met one but knew what they were capable off.

It explained the nightmares.

It explained everything.

Why his scent changed, why everything weird and chaotic happened around Stiles. The Nogitsune had left its traces on your friend, slowly transforming him. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization. Stiles wouldn't be human for long and no one had told him, leaving you to announce the bad new, but how?

To thank Stiles for his trust, you shared with him facts about your nature and answered all his questions. God did he have an endless list of them! His questions kept coming and you even wondered if you had made a mistake, but each time you looked down and saw the twinkle of joy and curiosity in his eyes, you knew you made the right choice.

You softened by his side, for once not feeling disgusted by what you were. Stiles took care of you as much as you took care of him. He helped you study, and was there for you when instinct became too strong and overpowered you. You never hurt him, on the contrary. You grew more protective of Stiles as days and weeks passed and before you realized it, you began seeing him as your mate.

Mate.

A simple word that carried so much weight and duty. Like telling him the truth about his transformation.

It was a hard conversation filled with denial and screaming and tears from both of you. You hated being the one to announce the news and seeing the hurt in Stiles’ eyes. Each tear he shed broke your heart even more. But in the end, Stiles couldn't deny the truth and you promised him it changed nothing between you two. You didn't fear nor was disgusted by him. That night, Stiles cried himself to sleep in your arms.

You didn't say anything about your feelings, didn't act different by fear of breaking the friendship you had with Stiles. You couldn't bear the thought of losing him just because of something out of your control. But Stiles proved to you he was more observant than you ever thought. You came back to your room one day only to find both bed pressed against one another and Stiles sitting there on the phone. He was speaking to his father while taking notes in one of his school books.

- “Of course, I am coming back home for Christmas, but I already told you I wasn't going to be alone.” Stiles said as he rolled his eyes. “I want you to meet my boyfriend. Yeah, boyfriend! I told you years ago, but you said I wasn't gay because of how I dressed!”

Stiles laughed, a soft snort, as his smile grew upon seeing you. He waved his hand, signalling you to come closer. And you did, not in control of your body. You slowly got onto the bed and lay down next to Stiles before his hand fond your hair and stroked it. All tension left your body and you were able to breathe again. You closed your eyes, snuggling closer and wrapping your body around Stiles. You heard him chuckle and he gently scratched your neck, sending little shivers down your spine.

- “What can I say? I found a diamond and I am not going to lose it.” Stiles replied to something his father said. “He’s keeping me safe, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

You smiled, face buried against his tight.

He had noticed the way you acted, the way you always put yourself between him and any other creatures you might encounter. You didn't thought he would realize what you were doing, but that was underestimating Stiles.

Your boyfriend…

Such a strange but welcomed realization.

The travel to Beacon Hills, California, was a nice one but you weren’t impatient to do it again. You were growing nervous with each passing hour, not knowing how Stiles’ father would be toward you. You barely heard anything about the man except from the stories Stiles shared and you were conflicted about how to feel toward him. Then there was Derek’s pack. You were going to walk on their territory without warning.

Would they smell how Stiles’ scent had changed?

Naturally, your boyfriend picked on your nervousity and tried to help calm you down. Listening to him rambling about everything and anything was a nice distraction, but a short one.

It wasn't long before your mind turned back toward the future and what could go wrong. An angry pack of werewolves weren't easy to deal with and maybe Stiles wouldn't be enough to keep the peace. Worse, maybe he would get hurt trying to or they would turn against him because of his transformation. But you wouldn't let anything happen to him, never.

All those worries in the end were useless.

Everything went more than fine. Noah Stilinski of course gave you the talk, but it was expected. Not only was he a sheriff, but Stiles was all he had left. It was only natural he would want to protect his son. Besides that, you enjoyed meeting him. He didn't ask questions about your nature, but you knew he knew you weren't human with just the way he had looked you up and down. Maybe he had expected it too. Stiles didn't seem to surround himself with normal people after all.

No, the only rough meeting you had was with Derek and his pack. You had expected it, but it went smoother than you thought. They all gave you threats of course, as if you had the intention of hurting Stiles or breaking his heart. The worse had been Derek and the way he had looked at you, his eyes turning red at some point.

It had been Stiles who had calmed him, but for once he didn't see what you did.

Possession, jealousy… guilt. So many emotions in Derek’s eyes and you knew why. He had his chance,lost it and now you had what he desired but couldn't have.

You had Stiles’ heart.

Knowing it, you felt a sense of pride. You were proud that Stiles had chosen you as his mate, even tho he wascould have found so much better. You stayed close to him, arms wrapped around him knowing damn well what you were doing. Not just putting your scent on him, but showing off. And trying to cover his true scent, wanting to protect your boyfriend’s secret.

Derek caught on it, but not Stiles and your poor boyfriend kept wondering what the fuck was going on.

And the day passed slowly for you, but not for Stiles. You watched as he enjoyed every second of the reunion, as if he was back home. Yet, you could tell something was wrong about the interactions. It was as if Stiles didn't belong among them anymore and you wondered if they had caught on about Stiles. But bless his heart, your mate never realized anything and didn't had his heart broken. And a part of you hoped it was you who was the problem and not Stiles, but every fiber of your body screamed for you to stay close to Stiles, you couldn't leave him alone.

That night, as you laid in bed with Stiles, you tried to be a comforting presence to him. While he was clueless about what was going on, your mate still was worried about what was happening to him. He wasn't fully human anymore and yet not a Nogitsune yet. He was trapped between two natures, two worlds and it scared him. You shared his feelings, but tried to make him feel better.

- “Whatever the future hold, we are going to face it together. I promise.” You swore, face buried in his hair.

Stiles nodded, his face buried against your naked chest while his fingers grabbed onto you for dear life.

- “Maybe it would be better to not come back here… or rarely.” Stiles whispered and you shivered, knowing he was abandoning his home.

- “I will keep you safe, even if its mean fighting your friends.” You replied and Stiles shook his head.

- “I don’t want you too. Besides, I’m going to join the F.B.I, I told you. I won't have time to come back here often, so better start now and let Derek and everyone get use to it.” Stiles sounded determined, but you heard the small hesitation in it.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him and kissed his head, smiling as you saw how courageous he was being. You could imagine the pain the decision put him through, but also understood you couldn't change his mind.

- “And I’ll be by your side every steps you'll take. We’re in it together, forever, no matter what.” You said and you felt Stiles’ smiling against your skin.

It was a promise, an oath and you were going to keep it. You knew the future was going to be complicated and painful, but it was worth it. A life time with Stiles was more than worth it.

[saoirsezz]

ᯓ STRANGERS TO A LOST SOUL | 리키

PAIRINGS. stranger!riki x stranger!reader

GENRE. fluff, sprinkle of angst

WARNINGS. none

SYNOPSIS. after a very terrible day, you found yourself wanting to dissocialize from the world, what happens when coincidentally, someone did too?

THE RAIN WAS POURING HEAVILY, so was your tears. it had been a day like all others, tiring, draining, and clearly pained you the most. the clouds were grey, the noisy sound of raindrops concealing your pathetic sniffles.

why must your day simply be terrible out of all days? it was your special day— your birthday, it was suppose to be happy, nostalgic, but clearly something jinxed you for it to be the exact opposite.

your `friends' forgot to greet you a happy birthday, maybe even forgot your whole birthday. you got detention for being late becuase your bike tire got flat on the way to school, so you had to walk.

then some junior bumped into you, making you spill the milk on your uniform, the disgusting sticky liquid seeping through your clothes.

normally, these would simply annoy you, but not enough to ruin your day, but they all just had to happen at the same day, especially the day you were most looking forward to all year. how unlucky.

now you just found yourself crying over frustration on how bad things went. it won't undo what happened, it won't rewind time, but maybe it'll simply ease the little flare in your chest.

there was a small playground inside your village. the heavy rain caused children to stay inside their houses, bored. you were wet with sticky milk anyway, so the rain didn't cause you harm. you sat on the wet swing, little by little pushing yourself. the anger from earlier slowly subsiding, but it's still there.

to your surprises, another, probably also-got-a-bad-day person sat on the other swing. he was also just sitting in the rain with no umbrella. you wondered why he's here, but you came to a conclusion he most likely had a day like yours, if not worse.

“bad day?” he broke the silence. his voice was raspy, tired even. “could've definitely been better.” you sighed, letting your feet dig into sand to stop you from swinging.

he scoffed. “same. i lost at my game and my mom scolded at me saying it was a bad idea to start baseball in the first place— that I should've just focused on my studies. I tried to tell her that being a baseball player was my dream since I was a kid but-” he paused, his voice fading, as if he was weak and wanted to cry. “—she just doesn't get it.. what about you?” he questioned, he hoped you understood, even if you were just someone who he coincidentally met at this time.

“I, it's my birthday, and my friends didn't greet me, no one did. my bike's tire got flat, I'm drenched in milk, and I got my first ever detention. it sounds shallow I know-” he cut you off, shaking his head.

