#well that and the fact that she is so bad at them all

[unequivocallyreid]

Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

~

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

~

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

~

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

~

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

~

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

~

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

~

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

~

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

-

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

[yurunivo]

Hello! I really love you self aware idea! Can you please make another part? This time Can you focuse more on Mavuika and the Creator!Reader (Gender Neutral),please? (Also om how the other archons and Neuvillete would be trying to search for the reader and maybe using other organizations to help the search) if not please feel free to ignore this. Have a wonderful day!

This is my first time getting a request! Hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: hanging out with Mavuika! (And the other nations' planning to reach you) part 1

TW: Mavuika and reader's relationship is implied romantic but can be read as platonic, OOC, yandere, SAGAU imposter au, bad writing, bad grammar, english is not my first language, not beta read

Characters: Mavuika x gn!creator!reader (again can be seen as romantic or platonic), yandere Archons + Neuvillette x reader

Cleaning at bars was a tedious job. It was easy, sure, but it got boring at times. Customers always made the day fun with their gossip, so you leaned into that. It could've been something simple, like how their boyfriend cheated on them, but it was still more entertaining than mopping the floor.

However, there was always one customer every night that you were looking forward to meeting.

Always clad in a mysterious cloak that made them look like a runaway, blazing bright eyes and red hair.

It was Mavuika.

She came a bit later than usual. You decided not to worry, Archon duties are a lot after all. Yet, she came anyway, dressed the same as before. The cloak was a bit messily put on, so her hair was still visible. You sighed as you left the place you were cleaning and went up in front of her.

"You didn't have to come y'know," you fixed her cloak to hide her hair, yet she only smiled at you.

"I insist," she only replied back. You rubbed your temples at the stubborn woman. Seriously, shouldn't she be busy with work or something?

She seemed to be eager to tell you something, considering how she was holding your hand. You raised an eyebrow at her as you gestured her to speak.

"Well, want to combat practice with me later, (fake name)?" Oh no. You didn't know how to fight! Sure, you did fight against the abyss, but you barely managed to survive!

But you only nodded. Declining now would only make her suspicious, even though the fact that you were being chased around without fighting back was suspicious enough. But, you'll find out a reason later, for now, all you had to do was agree.

"Sure, but only at my day off. Maybe the day after tomorrow?" You were trying to find a lie to tell her then, but for now, you hid your feelings with a smile. She nodded, looking content with your answer.

"The day after tomorrow it is."

Your hands were uncomfortably sweaty.

The day after tomorrow being right now, you had to tell Mavuika as quick as you could to not gain suspicion. Telling her you got isekai'd from another world was obviously not an option, but you had already prepared something in your head. It was similar to the isekai idea, but it's much more believable. The execution was the only problem.

You were at the outskirts of the Scions of Canopy, where Kinich lived. She came 5 minutes later and greeted you with much courtesy.

"Hope I didn't make you wait for long (fake name)," she told with a bit embarrassment. You shrugged her off.

"It's fine Mavuika, and you can just call me (name)," you replied back. You mustered up the courage to tell her your reason not to fight. But before that, you had to ask her just this one thing.

"How did you know that I was the creator? I don't think there was any part of me that stood out," you were interested to know, after all you thought that you hid yourself very well.

She all but smiled as she pointed out the grass behind you.

"The creator is connected to Teyvat, so everything would bloom in their wake. Since you were in the nation of Pyro, where I'll know everything that's going on, it was quite easy to find out." You looked behind to see beautiful flowers right behind you. You were shocked to see this many flowers in one trail. Wait, then why did the other Archons not realize that you were the creator? Eh that doesn't really matter, what matters was that you were here with Mavuika, safe and sound. But, you took this revelation to gift her something.

You took a flower from the trail. Mavuika was interested to see what you were doing, but you hid it from her. Using the flowers and leaves, you created a flower crown for her and put it a top her head. You smiled, she did too.

"Thank you (name)," she laughed softly. But now you had to explain the fighting part. You sighed as you contemplated.

"Err, Mavuika, I actually don't know how to fight.." You mumbled and cursed your self for it. She looked surprised.

"Why not?" She asked again. You felt embarrassed for having to say the reason. You took a deep breath and prepares to say why.

"I'm.. Not the creator. Like the original one. I'm a reincarnation of them, I have no idea how to fight not do I know anything about the past," you breathed out, cringing at what you just said. However all she did was look at you with understanding, after all, she knows the pain of reincarnation.

"It's fine! But do you know anything about the previous creator then?" She asked curiously, to which you shook your head. She hummed. She got an idea to improvise, it seems like.

"How about I teach you then?" Huh?! This wasn't going as planned! You didn't want to fight at all.

"T-that's not needed, I'll j-just waste your time," you tried convincing her, but she didn't budge. Eventually though, you reluctantly agreed. She smiled and thanked you for allowing her to help.

"Just try to imagine yourself using Pyro abilities, you'll get the hang of it later." You were really trying. The amount of stress that you had to not burn yourself to death was enough to actually kill you. Still, you trusted Mavuika and her abilities, so you tried anyway. You tried and tried and tried, but nothing really came. You were visibly disappointed, but Mavuika tried to encourage you.

"How about this, you imagine something you don't like, and try to use your emotions to drag your Pyro ability out," she suggested. You seemed to find this useful, so you tried it.

Closing your eyes, you thought of something terrible happening, and instead of seeing the imposter hunt that you very despised, you instead saw Mavuika.

You were being hunted down, sure, but what was most important was that she was getting punished by the Archons for not giving up the imposter. Her face was battered and bruised, and she was slowly slipping into unconsciousness. You watched in horror, and tears started to well up in your eyes. This couldn't be! Unfortunately, you were crying in real life too, and Mavuika realized immediately.

"Okay, uhh, you don't need to think about it now," she tried comforting you, bringing you in an embrace to calm you down. Once you came back to reality, your eyes were puffy, and your face was red.

"... Sorry, can we do this another time?" You sniffled, still holding her. She was warm, and you found your self drifting to sleep. She sighed as she picked you up.

"Of course, just don't overdo anything, kay?" She smiled warmly, brushing the tears from your eyes. She wrapped you in a cloak, getting ready to start camp.

Neuvillette contorted his face in disgust. The waters tasted disgustingly sweet. The creator's happiness with another person, likely an Archon. But the waters then tasted bitter, from the creator's sadness.

If only he could just drag you out of that place and keep you for himself, but no. He'll need the help of the other nations to do so, so he sucked it up and left the Palais Mermonia. He visited Furina, just checking in on her before leaving. He'd leave some of the work for Clorinde to do, he trusted her enough to do that anyway.

Reaching the imposter's throne room, there was a long sitting area where the rulers of the nations were there. Only the Cryo, Pyro and Anemo Archons weren't there, but the acting grandmaster came for Anemo, and the director of the Fatui Harbingers came for Cryo. The Geo Archon returned to his status as the God of Contracts, and the Electro and Dendro archon were sitting in their own seats. The imposter was on the creator's throne. They were dead, blood seeping out of their head. Their expression was one of shock, as he could vividly remember the day the Geo Archon killed the imposter.

A seat was vacant. He clenched his teeth at the mere thought of the Pyro Archon. He'd get you back from her, no matter what it took.

"We all know that the creator is in the nation of war, Natlan. However, since the neither of us know its weaknesses besides the Pyro Archon being a human, we need to create a plan to ambush the nation," Jean spoke up. Everyone in the room nodded along with her, too obsessed to notice their wrong doings. However, there was one who objected to this clause.

Nahida raised her hand to interrupt Jean, turning all eyes on her.

"You all chased down the creator like a rabid dog, and now you're trying to kidnap them to do a job that they don't want? What kind of leaders are you? The creator was in Natlan for a few months by now, and since they're not leaving, they are probably enjoying a better life there than your own selfish desires," she objected.

Neuvillette all but admired the young Archon. Despite being small and weaker than the others, she still had the bravery to stand against everyone. However, this was one thing that he didn't agree with. He just stayed quiet though, waiting for someone to object the small Archon.

Raiden did. The God of Eternity looked at Nahida with disdain, preparing to answer the deity.

"And how are you so sure that the creator is having a better life in Natlan Buer? For all we could know, they could actually be running around the vast nation. And, you are one of the younger Archons after all, what use does your words have?" She asked coldly. When she was about to respond back, she got interrupted.

"It is settled, we shall find the creator in Natlan, no questions," the God of Contracts added in. Nahida couldn't speak now. After all, what power does she have to a much more experienced God?

Neuvillete glared at the Archons.

"Whoever shall get the creator first will be the one to solely have the creator in their nation," Neuvillete furrowed his brows at the Archons. They did the same, but still agreed to the conditions, not really thinking of what you want.

Now, all the leaders were going back to their nation, telling their line of military to get prepared. They had to have you all for yourself, and they will do anything for it.

Done! Hope you enjoy!

[minkieater]

carousel – choi san ☄. *. ⋆

p. choi san x fem!reader g. non idol au, college boy!san w. smut minors dni PLS, alcohol consumption, smut is kinda kinky, toxic relationship, uhh san rocks you suck an. hello please don't be mad at me this had to happen for the lore, i also had to name you, apologies, if you share a name with shawty then congrats! if you've read luck you'll see some familiar stuff here, feel free to let me know anything you pick up on heheheh but seriously pls don't be mad at me wc. 10.7k

♫ – tear you apart, she wants revenge “it's only just a crush, it'll go away, it's just like all the others it'll go away or maybe this is danger and he just don't know”

cycle (sī-kel) noun a course or series of events or operations that recur regularly and usually lead back to the starting point

choi san regularly bounced between two moods. 

the first being a state of contentment, the second being complete and utter destruction. when he was content, the two of you were usually on good terms, and he felt good enough that he could keep his life on track. he could get his work done, he could go to classes, he could socialize with his peers with a smile on his face. 

when that peace was disturbed, more often than not by you, he was an absolute train wreck. all he could think about was you you you and when the two of you would fix things, if the two of you were really done this time, if he could reconcile the situation. sitting in class, remembering choreography at practice, being behind the bar at work… he couldn’t do a damn thing right. it wouldn’t be surprising if he forgot his own name when you were on bad terms. 

san has never been a fighter. when arguments arise he’s usually never the one that starts them, he’s the one begging to end them, opting for a peaceful compromise instead. despite the way he looks, san is a softie, something that took you by surprise and kept you by his side for almost a year.

you know him. you know his favorite color, his favorite show, his favorite album, his parents’ names, where he grew up, why he’s in school, who’s putting him through school, his biggest fear, his dream in life. you see how he looks at you, how he drops everything for you in a second, how he talks about you when you aren’t around to defend yourself. you know him better than you know yourself sometimes — you’ve been two peas in a pod since the beginning of your sophomore year, but yet the same question remains. one he’s asked you hundreds of times, one you could never find an answer to without breaking his heart. 

so instead you pick fights, argue to your heart’s content, damn near terrorize him on the regular just for the same fact to be true: choi san also knows everything about you. 

he knows exactly why you aren’t together, why you beat around the bush every time he asks you that same question, the sole reason why you freak the fuck out every time he asks you to give him just a little bit more. choi san knows very well that his love is unrequited, and he understands even the things you won’t tell him. he knows who you really love, he knows you’ve loved him since the summer before your freshman year, when you met at that concert. he notices when your eyes are the brightest, who you’re looking at when he wished you were looking at him, when you laugh the loudest. he notices everything.

if he’s anything, it’s observant. he’s been hanging out with you and your friends since way before he was your little secret, he’s been on your friends’ rooftop for parties more times than he can count. the first time the two of you slept together he couldn’t believe it was actually happening, the second you looked at him with lowered eyes and glossy lips he thought his eyes had been deceiving him for months prior. you looked at him like he was your last meal, your prey that you caught with your bare hands, you needed to have him or you’d die of starvation. he let you take the reins, took it all in with open arms, he wasn’t going to question a thing. for how long you had been obsessed with chan, he’d been obsessed with you. 

you’d met early in your freshman year, when chan had first gotten his apartment shared with three others, when they first started throwing their legendary parties that had been the talk of campus for ages to follow. san had gotten the invite through wooyoung, his best friend, whose close friend has dated chan’s roommate since freshman year. the moment he first saw you was nothing short of a movie scene, you were on the dance floor, definitely one too many drinks deep. you were dancing with felix, holding his hand, twirling your hair as he spun you in a circle. your smile, your eyes that were shut so delicately, your body that moved with such a fluidity, you were the embodiment of freedom. you looked like you couldn’t care less about anything, like the moon went down and the sun came up just so you could breathe another day. the world revolved around you. it was like everything he had ever done in his life leading up to this moment, each decision he made was to get him on this rooftop at this moment in the middle of soho. 

san had a few drinks himself and found himself on the dance floor right beside you. minho was with him, a close friend from his dance class, and then felix beside you. he couldn’t help but steal you for himself. he brought out the dancer inside of him but still followed your lead, spun you himself just as felix had, let your backside dance across his front one too many times for comfort. you picked up on how he was holding back, letting himself match you instead of taking the lead, and you couldn’t ignore how it sparked your interest. anyone besides felix that wasn’t in your group of close friends would be mindlessly grinding against you with an eyebrow raised and a smirk, but not him. 

for a moment you let yourself think the bar is deep in hell, then you introduced yourself (more like screamed your name at him) over the pounding music that could be heard two blocks down. the first thing you noticed were his broad shoulders before you took in the rest of his clearly strong build. complex, fox-like eyes that held too much power in them and a sweet smile that contrasted his hard demeanor, it all vexed you, but intrigued you so much more. 

out of everything, his hands give you the most whiplash. where they were long and limber they felt soft and warm, even the calluses on his palms somehow felt softer than every man you’ve ever come in contact with. compared to his chest which felt hard and strong, the contradicting features forced your mind straight in the gutter. there’s no doubt he’s beautiful, anyone could see that from first glance, but in that deep, hypnotizing voice he has, you could hear what kept itself hidden. it was a facade, that build and sexy voice, you could tell just from a few words that he’s not what he appears to be. 

at first glance you’d assume he was just like any typical guy, buff and egotistical and harsh. but looking for a moment in those eyes, listening to that soft voice, you could hear what he wasn’t saying, like his thoughts were being displayed for you on a silver platter. they enticed you to dig deeper, peel him open layer by layer, find out what no one else knows. beyond warm hands and a sturdy build, there was a softness to him that wasn’t inside of any other man on that rooftop. except one other. 

by the end of the night, minho had led san to the notorious smoking corner, where he’d come to learn the same people tend to gather and hangout towards the end of the night. thankfully, one of those people was you, and the rest of your little group of friends that he’d later come more than acquainted with. none of you really smoke, which was the weird part, the smokers would come and go around your seating area, but it was still named the smoking corner despite it. 

“you said your name was san, right?” you asked, an inviting smile on your face as he sat down right next to you on one of the cushioned chairs. it happened to be the only one open and had him thanking a god he didn’t believe in for the small favor. 

he nodded quickly, tight lipped smile on his face, dimples on display. even with the liquor he was nervous, he wasn’t one to spark up conversation, especially at a party like this. “you’re a dancer?”

“how’d you know?” your smile somehow got bigger, eyes widening with surprise, “i’ve danced my whole life.”

he shrugs, “one dancer to another.”

“you go to NYU?” you asked, turning your body to face him in your own chair.

“dance program, i’m in the same hip hop class as minho,” he pointed to minho who was standing somewhere to the side of the two of you. 

“ah,” you nod with a smile, “that makes sense, i’m in the theater program, i originally wanted to be in the dance program, though.”

“hey guys,” the two of you looked up at the same time, another pair of broad shoulders, massive biceps, and a beautiful smile staring straight at you. you could feel your heart rate pick up, your breath get caught in your throat, a heat cascading over you like the rooftop had suddenly raised fifteen degrees. 

san could feel his smile leave his face as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. the way your eyes lit up, the pink that raised to your cheeks, how you slightly stumbled over your words when you first spoke to him, he tried not to let his expression drop to a scowl. he knows you like him, maybe even love him, he couldn’t decide from the short interaction between the three of you. not that he wanted to know, anyways. 

san decided then and there that chan was his enemy, a one sided war he was willing to put up the good fight for. from a quick dance and a conversation, he had decided you were worth the fight, you were worth the long game, you were worth whatever it took to get you. he thinks it shouldn’t be too hard to win you over, with some effort and consistency, he should be the one you look at the way he desperately wants you to in no time. he knew he was good looking, he sees how women fawn over him left and right at parties, only sometimes letting them get any further then silly attempts to take him home. that ping of jealousy only jumpstarts his motivation, begs him to tap into whatever is making these women throw themselves at him.  

five parties and three months later, you made him feel like he was in the lead. small conversations here and there, longer dances that with each party turned more and more scandalous, once or twice you clearly felt him behind you on the dance floor and you didn’t pull away, you kept going until you made it so evident he couldn’t hide it in his jeans. moments of hands brushing and stolen glances across the smoking corner, he waited long enough, but he’d wait however long it took for you.

the night when you gave him that look that he knew meant you were taking him home, he couldn’t contain his excitement, he couldn’t hide anything from you already. you could see it all over his face, he could tell from the smirk you wore on your own lips and the cocky laugh you let out. you were playing with fire, and his specialty was water.

you knew he wanted you from the first time you met. whether he knew it about himself or not, despite his easygoing words and soft hands, you knew there was a side to him you desperately needed to unveil, you needed to experience, you needed to know like the back of your hand. it felt like tainting his innocence the more you got to know him, his personality reflected the opposite of what he portrayed on the outside. from that hard, chiseled look he has to the soft, tender persona, you wanted to tear him apart. you wanted to know what made him tick, what pissed him off, what got under his skin, how he acted when it did. 

you had him exactly where you wanted him, and he was letting it happen, fully aware of the attraction that was finally being returned. you looked at him differently that night, and unbeknownst to him, it was deliberate.

chan was out of sight, off with some dark haired girl he met hours prior. you watched the scene unfold in front of you, from when they exchanged names and phone numbers down to the moment when chan took her hand and led her inside his apartment. you watched them over heads through the dance floor, keeping your vision focused on the two of them like some fucked up form of tunnel vision. like what they say about trainwrecks, you should look away, but for some reason you can’t. your skin was burning, you were beyond angry, feeling an emotion that laid somewhere outside of what you’d ever experienced toward him. betrayal? abandonment? treachery?

none of your feelings were valid, chan had no idea how you felt, you never told him. he was more than allowed to take whatever dark haired bitch he wanted into his own damn apartment that seungmin’s dad pays for, that’s more than permissible. you have an apartment too, one that you and your roommate pay for yourselves, one that you could also take someone back to. your life didn’t revolve around him, his actions would not determine how your night would go, despite the feelings you have for him.

that’s when choi san caught your eye, across the crowd with his gorgeous face and incredible body. you felt the light bulb flash above your head, you knew exactly what would take the edge off, what would mend the heart chan had just broken in two. 