“it's not. I promise,” he paused for a few moments. his gaze lingered on yours, “happy birthday,”

you smiled. for the first time today.

“and go for your dream, I don't know you.. but, I know you deserve to be in the league of baseball. I hope I get to see you in TV someday,” you grinned, there was a spark in his eyes you didn't see when he sat down.

“maybe my day's not half bad.” he smiled as he stood up, “mine too.” you retorted.

you both got up and exchanged smiles, each going in their own ways, you looked back at him, seeing his figure slowly dissappear, you smiled on the way back home. the thoughts of today's earlier dismays were long gone. you had hoped to somehow see him again, and what you didn't know was, he did too.

© work of saoirsezz | sho 🂱

SHO'S NOTE ; i love this so much, i genuinely love this kinda dynamic. i hope u guys like it (╥﹏╥)

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Crushing On The Nerdy Guy At Work 2.0

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Synopsis: You finally got your wish and spent the night with the adorably awkward tech genius. Too bad he thinks you used him and no longer trusts you because of it. Even worse, you two still work together.

Tags: NSFW, characters are in their twenties, coworkers to lovers, oposites attract, nerd/popular, she fell first, virgin hero, first time, one-sided pining (reader has a massive crush on Tim), Angst, betrayal, protective Tim, batfam, love confessions, drunk confessions,

TW: stalking (by an oc) - Tim handles it.

After clocking out, Tim met Jason at a bar. The two planned to grab dinner before patrol.

The place was loud, busy, and packed with people out for happy hour, but Tim wasn't worried, especially when the waitress placed his burger in front of him.

Munching on a fry, Jason leaned back against his booth and gave a soft whistle. "Damn, look at that one."

Tim glanced up and did a double take.

You sat with some of your coworkers at a booth nearby, engaged in an animated conversation.

Tim began to regret suggesting a place so close to work, but he was starving after having forgotten to eat lunch again, so he sent Jason the location without thinking twice.

The same outfit you wore to work - a preppy skirt, knee-high boots, and a white cardigan - made you look soft and feminine among the suits and jackets at the establishment. His eyes lingered on you as you were deep in conversation with Rose and another team member. The same two who were gossiping about yourself and Tim the other day when he found out you'd kissed him on a dare.

Perfectly manicured hands wrapped around a martini glass as you raised it to your red lips. You looked like you belonged on the cover of the fashion magazine. He's seen you read so often... "Vague" or something.

Rose clocked him first. She mouthed something to you that made you pause. Then you turned and locked eyes with him across the room.

Tim tore his gaze away. "She’s my coworker." he told Jason

Jason smirked, popping another french fry into his mouth. "Your coworker just looked at you like you were dessert."

"No she didn't-"

You cleared your throat behind him, making both of the men turn around to face you. At some point, you had made your way over to the booth.

The man sitting next to Tim leaned back in his seat, watching you with amusement.

Ignoring him, you spoke. "Hey, Tim…"

"Hey," Tim gave you a tight-lipped smile, before gesturing to his companion. "Um, this is my brother, Jason. Jason, Y/N."

"Hey, Y/N…" Jason gave you a long once-over. You would have noticed if you weren’t so laser-focused on your co-worker.

"Hi," you waved to Jason mindlessly, still looking at Tim. "So…" Trying to look nonchalant, you flipped your hair in a signature move that usually garnered you mouthwatering looks. "How was your day?"

Damn it! What was it about him that made you act so... childish?

Tim's answer was stiff, guarded. "Busy."

You hated that he still thought you’d betrayed him. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even give you the chance to explain how you truly felt! You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. "Do you… maybe want to get coffee sometime?"

Rose and Violet, who have slowly made their way over to you with their belongings in hand, were now giving you funny sideways glances.

Oh, please, you thought, like they’ve never been down bad before.

Tim’s perpetually analytical blue eyes studied yours behind smudged lenses of his glasses. "My schedule’s tight."

Wow. He really didn't wanna talk to you.

Disappointed, you huffedan half-hearted, "Forget it." Before retreating.

Behind you, Rose not-so-subtly slipped Jason a note, mouthing the words "Call me" before turning to Tim. "Genius boy, I don't know what you're going through but hurry up and snap out of it. Steven, from Legal, asked her out today." Her tone was at the same time playful yet serious. Without further information, she turned and followed you out.

After you girls left, Jason turned to his little brother, grinning. "You’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met."

Tim scowled through a mouthful of burger. He muffled out a, "What?"

Jason gestured toward your retreating figure. "She’s a goddamn ten, Timmy, foaming at the mouth through her chanel lipstick for you."

Tim didn't want to correct his brother that the lipstic he's usually seen you wear was called "Dior." Instead, he said, "You don’t know what your-"

"Timmy," Jason shook his head. "She was practically kneeling at your feet ready to give you head right here and now-"

"Jason!" Tim looked around nervously, hoping no one heard his brother. "She only kissed me because of a dare."

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, shit. I didn't know that! So you got moves!" He clapped Tim on the shoulder.

"I dont 'got anything'". Tim shrugged, not feeling nearly as smug as someone in his position typically would. "But, we… yeah. I dont know."

"Oh, scored?"

"Jay-" Tim rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, his brother could be so vulgar.

Jason immediately smacked Tim upside the head. "So?"

Tim glared, rubbing his temple. "So nothing! It wasn’t real. I told you, it was just a dumb game for her.”

"Oh god, this is so fucking high school." Jason snorted. “Let me get this straight. She was dared to kiss you. Not to spend the night, right?"

"... as far as we know."

"Not to look at you like you the way she just did. Like you hung the fucking moon, right?"

Tim swallowed hard, taking another bite of his burger. "I... I guess."

Jason shook his head, bringing his beer to his lips. "You're so stupid..."

As he went on, Tim considered the facts.

It had only been a few days since he learned about the dare that led to your night together. It was easier to be mad at you, but really, he was mad at himself.

You were gorgeous, constantly surrounded by friends and admirers, while he was a loner. A nerd who preferred the company of gadgets and puzzles to that of real people (save for his family).

The nerd only got the prom queen in movies. Tim hated that he had let himself be fooled. He had just been a joke to you. That was it.

Damian’s fist collided with his face before Tim had the chance to react. The punch was sharp, sending the third Robin reeling back before he regained his balance. "Ow!"

"Oh, I’m sorry," his younger brother drawled, feigning concern. "I was under the impression we were sparring."

Tim wiped at the blood seeping from his lip. "We are, brat."

"One of us is," Damian muttered. "Stand ready, Drake."

"Can’t. I have to be at the office in ten minutes," Tim grumbled, stepping off the mat and wiping his sweat off with his shirt. In the window his saw his reflection. He needed to stop forgetting his meals. His stomach was beginning to look flat, save for muscle - it didn't look healthy. Then his eyes landed on his reflections mouth, stained in blood. "And now I have a flashy new injury to explain to everyone who asks."

"Next time, dodge." Damian shrugged, not hiding his amusement. "And I saw your calendar. You don’t start work until nine today."

Tim raised a brow. "...Did you hack my phone?"

"I’ve been practicing. Your lessons paid off." Damian looked proud of himself, tilting his head. "Speaking of, manicure at seven-thirty today? Really?"

Tim didn’t even blink. "Did you see that I’m also taking part in a pie-eating competition this Sunday?"

"Oh yeah." Damian snickered. Still not catching onto what Tim was hinting at.

"Hm, what about my Wonder Woman fanfic collection?" Tim trued again, leading him on.

"Hey, everyone’s into something." Damian shrugged. "At least it’s not some weird shit."

"You're a little slow today, kiddo." Tim tapped his head with his index finger, grinning. "That’s not my account you hacked."

Damian’s smirk faltered. "...What?"

Growing up with Batman, Tim had taken precautions long ago to redirect any hacking attempts to lead to the account of another Timothy Drake - a forty-year-old, blue collar father of two from Middletown, Ohio. No one in his family knew anything about his personal life - except Alfred. He trusted that man with everything.

"Anyway, I gotta go." Tim patted Damian’s shoulder. "Enjoy stalking a middle-aged man from Ohio."

"Damn it, Drake!" Damian growled. "Thats disgusting!"

"Hey, everyone’s into something." Tim echoed his brother’s earlier words before shutting the door behind him.

"No." Tim’s response was clipped as his leg began its usual anxious bounce. The the untied lace of his sneakers brushed against the floor of Commissioner Gordon’s office.

"Funny," Jim Gordon chuckled behind his coffee mug. "You seem to think that was a question. Let me make myself clear - it wasn’t. This is the bust of the decade! You’re doing the damn press conference."

"Commissioner - " Tim ran his hands through his hair, already feeling his nerves spike. "You don’t want - "

"What happened to your lip?" Gordon interrupted eyeing the fresh cut.

Tim self-consciously ran his finger over the cut from Damian. "I fell."

"Again?"

Tim wasn’t stupid. He was top of his class in the academy, and Gordon knew perfectly well he was capable of defending himself. Right now, Gordon was trying to change the subject. "Sir, you really don’t want me babbling into a mic in front of a crowd of journalists."