“you know, we always hangout here, but we never see each other outside of these parties,” you flipped your hair over your shoulder, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“never thought you wanted to,” he shrugs, lowered eyes watching your every move like he was waiting for the switch to flip.

“and why wouldn’t i want to? have you looked in a mirror recently?” it felt lame when it left your mouth, he didn’t seem to agree as a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. he turned away from you, a low chuckle leaving his lips.

“every morning at the gym, gotta make sure my form is right,” his shy smile turned into a faint smirk, and your own grows, hints of mischief creeping at the corners. you knew exactly what he was doing, mentioning the gym. like a moth to a flame, your eyes glazed over his biceps, which he flexed the moment your eyes left his. 

“every morning? very disciplined, aren’t you?” you ask, smile turning lopsided and nothing short of flirty. 

“very,” he nodded his head, “you should come with me sometime, get you some discipline, too.”

“and what about me makes you think i’m not disciplined?” your eyebrows furrow, tilting your head.

with that question his smile grows, dimples showing themselves once more. “brats always need discipline, and that’s exactly what you are. a little tease.”

your smile displays all of your teeth, exactly the answer you were hoping for. the side you knew he had in him, that version of him not many get to see, excitement flooded through you like a tidal wave. you were on a power trip, your plan worked with ease, you wanted to pat yourself on the back. 

“do something about it,” you sipped your drink through your tiny straw, staring at him through your lashes once again. 

within thirty minutes you were back at your place in manhattan, your roommate still at the party, you didn’t even let her know you left. in that one conversation you’d forgotten all about chan, the girl with the dark hair, and why you were in this situation in the first place. all you could think about was san, with his dark chocolate eyes and honeyed skin and arms strong enough to flip you around. you were overflowing with adrenaline, excitement, and greed. you wanted all of him, needed all of him, a need that has been lying dormant for months. you’d been curious about him, wanted to know what he kept hidden inside, too focused on chan to dig deeper into him.

san couldn’t fucking believe it. couldn’t believe he was in your bed, your walls that were covered in posters of rock bands and singers from the 80s, some faces he’s seen before and plenty of others he hasn’t. records cover one wall, soundtracks from different musicals, little trinkets filling every inch of open space on your bookshelves. your room was so undeniably you, from the smell to the color scheme, he took every inch of it and burned it to memory. he tried not to stare too much in his learning, telling himself to focus on you instead, he’d he back, this isn’t a one time thing. he couldn’t be more right. 

the moment his lips touched yours he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without tasting you. a kiss so sweet, so rushed, so hungry, he’d never felt anything like it. he knew you'd wreck him, become too important to him, become a valued person in his life, for a moment he thought maybe he should stop – this was all too good to be true. 

when you whimpered in his mouth after a light grind to his crotch, he took all of his thoughts back. there was no stopping this, no hands could pry him off of you, he needed to see every bit of you. he needed to kiss every inch of your skin, inhale the scent of your sweat, he yearned to worship you. he wanted all of you, he needed to rein himself in, not get too excited so he could last. 

you fought for dominance on his lap, tongues in a rushed wrestle, strong thighs wrapped around his hips. as those soft hands of his squeezed the fat of your ass, you let out a yelp, grinding yourself into him. you wanted to hear any kind of noise, any harsh breath he might release. you wanted control, he didn’t want to give it up, at least not without a fight.

he scooped your waist with one arm, flipping you over, pressing you flat against the mattress. you mustered out a hushed fuck as the realization finally hit you: his biceps aren’t just for aesthetics, the sheer strength of one is enough to throw you around, and it’s strength he will use to his advantage. 

“as much as i want to be thrown around,” you broke the kiss for a moment, “save it for the next time.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist and lunged yourself forward with your hands, hips on top of his once more, your bodies sitting upright. as much as you wanted to revel in the gain of dominance, you knew he just willingly allowed you to do that, he could’ve stopped you with ease if he wanted to.

“see what i mean? brat,” he broke the kiss again with a huff, a smirk painting his own lips for a moment before returning them to yours. 

your right hand moved up to grip his throat, pushing him an inch away from you. on his lap you were taller, staring down at him, he looked up at you with a spark in his eyes you haven't seen yet. his eyebrows furrowed, not in confusion or hurt, but want. need. he liked this, he wanted this, and you couldn’t help the wicked smile that touched every feature on your face. 

“watch your mouth,” you tilted your chin up, looking down at him at a harsher angle, the act itself a display of dominance. in combination with the harsh tone to your words, he nearly quivered in your grasp. a strangled groan left his lips as your grip tightened for a moment, blocking his airway, before releasing him completely. you reached for the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head with ease. 

“look at you, so fucking sexy,” you said as the cotton hit the floor, examining his exposed upper half in awe. chiseled abs, even sitting down, and a chest you’re sure could knock you out if it came in contact with your head. he was beautiful, perfect even, not an inch of him unsculpted. 

his breath turned heavy under your stare, eyes lowering into a different version of himself, a submission of sorts. he had no fight left in them, he gave up control, let you take it, and you were going to run with it. 

you brought your lips to his jaw, kissing down his neck, hands running over every inch of bare skin. he tugged at your top at the same time, tugging it over your head, unclasping your bra with just one hand. 

“done that before?” you asked with raised eyebrows and a playful smile, and he chuckled. 

“once or twice,” his reply was mindless as you fumbled with his belt buckle beneath you, slipping it out of the loops, throwing it to the floor. 

“hungry?” you asked and his eyes quickly met yours, confusion crossing them before realization set in. you didn’t wait for an answer as you pushed him back on the bed with your index finger to his chest, not having to muster up any force at all. 

you quickly sat up and slipped off your jeans and underwear, leaving yourself bare in front of him. he leaned up on his elbows for just a moment before you crawled back on top of him, further up his body until you sat right over his face. 

“no touching unless i tell you to,” your voice was stern, he nodded in understanding and you took that as the green light to plant yourself on his awaiting face. 

you moaned the moment his tongue came in contact with your soaked center, lapping up everything you had to offer. you stilled for a moment, letting him work himself on you, his tongue gliding through your wetness. 

“fuck, sannie, so fucking good,” you moaned out, a hand reaching down to tug at his styled black hair. he groaned in response, hands lifting off of the bed, but they didn’t touch you, didn’t even come close. 

you started riding his face and he stuck his tongue out in response to your movements, letting you have your way with him, grinding back and forth to use him for your own release. if you weren’t gone in your own pleasure you would’ve smiled at the eagerness, the willingness to please you. 

“fingers, please baby,” you gasped out, babbling your words, “need you to make me cum. you wanna make me cum, don’t you? all over your face?” 

his right hand came between your legs to slip two fingers inside of you, mouth moving up to your clit, wrapping his lips around the bundle of nerves. he curved his fingers toward himself immediately, hitting that one spot inside of you that made you see stars, you started babbling and whining praise like you’d been doing this together for years. 

“so fucking good sannie, fuck,” you cried out, grinding yourself against him, the knot in your stomach tightening with every harsh suck to your clit. he brought his other hand up to smack your ass and you moaned out, the dam bursting, your release coating his fingers, past his knuckles. you rode out your high, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to get you through it before overstimulation set in. 

“mm, taste so fucking good baby, could eat you all night,” he announced the second you lifted yourself off of him, his voice octaves lower than earlier. you watched as he licked his lips so erotically, the action making you want to sit yourself back on his face and ride him until he couldn’t breathe. 

you sat next to him on the bed after climbing off of him instead, your orgasm took the need for control right out of you, you had your fill. you wanted to be taken care of, filled up, you didn’t want to think about anything other than your own pleasure. always observant san picked up in your change of energy, letting his own switch to another before continuing. 

“need to be inside you,” he said as he sat up, taking his jeans and boxers off in one go, “you have a condom?” 

you shimmied yourself down the bed, head hitting the pillow before you shook it, “‘m on the pill.” 

“dirty girl, where did that energy from earlier go? hm?” that dangerous smirk returned to his face, his dominance returning in just one sentence, “did i eat it all out of you? wanna be a good girl for me now?” 

he leaned himself over you, strong arms beside your head caging you in. you lifted your knees up to your elbows, spreading yourself for him.

“shut up,” you mumbled, feeling the tinge of embarrassment, “fuck me already.” 

“that wasn’t very polite, thought you were ready to behave,” he shook his head, “only girls with manners get fucked. should i put my pants back on, go back home?” 

“no! no, don’t go,” your arms came up to grab onto his, your eyes widening, “i’m sorry, i’ll be good. please, san, i need you.” 

a wicked smile crossed his face before he leaned down to plant a kiss on your own, “good, i hoped so. breathe for me, okay?”

you glanced down between your legs, realizing you hadn’t even seen him. you nearly gasped at the size of him, eyes widening, his length was perfect but the girth of him was more than intimidating. he spit into his hand, stroking himself, lubing himself up to slide into you easier. you nearly drooled at the sight, mouth agape, pussy clenching around nothing.

the whole act felt so sinful, so carnal, you so easily opened up to him with a side of yourself you don’t show until you’re fully comfortable. you blame your adrenaline, your hormones, how horny you were when you arrived, ignoring the real fact of how comfortable he made you feel to show so much of yourself to him. 

as he lined himself up you couldn’t ignore how it all felt right, you’ve had undeniable attraction to him for months now, but this… this was something entirely different. this was a beginning, the prologue chapter of a novel, the first episode to seasons spent with him. when he pushed himself into you and you had to physically remind yourself to breathe, you had to acknowledge that he fit so perfectly with you, his body felt like it was meant to be above yours. these weren’t feelings of a quick fuck, feelings from a one night stand, this was raw, intimate, unique. special. 

“so fucking big,” you huffed out, voice strained, eyes squeezed shut, fingers clawing at his biceps. 

“breathe, baby, you got it,” he praised you, encouraged you, and it did what it needed to. you breathed in and out, let him sheathe himself inside of you. as he bottomed out he groaned, a beautiful noise, one that could lure you to sleep if you heard it enough. he stayed there for a moment, letting you get used to the stretch, letting you relax around him. 

“so fuckin’ tight, baby, breathe,” he instructed, leaning down on his elbows to kiss you, distract you, take your mind off of the stretch. you tried your best to relax your muscles, unclench yourself from around him. 

“there you go,” his praises were a sweet song, easing you out of discomfort, “tell me when i can move.” 

you waited a few moments, returning your lips to his before grinding yourself against him. you felt your slick coating him, helping you glide up and down, and he let you for a moment — just a moment before he knew for sure you were comfortable. 

he pulled all the way out before bottoming out once more, and you yelped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to let your head lean back into the pillow.

“there it is, there we fucking go,” he mumbled as he started on a rhythm, “good fucking girl.” 

a string of moans left your lips, your hands still clawing at his biceps, body reacting to him without your brain allowing it. “so fucking good sannie.”

“thought you were so fucking badass earlier, huh? ordering me around like i’m your bitch?” that smirk returned to his lips again and all you could do was moan, staring at him through half lidded eyes, “look at you now, baby. all lifeless and limp, all for this dick?” 

“yes, san, all for you. just for you,” you mumble, words jumbling together, not knowing if your words even sounded clear. 

“yeah, baby, just as i thought, all for me,” he pistols himself into you, grabbing your hips, making you meet his thrusts. you were losing your strength, letting him have his way with you, just an incoherent mess beneath him. 

he reaches forward and grabs your jaw, “don’t go anywhere, eyes on me.”

you look up to him, eyes wide, that fuzzy space you were slipping into locked away for now, “you can go there eventually, not yet, not this time.” 

your eyes started to roll back as he shifted his hips upward, the mushroom tip of him rolling against that one spot so deliciously. with how quickly that knot formed once more in your stomach, you were surprised that drool wasn’t slipping down your chin. 

“right there, please don’t stop, gonna make me cum,” you can’t even hear yourself, so drunk on his dick, his assertiveness, you loved it. you’d never had your energy matched like this, never had a fuck like this, never had someone know you so quickly and easily. 

“hold it,” he ordered, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. how could he expect you to hold it, when he was hitting that spot too perfectly, doing everything in his power to get you there?

“i swear, do not fucking cum,” he smacked your hip and tears formed in your eyes trying to hold it, fighting every nerve in your body to not release around him. 

“i can’t! i can’t,” you babble, tears falling down your cheeks, and he released a long fuck, his voice dropping even lower. 

“cum for me, want you to cum around me, please,” his orders turned to begs quickly after he saw your tears. he leaned forward to wipe them off your face, bringing his fingers up to his lips. the string snapped and you gushed around him, legs shaking, a loud cry leaving your lips, probably heard in queens from the sheer volume of it. 

“where do you want me?” he quickly asked, his own words sounding shaky, slurring together. 

“inside, inside,” you begged, reaching up to cup his cheeks. he leaned down to kiss you as he released himself inside you, filling you up, thrusts slowing as he worked himself through it. 

he stayed there for a moment, forehead pressed against yours, heavy breaths being poured into each other’s mouths. he sighed as his forearms began to shake, finally pulling out of you, laying next to you.

“you okay?” he turned his head at the same time as you turned yours, eyes sharing too much of something yet saying nothing of it.

“‘m great, you?” you cracked a smile, the both of you still somewhere that wasn’t here, slowly coming back from two completely different headspaces. he nodded, returning the smile, and the two of you laid there for what felt like ages. 

sleeping with san was something outside of anything you’ve ever done. you’d slept with plenty of people, had plenty of experiences, explored what you liked and didn’t through many trials and errors. to have such an incredible first experience with someone, to have it flow so easily, to match each other so perfectly… it was almost unbelievable, it set unrealistic expectations for anyone you’d ever sleep with again. 

you needed him that night, needed that experience, needed whatever was going to distract you from whatever the hell chan was doing – and it worked. you needed that distraction for months to follow as chan continued to see the dark haired girl, who’s name you came to find out was eden, always hanging around on the rooftop, following him wherever he went. like a roach, never wanted, yet never went away. 

months you spent cooped up in your room, anger flowing through your blood as you watched his instagram stories, cute pictures of her posted every day. posed pictures together in times square, clubs on the weekends, clips of them getting drinks together on a random weekday afternoon. you couldn’t help but pick everything apart – what they were doing was touristy, corny, nothing you would do with him, nothing you would enjoy. you knew chan didn’t enjoy any of that, either. 

every time you pictured dates with him or fantasized about any time spent with him alone was always private, intimate, enriching – you’d be painting together, drinking wine in your living room as you played your favorite board game, watching a tv show from start to finish together. you were in the same major, maybe even studying together, bouncing ideas off of one another for assignments or projects, but nothing so flashy. chan hates time square, hates drinking in the middle of the day, and especially hates clubs unless there was a special occasion. you knew all of these things, you knew him, you felt the same way as him. yet he was still doing all of those things with her, playing in her garden, wasting his time when he should be focused on school, his career, his future, you.

in those months there was only one thing that could make you forget about chan, forget about eden, forget about the situation altogether. during class you were frustrated, in auditions, rehearsals, you couldn’t even study without the tv on and music playing simultaneously. if you had a singular moment of silence your brain took you back to him, took you back to what you could’ve had, what you never tried for in the first place. it was debilitating not being able to get anything done, being so one track minded, the only thing that could make you focus was san. you’d text him daily, always asking him to come over, always ending the night between his thighs. 

he always came, he always said yes, he never once said no to you. he didn’t ask any questions, didn’t make you explain your frustrations, only listened when you did speak about trivial things like school or rehearsal. you didn’t want his opinion, didn’t want his advice, only his company and the pleasure he never had any difficulty in giving you. it was perfect for those months, in your own world, the sanctuary you created in your bedroom with choi san. 

the moment when your relationship changed, you didn’t notice. there was no light bulb, no moment where you consciously started looking at him differently, yet it changed without your knowing or consent. you didn’t acknowledge it when you did notice, you didn’t want to, your heart was saved for another. yet you still talked about everything together, did all of those little things you dreamed of doing with chan. your fears, your dreams, your childhood, your favorite things, you began to know him so intimately without being aware of it. you watched grey’s anatomy with him, you played video games, you drew funky little doodles of each other on your notebooks. 

you started to crave him when he wasn’t around, and not just because he was your distraction, but a friend. he was good for you, he encouraged you to be consistent with school, you practiced lines with him, sang duets from different musicals with him. your relationship was raw, it was truth, it was naked, it was everything you wished for, it was everything you needed at that time. 

san fell for you. he fell so fucking hard, so headfirst, it was a bottomless pit with no end in sight and he couldn’t stop himself from digging further. everything he saw in you that first night was still there, only amplified into something he couldn’t hide anymore. he was at your beck and call, anything you needed, any time of day. he knew why you were so attached to him, he figured it out the second he went to the rooftop with wooyoung again, high off of his night spent with you, ready to see you again. when you were nowhere to be seen and he caught chan with his arm around the girl from his contemporary class, he put the pieces together quick. he knew you must be heartbroken, knew you needed support, a friend who knew nothing about the situation. it quickly made him realize his place in your relationship. 

he fought through the horrific realization with optimism, the returning thought that with time you’d see, you’d realize he was better for you than chan could ever be. as he spent more time with you and got to know you better, it only made his feelings deepen. your laugh, your thoughts, your competitive side, the way you’re so quick to fight back and assert your dominance, but give it up even faster… it was like an addiction, it wasn’t good for him, he knew it wasn’t, he knew it when his grades first started to slip. when he wasn’t on point at practice, too sleep deprived to remember choreography. minho read it all over him, knew something was wrong, knew san had gotten into something he shouldn’t have. 

“what’s up with you, man? this isn’t like you,” it was a rough practice that day. san was sat on the floor with his knees hugged tight to his chest, rubbing his eyes to force the exhaustion out of them. 

“just an off day,” is all san mumbled before he stood up slowly, grabbing his bag to sling over his shoulder.

“off day? you’ve been fucking up for the past week, san, you’re center,” minho put his hand on san’s shoulder, stopping him before he walked away, “they’re gonna put someone else there if you don’t get your shit together.”

“i get it, minho,” san turned his back, and minho’s grip only got tighter.

“what the hell is going on?” he asked, turning san to face him, “you can talk to me, we’re friends, you know.”

san’s hand returned to his face, trying to rub off his discomfort, this feeling that he should keep everything to himself, “it’s a lot.”

“is it a girl?” minho was quick with the question, eyes lowered, seeming to read san before he could get any words out. he started to walk, keeping his hand on san’s shoulder, encouraging him to walk alongside him. 

san answered with a coy nod, the answer seeming too taboo to say out loud. minho was a direct link to chan, he should be happy to talk about the fact that you were sleeping together. what he couldn’t shake off was the fear that you’d be angry at him for telling anyone. 

“did you get her pregnant or something?” humor was laced in minho’s tone, trying to ease up the straightforwardness of the question, but he was genuinely worried by how san had been acting.

san gasped, “preg- no! god, no,” he shook his head, “i hope not.”

minho laughed, “that doesn’t sound convincing. if she’s not pregnant then there’s no reason to be so torn up, why are you?”

they walked out of the building into the wet humidity of the city air, “like i said, it’s a lot. it’s my fault, though.”

“quit beating around the bush and tell me,” minho stood still, staring at san expectantly, “you can trust me.”

“if i’m going to tell you, i need a beer.”

an hour later they were seated at prince, not a popular dive bar in the city, but popular amongst your group of friends and whoever they introduced to it. san nursed his beer, barely getting two sips in before he was spilling everything about the last six months to one of his best friends. 

“i can’t wrap my head around why you keep fucking her if she loves another guy,” minho shrugs, “especially chan, at that. she’s been close with him since he moved to the city.”

“it’s not about fucking her,” san sighed, “i’m in too deep, i think i love her. even if i didn’t, and it was just about sex, it’s too good to stop.”

minho’s jaw physically drops, mouth hanging agape for a moment before he snaps it shut, straightening his left hand to start counting on his fingers, “so you love her, she doesn't know you love her, she loves someone else who’s in a relationship, and you spend every free moment with her. and you have so much sex you don’t sleep.”

san’s lips pull into a tight line, giving minho one long nod in response.

“there’s no way she doesn’t love you back if you’ve spent that much time together in six months, i can’t believe you kept all of this shit hidden for so long. you need to talk shit out, man.”

it was music to his ears, san’s entire body filled with a joy he’d never felt before when no way she doesn’t love you back left minho’s lips. he felt like he was putting a puzzle together in his brain, that actually made perfect sense, how could you not return anything he felt for you? you also experienced all your time together, got just as close to him as he did you. 

he barely gave minho another half hour before he was barreling out of prince and on his way to your apartment. 

“hey baby, how was practi-”

“i need to ask you a question.”

your head whipped to your front door, never hearing san sound so desperate outside of the bedroom. his eyes were blown, his eyebrows raised, fully out of breath from running up the flights of steps to your apartment. your blood ran cold, you knew this question was coming eventually, you were savoring every moment he didn't ask it. you stood slowly, facing him from the couch, eyes expectant.

“i’ll give you an answer,” you replied casually, keeping your voice steady. 

“do you want to be with me?” his words felt empty, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say them, yet he still sounded like he’d been dying to ask the question for months. he didn’t blink, kept his shoulders back, dance bag dangling from his fingertips.

“san,” you said calmly, taking a step towards him. 

“i don’t want to freak you out, please don’t freak out, it’s just been six months and i really enjoy you and your company and i love being around you, i love spending nights with you, the sex is incredible, everything just seems right,” a smile graces his lips with a pause. when you stared back at him in disbelief he panicked, his heart in his throat, “i’m sorry if i freaked you out, this is too much, isn’t it?” 

you took a breath, closing your eyes for a moment. the day you’d been dreading had come – the end of a perfect half year. 

“i can’t be in a relationship right now,” you blurt the first thing that came to mind, and his face dropped immediately. “i enjoy you, i love our time spent together, i love that you’re around all the time, you’ve been a huge help to me these past six months. i couldn’t of done it without you.”

you’ve been told these words before, you’ve been in his position before, you’re spouting the same venom that’s been thrown at you. you felt  as if you were shoved in a corner, not fully believing your own words, but you needed an excuse more than you wanted to say the truth. 

a sad smile crosses his face, “i get it.”

“i don’t want to stop whatever this is,” you walk closer to him, grabbing his hand, “and it could grow into something really great. i’m just not in a position to open my heart to anyone right now.” 

“i know, baby. the last six months have been rough on you,” his heart melted, even if he knew the reason why, he also knew that it really did hurt you. you needed time to heal, time to focus on yourself, time to get back into the dating scene. he’d be there, first in line when you were ready. 

“i knew you’d understand, thank you,” you stood on your toes, attaching your lips to his. ten minutes later you were on your knees, right back to normal like that conversation didn’t even happen. 

in just two weeks you’d started going out more regularly again, meeting your friends at prince, going to chan’s rooftop whenever felix told you to come. your friends that noticed, despite you keeping your appearances up, asked where you’d been, why you’re back, and you gave them the sophomore year bullshit of classes were hard and summer is here again! at your age, parties were a dime a dozen, you had plenty of excuses to be out of the house and away from your issues, stopping reality from hitting you that you were playing with fire once again.

you did have feelings for san, even if it was your own fucked up version. there was no way you couldn’t with how much time you spent together, how much you know about him, how much you care for him. but the other problem that you will never forget is still there, staring at you from across his own rooftop. 

you care for san, but the love you feel for bang christopher chan is so much fucking more.

“hey! i feel like i haven’t seen you in ages!” his smile is huge as he crosses the crowd, clinking his drink with your own. you blushed, that was basically him saying i missed you. 

“same here, how’s everything been? happy classes are over?” you asked, gripping your drink a little tighter. 

“incredibly happy classes are over, even happier this terrible fucking year is over,” he chuckled, “me and eden broke up, i don’t know if you heard. she cheated on me with some columbia architect, whatever.”

broke up? he’s… single again?

your jaw dropped, and you fought to keep the excitement to a minimum, “no, i didn’t know, i’m so sorry, channie. fuck her and that architect!”

he laughed again, a belly laugh that made you want to jump his bones, “what about you, though? seeing anyone?”

his question took you by surprise, “i- uh, no, i’m not,” your giggle was nervous, wanting to change the subject immediately. san crossed your mind, a thought you quickly shut down.

“you’re never seeing anyone, dude, we have to set you up with somebody, can’t go through your whole college experience without a shitty boyfriend or two,” it was a joke, a bad one, but it still made heat rise to your whole upper half. why was he asking? he’s never asked about your love life before. 

“i’m good off a shitty boyfriend, i’d rather be alone if that’s the case,” you shake your head, then sip through your tiny straw. 

“suit yourself,” he palmed your shoulder with a hand that completely enveloped it, and you felt the skin underneath burn. 

you felt eyes boring into your head from behind you, and you quickly turned, scanning the area. you saw your roommate and her boyfriend in the smoking corner, minho and han, then san, who was leaning against the concrete of the wall separating the rooftop from the drop to the ground below. like a hawk, he watched you through lowered eyes, taking in every move. you quickly turned back around, expecting chan to still be there, but he was gone, probably off being a good host to his party. you wiped the chill off of you, finishing off your drink, dismissing the guilty feeling creeping up your spine because chan is single again. determination washes over you, this time you’d be hell bent upon telling him how you feel, finally getting your chance to be with him. it was your turn this time. 

san was beyond frustrated. watching you talk to chan after all of these months, even from afar, picking up your body language, he was sick to his stomach. the way you shifted from foot to foot, unconsciously leaned into his touch, flipped your hair behind your back to show off your décolletage, san could pick up on exactly what you were thinking and he hated it. 

san wasn’t in the lead, he was forever the number two, your favorite best kept hidden secret. he was sick of it, sick of being with you behind closed doors, sick of dropping everything for you, sick of being under your spell. he knew his place, knew it enough to where he didn’t even approach you on the rooftop. he knew there would be a call, a text, a fucking messenger pigeon that would get him in your bed tonight, he was sure of it. when chan went back inside the apartment for the night and didn’t have a soul beside him, he knew exactly how the outcome of the night would go, and he was excited for it. 

as san slammed your apartment door shut behind him, you jumped nearly a foot in the air, turning to furrow your eyebrows. the two of you ended up leaving together, an outcome that wasn’t on his list of possibilities – no messenger pigeon needed. he was surprised, he didn’t think you’d even want to be seen getting in the same car as him. 

“what was that for?” the slam startled you, it was unlike him, he was delicate with everything he did.

“i’m sick of this, ri,” he shook his head, standing by the entrance to your kitchen, not following you into the living room. your stomach dropped, you should’ve seen this coming.

“what do you mean?” you opted for obliviousness after a pause, unsure of how to go about this conversation again after your last one was just two weeks ago. 

“i’m sick of being your secret, whatever the hell i am to you,” he ran a hand through his hair, “actually, that’s a good question. what am i to you, riley?”

you gulped, your eyes widening, coming to yet another moment of silence. you didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know how to tell him what you didn’t know yourself. 

“you don’t know? or you know and can’t say it?” he understands your silence, using his hands as he speaks, “tell me the truth.”

“i don’t know, san, a friend?” your voice is unsure, small. you wanted to shrink yourself, wanted to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. this is the first time you’ve seen this side of him, you and san had never argued before, the last time you had this talk it didn’t have any anger or frustration. 

“a friend? i’m a friend?” he laughs, a sarcastic chuckle that you’ve never heard leave his lips. you must’ve gotten away with it two weeks ago, this was really the end, there was only one way this talk could go. “a friend that knows every inch of you, a friend that’s spent more time here the past six months than the apartment they still pay rent at? that’s a fucking joke, riley.”

tears gathered in your eyes, ones that you weren’t exactly sure why they were there, you felt caught. bombarded with a choice you didn’t want to make. he was finally understanding your web of lies, finally over it, over you. you weren’t ready to let him go, you wanted to continue to live in your bubble with him, you wanted him to stay. you didn’t let them fall.

“what do you want me to say?” you don’t have a rebuttal, you don’t have any sly words that could change the topic, even momentarily change what he’s feeling. you chose anger, deflection.

“i want more, ri. i want you, i’ve wanted you since i met you. there’s no way you don’t know that,” he sighs, turning around, running that same hand through his hair. 

“and i can’t give you more, san, so what do you want me to do? force myself into something i’m not ready for? i’ve told you my piece,” you walk towards him, standing just a few steps from him.

“no, riley, i don’t want you to force yourself into being with me, that’s ridiculous. when we’re in public you barely look at me, let alone speak to me. what are you so afraid of? why can’t anyone know about… this?” he turned around, his own eyes glossy, looking down at you through damp eyelashes. your blood ran cold, colder than it had been from the moment he slammed the door, that familiar guilty feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach. 

“why do you need people to know? why do you need our relationship to be publicized? is being with me, here like this, not enough for you?” the laugh you let out was dry, calculated, “if it’s not enough then maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.” 

a small gasp left his lips, barely audible it could’ve been just an intake of air, his visage twisted the moment you spoke those words. with his lips and eyebrows turned downward, that slight anger, frustration, morphed into a sadness you never wanted to see again. 

“that’s not what i want,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, a shy mumble, his gaze pointed downward at his fingers which played with his rings. “i don’t want to fight with you.” 

“i know, baby,” you stepped forward, placing a hand on his soft, reddened cheek, “i don’t want to fight with you, either. want you to be happy.” 

“i’m happy with you,” his voice cracked, a raw tone, as he glanced back up at you. his eyes red, glossed over, full of emotion, it broke your heart. you could never truly make him happy, you knew that, but you could momentarily.

“then let me take care of you,” and that you did, like you always did, the same way you did two weeks ago. you rode him to oblivion, until he forgot why he was upset in the first place, the same thing he did for you six months ago. 

a week later, you’d fought again. plenty of times.

almost every day for the whole week you started an argument over something so fucking stupid and you couldn’t stop. everything he did pissed you off, every time he tried to fix it, it pissed you off even more. you were overflowing with so many different emotions you couldn’t breathe, you needed space, you needed him, you needed chan. you were too overstimulated to think clearly, if you were ever thinking clearly to begin with.

the guilt from not returning his feelings, but not being at ease when he isn’t sleeping in your bed.. it didn’t make any sense. you felt insane, suffocated in the overwhelming feelings you couldn’t bring yourself to return. you liked san, you liked everything about him, but the fervent feelings he had towards you mirrored what you felt for chan. 

there was now nothing left unsaid. there was no unspoken deal between you anymore, no weapon left to use to let yourself get off without consequence. you were uncomfortable, uncomfortable with his feelings, uncomfortable with your own, you felt shoved in a corner you couldn’t walk away from. 

the only things that stayed consistent in that week were chan’s rooftop, chan’s living room, and his incessant need to talk to you every damn time you were there.  

san felt like he was losing his goddamn mind. 

he wished he could go back in time and take back everything he said, his confession, his feelings, he had ruined everything. you would go from not answering him to getting pissed off that he answered your text with ok instead of okay… it seemed like he couldn’t do anything right, in a constant state of fear that today would be the day you break it off with him for real. 

his day to day life was only getting worse. he was making cocktails wrong at work, not replacing ice, handing the wrong beer to patrons at the bar. he got replaced again in his spot for his dance class, reprimanded by his teacher, minho gave him not one but two additional talks about getting his shit together. 

he hadn’t seen you since the night you argued two weeks ago, he hasn’t even been going out for just a glimpse of you, he’s been playing catch up for what felt like weeks. to make matters worse, he was pent up, he’d been so used to a consistent sex life, he needed release. he needed a night to let go of you, all of the whiplash he’d endured for weeks now, he needed a night to just be himself. to forget.

he called wooyoung, his best friend who was always out in the city, always had plans. thankfully he was going to a club that night to celebrate your roommate’s recent internship acceptance. wooyoung assured him that you wouldn’t be there, it would only be a couple of your roommates' close friends. he didn’t ask why you wouldn’t be there, he tried to convince himself he didn’t care, he needed to start forgetting now.

he hopped out of bed and got ready fast, the clock already past eight, and headed over to meet the group before going to the club. they were all familiar faces from the rooftop, despite him only knowing wooyoung super intimately. all of the nights he spent at your apartment your roommate was usually at her boyfriend’s, and if she wasn’t, her and her boyfriend were cooped up in her bedroom.

but here he was, in a club he’s never heard of in the middle of manhattan celebrating her.

“have a drink, sannie, do something,” wooyoung slung his arm around san’s shoulder, bent behind the booth he was sitting at, “don’t just sit there and mope.”

san nodded, not having much to say if it didn’t have to do with you. he sipped his beer mindlessly, listening to everyone talking around him, their conversation had to be more entertaining then the jail he created for himself in his own mind. 

“...i’ve been trying to get them together for years! i’m so happy it’s finally happening!” your roommate says loud, drunkenly, talking to yunho’s girlfriend. 

“years?” yunho’s girlfriend asked, brushing her hair behind her ear, “why the hell did it take so long?”

“when they met they were all just good friends, then i was introduced and started dating jeongin pretty much immediately, i’m the one who noticed how she felt about him. she wouldn’t admit it for ages, until i finally got it out of her, and pretty much immediately after that chan started dating eden, you remember her, right?” san’s ears perked up at that, his stomach dropping immediately. he put the pieces together quicker than ki could run her mouth. the drinks from the pregame clearly made her filter pretty much nonexistent, this is a conversation he wasn’t supposed to be listening to, something he wasn’t supposed to hear. she didn’t notice the extra ear, but her boyfriend did.

“ki,” jeongin interrupted, eyes glancing back and forth between san and his girlfriend, talking over yunho’s girlfriend.

ki ignored him, too deep in her own conversation, “yes! like two weeks ago or something it finally clicked, they’ve been seeing each other since.” 

“who?” san interrupted, panic in his voice. 

he knew who, from the bottom of his heart. a little over two weeks ago was when san started the fight between the two of you, ever since then you’d been off. he hasn’t seen you. he knows damn well who.

ki’s eyes were wide, her jaw agape, and jeongin’s hand went to his forehead. 

“san, i-”

“who are you talking about, ki?” san sat a little straighter, his chin jutting out, “who’s been seeing chan for the past two weeks?”