"Theres nothing i want more." Gordon smirked. "I find the idea to be well-deserved. You solved the riddle, son, you caught the Phantom. Gotham deserves to know who saved her. Better iron out that shirt and get a clean shave, because you’re going to be on camera tomorrow."

"But-" Tim swallowed, getting his points in order. "What if I mess up and disclose something I shouldn’t - confidential information!"

"That’s why we have a PR associate," Gordon said, raising a brow. "In fact, she should be waiting for you in the conference room right about now."

Oh no. As if he hadn’t been humiliated enough lately. Now you were going to watch him sweat through his clothes and trip over himself during press conferences? "I have my daily scrum in ten minutes." Was his final attempt.

"You’re excused." Gordon took another sip of his coffee. "Your scrum was with me anyway. And I already know your schedule."

Tim was out of arguments. "Yes, sir."

On the way to the conference room, he was stopped by Stanley, the department’s IT manager.

"Drake, can I borrow you for on-call?"

“Sorry, Stan, now’s a bad time.” Tim brushed past him, then paused. "And once again, I’m not IT."

"I know!" Stanley groaned. “But we’re swamped with tickets, and you’re the best with computers! Steven from Legal just downloaded a virus - it’s probably a quick fix."

Tim rolled his eyes. If he had a dime…

"Look," he began. "I have a meeting in five-"

Then he saw it. Tim narrowed his eyes to look over Stan's shoulder.

Steven from Legal was leaning against the wall of your cubicle, making major googly eyes at you.

You sat there, effortlessly put together as always. Plaid skirt hugging your waist, crisp white blouse tucked in neatly beneath a fitted blazer, knee-high boots that made your legs look unfairly long. And a damn bow in your hair. Delicate. Feminine. Perfect. Tim hated how it made his stomach twist.

Steven from legal reached up to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and you flinched at the sudden movement.

Tim clenched his teeth. He didn't like this. The young detective cleared his throat. "Yeah, I’ll help Steve."

Stan grinned. "Oh, thank you, man! You’re a godsend-"

Tim was already walking past him.

After begrudgingly fixing Steven from legal's computer, Tim arrived at his first media training session, dreading being on camera.

You entered a minute after he did, balancing your laptop in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"Good morning," you greeted in an unsure tone as you took your seat across from him.

Tim pushed up his glasses and folded his arms. "Morning."

You slid a neatly organized, color-coded packet across the table. "I prepared a media package for you over the weekend. It was approved by the Commissioner. It includes a script that should make it easy for you to answer most questions."

Tim skimmed through the pages, raising a brow at how meticulous it was. He thrived in chaos while you, he learned, thrived in order. A smirk threatened to break out when he saw you align your pen to your notebook. The smirk faltered when a thought came to mind. "Was the press conference your idea?"

"...what?" You blinked.

"The press conference." Tim gestured around the two of you. "Was this your way of getting me alone so that we could talk?"

Your expression changed into that of disbelief. You felt your teeth clench and nostrils flare as you huffed. "Press conferences are a routine procedure after any worthy development occurs in any government sector. No, I did not orchestrate a media frenzy to trap you into spending time with me, Tim. Were both doing our jobs."

Swallowing. Tim cast his gaze down, feeling like a bad student in trouble with a teacher. "Youre right. I'm sorry."

"Its fine." Luckily, you dropped the subject. "In the next few hours, we’ll go over wardrobe and behavior," you continued. "Keep your answers short and to the point. No rambling."

Tim scoffed. "I don’t ramble."

You arched a perfectly styled brow.

His jaw tightened. "…Fine."

He was in your world now. Public speaking was hard. Terrifying. But you had good tips and feedback, and he found himself growing less and less nervous with each question he practiced, having memorized your script helped out tremendously.

And you were all business - professional, not flirty like he was used to. It threw him off at first, but even through his bitterness, he found himself impressed.

You also kept to a strict schedule, so the days you two spent leading up to the conference you ate together - which resulted in him never skipping meals. He liked what he saw in the mirror. He was still lean and on the thinner side, but he'd bulked up a bit.

You, meanwhile, tried to stay professional, but Tim was making it hard.

His sleeves were always rolled up just enough to show the lean muscle of his forearms, veins visible when he typed, wrote, or did something with his hands. His posture had changed too - broader, more confident because of your lessons, less of the lanky boy you remembered.

He was still always adjusting his glasses - pushing them up his nose with his index finger - and you were way too aware of how that same finger gripped your wrists only a week ago. When he looked at you, even briefly mid-conversation, those gorgeous ocean eyes felt like a magnifying glass boring into your soul.

You cleared your throat. "Tim, remember to keep your hands still when speaking-"

"Yeah. Got it."

Short, clipped. But his voice was deep. He was just speaking, trying his best to work together, but his low rasp reminded you of the way he whispered, "Does that feel good?" In your ear a mere few nights ago.

And the worst part? He had a five o’clock shadow now. That jawline, a little rougher, made you ache to feel it against your skin.

Tim was already so goddamned irresistible to you. Close proximity tested your sanity, and you were afraid you were failing.

"Detective Drake, Tamara Lane from the Gotham Gazette." One of the journalists raised her mic to him. "Are the rumors true that you and your PR associate are dating?"

The room fell silent.

Tim froze.

You gripped your phone nervously behind the stage.

Tim blinked once. Then, with an arched brow, he leaned toward the mic. "Since when does the Gotham Gazette run a gossip column?"

The room burst with chuckles, tension easing. But you caught the way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers twitched at his sides.

"First of all," Tim continued, straightening, "I’m here to talk about the Phantom case and trial. If you have any questions about that, I’ll happily answer. But don’t waste everyone’s time with melodrama, please. No, we are not dating.” He finished, choosing not to chastize the journalists further.

"I'm afraid that's all the time we have today." The moderator spoke into her mic. "Thank you detective. The city owes you."

Tim shook his head. "Thank you, but the city owes me nothing. As one of Gothams citizens, I was doing my responsibility to the same streets I grew up in."

That got him a room full of claps. You were so proud. He handled it like a pro. Physical distance was a killer when all you wanted was to run over there and praise him for doing a good job.

"So y/n," An aggressive male journalist made a few steps towards you, invading your personal space. "That bite on Drake’s lip. That your doing?" He winked, backing you against a wall.

"I - " You felt yourself stumble, the tension knotting your stomach. "No, it's not. Can you please back up, Darren?"

This wasnt your first time meeting him. Darren was a tool back in college, when you were both in the journalism program. More than once that he'd attributed your success to your looks alone, with not so subtle implications that you had slept your way to the top.

You were hoping that leaving your previous big shot corporation and getting a job in public services would get him off your back. It didnt.

"Sure can, gorgeous." Darren smirked. "Just as soon as you tell me it was you who gave him that love bite - "

"That's close enough." Tim was there in an instant. His hand shot out, shoving Darren back effortlessly while pulling you behind him, his grip firm, but careful on your arm. You let out a sigh of relief, squeezing his hand in gratitude as the nosey journalist shrank back.

Tim turned to you, eyes searching for any sign of distress. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

You were still clearly shaken. He eyed you for a moment, as if waiting for you to contradict yourself.

That's when a thought had occurred to him. You were a beautiful girl, never lacking male attention and always having your fair selection of admirers. But...

But how much of that attention was actually wanted?

Right now, you looked extremely uncomfortable. If the women in his life were faced with such behavior, Tim pondered. If Barbara, Steph, or Cassie were backed into a corner by a man they'd take one clean punch to knock the guy's lights out.

But you weren't like his sisters. You were all smiles and sweetness. You were innocent... vulnerable.

The thought made something stir within him... his fists clenched at his sides as he turned to glare at the retreating journalist.

He and you addressed each other by name. This wasn't your first time meeting.

It took five minutes to bypass Darren's security and get root access to his computer - where Tim found a disturbing amount of pictures of you. Some were with your higher-ups, others with professors, TAs, all taken without your knowledge.

Tim cringed reading the notes Darren had attached to each one - sexualizing and objectifying you to justify your successes in life.

Tim made quick work of adding screenshits to a secure folder, which he sent anonymously to Dick's work email.

Tim’s phone chimed in under a minute. Dick’s name flashing on screen on the wayne family's private texting platform. "Timmy, You should be asleep on your night off."

Tim couldn't help but grin as he typed back. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else sends anonymous emails containing incriminating evidence At 3 in the morning?"

Tim glanced at his watch, confirming he's really been up that late.

"Touche" he wrote back.

"Whose this creep?"

"Some guy who's been harassing a-" he paused, before typing. "-friend at work."

"Jesus, christ there's so many files."

"Tell me about it. Need my help with anything?"

"Nah, I'll get a permit and look into it."

"Great,"

Before finishing up, Tim made sure to leave Darren a clear message his screen so that when he opened his laptop the next day, he'd be met with the words: "Journalism is not the same as stalking. Learn the difference, asshole." Capitalized on his desktop wallpaper.

5 Months Later

"Hey!" Tim picked up your call after the first ring.