“i think you already know who, san, i didn’t realize you didn’t know?” ki’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her hand holding her drink a little bit tighter. yunho’s girlfriend looked between san and ki, also confused, too nervous to ask any questions. the tension was thick in the air, too heavy for a night of celebration. san could feel the control he had over himself lessening by the second. 

san laughs, a dark chuckle, and something inside of him shifts. he’s done, he’s so fucking done. he feels stupid, it’s always been chan from the start, it’s always going to be chan. he tried telling himself months ago that you would see he was better for you than chan ever could be, but he was clearly so fucking wrong. chan would always be your endgame, it would never be him, no matter what he did for you. no matter how much he tried for you. no matter how much he begged for you.

everything he’s been feeling for the past two weeks, the confusing feelings, the constant begging just to see you, the amount of apologies he’d given to someone who didn’t fucking deserve them. how many times had you texted him when you were next to chan? how many times had you ignored him because you were next to chan?

san doesn’t get angry, san isn’t a fighter. san’s always been a peacekeeper, a problem solver, water to put out the fire. 

he is so fucking over it.

he thought about his grades, how long it’d taken him to bring them back up. his rehearsals, his performances, the center positions that had been taken away from him. how many bottles of beer he’d thrown away at work from constant fuck ups. how many times he’s gotten grilled from more people than he can count on his hands. 

he ignored ki, instead he looked into the crowd, suddenly remembering exactly where he was. he reached forward and grabbed one of the bottles yunho bought and took a long swig from it. he looked out in the crowd again and spotted a pretty little blonde thing almost immediately, and took a moment to reflect.

he remembered his life before you, before chan, before that fucking rooftop. how women fawned over him, flocked to him, how obsessed they were. how he didn’t have to try for anything or anyone. he passed the bottle to wooyoung behind him who was so taken aback he hadn’t said a word. 

“san, we can leave, we can go, it’s okay,” wooyoung said, bent over once more, taking the bottle from san’s hand, “we don’t have to stay here, let’s go.”

“if you’re not going to drink that then give it back,” his reply is so curt it sliced through the air like the knife ki just put through his chest, “we are not leaving.”

wooyoung took a swig of the bottle, a proud smirk growing on his face, “finally, man. let’s be done with it already.”

2:27 am ri: u up? ri: i miss you

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for anon!

Request: alien x orc x human with human reader and NSFW please. Something with some angst and fluff mixed in.

A/N: Sorry for all the "alien boyfriend" and "orc boyfriend", brain wasn't braining today. This has a fair amount of hurt/comfort, enjoy!

Intergalactic idiots

Alien x orc x fem!reader | angst with happy ending, body worship, oral sex

You are anxiously waiting next to the ER door when your orc boyfriend walks in with the saddest face you’ve ever seen. “What is it?” You ask immediately, knowing well that for him to be alone, for him to have called for you to be at the hospital when they arrived… something must be very, very wrong.

“There was an accident,” he announced, looking at the floor. And your alien boyfriend is nowhere to be found, so it must be something bad with him. Something happened and your heart is beating fast and hard, making you want to scream.

“What? What happened? Where is he? Is he hurt?” You ask in a quick succession, feeling like the weight of the world falling over you at the thought of losing him. Losing either of them, but right now you can’t process the fact that he could have been hurt, too. You can only process the fact that your alien boyfriend is not there, and that means he’s been hurt.

He sighs heavily and lets out a teary: “He- He got shot.” As soon as the words leave his mouth your tears are running down your face.

“You promised! You promised you would take care of him!” You scream at him, you are hitting his chest with your fists, not really hurting him but needing to let out your frustration and pain.

He cries, too, his body sagging as he lets you hit him. “I- I know. I’m sorry. I failed you. I failed both of you.” If you were in another moment of your life, if your anxiety wasn’t so high, you could have said something, that it wasn’t his fault, that he had nothing to worry about and you were glad he was okay… But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You could only imagine the worst and your body froze in place as you ask: “Can- can I see him?”

“Not yet, darling, the doctors are working on him,” his voice soft and placating, but you don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear him talk at all, your brain wants to blame someone and he’s there. He was there when your alien boyfriend got shot…

You don’t even realize how his hands are bloody and his face is stained with tears. You don’t realize his hands are trembling and his body is scratched in a thousand places. You sit there in silence and don’t accept his hand when he offers comfort. You two fall silent, sitting next to each other but barely moving as the time ticks.

Time passes, you don’t know how much, but when a naga doctor appears, you are on your feet and walking to her instantly. Your orc boyfriend follows, but you don’t mind anything at all, you only need to know he’s alright. “Is he okay?”

And she says the most precious words: “He will be.”

It takes a whole week for your alien boyfriend to be back home. An awful week where you don’t talk to your orc boyfriend, you barely see him at all. You don’t sleep together, you don’t go together to the hospital at all, and when your alien gets back home, you two walk awkwardly around each other until he gets tired of your shit.

You are organizing the wardrobe when your orc boyfriend walks in and you don’t say anything. Your alien boyfriend realizes instantly: “What is it between you two? You barely spend time in the same room, you are not touching each other. Or me for the matter,” he adds the last part just as a joke, but you flinch at his words.

You let out in a short breath, your heart beating fast as everything that has happened comes crashing into you. You feel bad, you feel so bad, but you don’t know how to fix it. You acted like a really bad girlfriend, you were shitty to him, and you don’t know what to do about it. And now your alien wants to talk about it and you can’t avoid it anymore.

“We… We are okay,” you let out, the lie tasting like ashes in your mouth. Your orc boyfriend is looking at you with a pained expression, and you swallow around the knot in your throat.

Your alien boyfriend sits on the bed and calls you out: “Bullshit. What happened?” He asks, looking between you two.

“I failed you,” your orc boyfriend says and your heart hurts for him, you want to go to him and hug him until the pain goes away, but… but you don’t know if he would welcome that, and it hurts more than it should.

Your alien boyfriend looks shocked. “You what? No, you didn’t. You think you did?” He points at your orc and he shrugs, and then points at you. “And you think he did?” You shrug, not wanting to answer, either. “You are both stupid as fuck. Come here,” he orders.

“But the wounds…” You try to argue with him, but he looks at you with those eyes that drive you in instantly, making you shiver.

“Come. Here.” He repeats. Both of you obey, walking to him like he’s pulling invisible strings.

You sit next to him, your orc boyfriend sits on the other side, and you both look at him expectantly. “You are the glue that keeps us together, you know that,” your orc boyfriend finally says.

“No, I’m not. What keeps us together is how much we love each other, and the fact that you two have been walking around eggshells around me and each other because of something neither of us is at fault in is incredibly stupid.” You two remain silent, knowing ful well he’s right. Your eyes are full of tears and you feel about to burst into sobs, but the comforting presence of your boyfriends keeps you controlled. For about two seconds before he says: “And what’s even worse, you two haven’t been touching my dick or your own parts and it shows.” You laugh between your tears, feeling the knot in your throat slowly dissolving as you hit his arm without any strength. “Ouch! Hitting the wounded alien, what a mean human we have here…” He jokes more, making your tears run free within your laughter. “Oh sweetie, don’t cry…” He lets out, his tone going soft.

And then your orc boyfriend is looking at you with a panicked expression. “Don’t cry, darling, please, you know it drives me insane to see you cry…” You know it does, he gets crazy and panics every time you cry because he doesn’t know what to do, how to act, tears really scare him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to sniffle and making the most awful sound as you start to sob uncontrollably.

“Shit,” they both say at the same time, their arms coming around your body and getting you in an alien-orc sandwich. You cry more while they hug you tightly between them.

“I thought you were going to die,” you sob. “I was so worried.”

Your alien boyfriend kisses your forehead. “I know, sweetie, I know… But I’m okay. I swear.” He looks over your shoulder and orders to your orc boyfriend: “Tell her I’m going to be okay.”

“I- He… I-” He starts but can’t finish the sentence, a single tear running down his face and making your heart squeeze painfully again, another ugly sob escaping.

“You too?” The alien says, exasperated.

“I was worried, too, you asshole! I saw you bleed, I held my hands to your bleeding form as you passed out. I was scared shitless that you were going to die and it would be my fault.” You listen as he explains and you feel like the worst asshole in the world. He suffered, too. He was worried, too. And you acted like a jackass and made it even worse for him. And for you. You denied yourself of the comfort you thought you didn’t deserve and hurt him in the process. What a shitty girlfriend.

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t nobody’s fault.” Your alien boyfriend explains, now rubbing his hands in both of your backs, trying to calm you down. “Now come on, kiss each other and say you are sorry for being stupid,” he jokes. “It’s not a suggestion.”

“I’m sorry,” you both say at the same time, a teary giggle escaping from your mouths as you kiss each other sweetly.

But it soon becomes frantic and passionate. For someone used to kiss and fuck every day, spending more than a week without any kind of action has been a pain for all of you, and it shows. You hate that your alien boyfriend was right. He’s going to be insufferable about it, you can already tell.

You break apart and look at him, lying there with a hand inside his pants, rubbing up and down. “You are a pervert,” you joke, licking your lips and looking at his covered erection.

“Oh, I know… And you are, too.” You blush, looking down because you know he’s right. “Now, are we going to fuck or what?” He let out bluntly.

You look at him, and think about the literal hole in his side that is still healing. “But you are wounded.”

“My dick works fine,” he says, lowering his pants enough to show you his pretty white dick, already glistening with precum.

You think about it, you want to tell him no, you can’t have sex, but you feel desperate. You feel needy, you need to touch them and be reminded they are okay. They are alive. And so are you. “You… You can’t move,” you finally said. It should be okay if he doesn’t move, right?

“I can’t?” He says, looking at you with a puzzled expression.

You both say in unison: “No.”

You lean against your orc’s chest and whisper against his ear: “Should we tie him down?” He nods. “You take the balls and I take the dick?” You add, bemusedly. He pulls back and nods, a big smile framed by his tusks. You lean down and kiss him until you are breathless.

“That’s not fair, you are forgetting about me.” You look at him and he’s pouting, his big black eyes looking into your soul with a glint of arousal mixed with some desperation. You shiver, but say nothing as you take your orc’s belt and tie it around your alien’s hands and the headboard, immobilizing him. “And you say I’m the kinky one?” He asks between laughs as he tries to move his hands and realizes you tied it more securely than he expected. You start unbuttoning his sleep shirt as he struggles, your orc boyfriend taking his pants off slowly. “Wait, I’m going to be the only one naked here?” He asks, still trying to break free and earning himself an annoyed look as you both stop what you are doing to look at him.

“Yes,” you say at the same time.

He stops struggling and looks between you two, frowning without eyebrows, which makes him look kinda funny. “That’s not fai-” He doesn’t get to say anything else before your orc boyfriend wraps his lips around the tip of his alien dick.

He breaks into a big moan as you start kissing your way down his torso, being very careful about his side wound. You kiss the edges of the bandage around it and keep going down, your tongue tracing the ridges of his torso as he shivers. You keep going down, not forgetting to kiss even an inch of his beautiful torso until you are face to face with your orc. He has his lips wrapped around the tip of your alien’s dick, not even doing much, just sucking like he’s a lollipop he’s enjoying. You ignored the struggle before, but hearing your alien whimpering and groaning as if he’s being tortured turns you on so much you can’t stop from slipping a hand inside your panties.

Your orc boyfriend realizes first: “Don’t you dare touch that pussy, that’s mine to please,” he growls, pulling back from the dick he was sucking. You smile at him cheekily and peck on his lips, rapidly ignoring him in favor of taking his place.

He grumbles something and you feel his hand slipping next to yours as he goes down and takes the alien balls in his mouth, rolling them around messily. You can only hear his filthy sounds and your alien’s whimpers. Soon, you are groaning around his shaft too, the orc’s dexterous fingers rubbing your clit in the most amazing way possible and making your brain go blank for a second, your groans joining the symphony of sex in the room.

“I’m about… I’m gonna…” You hear the warning over your head before you feel his dick opening and the little tentacles holding your face down as he comes in your mouth.

The first time was a surprise, but you’ve come to love when his weird dicks does alien things, it’s exhilarating to know he can hold you down in more than one way. But at that moment, as he releases inside your mouth and you keep sucking, your tongue lapping at him as your orc boyfriend sucks his balls like they are his favorite candy, you feel hotter than ever, your pussy so wet around the orc’s fingers you are two thrusts away from exploding.

And then you feel it, the flicker of your orc’s finger against your clit and the burning sensation in your lower abdomen as the orgasm takes you by surprise, your mouth occupied as you groan around alien dick and fall apart around orc fingers. Your brain short circuits for a second, ad your vision blacks and you can’t have any coherent thoughts as your orgasms takes over your body and brain. It never ceases to amaze you how great the sex has been since you three started dating, who would have thought thruple sex would be the best of your life?

When you come down from your orgasm and the alien dick-tacles (dick-tentacles you know) in your mouth finally release you, you fall flat against the mattress as your orc boyfriend laughs over you both for being fucked out and boneless. “Are we good now?” He asks.

“What? No!” Your alien exclaims, surprising you. You look at him with a question in your eyes. “He hasn’t come yet,” he explains, looking at your orc with a smirk on his face. He blushes in the prettiest shade of green and you want nothing more but to maul him… sexually.

“I can fix that,” you say, throwing yourself at him and trusting he would catch you. He does, and you kiss him senseless, your hand reaching for his erection.

You hear some struggling and then your alien is pouting again. “Is nobody going to untie me?” He says in the most whiny tone ever.

You two break apart and look at him with a smile as you say in unison: “No,” and laugh loudly. He grumbles some more as you two kiss again, your hand rubbing his erection.

“I regret forcing you to solve your communication problems,” he lets out grumpily. But you know it’s a lie. He’s smiling big as he struggles against the restrains and you jerk your orc’s boyfriend and he watches.

Everything would be alright.

[thevoidstaredback]

Hey! So, it's been a while, but I finally remembered to come back to this! But, it's not gonna go the way you'd think.

If Danny had it his way, he'd be at his Aunt Alicia's house for the summer instead of New Jersey. This place is gloomy, grimy, and soaked through with so much crime that it's a Problem(TM). Like, seriously? New Jersey hasn't allowed the death penalty since he was seven, but can't they make, like, one exception? Get rid of The Joker and half of Gotham's problems are solved.

Unfortunately, he's only here as a guest, so he can't really do anything. Which, for the record, is a shit rule. Call a goose and goose, and that's exactly what Gotham City, New Jersey is.

It isn't all that bad, he supposes. Sure, the pollution blocks out the entire sky at all times, the buildings that aren't condemned are only feeding the rich while stealing from the poor, an entire twenty-four block are has been given up on by mostly everyone, the local vigilantes won't kill the recurring problems like the cockroaches they are- There was a good point to all this.

Oh! He has family here. That's it. That's the only silver lining, and it's bronze.

But, hey, it can't be that bad. From what he understands, his half-brother and company don't actually live in Gotham. Bristol, according to Talia is technically outside of Gotham City Limits, but is still considered as part of the city. Makes sense, aside from the fact that there's no bridge between Bristol and Gotham. Weird design, but he's not rich so he's not really inclined to care or understand.

Half brother, right.

Danny doesn't like Damian much, but that's because he's a clone...of Damian. Danny's a clone of Damian, not the other way around. Ra's makes that very clear

The only reason Talia wants him with Damian is because she's upset with Bruce Wayne. What is it with divorced parents and putting their kids on the middle of their fights? Or maybe that's just Talia?

Anyway.

Gotham, New Jersey is a dismal place. Danny's not germophobic by any means, he can't really afford to be, but even he's having a hard time being in the city.

It was so much easier hiding out with the Fentons.

Well, 'hiding' is a subjective term. Ra's and Talia knew where he was, so did Deathstroke, probably, but that was it.

Essentially, everyone he should be hiding from knows where he's been hiding, which means he's just been on some kind of twisted, extended vacation.

As far as Danny knew, Bruce Wayne had no idea he was coming. Damian knew because Talia had wanted him to pick Danny up from the airport. Weird because while Damian is technically older, Danny is still legally two years older.

Well, 'legally' is a stretch. He doesn't technically exist, outside of the LoA and Amity Park.

The point is that Damian is waiting for him at the end of the terminal, looking as much like an excited puppy as he can, with an older gentleman. Talia had given him nothing to work with, but Danny didn't really care who this guy was as long as he didn't try to make him do anything he didn't want to.

...living in the Midwest was doing wonders for his mental stability, but Ancients was it making him soft!

"'Danny', I presume?" the old man asked, his accent heavy.

Good, so Talia did give Damian his actual name. "Yep. You are?" He may not want to be here, but he still knows his manners. Even if he's only going to use the bare minimum of them. Malicious Compliance and all that.

"Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler." He didn't extend his hand to shake. Danny didn't mind. In fact, he actually preferred that.

Okay, so maybe he's a little bit haphephobic. Leave him alone!

"Danny," Damian greeted, a smile of excitement in his voice but not his face, "It's good to have you here. How did Mother convince you to come?"

"Bribery." Mostly.

Damian seemed to deflate a bit. "Father and the others don't know you're here."

"Do they even know about me at all?"

"No."

"Perfect! Then I can stay at a hotel-"

"For the entire summer?" Alfred raised his eyebrow, "I must insist that you stay at Wayne Manor while in Gotham. Master Bruce will most pleased to meet you."

"Why?" Danny scoffed, "I'm not his kid, nor do I want to be."

Damian slouched a little bit more. "Come, we must get back before the others send out a search party for us."

"Dramatic much?" Danny scoffed.

"Not at all," Alfred took both of Danny's bags before leading the way out to the car, "It' happened before in less time."

"I don't doubt it for a second. I'm calling Bruce a dramatic bitch."

Alfred smirked ever so slightly. "Quite right, Master Danny."

"Don't call me that."

"Alright then, what should I call you?"

"'Danny'. No honorifics, no add ons, no trying to fullname me, nothing else."

"And when you go out with the rest of the family?"

He scoffed again. "You really think they'd let me go out with them? I'm an assassin. In fact, the first thing I'll do the second I'm let out of the house is kill the clown bastard."