You shivered outside the nightclub in nothing but your dress (that looked more like a nightgown as your roommate said) and puffy jacket. You were out with your roommate again, but a few glasses of wine told you it was a good idea to call him.

Holding the phone to your mouth, you spoke. "I have something to say to you, Tim Drake.”

His voice shook as he said. "... Okay?" As if he was laughing.

"Just... dont hang up." You took a deep breath. "I need you to hear this."

"Go ahead," you heard laughter on the other end of the call.

"I LIKE YOU. TIM DRAKE." You yelled into your phone. "I have liked you for a LONG time. Way before rose and the dare and the bar. And because I am an idiot, I screwed it up -"

"Where are you?"

"You promised you wouldn't interrupt!" You accused.

"I said no such thing, sweetheart. Where are you?" He insisted. "You're definitely drunk and shouldn't be alone right now."

"Im just fine, thankyouverymuch!" You slurred. "And I don't - *hiccup* - wanna be seen in the state im in right now... especially by you. Anyway, can you focus?"

You then proceeded to list every tiny thing you’ve noticed about him over the months of knowing him: "I like how you get so into work that you forget to eat, even though it drives me crazy."

"And I like that you’re so damn smart, but you can’t take a compliment to save your life." You snickered as you spoke.

"I like that you don’t realize how many people actually admire you.”

"…And I like that you kissed me back that night, even though you were surprised."

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat beside you.

You turned to look who it was, and your eyes landed on him. Your mouth dropped, and you blinked at him blankly. You were in disbelief. Had you manifested him out of thin air?

After placing his jacket around you, Tim crossed his arms, watching you intently as you fidgetted under his gaze as he waited for you to continue. His blue eyes crincled at the sides with barely suppressed laughter. They seemed to say, "You wanted to do this, so do it."

"I..." You took a deep breath, still not believing he was here. "... Okay, I’m just gonna say it."

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"That night we spent together? I wasn’t faking anything." You shifted, suddenly feeling very warm. "I mean, you were just... so good. Like, ridiculously good."

Tim blinked, pursing his lips and looking like he was trying hard not to laugh.

You continued in a rush, "And not just in a ‘this guy knows what he’s doing’ type of way, but in a ‘no one has ever made me feel like that’ way, and it’s been messing with my head because now every time I see you, I just-" You cut yourself off, mortified. Why are you saying all of this? Oh, right, the wine.

Tim stared at you. Processing. Then, very slowly, he smirked, taking a step closer. "… you haven’t stopped thinking about it, huh?"

Shivering, you made a strangled noise. "I-That’s not the point!"

"No, no, I think it is." His smirk grew, and he stepped closer still, pulling you into his arms. You welcomed the warmth of his body, feeling small in his big frame. He exhuded a sudden confidence you hadn't seen in him before when he said, "Go on, prom queen. Elaborate."

You groan, covering your face. "I hate you."

"Do you?"

"Whatever." You suddenly lost confidence, facing away from him. "That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say."

You turned to go step back, but Tim grabbed your waist, pulled you back toward him, and kissed you breathless. "I like you too, prom queen. Now I need you to answer an important question."

You gasped against his lips, feeling elated that he had basically confessed he liked you back. Your breath hitched when you said. "Anything."

He smiled down at you. "How many drinks did you have before you forgot I was your boyfriend?"

Your eyes fluttered open to soft kisses peppering your face.

"Morning." Tim rasped against your ear before nipping at it, making your skin rise along with your hitching breath.

There was a new bruise forming on his back, you ran your fingers over it but didn't ask any questions. He had his personal life and you had yours and you respected whatever he had to do to take out stress in his life.

"Morning-" your voice was soft and sleepy as Tim left a bite mark right on your pulse before licking over the mark he left. "How was patrol?"

"Nothing interesting. I missed you, though. And you definitely missed me." He emphasized the last words, his fingers reaching for your bare pussy under your nightgown.

"Nothing interesting?" You squeaked. You were so wet that his fingers glided over your slit with ease. That was good, interesting, in Tims case usually implied danger. You worried less on the nights that he came back home bored.

He tilted his head to the side as if considering something. "Well, actually, the end of the night was pretty entertaining. Thanks to you."

"Really?" You asked, grinning. "What happened?"

He took your breasts in his hands and softly rolled your nipples between his index and thumbs over your pastel pink nightgown. Sensitive, you let out a wimper, arching against the mattress and pushing your breasts into his hands. "Mhmm, maybe I shouldn’t say."

Each swipe of his finger over your responsive peaks sent a shiver down your body straight to your sex. Your head rolled back against the soft pillow, hair spralked all around you.

"Please tell me?" You begged, now starting to get nervous. Last night was girls' night. You knew Tim would be on patrol, so you met your girlfriends at the bar. Come to think of it... you don't really recall what happened.

He kissed down your body to the top of your inner thighs. Where you were ticklish. "Let's just say i got a cute phone call at four in the morning."

Gasping, you bolted up to a sitting position on the bed. "No!"

"Oh yes," at his place between your thighs, Tim met your gaze and let out a sinister, evil laugh. The vibration of his laughter made his tongue rub deliciously against your slit, making you moan and arch your back.

You fought to stay focused. "What did I say to you?"

"Idunno," he hummed, closing his eyes as his toungue mapping out your clit in small circles.

"Tim- ah-" your fingers grasped at his messy hair as the stimulation against your clit began to build up. Oh god, he'd gotten so good at that. Your breathing grew quicker as his tongue continued its assault. "Mhnnn, what did I say?" You whined.

Veiny hands squeezed your thighs before coming back up to push you back onto the bed. The material of your nightgown split at the front, baring and exposing your breasts to be tormented by his hands once more.

He continued toying with you for a long time. The delicious stimulation grew stronger and stronger until you weren't able to hold back anymore. Panting, you came all over his mouth, and he lapped at your spilling juices.

"Good girl," he cooed, running his hands over you.

"I-" you panted, kegs shaking as he gathered you in his arms. "Tim. P-please, how bad was it?"

"What do I get if I tell you," He asked with amusement while his thumb rose to tease your clit again.

Overstimukated, you squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. "I'll... I'll kiss you?"

"Well, alright." He snickered while turning on the shower handle, letting the water fall over the both of you, still in your clothes. He lowered you to the ground, keeping his lips a breath apart from yours, and whispered. "You got so drunk you kinda forgot we were dating."

Your hads rose to cover your mouth as you shook your head in horror. "No,"

He nodded. "Im afraid so, prom queen. And you called me, screaming about how you had a crush on me-"

"Stop," your hands covered your eyes.

"-and how I rocked your world -"

"Oh god."

"-really, the 'best you've ever had'. Your words, not mine."

"I'm never touching alcohol again!" You moaned, gently baging your head against his chest.

Tim's hands came to cup your face, brushing your hair behind your ears. "I love you, prom queen."

You smiled back, shily. "I love you too."

Tim's grin only widened.

[micah-of-the-psychos]

I'm begging and screaming for the people that say "attachment doesn't mean love" to rewatch the Prequels. You don't even have to rewatch the fucking Clone Wars. It is literally the most obvious thing that attachment, yes, does in fact mean love. No, Anakin saying "Jedi are encouraged to love" in AotC does not prove you right, it's him saying "well technically I'm allowed to love" in a very tongue-in-cheek manner, blatantly implying that he's actually breaking the rules (on another note, some people on here really like flip-flopping on whether or not Anakin is a reliable narrator, and it seems to solely depend upon whether or not they agree with what he's saying). It's about as subtle as a semi truck. Plus, the entire time that he's married to her he has to keep his relationship secret because his relationship is, y'know, forbidden. He has to hide that she is pregnant because his relationship to her is, in fact, forbidden.

Since y'all love bringing up what George Lucas said about what attachment actually means, riddle me this: why would he write an entire forbidden romance subplot contingent on the Jedi forbidding things like romantic relationships if the Jedi didn't, in fact, forbid romantic relationships? There's two options here: either George Lucas is an even worse writer than we thought, or he's doing the interview version of retconning shit on Twitter. Since people ignored JKR even before she became prolific bigot, I think it's safe to assume most people think Word of God means jack shit if they're actively retconning core aspects of their work. So Lucas's word is utterly worthless in this argument regardless of his intentions.

Another blatantly obvious bit of proof that attachment=love is the fact that Jedi can't have relationships with their birth family. Full stop. There is no ambiguity to whether or not this is true, there is no George Lucas interviews for you to hide behind; this is irrevocably canon. And there is quite literally no legitimate excuse for the Jedi to do this. All excuses for this, canonical and fandom, circle directly back to "attachment is forbidden", and it is so painfully funny to watch the few people willing to defend this. Most don't even try though, and just ignore this issue entirely, because it is a glaringly obvious contradiction to their glorified headcanon on attachments that they so desperately want to uphold.

You know, I remember back when people on TikTok were freaking out about people not having media literacy. And I remember thinking during that entire time "You guys thought people ever had media literacy?" This portion of the Star Wars fandom in particular is walking proof that media literacy never died, it was already dead the second humanity invented storytelling.