Damian rested his hand on Danny's arm. "They let me out with them and I tried to kill Drake. As long as you uphold a promise not to kill anyone, you'll be allowed to patrol with us."

They reached the car, Damian sat behind the driver while Danny sat behind the passenger. Alfred put the bags in the trunk. "So? What will you be called on patrol?"

Danny rolled his eyes, popping his headphones in and not looking away from the window. "Respawn."

Storyboard

[demodraws0606]

While I don't really like the justification as to how Nico got Hu's weapon and some other stuff surrounding Nico's confession (not rlly issues writing wise per say I just find it a bit too easy).

I do like the idea of this being a thing with Nico, aka them potentially being someone who used to react violently towards bullies. Someone else caught that being implied and I do find it interesting.

Because in a way it reminds me a lot of Chihiro and other typical "meek characters who have a past of getting bullied trope". Which I argue end up only really fetishizing victims of harassement and bullying.

Victims of bullying have to never fight back because if they do well they're just as bad as their bullies aren't they ? After all it's a common story that teachers often end up punishing victims of bullying for fighting back. This is the vibe Nico's whole character really gives me.

Because Nico isn't just weak and meek, they're also angry and vengeful. They aren't above revenge and violence just because they're shy.

In a way it's similar to cats, we love to believe they're just cute little balls of furs until we're hit with the reality that they are in fact wild animals that will scratch you if they feel they need to.

Hu on the other hand wants to believe in that "perfect victim", so she tries to justify Nico's actions as them still just being meek and weak. Robbing them of their own agency because she can't accept reality.

This is really interesting how it seems DRDTdev is kind of dissecting tropes that were used before in fangans and just stories in general, I hope to see more of this in the future.

[pressplay-if]

I saw that the single mum route is the less angsty when it comes to family stuff. Which is lovely. However, it reminded me of something I was thinking the other day. I was trying to figure out what kind of depressive thoughts my MC may have (as I'm still deciding if he'll have depression or social anxiety). And since I always pick the single mother route (I love the idea of MC being the poor friend of the band), I got some ideas.

Basically, I guess my MC would feel a lot of guilt. He knows that his mother is busy with so much work not out of being a workaholic, but by need. Need that is significantly exacerbated by MC's existence. I do imagine a young MC especially feeling guilty and as a burden to their mum, since the poor woman has to raise them and work full time.

This is further increased as the years come by and MC decides to dedicate their lives to a band. A high reward but high risk kind of job. My MC could easily fail to achieve any major success. And then what? It's very easy to feel guilt. Maybe he should have tried to find a more stable job? Something to help his mother so she can lower her workload significantly?

Then again, I am sure my MC's mother would prefer MC to go after his dreams. So, I imagine, MC is also in a weird position where he also would feel guilt if he didn't pursue the music life. Because he is sure his mother would know, and she would feel bad. His mother could easily blame herself that her child is leaving their dream behind. And my MC couldn't bear such idea. So, he is stuck in a weird limbo.

Of course this may be just me overthinking. But it could be some kind of ideas that my MC could fester on his mind as he grows up. Since it's very easy to go from guilt to be burden, to guilt about existing, and then to decide to remove himself from life as that would, in a way, "fix the problem" (which is not true, of course, since suicide doesn't fix things).

Well, I'll stop rambling. This is perhaps a bit of a downer, so I understand if you prefer to ignore it. In any case this basically comes from me thinking a lot about my MC and this IF.

Why would I ignore it I love long asks. Although it does make me think that perhaps (given the current state of the hospitalization interlude) MC may need more options to describe their depressive thoughts. Bc in the interlude, it's all mostly symptom-based, and there's more screentime to MC getting better than MC experiencing the depression. This is partly for the sake of brevity (I'm worried about the interlude getting to long, given it's just another flashback basically, albeit a really important one). But the MC CAN in fact say they felt like a burden to their single mother in a later decision (not chapter 2, it's when they move out).

[souiiore]

UNDISCLOSED

arthur morgan oneshot!

pairing: arthur morgan x oc (name not specified)

cw: fluff if you squint your eyes, fingering, unprotected piv, corruption, praise & size kink, farmer's daughter trope, mentions of religion, NSFW, MDNI

wc: 4.6k

summary: Longing for something forbidden has never gotten anyone anywhere.

an: this was a request by my lovely mutual @pinescent-and-gingerbread , im not really happy with how it turned out, but i hope u enjoy<33

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The brisk evening air sent shivers down her spine as she stood up from her bed, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and let her steps lead her to the window in her room. The soft thudding of the rain outside lulled her senses, making her mind wander to the depths of two blue pools. Her locks hung loosely around her shoulders, long curls of thick brown hair framing her soft features.

She had spent the whole day in bed reading a silly romance novel about a man and a woman hopelessly in love. It made her think about her lover. Perhaps "lover" was a strong word for him. He did make her cheeks burn, spread butterflies in her stomach, and cause her to stutter, yes, but he was a bad man. A very bad man, and she was well aware of that. Yet the thrill and excitement, the knowledge of his lifestyle, only drew her closer to him. The fact that she, such a sweet little thing, was romantically involved with someone of his status made it all the more exciting.

Her finger came to touch her lower lip, the ghost of his mouth on hers now only a memory. The rough pads of his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from her face and behind her ear—so tender, so gentle. The twinkle in his eyes whenever she looked at him with such lust for something unknown, something so severe. And he always acted oblivious to her seduction. Clueless, even. But deep down, it made his core burn.

She had met him a long time ago in Valentine. Her father was a simple man, dedicated to his religion, and attending church every Sunday was a requirement for both her and him. Dressed in her best dress, with her hair tied into a neat braid with a bow at the end, a soft blush dusting her cheeks, the men—whether old, married, single, or young—couldn't help but flash her toothy smiles and offer her their elbows. And she was always quick to politely decline with a curt shake of her head and a well-practiced smile. It made her father shake his head in disapproval, a scoff escaping his mouth followed by a scolding.

Soon after the church service ended, she and her father entered the grocery shop to buy some necessities. Reaching up on her tiptoes for the bright green apple on the top shelf, she cursed under her breath when she nearly toppled over. Thankfully, a strong hand wrapped around her waist, steadying her against a hard chest.

“Careful there, miss,” said a hoarse voice from behind, and as quickly as the hand had wrapped around her, it was retrieved from her body with the same speed.

Her nostrils filled with the strong scent of tobacco, sweat, and gunpowder, and she tried her utmost not to pass out. Her head spun. She turned around cautiously, and her gaze was met by a pair of icy blue eyes. Eyes that looked down at her with such severity it sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Sorry, mister,” she blurted out.

The warmth blooming in her cheeks was undeniable, and she was more than sure it hadn’t gone unnoticed by him, either. He tipped his hat with a swift motion of his hand and strolled out the door, leaving no room for small talk.

Her hand came to rest on her chest, against her heart, and she swore she could feel it skip a beat. Her mind swarmed with the memory of his scent, the way his arm felt around her waist, and the way his eyes looked at her. She could see herself in them—her reflection, so small and trembling. The unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach almost angered her, and what made it worse was knowing she was bound to dream about this nameless man.

The loud voice of her father brought her out of her haze, and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The slap of her father’s hand on the counter with a billfold made her jolt in surprise, and the next thing she knew, she was being dragged away from the building by her wrist.

After that incident, she’d seen him around town, mostly alone but sometimes accompanied by a group of men. Her eyes always lingered on him longer than they should have, and his attention was quickly drawn to her after a few curious looks thrown his way. No words were exchanged in the following weeks, but she could feel the unspoken questions and sentences hanging in the air.

The gentle brush of his body against hers whenever he walked by, his eyes gliding over her body, made her desperate to see him again. And she didn’t even try to conceal it. She wanted him to know how badly she was drawn to him, attracted to him, almost as if by some unnatural force. Magnetic.

She found herself visiting the town more often than she used to, despite her dislike of the people and the stench it carried. At first, she stuck to Sundays, but then it escalated to Mondays as well. Tuesdays, occasionally. Then it was Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. She always found an excuse to visit the town, whether it was to run errands or to pray in the church, and she was disappointed when her eyes didn’t catch his gaze. Her father thought highly of her. If only he knew that his precious sweet daughter was secretly in love with the very man he had warned her about.

Eventually, one of their encounters led to them exchanging names. She learned his name was Arthur. From then on, their coincidental meetings consisted of greetings and a few exchanged words in between. And only the two of them knew the hidden lust behind those words. Their own secret.

Several weeks later, she met him again. This time, under slightly different circumstances.

She was in the same grocery store again when a shootout broke out. Screams, blood, gunshots. The glass windows shattered quickly under the sharp bullets, and she ducked beneath the ledge, grabbing the cross around her neck with a tight grip. Even amidst the loud chaos outside, she could still hear that familiar voice—the nameless man. He was yelling something inaudible. She peeked through the damaged window and saw him with a revolver in his hand, running down the street hastily, the law tailing him.

“Hey, over here!” She waved her hand out the window to grab his attention.

He pointed his gun at her at first, but quickly realized who she was and made his way over to the shop. She grabbed him by the wrist and, in a split second, dragged him to the back of the store. She slammed the door behind them and pressed her ear against the hard wood, the sound of her heartbeat impossible to ignore in his presence. The room was dark and narrow for the two of them, which made his body press involuntarily against her back.

The voices outside were muffled but distant, and she released a breath. Straightening up, she spun around and was met with his hard stare. His gun was holstered, but his fingers hovered inches above the weapon in case of an emergency. His chest moved slowly, and she gulped.

“The owner of the shop fled as soon as the gunfire began,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

A beat of silence passed before he cleared his throat and relaxed slightly.

“Could’ve got yourself killed,” he growled, and she froze.

“I’m sorry, I thought—”

“Ya don’t got a clue, woman.”

His stare was hard, and she averted her eyes, hoping the room was dark enough to hide her embarrassment. She could feel his body shift against hers, and what she assumed was his hand brushed across her hip as he reached for the doorknob. With a twist of his wrist, the door opened, and he peeked outside, his chest pressed against her shoulder. She breathed in slowly, her eyes closing on their own.

After making sure the coast was clear, he cracked the door wide open and stepped outside, with her following. The aftermath of the shootout was indescribable. Shards of glass everywhere, splatters of blood, bullets scattered around the room, footprints. The cans, the apples and carrots, the bread rolls. Her eyes glided around the room in shock, the glass cracking under her feet. She felt something damp on her clothes and gasped when she saw the dark red liquid on her fingers. Her eyes scanned herself, and she quickly realized the blood wasn’t hers.

“You’re bleeding,” she gasped and hurried over to him by the counter.

"Am not," came his short response.

She yanked at his wrist and spun him around so he was now facing her. Her eyes gave him a quick scan and landed on the dark stain forming on his blue shirt. The fabric clung to his body, dripping with blood.

"Don't move," she ordered.

She paced around the counter and ducked down to rummage through the cupboards. It didn’t take her long to find a bottle of whiskey, a needle, and thread.

"Take off your shirt."

"Seriously?" He looked at her in disbelief, and she cocked an eyebrow in return.

With a scoff under his breath, he began untucking and unbuttoning his shirt. She whipped her head to the side to avoid the sight, but her cheeks bloomed with blush at the flash of his skin she managed to catch a glimpse of.

"Ya know, for a woman this small, ya sure got a sharp tongue," he mused as he finished, the blue fabric now resting on his shoulders.

She ignored his comment, ripping a piece of fabric from her skirt and dampening it with the beverage in her hand. Brushing the dried blood around the wound, she pressed a palm to his stomach to keep him still. His muscles tensed under her touch.

"Not from a bullet," she whispered to herself.

She then poured the alcohol on the needle and began sewing the wound on the side of his stomach. Regardless of how painful it must have been for him, he didn’t let out a sound. That made her wonder whether he was real or made of solid rock.

As soon as she was done with her work, she poured the whiskey on the wound and pressed the piece of cloth against his skin. Her gaze gingerly wandered across his toned stomach, and before she could even realize, he began buttoning up his shirt again. She stepped back, watching him dress. The dried blood on her hands made her shiver in disgust, and she mentally cringed at the feeling.

A beat of silence passed, and she could feel the tension lingering in the thick air between them. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of horses and male shouting. In a split second, she was pushed back against a wall, and a hand came to cover her mouth. His body was pressed against hers, and she watched him with fear in her eyes as the voices inched closer to them. The adrenaline coursed through her system, and she opened her mouth to bite the rough skin of his palm. He retrieved his hand with a wince, and she snuck a hand around his neck and brought him down for a kiss.

He didn’t resist, but neither did he surrender until a short while later. His mouth melted against her lips, and his body pressed into hers with more vigor. His hands rubbed the clothed skin above her hips, and her knees nearly buckled, her mind blank. Soon, the voices became more distant, and he pulled away from her, licking his lips. He watched her with lust-blown pupils, and she swore she could see herself in his eyes again.

A hand came to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and there was something unspoken lingering in the air between them that made her feel uneasy but excited at the same time. He observed her face for a moment longer before stepping back and pulling himself away from her completely. Without a word, he gave her a long, almost apologetic look, and with that, he walked away.

And there she was, months later in her room, looking out the window in the hope she’d spot him outside, leading his horse, holstering his gun, or speaking to someone. Months later, after their last encounter, she hadn’t had a clue whether it was all a dream or whether he was real. No knowledge of whether he was alive or dead. And that gnawed at her like a sickness, twisting her guts, her heart heavy. He was all she could think about. His lips, his eyes, his scent, his hair, his touch, his blood, his chest, his shirt, his face. The stain on her shirt, the sound of his heartbeat against her own ribcage, almost as if his heart was in her chest instead. His voice remained engraved in her brain, repeating the few words he had spoken to her. She heard those words nearly as many times as a prayer, if not more. And there was something about that that made her feel ashamed.

A girl of her likes, hopelessly daydreaming about a man when he should be far from her concerns, and all she should concern herself with was God and God only. And she tried. She truly did, but her heart swelled with the heavy weight of love, and there was nothing in this world that would make it vanish.

With a sigh, she shuffled back to bed, letting the covers drape over her waist, and she soon drifted to sleep. What jolted her awake hours later was the faint sound of spurs jingling up the stairs. She was more than sure that her father didn’t own a pair of those and quickly came to the realization that an intruder had invaded their house.

She ruffled the sheets around herself and lay as still as possible to appear as though she was sleeping, hoping the intruder was only there to rob their property. She listened carefully and heard footsteps down the hallway. The slow creaking of the door on the other side of the hall gave her a good idea of where the person was, but then she heard the door shut quietly, and the footsteps now inched closer to her bedroom door. Suddenly, the sound stilled, and there was a pause before the door to her room made a creaking sound and the person on the other side entered. She held her breath to not draw any unwanted attention and squeezed her eyes shut.

The silence that spread across the space made her wonder if the person had actually entered her room, and she dared to turn around in her bed with one eye cracked open. She was met with a dark silhouette, and within a split second, a hand came to rest over her mouth, the other one gripping her hands. She squirmed desperately against the firm grip but soon gave in and surrendered.

"Shhh," cooed a male voice. "Promise ya won’t scream."

He retrieved his hands, and she let out a breath, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. It didn’t take her long to realize who was sitting on her bed, and she gasped in surprise, covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

"Arthur?"

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice, so meek whispering his name, her tone laced with relief. The tips of his fingers prickled, needles as if pushed into his skin, and the feeling of warmth spread inside his ribcage, swallowing his heart and encasing it in a strong grip.

"Couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya."

Her eyebrows knit together, confusion plastered on her face. "How did you find me?"

"Been watchin’ ya for a while now," he whispered, his eyes searching for hers in the dark.

"How come you never said anything?"

He remained silent, the sound of his own pulse and breathing echoing in his ears, and he internally cursed himself.

"It’s been months, Arthur," she cooed and scooted closer to him.

Her hand came to touch his arm, and when he didn’t flinch away, she put her hand on his shoulder, the bare skin of her thighs brushing against his hand propped up on the soft sheets of her bed.

"I know, and I’m sorry," he sighed, disappointment lacing his tone.

The soft thudding of the rain enveloped the two bodies in a soft embrace. Her hands reached up to his head and cupped his face, lips finding his in the safety of her dark room. His body tensed against hers momentarily but soon relaxed, and he let himself melt against her, all of his worries washing away with waves of never-ending foam. For the first time in years, he was able to admit he felt safe. Her embrace was all that mattered. Her voice, her sweet vanilla and lavender scent, her hair, the warmth of her gentle touch that spread across his skin, the rosy cheeks on her face, and her eyes that always looked at him, the two orbs pleading for something unmistakable, were what made him weak. And she was there to wrap her limbs around him, whisper sweet praises into his ear, and tell him everything would be fine.

His strong arms circled her waist, pulling her up against his body. She yelped in surprise but smiled against his lips, her fingers now threading through his hair at the back of his head. The hat on his head toppled over, and she brushed it off of his head with a simple motion, the piece of clothing falling to the hardwood beneath her bed.

"I missed you, Arthur," she mumbled against his lips, a soft whimper escaping her.

"I’m sorry," he breathed again.

His hands settled on the back of her thighs, pulling her on top of his lap, wrapping her limbs around his torso, and then gently setting her down on the bed. Her ankles locked behind his lower back, heels digging into his skin as the bottom of her nightgown rode up her thighs, exposing her already soaked bloomers to his clothed crotch. She mewled against his mouth when his calloused hands kneaded the flesh of her ass, and he didn’t waste a second before slipping his tongue past her lips into her mouth. His teeth then bit her bottom lip, the action making a moan escape her.

His mouth left her lips and kissed along her jawline, his kisses traveling down her neck to her collarbone, leaving a wet trail in their wake. She arched her back off the bed, his palms now gliding to the front of her stomach, raising the thin white fabric of her nightgown up her body. His fingers hooked over the waistband of her bloomers, and he stilled, detaching his lips from her skin and lifting his head to observe her face.