Some disclaimers because some people in this fandom are particularly fond of using straw men and ad hominem, as well as just trolling:

-I don't think the Sith are good guys. You should watch me play KOTOR 1 and count the amount of times I call the Sith assholes, dumbasses, or scum. I very much hate them.

-I don't think that Order 66 was justified. This really shouldn't have to be said, but some people on this platform have rendered this necessary.

-People can headcanon that attachment and love are different things. My problem is when people start treating it as canon and try to force other people too as well.

-Criticizing the Jedi does not mean I am criticizing Buddhism. Even if it did, I will criticize any religion I damn well please because the "It's My Religion" card immediately loses validity the second you physically or psychologically harm other people, especially children. However, the Jedi philosophy on attachment and the Buddhist philosophy on attachment are different, so this argument doesn't hold any water to begin with.

-You are free to like the Jedi. I encourage you to do so. I am not, and never will tell you that you can't.

-I really shouldn't have to make these disclaimers to begin with, but since this is the internet and people don't read the words on the page anymore, I unfortunately have to spell shit out with crayon.

Also, I can and will use the block button. If you engage in bullying or harassment, engage in bad faith arguments, or otherwise say fundamentally false or incredibly stupid shit, I will block you. If you can't handle that, then don't engage with this post. I am not making this post in hopes that you will actually listen to me, because the people that this is directed at don't listen, and don't want to. If you truly disagree with what I've said in this post on such a fundamental level that you need to make a long-winded reply about how everything I've ever said is wrong, please just scroll — dealing with that shit is actually exhausting.

[mayxxday]

Well-Conditioned : Katsuki Bakugou

Katsuki was acting oddly. And that was underwhelming of a statement to put it because he was all over the place. Fidgeting, crackling, and irritation were through the roof. Katsuki was barely in his seat even. Bouncing his leg, he couldn't help but feel like he did something wrong. Why else, wouldn’t you kiss his cheek as you always did whenever he did something for you?

Katsuki sucked ass when it came to talking love. But it wasn’t that he didn’t show it through his actions. Softened gaze dripping honey each time he wiped his sweat palms on his pants before cupping your cheeks. There was no way he’s gonna get the sticky vile flammable on you—his precious. 

Katsuki showed his love when he snatched your backpack off your shoulder, throwing it over his while he dragged you out of the class. He earned himself a sickly sweet kiss on his cheek, showing that you acknowledged his actions and their meaning. It wasn’t an ‘I love you,’ but that’s what anyone but them would say.

Katsuki wasn’t big on grand gestures of love either but he made do with little trinkets and stickers he bought because ‘he thought of you’. And you like it that way. Or at least that’s what he inferred when you would jump into his arms, kissing all over his face.

He surely couldn’t write about his love, he tried that crap and ended up charring his desk black. But he packed you bentos whenever you were to travel back home from the UA dorms. He made sure to put in extra effort and make the fanciest dishes in case your parents were to see the food and judge him off it ( a good potential husband?). Before you would have seen the inside contents or noticed a lacking love note he should have written to you, he would have his arm tugged down, his precious on her toes, to press a big smooch to his cheek. 

Katsuki was more than gentlemanly for you, he was your boyfriend, so, of course, he tied your shoelaces for you (why do you still use the bunny ears method, is his excuse), draping his jacket over your legs whenever you wore skirts, all because he knew you liked to manspread worse than him. He carries pads and hair ties in his bag, but which boyfriend wouldn’t? He holds your heels with a grumpy frown, holding your waist to ensure you didn’t trip in his shoes because you thought you could handle being in heels all day. 

Katsuki did all this not for praise or compliment. No, he wasn’t obligated to do these either, but he did it because that’s what a good boyfriend would do for you. That however didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate or relish the kisses he received each time he showed his love through his actions. 

So what was different today? When he draped his jacket around your shoulder today, why didn’t he get his kiss? And he knows you noticed it, turning your head to him offer your sweet smile, before returning back to your conversation with Mina. 

THAT’S IT? Katsuki was confused, he had even leaned in to receive his daily dose of kiss, instead of awkwardly standing back straight noticing his instinct. Was he desperate? No. Was he needy? Maybe. Why can’t a man get his share of kisses?

Staring at you annoyed he waited for you to notice. 

BUT YOU NEVER DID.  

He even huffed thrice, each time only receiving a distracted rub on his thigh while you gossiped with Mina. Gosh, he wanted to explode her right now. When he finally got over his petty subtle hints he just grabbed your face to face him. 

"How long will it take ya' to kiss me, brat?” 

Katsuki was easy though. Maybe not for everyone, but his little doll had him wrapped around her finger. When you just smiled innocently at him, pecking his lips without a question. The beast was finally appeased. 

“Thank you for the jacket, ‘Suki”

Goddamn, this woman really had conditioned him to seek her kisses without a clue in her pretty head.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated >.<

please lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist. my inbox is open for any requests too if you guys might have any.

[yesimwriting]

Phantom Lurking

A/n This is a story set in the bestie reader verse that I briefly mentioned in an ask, but there's no specific context needed outside of the fact that reader and louis are extremely close best friends

Warnings: nothing too crazy (especially when compared to the source material) but there's mentions/implications of someone putting something in reader's drink but, within the fic, reader is never actually in danger of being physically hurt, reader feeling sick/anxious, Armand being emotionally manipulative as a way of expressing affection

Summary: After an argument with Louis, you decide to go out with an old friend. Once you're home again, you're forced to deal with two realizations. The first is that you feel a lot worse than you should, and the second is that Armand isn't the worst at being helpful when he wants to be.

----

The world feels flat, like one of the three dimensions you're used to being able to perceive has slipped into nonexistence. You frown, letting the thought inch its way up your spine.

You blink. Once and then twice, as if the familiarity of the gesture will be enough to remind you of what you were doing--of the reason for the phone in your hand.

"Woah," the voice is sharp enough in its happiness to jab at your stomach. You lift your head, ignoring the rigidness of the movement as you look to the source of the sound. Grace--your friend, Grace. A part of you is almost complacent enough to be eased by the realization that she's here. "You look so sad."

You can feel your eyebrows draw together. Do you? And then, as your fingers tighten around your cell phone, a second thought latches itself onto the first: Are you?

"Don't worry," she says, voice so chipper it almost stings. "He'll be over it tomorrow."

Right. On instinct, you let your head fall downwards. You unlock your phone, eyes narrowing at the screen's brightness as you open your messages. No new ones. Just the last texts you managed to send to Louis before you started feeling too nauseous to type: Not feeling. Okkay.

The lack of response presses itself into your lungs, making it impossible to breathe right. Louis was upset , but you can't imagine him ever being mad enough to not text you back. "But Louis answers."

Grace watches you for a second, her head tilting curiously at your phrasing. "Maybe he's sleeping." When the suggestion doesn't seem to sway you, she places a hand on your bare shoulder. Your mind is aware enough to acknowledge the intentions behind the contact, but her skin is so warm and sweaty against yours it's nearly nauseating. "It's late."

Louis keeps different hours than the general population, but that's not something you can fault her for not knowing. Besides, maybe it is so late that the night is morphing into morning. It wouldn't be the first time you and Grace lost an entire night to partying, and it would explain why you feel so incredibly out of it.

And...if Louis was really upset, he might have gone to bed early. He mentioned once that sometimes vampires enclose themselves in their coffins to avoid dealing with discomfort. It sounds deeply dramatic to you, but it's possible he's doing something similar.

You exhale, nodding so slowly the motion feels like more of a caricature of a human response than anything else. She laughs, the sound full in its certainty. Your stomach doesn't know how to digest her easiness.

"You'll feel better tomorrow." Grace's hand pulls itself away from your arm. "Okay--keys." When all you do is stare at her, she sighs. "First, I have to stop you from going home with that weird guy you met while waiting for the bathroom..." She trails off as she reaches for your purse. "And now you don't even remember where you are."

Hm. Grace's chastising gives you something to focus on. You blink, lifting your gaze as you glance around the building. The pale walls and warm lighting are familiar...this is your apartment building. How did you get to your apartment building?

Grace rifles through your purse, the contents of your bag clinking together as she searches through it. After a second, she seems to find what she's looking for. She turns away from you and towards the door.

"Okay," she hums triumphantly, "We're in."

You take the words as a sign to step forward. Your thoughts don't align with your movements. The delay is enough to make you stumble, your foot missing the base of your heel.

Grace is next to you in a second, her hands latching onto your arms to keep you stable. "How much did you drink?" The question lacks her earlier amusement.

You're not sure you're meant to respond, but you think about it anyway. It didn't feel like that much...but you don't exactly remember every moment, every drink--and you were mad at Louis.

She watches you for a second, her eyes wide and much too focused. "Are you okay?" It's a question your mind refuses to dwell on. Of course you're okay. "Like--okay to be left alone."