“It’s okay,” she nodded and flashed him a gentle smile, eyes meeting his.

Pressing a tender kiss to the middle of her chest, Arthur dragged her bloomers down with her help, as she raised her hips. The fabric was tossed to the ground, his hand slowly skimming over her thigh up to her core. She squirmed beneath his frame, hands clawing at his chest, nearly ripping his shirt off. With a quick motion, reaching behind his neck, he dragged the shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground, his chest now bare and exposed to her curious sight.

The view made a blush creep up her cheeks, thousands of needles piercing through her skin and burning her flesh. Moments later, he returned to her figure, fingers ghosting over her sensitive skin. She sighed, her vision blank and her rational thinking clouded by nothing but pure wantonness. The hand that was inching closer to her core made her clench around nothing, and she panicked, blinking rapidly and steadying herself against Arthur’s chest. That made him pause.

“Arthur, wait,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye as he observed her with worry lacing his features. “I’ve never done this before.”

She could hear his breathing pause. Then he cleared his throat, seemingly taken aback by her sudden confession. He’d lie if he said it didn’t turn him on. The idea of someone like him — an outlaw, a criminal, a bad man — ruining someone like her — so sweet, pure, and innocent — sparked a flame in the pit of his stomach and made his cock harden.

Her chest rumbled with a silent sob, and Arthur’s hand immediately came up to cup her face, soothing her.

“It’s alright,” he cooed into her ear, thumbs rubbing her cheeks. “Ya still wanna do this?”

She nodded in his grasp, and he let out a puff of hot air. He pulled her into a gentle kiss, their lips locking as his hands traced down her curves until they reached her hips. “I wanna do this right.”

Arthur looked down at her, their lips now separated, and she nodded hastily. Her legs spread around his torso, baring her cunt to him, and he sighed. His practiced hands glided down her stomach, caressing her tender flesh until she felt his finger swipe across her folds, her breath catching in her throat. Oh.

To say she had never felt anything like this before would be an understatement. His fingers felt so different—thicker than hers and working with more precision. He eyed her reaction, a small smile tugging at his lips, and he silently thanked the Lord above that the room was dark enough to hide his smirk.

She released a shaky breath when his thumb pressed on her clit, circling that bundle of nerves slowly. Her hands came to rest atop his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as if to prolong the little stimulation he was providing. Another swipe of his digit, and he slid his finger between her folds.

Time became irrelevant. Nothing could compare to the feeling of him shielding her body from the keen eye of the Lord above in the sky, watchful. The feeling of his hand, gently rocking into her with every thrust of his finger, working her open for him. She mewled and pawed at his chest, the only thing resonating in her ears being the timbre of his voice.

“Good girl,” he drawled into her ear.

Her lips sought out his, their mouths locking in a hungry kiss as he swallowed the moans escaping her throat. Praises, whispers, sighs, and groans — it all bled into her skin like ink, ruining her. Yet it all felt so incredibly good. But then the guilt, punched deep in her gut, enveloped her chest — doing something sinful, filthy, forbidden. She couldn’t blame Eve for eating that apple.

Her brain could barely form coherent sentences, let alone think, when his hand pulled away from her core and grasped her hip to pull her up against him. Her bare cunt brushed against his clothed erection, and she hissed in surprise at the impact. His nimble fingers busied themselves with unbuttoning his pants, freeing his length from the tightness of his work pants. Arthur then pressed their hips together, the underside of his cock rubbing against the hooded bundle of nerves slotted between her legs, and she gasped.

Coating himself in her moisture, Arthur spat into his palm, gripping himself at hand and giving his cock a few firm strokes. His length, blood-darkened and with precum weeping from the tip, slid down her slit, her inner thighs slick with her wetness too. His eyes searched for hers, seeking any type of discomfort scattered across her features but finding none. He leaned down, looming over her, and pressed a gentle peck to her temple.

“Relax, I’m gonna enter you now, okay?” he spoke, leaning his forehead against hers and craning his head down to watch the head of his cock catch at the rim of her cunt. “Ya tell me if it hurts.”

“Ar-Arthur,” she stuttered at the sudden stretch.

With a gentle rock of his hips, he slowly worked himself inside of her. Slowly, inch by inch. And with every barely audible sound she made, he dotted her forehead with soft pecks. The pressure in her stomach suddenly snapped, and she moaned in pain, her walls constricting around him and her nails digging into his skin.

“It’s alright, I’m here,” he soothed, his thumb rubbing gentle patterns above her hip.

The world, as if, stopped for a second. She craned her neck and watched him slowly disappear inside her. The sight of him slotted between her legs was beyond sinful; she’d have to make sure to pray extra hard for God to forgive her. The line of his muscles on his stomach tensed, his biceps flexing underneath her touch, the strands of hair glued to his forehead and framing his beautiful face. She gawked at him with lust-blown pupils and had to try her utmost best not to melt under his gaze.

Moments passed, and he began to gently rock his hips back and forth, all the while whispering sweet praises of how good she was taking him. Arthur lowered himself closer to her, his face now pressed to the crook of her neck, his warm breath fanning over the pale, thin skin. She felt safe beneath him, his tall figure covering her whole, and her walls swallowed him to the hilt at the thought of being significantly smaller than him.

He rolled his hips into her firmly, delivering a gentle thrust into her core, and her breath got stuck in her throat, eyes slowly tearing up at the apprehensive feeling. Arthur’s hard chest brushed against her sensitive nipples, and she lulled her head back, letting it rest against the pillow beneath her head. He groaned into her neck, puckering the skin above her collarbone with his lips as if to enhance his thrusting.

Her vision suddenly blurred, and she arched her back off the mattress, her pussy clenching down on him with a wail escaping her mouth. The coil in the pit of her stomach turned upside down and then, without warning, snapped. Her hands clawed at his shoulders, the feeling of his cock sheathed inside her fully bringing her a sense of something she couldn’t possibly describe.

“Good girl, there ya go,” he crooned.

He raised his head from her neck, lips catching hers to swallow her moans, and with his thrusts quickly faltering, he pulled out of her completely, stroking his cock with his hand before he released his spend over her bare stomach, a groan filling her mouth.

The room suddenly fell calm, not silent, as the sound of their rapid breathing coming down resonated across the space. He collapsed on top of her, the spend on her stomach smearing across his own, but that was the last thing on his mind at that moment. Arthur’s hand lifted to her face, cupping her cheek and bringing her in for a gentle kiss before he rolled to the side and exhaled deeply.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Oooooh here we go. We have the cetacean “experts” joining in to justify the bad handling of Moo Deng and discrediting me/shooting the messenger because I support responsible cetacean management. Because everyone just made up their mind that you can’t give dolphins the habitat they need because “it’s not the ocean.”

But it’s apparently totally okay to give other species substandard habitats. I guess Moo Deng doesn’t really NEED to live in a jungle. Concrete is fine for her :)

Now we do know that dolphins can thrive in human care and “suffering all the time” isn’t actually the case (at least, not from this generalisation basis there can absolutely be poor welfare in bad facilities) and basically any time anyone mentions the word SeaWorld everyone loses the ability to critically think.

You know what we never do with cetaceans? Grab at and harass their babies for clout. The only time we ever interact with the calf in those early days is to check their health parameters. And it is always with active participation and consent.

It’s important that we make sure the calf is doing well, especially in those critical early days where the calf is so vulnerable. So, with positive reinforcement, we teach the mother to bring over her calf voluntarily and do a very gentle restraint to collect samples.

This is the only time we’re touching the calf. And not every facility does this either, some will stay completely hands off besides feeding the mother.

But this is how you do safe, respectful and stress free animal husbandry, actually using desensitisation and conditioning positive emotional responses to being handled:

When watching this video, keep in mind that restraining a dolphin physically with only a few people is almost impossible. This dolphin is staying with her carers because she trusts them and she has a relationship with them.

I know this dolphin and the people in this video. It’s an incredible thing to see cooperative care like this in action.

Commentary and tags like the one above goes to show how the “trust the keeper” argument is only for selective species that are being used for clout.

But trust the people who work with dolphins or orcas? Trust the people that work in dolphin welfare and who actively work to measure and improve it? No, because everyone and their dog are apparently cetacean welfare experts because they regurgitate Blackfish or the talking points of a handful of lobbyists parading as scientists.

And they’ll even use violent wording and thinly veiled death threats against keepers, justifying it with this idea that they want to “liberate” animals that they don’t have any idea about caring for.

Anyway here’s a bunch of research on dolphin welfare that supports positive welfare states in human care :)

• There are no scientific studies suggesting that dolphins in marine mammal facilities are more prone to disease than dolphins in the wild. In fact, peer-reviewed scientific studies have shown that the immune systems of wild dolphins are much more challenged than the immune systems of dolphins in human care (refs 1-2)

• Similarly, there are no scientific studies suggesting that dolphins in marine mammal facilities are any more stressed than dolphins in the wild. On the contrary, studies have shown that cortisol levels (i.e., the “stress hormone”) of dolphins in marine mammal facilities are either very similar to, or lower than, cortisol levels of wild dolphins, depending on the technique used to obtain the samples (See review in ref 3).

• Bottlenose dolphins in U.S facilities are living as long or longer than their wild counterparts (ref 4)

• Average life expectancy from 2001-2015 was 41.6 years in SeaWorld orcas, showing significant improvements in veterinary care and welfare (ref 5)

• Aggression and agonistic behaviour made up 1-2% of observed behaviours in orcas at Loro Parque, debunking claims of hyper aggression and chronic stress from supposed poor social structures. (ref 6)

(1) Ruiz, C. L., Nollens, H. H., Venn-Watson, S., Green, L. G., Wells, R. S., Walsh, M. T., ... & Jacobson, E. R. (2009). Baseline circulating immunoglobulin G levels in managed collection and free-ranging bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus). Developmental & Comparative Immunology, 33(4), 449-455.

(2) Fair, P. A., Schaefer, A. M., Houser, D. S., Bossart, G. D., Romano, T. A., Champagne, C. D., ... & Reif, J. S. (2017). The environment as a driver of immune and endocrine responses in dolphins (Tursiops truncatus). PLoS ONE, 12(5), e0176202.

(3) Proie, S. (2013). A systematic review of cortisol levels in wild and captive Atlantic bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops truncatus), killer whale, (Orcinus orca), and beluga whale (Delphinapterus leucas). MA Thesis, Evergreen State College.

(4) Jaakkola, K., & Willis, K. (2019). How long do dolphins live? Survival rates and life expectancies for bottlenose dolphins in zoological facilities vs. wild populations. Marine Mammal Science.

(5) Robeck, T. R., Willis, K., Scarpuzzi, M. R., & O’Brien, J. K. (2015). Comparisons of Life-History Parameters between Free-Ranging and Captive Killer Whale (Orcinus orca) Populations for Application Toward Species Management. Journal of Mammalogy, 96(5), 1055–1070. http://doi.org/ 10.1093/jmammal/gyv113

(6) Sánchez-Hernández, P., Krasheninnikova, A., Almunia, J., & Molina-Borja, M. (2019). Social interaction analysis in captive orcas ( Orcinus orca ) . Zoo Biology, (April), 1–11. http://doi.org/ 10.1002/zoo.21502

Positive behavioural states are demonstrated in cetaceans in human care: Peer-reviewed scientific studies show that:

• Dolphins show anticipatory behaviors before sessions of interacting with their trainers (with no food involvement). This shows they view the interactions themselves as positive. (ref 1)

• An increase in dolphin behavioral diversity and play behavior following interactive programs suggest that such programs are in fact enriching for the dolphins and add to their psychological well-being (refs 2-3).

• Dolphins observed swimming in sync with each other at zoological facilities displayed optimistic judgements in optimistic bias tests, indicating positive welfare. (ref 4)

• When given the choice, dolphins in one study showed a preference for being in a smaller pool, despite having access to larger pools, indicating that size of pool may not be influencing dolphin movement preferences. (ref 5)

(1) Clegg, I. L., Rödel, H. G., Boivin, X., & Delfour, F. (2018). Looking forward to interacting with their caretakers: dolphins’ anticipatory behaviour indicates motivation to participate in specific events. Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 202, 85-93.

(2) Miller, L. J., Mellen, J., Greer, T., & Kuczaj, S. A. (2011). The effects of education programmes on Atlantic bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) behaviour. Animal Welfare, 20, 159-172.

(3) Trone, M., Kuczaj, S., & Solangi, M. (2005). Does participation in Dolphin–Human Interaction Programs affect bottlenose dolphin behaviour? Applied Animal Behaviour Science, 93, 363-374.

(4) Clegg, I. L., Rödel, H. G., & Delfour, F. (2017). Bottlenose dolphins engaging in more social affiliative behaviour judge ambiguous cues more optimistically. Behavioural brain research, 322, 115-122.

(5) Melissa R. Shyan , David Merritt, N. M., & Kohlmeier, K. B. & J. T. (2010). Effects of Pool Size on Free- Choice Selections by Atlantic Bottlenosed Dolphins at One Zoo Facility. Journal of Applied Animal Welfare Science, 5(3), 203–213. http://doi.org/10.1207/S15327604JAWS0503

Note how this is a body of evidence from multiple sources that are being developed and complied over time. That is what science is all about.

Anyone who tells you that the science is finalised on something eg. Lori Marino and Naomi Rose insisting that the science is settled on cetacean welfare being inherently bad in human care - be very very skeptical of them. They are trying to sell you ideology over science (and they’d love for you to donate your money to their sanctuary that hasn’t passed any approval to build for 5 years)

The science is rarely “settled” on anything.

As for SeaWorld themselves, they have not published enough welfare data for us to discuss. But their animals do show signs of positive welfare states including active participation in health care and training, engagement with enrichment, ability to learn and adapt (stressed animals can’t learn complex behaviours and won’t participate in sessions), stable social structures with occasional conflict ect.

[lovemyromance]

Now this has likely already been analyzed and theorized over the course of the past 3-4 years in this fandom, but since I haven't seen it before I am presenting a theory:

We all read the Elriel moment with the potato dish in ACOSF and clocked it as something interesting. It's not necessarily romantic per se, but it's thoughtful. It's odd enough to call attention to such a normal scene of serving dinner that I raised my eyebrows and wondered why SJM even wrote this.

Now, bear with me while I present the same content for the 308th time probably, but this time, like a tour guide at Jurassic park:

A few things to call out here:

See how Elain goes still at the sight of Azriel? It's parallel to that scene in ACOWAR where Cassian & Azriel both go still at the sight of Nesta & Elain.

Then we have Azriel. He "just moved towards her", like it was instinct. AND THEN - here's the real keep-you-awake-at-night point: Mor tenses

Why does she tense? Why are HER reactions to Elriel moments always so peculiar? Even in ACOWAR, we have this moment when Azriel disappears (where did he go?) and Mor stares at where he had been standing? What is Mor thinking?

It's interesting because we don't know what her powers are other than "Truth" - whatever tf that means. What if she sees something between Elain & Azriel that surprises her, even?

The story gets even deeper when you combine Azriel AND Feyre questioning the cauldron. I cannot stress this enough when I say that no other pair of mates has been questioned in this series other than Elain & Lucien. You have MULTIPLE main characters describing their relationship or lack thereof as uncomfortable and questioning their bond.

Now, I'm not going to sit here and say the Elucien bond is fake. I don't think it is, but I genuinely think Elain - as the cauldron's favorite - might have two bonds. One with Lucien - Cauldron Made, likely to provide strong offspring but not necessarily an ideal love match, like Rhys & Tamlin's parents. But then also one bond with Azriel, which is blessed by the Mother, which is more similar to what Feysand and Nessian have.

And I think that entire scene with the potatoes, everything from describing the potato steam like "Azriel's shadows" to Azriel not letting anyone eat before she sits down - I think it's a big hint that Elain & Azriel also share some kind of bond. I think Azriel, at least, is more aware of the traditions and religion so he has an idea of what he's feeling. It's what leads him to ask the question "What if the cauldron was wrong?" (And then later discover it was, in fact, wrong)

I have a theory that Azriel at least suspects there's a bond between them. Maybe that's why he took the potato dish out of her hands, so she couldn't serve him. He didn't want to give her another "You're my mate" PTSD. Or he might not realize WHAT it is yet, be he can feel it. He knows there is something there between them.

It's why he questions the cauldron (nobody is questioning their religion over 'just lust'). It's why Mor sees it too. It's why Azriel can smell the Elucien bond and it makes him sick. It's why he went sicko mode when he realized she had been taken by the Cauldron. It's why Elain knows him so well, even though we only see a handful of their interactions on the page. It's why their BC encounter was so hot and full of UST. Like they are down bad for each other and it is CLEAR.

[beestriker015]

Black Cat x male hero s/o

Being one of the several superheroes other than Spider-Man residing in New York, it was only a matter of time that s/o had a run in with Felicia Hardy, also known as Black Cat, which he did during one of his patrols.

“Oh? And here I was expecting the Spider to swing in and spoil my fun as always.”

She says after encountering s/o on a rooftop after her latest heist.

“Well you’ve got me instead, I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Far from it. In fact, I’m liking what I’m seeing.”

The feline themed cat burglar responds in a flirtatious tone while taking her sweet time eying the hero up.

“Really now? That makes two of us. You know, I’ve always been kind of a cat person.”

He flirts back as Felicia feels her face heat up slightly, much to her slight surprise.

“Oh I like you. Now let’s see if you can keep up hero.”

She then flees as s/o does his best to keep up before he eventually loses track of her.

“Darn it! I lost her! She may have gotten away this time, but something tells me I’ll be seeing her again, or at least….I hope so.”

Over the next few weeks, s/o and Felica kept running into each other, whether it’s intentional or not, and soon an attraction begins to grow between them.