"Mhm," the answer feels hollow, "Yeah." Grace continues to stare, her lips pressed together in a way that conveys her uncertainty. "I'm just gonna go to sleep."

She studies you for another beat, and then sighs, "Okay--but straight to bed. And no more texting." Easy enough to follow. Grace lets go of you slowly. "And maybe try to drink some water--and--and try to sleep on your side."

You nod blankly, your hands reaching for the door in front of you. "Water, side, no texting."

Grace sighs as she walks forward. "And call me in the morning, okay?"

You squeeze the side of the door in an attempt to feel more stable. Tomorrow morning feels so far...so impossible. "Okay. Yeah."

She turns her head to look at you one last time before continuing down the hall. You step into your apartment before shutting the door behind you.

The darkness of your apartment immediately pushes itself to the front of your mind, blending into your unease in a way that's dizzying. You exhale, letting your weight rest against the door. You shut your eyes, inhaling as you force yourself to focus on the concrete. The ground beneath your feet is steady, the wood against your back is stable.

"You turned off your location."

The tension that takes over your body is so sharp, so heavy it briefly leaves you paralyzed. You open your eyes, pushing yourself further against the door.

Wait. The voice. You know that voice. The recognition doesn't ease you until a familiar figure pulls itself away from the shadows enshrouding your living room in darkness.

"Oh my god," you manage a second too late, the words devoid of the necessary bite needed to turn the phrase into a warning. "I thought you were a serial killer."

Armand doesn't care about your reaction. He just continues walking towards you with slow, even steps. Your mind is too foggy for his theatrics. "What..." Your questions feel too inadequate for you to make them mean anything. "Is Louis--is he okay?"

He stills at that, but it doesn't really matter. He's close enough now that the darkness isn't obscuring his features. For a moment, you think the question might have softened his expression. "Now you can find it in yourself to worry about him? After the way you spoke to him?"

Of course Louis told him. The haziness clinging to your thoughts has turned everything into sludge. Your lips part, some barely coherent defense-apology hybrid attempting to crawl its way up your throat. All you can manage is a slurred, "He was--dramatic, and I--" You push a hand against the door in an attempt to make yourself stand on your own. "I'm sorry." You're not sure why you're apologizing. It's not like Louis can hear it.

Armand continues forward. You don't think about where he might be going until you feel his hand on your arm. He's a lot less careful than Grace was, but something about the feel of his skin against yours is also a lot less overwhelming. If anything, the coolness of his touch is almost alievating.

"I don't--" You're not sure there's much point in explaining anything. Not when the only thing tethering you to consciousness is your nausea. You can't remember ever feeling so separate from yourself. "I don't feel good. If you're gonna lecture me, do it tomorrow."

Tomorrow. It feels more like a concept than a date. Things would be so much better if you could just fade out of existence until then.

Armand pulls you away from the door. Your limbs are too stiff to protest. His eyebrows draw together, and something behind his expression shifts. "I'm not here to lecture you."

"Then why are you here?"

His thumb moves out of place, brushing against your skin soothingly. "After your argument--Louis came back to me, he told me about what you said, how you treated him, and then he went to bed. Hours later, you sent him a message saying you didn't feel well..." He squeezes your arm a little tighter. "And you turned off your location."

It had been an extremely petty move, but in the moment, a few drinks in, it had felt so reasonable. If Louis was going to see you as fragile, you'd have to show him that you felt no interest in being looked after. "I was mad."

"And now you're experiencing natural consequence." His hold on you morphs into something that borders on uncomfortable, his nails pressing into your skin. "Do you know what people see when they look at you?" You can't do anything but stare at him. "You refuse to acknowledge your vulnerability, and then you stumble home like this."

Okay--you're drunk, but not--not horrible. You’re standing (mostly), and you haven't said anything weird to him. "You're not clueless." The words almost feel like a compliment. "How much did you have to drink?" You don't have an answer. "You don't know? Because I've seen you with Louis, and even when alcohol makes you sick, it's never like this."

Your limbs seem to grow heavier at the implication of his words. Did someone drug you? There was that one guy that hung around you and Grace a little too long, but he never got you a drink.

"Maybe you'll learn to appreciate Louis's warnings instead of running off with the first girl that offers you something simple."

Louis--when he learns about what happened, when he learns that you tried to call him...and that he wasn't there. "Don't tell him."

He angles his head towards you. "You're asking me to keep a secret from my companion for you?"

Ugh. "No." You didn't mean it that way, or at the very least, you didn't want to mean it that way. You can't make sense of things for yourself let alone for another person. "I don't know." Your head is starting to ache. "I just don't--I don't want him to feel bad."

Armand lets go of you slowly, his fingertips brushing against your arm as he straightens. "We'll worry about him tomorrow." There's a certainty there that leaves no room for argument.

The thought of delaying your worry doesn't feel as simple as he's making it out to be, but you can't find the words or energy to disagree. You're not sure what you'd be arguing for, anyway.

He turns with no warning, walking down the hall like this is his apartment. His decisiveness might have bothered you if it didn't make things feel a little easier. Even with Armand serving as a guiding force, your mind seems to buffer. It takes you a second to think to act on the desire to follow him.

It shouldn't be surprising that Armand seems so comfortable moving through your apartment. He's nowhere near as familiar with this space as Louis, but you find it hard to imagine Armand uncomfortable anywhere.

He finds your room. A more coherent version of yourself would have had the energy to worry about the last minute outfits you rejected and didn't have time to put away sitting on your desk chair.

The familiarity of your bedroom is enough to get you to move forward. You approach your bed, half-sitting-half-stumbling onto the mattress. You're not given the chance to settle before your muscles slump out of place. It's an unraveling of tension that offers you no peace.

Dread pools in your stomach. You blink, screwing your eyes shut before forcing them open again in an attempt to fight against the drowsiness blurring your vision. It's too sudden, too heavy.

"You can't fall asleep like that." The words are gentle enough to reach you through your panic.

You want to tell him that you can't be falling asleep, that falling asleep doesn't hold this kind of weight. Instead of struggling to piece your thoughts into something intelligible, you lift your head slightly and mumble a flat, "I'm not."

Armand's back is to you, his attention focused on your dresser. When he turns to face you again, he's holding a familiar piece of fabric. One of the oversized T-shirts you sleep in.

It takes much more focus than it should for you to press your elbows into your bedding. The edges of your vision grow spotty as you stand. You're managing, but everything about your positioning feels circumstantial, like the slightest shift could push you into unconsciousness.

He hands you your shirt. You squeeze the fabric between your fingers. Before you can think to do anything else, Armand's hand finds your wrist. You still at the contact. He moves towards you with slow, deliberate steps.

Armand stops directly behind you. He sets his palm against your shoulder, his thumb smoothing patterns against your shoulder. His other hand settles against your upper back. Something about the contact makes it a little easier to breathe.

You're just getting used to his proximity making things feel easier when he pulls his palm away from you. Before you can overthink the shift, you realize what he's doing. The zipper of your dress has been tugged out of its place.

Armand's slow to release you, his fingertips dragging against your skin as he steps away from you. He walks forward until he's in front of you again, his attention firmly focused on the wall. It takes you a moment to realize that this is him offering you privacy.

You pull the T-shirt over your head with a tact that feels similar to that of a toddler dressing themselves for the first time. You adjust the shirt's hem before pulling the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and down your arms. The material pools at your feet. You step out of the puddle of sequined fabric.

You tilt your head downwards, frowning at the discarded dress. You need to pick it up.

"Sit." The instruction is presented with a directness that leaves no room for resistance, and yet all you can bring yourself to do is blink at him. He turns to face you again. "The last thing you need is proximity to the ground."

His voice is implying a level of irritation you can't handle right now, so you step away from the dress and move to sit on your bed. Armand walks forward. He bends down, picking up the dress before approaching your desk. He lays the dress over the back of your desk chair neatly.

He approaches your bed again, this time sitting down next to you. The return of his proximity is strangely easing. When he doesn't say anything else, you give in to the need to break the silence, "Thanks."

Armand nods once in acknowledgement of the sentiment. "Lie down." The thought immediately digs at you. If you lay down, if you lose consciousness, you'll be letting go of the little control you still have. Anything could happen to you, and--and you'd be so alone.

When you don't move, Armand straightens, his arm extending towards you. His hand finds your shoulder. "I can stay..." The offer feels fragile, like the slightest mistake on your end could force it to crumble into dust. "But only if you listen to me." He turns his hand over as you let his words sink in. He drags his knuckles against your arm patiently. "Are you going to listen to me?"

You nod, if for no other reason than to keep him here. If your acceptance means anything to him, his expression gives no indication of it. "Lie down."

You give in with a sigh, pushing your bedding back as best as you can from your position on the bed. You move beneath your sheets before relaxing against a pillow. After a second, Armand begins to shift. You're not sure what he's doing until he's lying down next to you. The return of his proximity is unexpected, but not unwelcome.

He adjusts your comforter just enough to expose your forearm. Before you can think about the change, he begins to trace patterns against your inner arm. The gesture is oddly grounding...and considerate...which, even in your current state, you can tell is odd.