“I must be out of my mind. How can I be developing feelings for her? Granted she’s not evil or anything like that, but she’s still technically a villain, and I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. Oh jeez, what am I gonna do?”

Meanwhile, Felicia is much more accepting of her growing feelings for s/o.

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone before, and I can tell he feels the same, so it’s time for this kitty to sink her claws into a certain hero.”

She thinks to herself with a smirk while coming up with a plan.

Later on, Black Cat is met by s/o during another outing (which she planned with the sole intention of catching the hero’s attention) and quickly gets to work.

“Well well well, there’s my favorite hero, looking as handsome as ever. With how often we’ve been seeing each other, you really know how to make a girl feel special. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

Before he could react, s/o is pulled into a deep kiss and quickly sinks into it, thus sparking a romantic relationship between him and Felicia.

Despite now being a couple, it took awhile before the two decided to reveal their civilian identities to each other, but when they finally did, it brought them closer as a result.

“So you’re the man behind the mask huh?”

“Yep. My name is s/o.”

“I’m Felicia. Felicia Hardy.”

“Felicia….a pretty name for an even prettier face.”

He says as she can’t help but blush.

“Thanks. You’re not at all bad yourself handsome. Why, I have to refrain myself from pouncing on you right this second.

Now it’s s/o’s turn to blush.

“God, I love you Felicia.”

She looks at him in shock before smiling widely.

“I love you too s/o.”

After saying those three special words for the first time, the two share a passionate kiss and embrace.

Now being in a serious relationship, s/o and Black Cat always have each other’s back despite being a hero and a villain respectively.

Dating a superhero has caused Felicia to gradually become more of a vigilante, helping her boyfriend fight villains if she can.

“We make a great team don’t we?”

“I think so too, and watching my strong handsome boyfriend take down bad guys makes this kitty purr if you know what I mean.”

“I can say the same about you beautiful.”

Even after dating for quite some time, s/o and Felicia never stop flirting with each other, often leading to spontaneous make out sessions.

As far as jealousy goes, there really isn’t any to speak of.

S/o and Black Cat are so enamored with each other that they both know there’s nothing to worry about in terms of other women/men, even taking into consideration Felicia’s flirty nature.

(If s/o ever did get bothered by his girlfriend’s meaningless flirting, she would definitely tone it down for him.)

Dates with these two can literally be anything, but their favorite thing to do is stay at home (whether it be Felicia’s apartment or where s/o lives) and watch movies together on the couch.

“This is nice, after fighting villains all week, it’s safe to say we needed this.”

“Yep, especially because I get you all to myself s/o.”

She tells him sweetly while cuddling up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder.

Because both of them are friends with Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, it’s not uncommon for s/o and Felicia to mix things up by having a double date with him and MJ.

“Dinner was great as always, but I insist that I split the bill with you Peter.”

“You sure s/o?”

“Of course! You and MJ were kind enough to invite us to come here with you, so it’s the least I can do to thank you both.”

“What a gentleman. You got yourself a good one Felicia.”

Mary Jane tells the white haired girl, who smiles in response.

“That I do MJ, that I do.”

Should a villain ever seriously injure s/o, they’ll soon face the wrath of a very pissed off Black Cat.

“Hurting my man wasn’t very bright, so now the claws come out. They say a cat has nine lives, so let’s see how many you have!”

Luckily Spider-Man was there to stop her from doing something she’d regret.

“Cat, you don’t wanna do this! Do you think s/o would be ok with what you were about to do?”

Upon hearing the mention of her boyfriend, Felicia calms down a little and focuses on getting s/o some medical attention as Peter deals with the villain.

After s/o fully recovers, Felicia will become slightly clingy for a while.

“That scumbag was lucky Peter stopped me, because I was this close to using him as my personal scratching post, and let me tell you, this cat has some really sharp claws.”

She says with a pout while holding him tightly to her chest.

“I didn’t know my pretty kitty was so protective.”

“What can I say? I’m the type of girl who doesn’t appreciate someone messing with what’s hers.”

“Oh so I’m yours huh?”

He asks her teasingly, making his girlfriend chuckle.

“Yep, but you already knew that.”

“True, though you know that means your mine right?”

Felicia smirks in response and whispers breathily into her boyfriend’s ear.

“Oh believe me, I do. This kitty is all yours s/o.”

And just like that, things proceed to get a bit…….spicy between the two.

Nearly three years after they began dating, s/o decides it’s finally time to pop the question, and he does so after bringing Felicia to the very same rooftop where they first met.

“This place sure brings back a lot of memories doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh, it’s where a certain handsome hero came into my life that I feel in love with. I’m so happy to have met you that night s/o.”

“I feel the same way Felicia, which is why I want us to be together for the rest of our lives. Felicia Hardy, will you marry me?”

He asks his girlfriend after getting on one knee while showing her an absolutely beautiful ring.

“I was hoping you were gonna do this at some point, because if not, I was gonna propose myself! Yes, of course I’ll marry you s/o!

She pulls him into a passionate kiss after he slips the ring on, the beautiful white haired (former) cat themed thief looking forward to having her hero boyfriend as her hero husband.

[theshadowsingersraven]

I feel like E|riels genuinely don't realize how much their reputation precedes them and that enough people in the rest of the fandom (not just relegated to the Ship Wars) have had so many negative interactions on multiple different platforms with them, as well as them flat out refusing accountability and saying people are making fake accounts despite ones (especially on Twitter) existing for years and proudly proclaiming themselves as E|riels matters more than the Elain Week account saying "Everyone (except people who want to include Tamlin and/or Beron in their portrayal) is welcome!"

Because I remember people getting harassed on their own Tiktok videos about Gwynriel/Elucien regularly from the same 8 or so E|riel accounts. I remember self-proclaimed E|riels harassing the cosplayer who was hired to play Gwyn at Gauntlets and Gowns' event, body shaming her to the point where she had to make a video about it. I remember E|riels on Twitter insulting real people and calling them empty-headed, insane asylum escapees, and saying that users should try and claim mental instability in order to get their money back via health insurance claims for buying commissions of the "wrong ship". I remember E|riels on Reddit claiming that NSFW Elucien art should be considered depictions of SA, since Elain is "saying a clear "no" in canon to Lucien" and completely undermining the entire basis of fandom creativity and shipping. I remember those same E|riels excusing the harassment Gwynriel-related accounts with large followings get because they "don't defend E|riels" or something along those lines, shortly followed by more E|riels saying that the harassment and threats people have been getting on multiple platforms are "carefully coordinated to make E|riels look bad" and fake. I remember E|riels refusing to adhere to tag courtesy and understanding when they are not the target audience for something.

That is just my memory as someone who has been in this fandom for about two years now. Let alone the people who have been here from when the series first came out, or even any time before ACOSF.

E|riels are not operating with the clean slate they seem to believe they are. Cosplayers have had bad experiences with E|riels (even ones who make E|riel content!), for example. As well as fanfic authors, fanartists, average Tiktok users who make videos, Twitter users, Tumblr users, Reddit users, etc. Hell, I've even had my Tumblr account for upwards of 10 years, and it's never been wrongly deactivated by Tumblr before. Not until I started posting anti-E|riel content did my Tumblr ever get reported and then reinstated because Tumblr staff admitted they wrongfully terminated my blog.

So...how are they surprised or offended that people didn't feel comfortable participating in their Elain Week when so many of them are on thin ice as it is? How are they upset when people don't conveniently wipe their memory and trust their week that's already banning certain submissions (as if that alone isn't enough for people to not want to submit their art there? I don't even ship Tamlain but still recognize selectively banning ships is wrong) enough to participate? Saying people are welcome isn't enough when you're based in a community that regularly thrives on shaming and mistreating others, claiming they're the only "true" Elain stans. It's further not enough when people felt like their concerns were validated by the overwhelming amount of E|riel bias in the week's submissions.

If they don't like the fact that they're on thin ice, maybe they should actually do something to remedy that instead of fumbling every single chance they have to improve their god-awful fandom impression. Elaingate was their chance to prove they aren't as bad as the worst of them, and instead of standing for fandom integrity, creativity, and the right for all Elain appreciation and art to celebrated, even if it isn't how they would personally celebrate or appreciate her they doubled down and insisted on excluding others. And now they're playing the victims because they weren't the priority of Elain Day after they already had their preferred Elain Week? They weren't excluded, they just weren't the main concern because they weren't excluded from the Elain Week held this month. The concern was uplifting the people who were shamed or told they didn't care about DV or DV survivors because they felt that censorship for an entire community event based on a mod's needs is wrong and does not cater to the community enough, or because they're triggered by characters that aren't Tamlin or Beron and yet Elain Week didn't deem them worthy of the same "protection" that they "offer" to survivors triggered by Tamlin

They are why a second Elain Week exists. And the more and more they prove it necessary, the more and more I'm glad it exists for the people who want that safe space they were denied. To anyone hurt by elaingate, know that you are seen and there's a safe space in this hostile fandom for you and your art.

[icarusredwings]

How is kid Wade doing?? =3

Well, He's currently splattered with blood and clapping his hands together and giggling while Logan's worst nightmare had just happened infront of him.

He always dreaded the day this would happen.

When Wade slips mid mission and he would be a danger to himself as well as needing protection.

Turns out... It was today that Logan realizes just how long he's been doing this.. on his own.. and yet? He barely never quit or left a job undone.

So. Here he is, Staring at him with his mouth open after just watching this child of a man blow multiple peoples brains out without a blink.

You know.. He was starting to think that Wade slipped to deal with the fact he was a mass murderer.... Now? Uh... not so much.

Giggling, He bounced excitedly. "I do good!?"

"..." 👁👄👁

"Kitty, I do good?"

"..Uh.. Uh-huh.."

"Yay!! Good Deadpool! Ice cream?"

"Uh.. yeeahh..."

"Yay!! Ice cream with kitty! But Bath time?"

Blinking, this just made everything click together. That actually made... a lot of sense.. all those times that he-.. Oh god. How many people suffer the hand of him? He slaughtered them with even less care than before, like mindless sheep walking into the butchers.

And now here was the same guy, unphased and not even blinking an eye of the bodies on the ground and the fact he was soaked with their fluids.

It.. kind of scares him. Makes him wonder what happened or rather- what was happening in that brain of his. Was the blood confetti? Was shooting them a game? Or did he know exactly what he was doing and retain no emotional value? No guilt?

But how was he able to care so much for him, and less than dirt about the peoples who were now face down in it?

"Kitty?"

"Huh?"

"Bath time?"

"Oh.. yeah. Come on. Let's... let's get of out here before the cops come."

"Cops bad!!"

"Uh-huh..."

It ends with a very uncomfortable bubble bath, Wade getting soap in his eyes, and then eating ice cream on the couch.

"....did...did you know that he uhm.."

"Spit it out boy."

He leans close to the older woman. "He just murdered a dozen people.. and didn't blink an eye."

"....Logan.. swetheart.. did you hit your head or something?"

"What?"

"He's a mercenary, moron. Of course he does that."

Logan swallows, and for some reason gestures to him on the floor despite her not seeing.

"Even like *that*?!"

"And where do you think his parents are right now?" She asks, like a smart ass.

"But he said he k-... Oh.." Blinking, he shuts up for most of the night, processing how well all of this clicked together.

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Ten

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Later than usual, sorry! But I've been busy with a whole load of shit ngl, it's just been stress:) Let me know if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist though, I realise my updating is a bit sporadic? Maybe? Just a little? Lmao, anyway here's 10, hope you enjoy!

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy

Masterlist

Jacket potatoes were a fucking delicacy.

Any Brit back home would tell you that. You could top ‘em with all sorts; Chilli, Tuna, Cheese, Chicken, Stuffing, Coleslaw, Bacon, Gravy, Bolognese— some people even liked them plain. But my favourite, as well as the only real and true way to serve a jacket potato, was with an ungodly amount of butter and baked beans.

Being in the States, it was a rather hard dish to come by. But, seeing as Marshall always appeared to go above and beyond, beans (No, none of that shoddy American shit) could be found in the little basket he’d gone and gifted me the day before. A little wicker bowl full of goodies to soothe that little ache of homesickness. 

I smacked the can down onto the countertop and levelled Rosie with a long stare.

“You’re serious?” She asked me around a wary glance, extending her arm out cautiously to get a better look at the bright blue tin as though she thought the contents might just reach out to try and grab her back.

“Deadly.” I remarked, attempting to keep my smile hidden when I met her question with a raised brow, “You’ll love it.”

Rosie didn’t look too convinced about that fact and yet, she rolled up her sleeves and took a seat at the counter to watch me work, helping out with the few things that she could. 

She had waltzed in through the front door a while earlier, just a second after I’d made it up the stairs, and the grin she’d worn when she had spotted me had had my heart warming and the pair of us wandering into the kitchen, arm in arm and already talking at a mile an hour. 

I was sauteing some mushrooms in a pan after having peeled and diced them up, whilst she kept a keen eye on the warming potatoes. “So Dad’s finally found some inspiration then?” Rosie asked me after a while, peering into the oven.

I smiled when I peered over at her, seeing how the orange glow of it washed over the side of her face to softly illuminate her features. “Seems so, we got a lot done but he was on a roll by the end of it.” I told her in reply, shaking the pan again and blinking at the sizzle that sparked up, “What do you mean anyway? Finally.” I dragged out that last word in a small singsong which made her chuckle as she stood to her full height once more and turned.

“He’s been trying to write for a couple weeks now, I think. Or months.” She shrugged, stepping back to watch the mushrooms fry with a slight wrinkle of her nose, “Not sure, but he keeps complaining about it whenever he’s on the phone.”

With a small hum, my eyes flickered back over to her, then to the pan again, “He didn’t mention it.”

Rosie blew out a faint chuckle and leant back against the counter, knuckles wrapping around its edge, “Why would he? He hates jinxing himself.”

It was cute that she noticed things like that about him, something I’d begun to note in the short time I’d been staying with the two, but I didn’t know... A large part of me wished that Marshall would have said something about it before, or at least alluded to it. It made me feel a bit bad for bowing out so early now. 

Still, my mind was quickly recaptured by the task at hand and then the story that Z deemed to tell me about, apparently a teacher thought that one of her friends was a shoo in for these auditions that they had coming up soon. The familiarity of the scene made me think back to Lottie, to everything that was happening back home, and I wished, silently and not for the first time, that it could be possible for a person to exist in two places at once. 

The spuds took their time baking but soon enough they were ready and piping hot, fluffy on the inside and with a crisp exterior. Rosie gathered up the butter and cheese at my signal, face lighting up at the prospect of being able to drown her own in the latter, whilst I pinched the tops of the spuds with a clean tea towel and plated them up, spattering them with a small amount of herbs.

I was going to keep Marshall’s wrapped up in tinfoil, if only to save it from going all horrible before he had the chance to try such a delicacy, but thankfully he’d worked his way back up the stairs just in time. I wondered how he’d managed it.

“Hey, you’ve got table duty.” Rosie exclaimed as soon as she saw him bustling over the threshold, handing the cutlery she was already holding to him without a second thought, which caused Em to blink down at his hands whilst he struggled not to drop the sudden weight he'd just been shafted with.

“‘Scuse me?” Marshall prompted, brow furrowed as his gaze wandered about the rest of the kitchen. I wondered what he thought of the bubbling pot of red sauce sitting on the hob, as well as the absurd amount of butter both Rosie and I had already lumped onto our steaming plates.

“You can set the table, Dad.” Z explained as she jumped back to help me with the mushrooms, her voice edging the line of a whining lilt, “We cooked! So it’s only fair.”

Marshall stared at her for a second longer before he ultimately snorted, “Right.” He murmured, recapturing his hold on the silver he held and eyes finding mine, before he spun round on his heel and left the room once again with a small smirk. When he returned, his plate was almost ready and just about to be loaded up with– “The hell’s that?”

I withheld my snarky reply in favour of smirking when Rosie answered for me, her eyes widening in the face of her father’s obvious leery expression. “Beans, Dad. El told me it’s one of her favourite meals, she wanted to share it with us.”

It wasn’t hard to hear the undertone there, the kind that told him to keep quiet on how he felt about the bubbling bowl I was currently holding because Z obviously didn’t want me feeling disheartened in any way. It was adorable, as was the stern face she’d paired with it, the same face that her dad found hard to waver against. His shoulders slumped ever so.

“Right.” He repeated for the second time tonight, dragging the first syllable out a tad, “Looks good?” He tried. 

I had to laugh then, “That a question or statement, Mathers?”

His eyes flickered over to meet mine, but I motioned for Rosie to get a start on heaping the cheese we’d grated onto her plate, the girl’s responding grin was giant. 

“I–” Em appeared stumped for a split second before he eventually just pressed his lips together and decided to jump in on helping us. Although he did complain when he spotted the frying pan sat off to the side, “Mushrooms too?” But with Rosie’s short warning of Dad, Marshall only appeared to raise his hands in mock surrender and then moved over to grab the plates so that he could carry them off into the next room.

I shared a conspiratorial smile with the younger girl before we followed after him, the three of us settling into the same seats as we had occupied the day before. Marshall still looked wary, even with his beans being hidden beneath a thick layer of cheese that I figured he had reasoned to himself would mask whatever taste was under it, but Z, to my utter surprise, looked ready to dig in.

“Changed your tune there, lovely.” I mentioned with a sly smirk, my gaze lingering on her long enough to catch the sheepish reaction she bore before she just shrugged and dipped her head around a grin, fork already in hand.

“Smells good.” Was the excuse she used and so I softened my face into a smile too.

“Well you helped so of course it does,” I quipped easily, picking up my fork as well before nudging Em’s forearm, “Come on, you big baby. Just try it. If you hate it, I’ll order you whatever you want. On me.”

That had him rolling his eyes, but he picked up his knife and fork with a determined expression.