"Can I ask you something?"

He continues to drag his fingertips against your skin. "A lack of permission has never stopped you before."

A fair point. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He tilts his head slightly as he considers the question. "Am I usually cruel to you?"

That's not exactly the difference. Armand is never particularly cruel to you. He's never made you feel like you're in physical danger, which means a lot when considering what he is. You've never even had much of a reason to fear arguing with him. However, you can't recall him ever being so understanding.

"No," you find yourself hoping he can feel how much you mean the answer. "But you're usually less patient."

His hand briefly stills against your arm. "I prefer a fair fight."

The sentiment roots itself in your chest, leaving your skin a little warmer than it was a moment again. "We can have one tomorrow."

"I don't doubt it," he says, voice much flatter than before.

Hm. The comment isn't exactly aggressive, but it implies an annoyance that doesn't suit his actions. Something uneasy wedges itself between your lungs and ribs. "Are you mad at me?"

You turn your head as best as you can, staring at him with an openness that a more sober version of yourself would have never allowed. "Mad at you, the darling sun?"

You sigh, letting your eyes fall shut. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," his defense, though already weak, is further softened by the easiness of his tone. "I'm only recognizing what you are."

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to face him again. "What am I?"

He's quiet for a moment before angling his head towards you. It's a subtle shift, but something about it seems to amplify his proximity. Armand's eyes look a little softer than you remember them being, his irises closer to a brown-tinged ember than their usual amber hue. Maybe it's the limited lighting.

"Worthwhile suffering."

The answer feels much too soft to be considered an insult. You're not sure what to think of it. "You're very dramatic."

His hand stills against your arm. "I'm dramatic, when you're the one that turned off your location."

You don't have a decent response. Even as a teenager, you knew better than to completely turn off your location without letting anyone know where you were going during a night out. You're lucky that Grace was there and aware enough to get you back home, but things could have gone so much worse.

The thought of how incredibly stupid you've been burrows itself into your stomach, adding a sharpness to the underlying nausea you've almost been able to forget. Knowing that you're wrong and Armand's right isn't helping things, either.

And Louis--your Louis. Who cares if sometimes he worries so much it makes you feel like burden? At least he cares about you.

"I was mean to Louis."

Armand's hand stills against your forearm, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that somehow feels both reassuring and resentful. "He'll let it pass."

You let out a self deprecating sigh. There's no reason to believe that Louis won't forgive you, but that doesn't make things okay. "He shouldn't."

"Don't be a martyr." His dismissal isn't enough to diminish your angst. You frown, shifting away from him so that you can lie flat on your back. He's quick to counter your resistance, adjusting his position so that he's sitting up a lot more than you are. He's practically leaning over you, and all you can think to do is stare.

"He loves you," Armand's voice is a lot quieter than you thought it'd be, "There isn't a single thing you could do that he wouldn't forgive."

His certainty is enough for both of you. After a second of blankness, you find it in yourself to nod. The gesture is stiff and uneasy, but it seems to be enough for him. He relaxes slowly, moving to rest his head against your ribs.

His closeness is more of a surprise than it should be. You and Louis have fallen asleep like this more times than you can count. The shock takes a moment to subside, but once it does, you realize that you're... not uncomfortable.

Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, you move a hand to rest against his upper back. Neither of you move.

"You should go to sleep," he whispers after what could be a long or short stretch of silence, "You'll be yourself in the morning."

The suggestion is a lot less overwhelming now. Maybe it's because you feel a lot more concrete now. You shut your eyes, but before you can try to find rest, you remember where you are and who you're with.

"Wait," you mumble, "The window--" You're not managing the urgency you feel. While your room isn't exactly flooded with light in the morning, the sun does reach your bed in the mornings if you don't remember to fully shut your curtains.

"The curtains are fine." Armand shifts slightly, his hand settling against the arm not bent against his back. "Rest."

You close your eyes again, this time finding it in yourself to relax fully.

----

@joong-of-gold this is the fic i mentioned having in my drafts a little while ago!!

[beescrafting]

So this is going off of what I've been talking to @panchulien about,

Which is Demon Nikolai and Price. I'll be copy and pasting a lot of it, so if you want to get to new content please go to ~~~ :3

Also some warning, I'm not religous, but I do enjoy the idea of angels and demons as reading and writing stuff... So if some of this is off then yeah.

---

So I was thinking that Price was either a priest or a regular church visitor after being in the army (he had to retire after a bad mission that took something or because of PTSD) this trauma is such a meal for any negative being, demonic anything truly... so one night during an bad episode when he was at a bar, this slick beefy man slides over and in a thick russian accent purrs into his ears, "are you an angel, because I wanna prey to you~" and that caught Price off guard so much it helped ground him!

the two start talking, and as the bar starts to close the russian gives his name, Nikolai, and his phone number before paying Price's uber to take the drunkened englishman home.

this goes on for a few weeks, them talking and getting closer, and then price invites him into his home.

And as per the vampire and demon rule, once you invite the entity in, they can come in with their power :3

everything still went on as normally, but as price slept their was a weight on his chest, worse nightmares start to inflict him more and more, it gets to the point he starts missing going to church due to how bad it gets.

Nikolai being the ever nice friend, makes sure he's okay, treating him to food, drinks, holding him during movies.. price feels calm around nik... falls asleep on his shoulder, and that's when the nightmares stop for a night....

they start spending even more time together, but price starts to notice some things, some things he picked up on from the army, such as eyes always on him, something lurking... Price mutters about it, and Nikolai suggest that he sticks around later at night to make sure he's okay, at first Price is against it because like, he was once a strong captain, he could handle this!

but it gets worse...

so eventually he gives in.

Nikolai becomes a common appearance at his home, making russian breakfast, babying price truly... and Price like it slightly...

and then nikolai starts talking on the phone more... it's Gaz.

Would also be funny if ghost and soap were two fallen angels banished for the lone reason of loving one another, and then when they visit their human friend price they get met with two demons hanging out... THE TENSION!

~~~

Price is an Average human guy. just some poor retired captain who has horrible PTSD from watching so much death and being in so many battles...

Nikolai is a high ranking demon, like really fucking powerful. Around the rank of a Leviathan. He wasn't born a demon.

Perfect angst right there

Gaz is a demon as well, but is lower then Nikolai, most likely being trained by the elder demon. Rank: Iuvart.

Ghost is a fallen angel at the rank of Archangel

Soap is also a fallen angel of the rank of angels.

Laswell is human, of course she knows about the demons and angles because her wife is a fallen angel. Her wife fell in love with her and chose to fall to be by her side.

tempted to put roach in but Idk what he'd be, human, demon, angel??? I'll think about it...

Also some fun facts:

Demon's can only die from the hands of another demon in a rank battle, or by angelic means.

Angel's can only die from the hands of their creator, or a demonic sin blade used from the wars both heaven and hell have faced.

Fallen angels have some immunity towards the Sin blade, but over time they can die from it. if its a hard hit they will fall further into the void.

Blessed demons have some immunity towards angelic means but just as much as fallen angels their not immune to it. They can die from it.

-

Now to write about the relationships and thoughts about that person.

Price-

Nikolai: Friends (atm) --Their becoming great pals, getting very close, in fact a few times they've nearly kissed thanks to alcohol fueling their actions.

Gaz: Semi-friends(ATM)-- He seems like a nice lad, he a nikolai are very close, he's very strong for someone having never been in the army or going to the gym every day. He's cool.

Ghost: Friends (best coworkers ever)-- One of the best men I've fought along side. A real good soldier of a muppet.

Soap: friends (bloody muppet)--Bastard still owes him from the amount of times he's nearly died and price has had to drag him around.

Laswell: best friends (need a whisky..)-- they might be ex.coworkers but damn do they tend to bicker like a brother and a sister over ceral.

Nikolai-

Price: Friends (atm)-- He's a good human, strong, handsome, perfect for a human, the pain and misery in his mind clouds his thoughts making it such a buffet. He's got a nice ass too. Love this human, calls me Nik~ such a cute nickname I've been given!~

Gaz: Underling (Atm)-- little demon in training, got a nice face, would work wonderfully in the succubus or incubus division, but here he is, not that I mind this department needs prettier faces then Karen from HR.

Ghost: not mutals.-- Fucking angel.. fallen or not he and that other one could ruin what me and Kyle have with Price. Keep an eye on him.

Soap: Not mutals-- for a angel, he would have made a fine demon with how well he can fight. Same thing as ghost.

Laswell: Friends-- She actually trust me with Price. Both me and Kyle.

you should read the last one in a smug tone lol))

Gaz-

Price: Friends (atm)-- pretty handsome for a human, I see what Nikolai means by it, hope he becomes a demon instead of an angel or gets reborn, would be a shame to lose him.

Nikolai: Leader (Atm)-- I'm lucky to be able to work under him unlike other high ranking demons that just kill their underlings if they mess up. He's firm. I like when he pats me on the back while laughing, it makes me feel what humans would describe as... Giddy.

Ghost: unsure-- He's a fucking freaky ass fallen angel, but I like his jokes. I only talk to him when Price and Nikolai are around. He seems to be alert but won't act out unless given reason.

Soap: Friends-- We've gone drinking on our own time without the others, he's a pretty chill guy, gotta admit I love messing around with human lives with him around. So not all angels are blood thirsty god fearing lunitics. Fallen or not...

Laswell: Friends-- A real nice lady, I like her wife.

Ghost-

Price: Friends-- After falling down to earth, the first job as a human both I and Johnny had was fighting alongside this man. He's an amazing man and soldier. I hope he doesn't get a bad fate.

Nikolai: Not good...- Fucking demon, he's going to hurt Price's soul... damange him to the point he'll go into the void. I won't bloody allow that. Price is one of the only humans I'll make sure heads to narvana.

Gaz: Fine-- Not as bad as the higher ranked demon, clearly a fledgling demon. Not much of a threat and if anything could possibly be turned into a blessed demon.

Soap: Lovers-- My love, the man I have fallen in love with and from heaven with. I would take gods heart out of he asked.

Laswell-- Friends: a good amazing lady who knows how to do her job. Her wife makes a mean pasta.

Soap-

Price: Friends-- A bloody great bloke to be around, if I were to fall down again i'd do everything the same. He has some bloody pipes on him when ever he thinks I'm in danger and risk of dying!

Nikolai: Unsure-- A high ranking demon, bloody hell... He's not good enough to be around Price >:[

Gaz: Friends-- A bloody great bloke! Wish he was a blessed demon. But he's fine the way he is. He's fun to mess around with. Drinking is quite fun.

Ghost: Lovers-- fucking love you Si... Would move the moon and earth for you and more.

Laswell: Friends-- she's cool, but mean, but cool.

Laswell-

Price: Friends-- Annoying prick in my side... Would kill for him though.

Nikolai: Mutals-- He's fine, hasn't done anything bad on earth yet... So he's fine in my books.

Gaz: Friends-- He's good kid. Hard working, I can see him becoming a blessed angel. And if not, That'll be fine as well.

Ghost: Friends-- He's a good man, hard working, devoted to his husband. Needs to wear a bell though. Appers out of the shadows often.

Soap: Friends-- he's a good man. Bloody annoying with how many times he's given Price heart attacks...

{{REDACTED}} (Mrs. Laswell the wife): Lovers- The missus, love her so much... Her beauty is more then heaven and the earth.

-

For design's I'll doodle some stuff, I have idea's and I've been meaning to redraw a past failed project (angel ghost)

But I do have some firm idea's...

Nikolai's demon form has refrances to bull's and bears...

Gaz's demon form has refrances to bat and horse (this one is iffy.)

i think i'll have more firm idea's later on when I'm doodling them.

:3

--

When Nikolai confesses what he and gaz are to Price I see it in a small library store owned by the demon. And Price just goes: "Had a bloody feeling..."

And Nikolai is just shocked from that, so is Gaz who falls form the ceiling.

They both shout, "HOW?!"

And Price just goes: "ye both bloody avoid spilt salt like it insulted your mother... and your eyes... they glow in the dark slightly with a red hue... unlike johnny's and simon's who have a white hue... had a bloody feeling."

And Nik and Gaz just turn to one another, before looking at price and Gaz asks, "and you love us both still?"

And Price goes and pulls them both into some heated kissing.

Lets just say when they got back to Price's house that night, not even the screams of hell could be that loud. AHA!

Anywayyyy thank you for my reading my rambling and ted talk.. Imma write some little stuff about this au when I'm not writing my other fics, and the designs will come when I'm not doodling my oc's and my friends (cause GOD one of my friends oc's is so fine. 😔)

If I do ad roach, it'll be another post and Imma learn how to link the two together... CAUSE GOD DAMN IT I LOVE ROACH, Roach and Graves... 😔

[ryuucam]

MIXIN’ N MATCHIN’!

when … your best friend can’t stand your crush on genshin men anymore, and starts working on a genius plan to get you guys together!

˓𓄹 ࣪˖ lumine & albedo, zhongli

a/n … zhongli’s section takes place during the lantern rite! i don’t know much about chinese celebrations and their customs so i did my best to research some information. please lmk if i got anything wrong!!

[honkai: star rail version coming soon] [pt 2 coming soon]

#1 MATCHMAKER OF ALL TEYVAT (AND BEYOND) … LUMINE!

lumine has been traveling teyvat for what seems like ages now, the journey to find her brother becoming more and more lengthy as time passes. luckily she encountered you, quickly bonding a tight friendship, reminding her of her home-world, where she used to play matchmaker with her friends. so, when one day she notices your gaze lingering just a little bit longer on him, she quickly puts 2 and 2 together… detective lumine starts her mission now!

case 001 — ALBEDO

even someone who wasn’t a genius like her (in her humble opinion) could notice how your cheeks turned redder and your gaze softer in front of the charming alchemist from dragonspine. really, it’s both a blessing and a curse — lumine now doesn’t have to wander around the snowy mountain by herself (paimon isn’t the best company…) but the price to pay is watching your atrocious attempts at making conversation with albedo.

what’s worse (is there even anything worse than watching two awkward idiots stare at each other without doing anything??) is that she can see that albedo likes you too. hell, was he always this talkative? who even cares about how much mucus cryo slimes produce in the summer? you, apparently — which is precisely why she set her mind on getting you together.

albedo, apparently, doesn’t only look like a charming, romantic prince, but also seems to act like a cheesy fool in love, sketching you over and over and over … in his top secret sketchbook. one day, when he’s too busy blabbering about the logistics of the nth lost puzzle he found (and you’re too concentrated on pretending to listen to him), lumine wanders back to his tent, swiftly snatching his sketchbook and throwing it into her bag. once it’s time to head back down the mountain, she can’t stop giggling to herself, savoring the look you’ll have on your face once you’ll see the infinite sketches of you.

unsurprisingly, once she brings out the drawings you feel like fainting. THE albedo having a whole diary about you? you feel like you’re on cloud nine. this surely can’t be true, of course, he probably has one for each of his friends… thoughts like this go in and out of your brain as you scan the pages, before something catches your eye.

a portrait of you, with a cryo crystalfly peached on your nose. when did he even find the time to draw this? as your face reddens, your gaze drops to the corner of the page, met with a quickly scribbled caption…

mein schatz, sketch #88. lumine chuckles as you shriek — what’s left is getting either one of you to confess.

[case 001, SUCCES!]

case 002 — ZHONGLI

lumine is sure that she’d make a great detective. of course she would, she has an amazing eye for catching up with the feelings of those around her. you’re lucky she’s also incredibly patient — otherwise, she’d have already hypnotized you or something to make you admit your feelings for the wangsheng funeral parlor employee. yes, you’re awfully lucky, because she has now set her mind on setting up a date between you and none other than the geo archon himself, zhongli.

but how? you haven’t visited liyue in a while, and surely showing up for no apparent reason (even if she’s the hero of liyue! she doesn’t need any excuse!) would rise up some suspicions. wait, what is she thinking? of course she has a reason to visit liyue! this year lantern’s rite is just around the corner — and surely you won’t mind accompanying your best friend, right? plus, zhongli will be there too!

as you both reach liyue, all dolled up for the celebration, lumine quickly ushers you to wanmin restaurant, claiming that some of your friends are already there — what about her? of course, she’s busy with something, she’ll be right back! you can barely nod before being greeted by xinyan and yunjin, not noticing the funeral parlor director herself approaching lumine. little did you know, hu tao has already taken note of mr. zhongli’s fondness of you, especially since he’s been lamenting the lack of your presence more often.

sometimes even the best detectives need helpers, lumine thinks. hu tao will do for now. lumine can’t hide her excitement as they both start chattering about their foolproof plans for getting you and zhongli together — and apparently their giggles are too loud, or they said your name too many times… well, whatever it is, they’re screwed now. really screwed, lumine thinks, as she and hu tao turn around, met with yaoyao’s adorable doe eyes.

“big sis, miss hu tao, what are you talking about?”, she voices, her words laced with pure curiosity. “well, we uhm…”, lumine tries to scramble her thoughts together — if yaoyao spills the beans to her master cloud retainer, lumine’s sure that she’s done for, as xianyun would waste no time in chiding zhongli for not asking you out sooner.

“i mean, why are you hiding and talking about mr zhongli and miss y/n? if you have to tell them something, they’re both right there!”

right where? lumine and hu tao lock eyes, mirroring each other’s shocked expressions. as they turn around for what feels like ages, they’re met with a shocking sight (hu tao’s sure that she’s going to pass out).

surely enough, here you are, hand in hand with none other than zhongli himself, as he tells you about the history of the lantern rite. zhongli, for once, isn’t reminiscing with his eyes closed in reflection, but he’s looking right at you, with a deep, affectionate gaze. as he leans in to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, lumine feels like crying — what was the point in making all that effort if she was going to be beat by zhongli’s passion for history??

[case 002, FAIL-ish?]