I bit back a round of chuckles I could feel bubbling in my throat and used my chin to getsure for the pair of them to get stuck in. Rosie was quick to tear into hers and I was silently thankful for the way the potato easily broke apart under her knife, its texture fluffy and golden.

“Oh wow, this is so good.” She blew out the second that she could, already moving onto her next bite whilst Marshall was still working his way up to trying his own. “When you first showed me those beans? I was so sure I was gonna puke.”

I snorted quietly at that image, perfectly content with the plate of home I’d gone and conjured up for us, whilst Em’s face wrinkled. “Well if you had hated it, you’d have only had your Dad to blame, he’s the one who bought them.”

“I jus’ looked up British shit, they were top five on every list.” Marshall defended before he finally took a bite, slow in the way he raised his fork to his mouth, his eyebrows raising a little as he let the taste settle in, “Shit.”

My eyes narrowed a tad around the smile that I was chewing on to keep hidden but I watched him cut further into the potato, beans and melted cheese puddling around the sides. “That a good shit or bad shit?”

“Three dollars.” Z acknowledged, voice muffled by the food she still had in her mouth.

I laughed at that and shook my head in fond amusement before I turned to Em for an answer. He took another bite, a big one, something I took to be a good sign, and just nodded. My brow quirked in hope. “So good?”

He hummed, one shoulder shrugging, “Ain’t gone die if I finish it.”

Snorting, I could only shake my head at him, hiding my smile behind my fist. “Idiot. You like it.”

Marshall rolled his eyes, though the gesture was obviously fond as he raised his fork to point at me, “Just grateful you didn’t burn down my damn house.”

Rosie’s giggles filled the room and with them we all settled in to enjoy. Marshall asked after his daughter’s day and the girl was all too happy to ramble and rant to him, face lighting up at the prospect of it. She mentioned her English lesson, the book they had started on and how her teacher had explained this one paragraph to her class, then she went into detail about the play that was set to happen just before the Christmas break. I chimed in here and there, putting in my two cents where it was worth, but in truth, I was perfectly content to simply listen and watch on. 

The clean up that followed was mainly made up of me and Z messing around and singing to the music Em had stuck on, never the type to linger in silence. The pair of us did manage to rope the man into joining us once he had loaded up the dishwasher though, something he thoroughly complained about but followed through on all the same. He was just a sucker for his kid's smile, I reckoned, went above and beyond for the girl and it was all too easy to see.

It was a lot later that we all fell into a comfortable silence around the tele, Rosie sat crossed legged on the sofa with her homework whilst I offered help whenever asked. Marshall had joined the two of us a little later, after his phone had rang and he’d stepped out to take the call, he’d padded into the room with only the explanation of ‘Royce’ before he’d fallen into the seat beside me. I’d hummed but was too distracted by Rosie’s newest question to prod him further on it.

By the time she had finished up, handwriting practically perfect, her books had fallen into a heap on the coffee table and she’d slowly but surely scootched her way further up the sofa. I kept my eyes on the tele when I’d outstretched an arm in quiet invitation but hadn’t missed the grin she’d given in turn before she’d settled into my side, head coming to rest on my thigh. I caught Marshall’s watchful stare from out of the corner of my eye but didn’t glance back over, smiling at the scene that played out on the screen whilst my hand smoothed over the girl’s hair. 

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed between us before Marshall’s quiet cough broke the peace we’d since created, but the sky was more of a hazy cast of dark blue now rather than the ruddy auburn that had lined it much earlier. I stifled a small yawn.

Rosie sniffed softly in my lap, twisting a tad to cast her Dad a quizzical glance. Throughout the duration of the film that Z had picked out for us to watch, the man had gotten close enough that he now only had to drop his shoulders to poke at her cheek.

“Bath and bed, kid.”

The scrunch that overwhelmed Rosie’s face at the order had me grinning and so I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before moving my hand to pat her shoulder. “Up and at ‘em, soldier. Heard what the old man said.”

“Do I have to?” Z huffed, just as a hand came up to rub at her eye. Marshall’s mouth ticked ever so slightly into an amused smirk, his fingers replacing mine in an effort to smooth the front of her hair. 

“School tomorrow.” He reminded her all too gently, dropping his hand lower to shuck the underside of her chin which only made the girl smile sleepily. “You know the deal.”

She sighed heavily in retort, but did eventually make the move to push herself up and out of my lap, legs stretching across the couch cushions before her feet found the floor. It was just as she went to stand that she turned to face me though, her expression a little meek but rapidly losing the residual somnolence it had just held. “Will you do my hair again for me tomorrow?”

I was caught by surprise at the question she’d asked. I wouldn’t lie, but I didn’t let the reaction show as I smiled warmly back at her, reaching out to tap a finger on the top side of her hand, “‘Course. Anything you want, lovely.”

Rosie’s little grin had her eyes squinting and forced the corners of her mouth to pinch upwards in a move that only deepened her dimples. She leaned over to give me a hug of thanks, whispering the word into my ear before she pulled away and rounded the sofa, kissing her Dad’s cheek on her way out.

“No messin’ about, Z. An early night, ‘kay?” Em reminded her, leaning against the back of the couch so that he could tilt his head far enough to see her, “I’ll be up soon.” He added, his words met by another charming grin whilst she shook her head in fond exasperation and slipped out of the room, leaving just the pair of us and the tv. 

It was a long while before Marshall disturbed the quiet once more, the film we’d been watching had finished some time ago and so now all that was playing on the screen was a couple repeats of South Park and the odd advertisement. “She’s different with you.” I heard him voice.

With a furrowed brow, I let my head turn to find him. He was perched in the same position he had been, but now with an arm stretched along the back of the sofa and a knee bent to fill the small gap that still separated us. “What d’you mean?”

When he replied, it was low and soft, a murmur if not for the sincerity behind it. “She don’t act like that ‘round nobody.” He told me, fingers jumping in a steady rhythm on the back of the cushion, his eyes peering between mine. “Me, sure. She’s a fuckin’ koala when she wants to be, but with other people… it’s something she second guesses.”

His words confused me. Or rather, threw me. “I don’t get it.”

He dropped his gaze, blowing out a small but mirthful huff through his nose, his thumb dragged along the edge of the sofa. “You known her what, three days? And she don’t think about gettin’ close to you. Sure she’ll be coy with it, sly even, but that’s ‘cause she don’t wanna overstep with you. Like that right there–” Em said, getsuring his chin out towards my lap, I followed the gesture, then blinked back up at him, remembering the way she’d approached me, “She don't do that with people.”

My face must have given away to the fact that I was still trying to process the weight of what he meant, because his smile was soft, warm even.

It made me think of Lottie, who was always so open with her affection, who gave it out without thought or focus, her smile always great, always there. Then of myself. I tended to avoid affection where it mattered, a reason as to why I’d never let many people too close to my heart, why I hadn’t had something fulfilling to divulge when Marshall and I had spoken about past exes, I supposed. It baffled me to see some of the same tendencies I’d shown growing up in Rosie, in a girl too sweet, too loving, too happy to be so aware of how to guard herself.

I looked to him again and let him have his fill, allowed him to see how his words, the sentiment behind them, had pierced through the armour I’d long since moulded around myself. 

One side of his mouth lifted and he used the hand resting on the back of the sofa to circle my wrist, leaning in a little closer, filling that previous gap. “Ro’s had her mom, her sister. They’ve been there. They love her, and she loves them. I know that. But with Kim, it ain’t always parentin’, it’s fun and games. It’s showin’ off, not showin’ up. It’s messin’ around until she finally grows–” 

He paused there, eyes flickering left and then right as his tongue swiped over his lower lip, almost as though he was resentful of the term he wished to use. 

He settled for, “Bored. Or maybe jus’ tired, you know? She’s there until it's her time to step up and do the job she’s ‘sposed to, til it's missed recitals and forgetting pick-up, that’s when she reacts. Pulls away.”

He sighed, gaze caught on his fingers, on the easy way they engulfed my wrist. His thumb brushed over the freckle that dotted the bone, and continued on through a slow exhale, “Ayla, she’s a lot older. She does her own thing, she’s got school, work, friends. Z obviously filters into all that, but there's always been a small divide. I like to think it’s just ‘cause of their ages– it’s how me and Nate worked growin’ up, you know? But there’s this whole idea that fuckin’ messes with my head, like maybe it's all down to me. Ayla’s my niece, but she’ll always be one of my own. I love that girl as much as I love Rosie. More than life itself. But I know I hurt her, havin’ her here, watchin’ me fail and fuck up whilst she was growin’ up. And jus’, maybe I can’t help but wonder if I ever let her know that enough, that I loved her, if it’s that that’s impacted her relationship with Z.”

I was quick in my attempt to soothe his doubts, the hand he didn’t hold jumping over to lay across the top of his own. “I’d call you an idiot, but I reckon you already know that.” I chuckled halfheartedly, though my smile was genuine when his eyes snapped up to meet my own, “You’re an amazing father, Em. I honestly believe that with my whole heart. And it doesn’t take much to see it either. I mean, I was here not even a day and was so quick to see the love you held for your daughter. I saw it in your reactions too when we called, when you spoke of them, however brief it was. I haven’t met Ayla but I don’t think I’d have to for me to see that your worries are just that, worries. I’m sure that girl loves you in the very same sense that I am sure that she knows you love her. That you see her as much more than just your niece.”

My thumb trailed over the back of his hand, skimming knuckles, taking in their slight discoloration, the faint white lines that could have only been age old scars. I dipped my head a tad so that my gaze could align with his shadowed blues, prompting him into lifting his eyes from off the floor.

“I’m also honoured that you think Rosie’s comfortable enough around me to mention the gravity behind it, that you’d trust me with her company, let alone her affection.” I said sweetly, gifting him another smile, it was close lipped but one that appled my cheeks. His stare caught onto it, fingers tightening around my wrist by a fraction in a squeeze that showed only his appreciation. So I squeezed back, fingers fastening over the top of his fist. “Z’s hard not to love, she’s all of your best parts and more. Sometimes…” 

I took a small breath, fretful over saying what I had intended to until Marshall met my flickering gaze once more, silently prompting me on. I swallowed thickly, feeling the force of it travel through my throat, but did follow through, “Sometimes it’s just hard raising kids, I guess not everyone’s made out for the harsher reality of it all. Of having to be a parent and not a friend. I mean, it was forced on me in a way, I’ve been raising my siblings since Danny the day came along, since before I knew what being a mum meant. What one was.” The weight of that admission had me reeling for a split second, at the truth it held. But I pursed my lips before allowing my eyes to find Marshall’s once more, “Kim, I’m sure she tries, I’m sure it’s more than my mum ever did, ever could do, but it’s okay for you to fear that it’s not enough for Z, too.”

Marshall worked his jaw, blinking for a second before he eventually spoke, voice rasping with the emotion he felt. “Kid deserves the world.”

I found myself grinning at that, the teary kind which glossed over your eyes but was strong enough that you couldn’t prevent the fluid motion of it. It was without thought that my arms came up to wind their way around his neck and I relaxed further in the gesture when I eventually felt his face come to rest against my shoulder.

“She does.” I murmured, hand cupping the back of his neck, fingers resting over the fine hair which lined his nape. “She does.” I heard myself repeat again as my eyes slipped closed. 

When we parted, I watched as Em knuckled the corner of his eye, grunting faintly to clear his throat and rid the room of any tension that then clouded us. I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, but did look away towards the tele when he started to shift once more, giving him a sense of security that he hadn’t been caught out, that I wouldn’t dig too deeply into his reaction. 

“Thanks.” He murmured after a stunted moment and it was only then that I glanced back over to him. I smiled in turn.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

When we parted ways for the night, I chose to head on up to bed, mind so full of thoughts that I found it hard to latch onto a singular one, whilst Marshall stopped at the bottom of the staircase to gift me a quiet goodnight, eyes caught on the reflection of moonlight that crept its way across my cheek, the sight mirrored on his own face.

I didn’t know it then but I would eventually, he’d never felt so inspired.

So as I’d slipped beneath my duvet, my mind stuck on the words we’d shared, Marshall was back down in the studio, writing away once more. But this time, it was for a completely different reason.

[mdhwrites]

The Mis-Projections of Odalia

Odalia's fanon versus canon characterizations are fascinating to me because at every turn, the fandom takes what is actually a reasonable trait of Odalia and cranks it up to 11, even to the point where it's entirely incongruent with both the facts and the spirit of the show. Consider this a continuation of me questioning how bad a parent Odalia is. I will also say upfront here that I have point, beyond just bashing fandom's ability to remember what the show is, for why this matters but I need to get through the rest first.

So, how does the fandom, or most of them at least, characterize Odalia? Well, they make it that she is the root of all evil, abusive, racist, classist, doesn't care about anyone or anything but herself and is a capitalist who only ever sells snake oils and lies.

In the show... She's very few of these things and many of the rest are actually her being a part of the Isle's culture. Not its nebulous culture that's bad but like the ONE element of its culture that is ever consistent. We'll get to that though.

Is she evil? Honestly, by the metrics of the show, not really. She isn't an slaver like the publishing lizard. She doesn't kill people just for fun like the bounty hunters. She doesn't scam people (we'll get back to that) like Tibbles. She isn't entirely good mind you, she's scrupulous and is willing to break her own beliefs when emotions run high but compared to like ALL the other villains in TOH, she's weirdly tame. Now mind you, the villains of TOH are all charicatures based out of the 90s so the bar is ROCK FUCKING BOTTOM but rather than fantasy levels of evil, Odalia is boringly modern and constrained. Put her in the human realm and literally nothing of what she does changes, including making a killer robot. She is not the worst person on the Isles though.

How about being a bigot of any sort? Well, Dana is correct that as far as we see, Belos is the only bigot on the Isles. The closest that ever comes to it otherwise is Boscha scribbling Round Ears on Luz which as far as bigotry goes is the equivalent of calling a kid with glasses four eyes. No, instead, she is, like all of the Isles, merit based in how she treats people. Period. No ifs ands or buts.

I say this so firmly because people don't seem to understand that. Boscha is liked because she is strong and gets results. Amity was popular because she was top of her class and got results. Willow was disliked not because of any racial, religious, gender, etc. element, it was ENTIRELY from the fact that she fucked around, caused trouble and was entirely unskilled. By her own society, young Willow was an abject failure. She wouldn't listen to rules, even simple ones like 'go to class' in the flashback we see with Amity, and her skill with magic was genuinely abysmal until she swapped courses at which point she excelled and became popular.

So, who does Odalia dislike? Gus, Willow and Luz. One of these fuckers doesn't want to follow what he's a savant at and instead wants to chase cryptids by their societies standards, and also got his ass put into detention before breaking detention to get out, the next already had a history of fucking around and is associated with two troublemakers already meaning she is still trouble, and the third... The third is the apprentice to the OWL LADY. She practices WILD MAGIC. Everything about Luz is illegal WITHOUT getting into all the times Luz has broken the law, rules and just general common sense. By a meritocracy, what the Isles is, these three are the bottom of the barrel. It'd be like saying a parent was unreasonable for not wanting their kid to hang out with the sixteen year old drug dealer behind their school and skipping class to do so. She's pretty fucking valid honestly for not wanting Amity to associate with these people.

Is she abusive? This one is more up in the air but besides Escaping Expulsion, we never see consequences for disobeying her, minus when her kids break the law and try to sabotage their own family in Clouds on the Horizon for which they're ONLY GROUNDED instead of way worse. We also never really see her kids worry about punishment outside of, again, Escaping Expulsion where the twins mention not telling mom they're helping but also they don't try to stop Amity out of fear for her own safety. You know, like people who are used to strict retaliation for mistakes should be. Amity quits the covens and seems to have literally no repercussions from that. She can also just keep telling her mom to go fuck off about her hair. This is not the attitude of an abused child. Oh and on the side of Odalia gives zero shits about her family, first I'm going to say I'm entirely ignoring Clouds on the Horizon's bullshit of "I knew about Belos' plan" because there's no reason for her to have been told that, no need for her to have been told that and is such a needless escalation of her character being cartoonishly evil, ratcheting back into being at home with the rest of the villains of TOH, that it it is just a transcendentally bad piece of writing that should only be mocked. HOWEVER. The first time we literally ever hear about Odalia is a moment of kindness and care. She sends the twins to bring Amity her lunch to make sure she eats. That's... Caring. She didn't send them to scold her or punished her by not letting her eat, she sent her troublemaking twins to the library to feed her and probably in hopes that the twins might study a bit. That's a fine mom move. Without more that is clearly abuse, I see it as neutral at worst. The necklace is the same way. It's more secretive than sending her daughter texts but they all have cellphones, she can just text her and that's really all she ever does with the necklace. She never actually controls Amity with it. Without more to sustain allegations of abuse, I don't see it as anything particularly nasty.

And finally: Is she a scammer? I won't say she isn't a capitalist but TOH never tears down the whole economy and the Isles appears to be by volume 80% scammers or criminals of some sort when it comes to their shopkeeps so capitalism is still absolutely a thing. Is Odalia one of these though? No. The worst she does is exaggeration and that's just marketing. It's not false advertising, it's just painting your product the best you can. She never says the abomaton can take down an Emperor's Coven guard so a trained, albeit young but also top of her class, abomination witch being able to take down the abomaton 1.0? Yeah. that's not lying. It still would do a plenty good job protecting your home and kids from things most people want out of their home defense systems like burglars. It also factually can do everything else Odalia promised. We're shown that. Whether it does it well is up for debate but it DOES do everything legitimately with Amity up until she's supposed to feign being in danger which like... Did you want her to be actually in danger? Actually have her life at risk? Because that would be irresponsible especially to do to your OWN DAUGHTER. She only removes essentially the safety constraints once it's someone she gives no shits about and sees gain in their removal (and also is pissed.) That's not scamming people, that's a product demonstration. It was still able to grab Amity and lift her in the air with one arm, showing its strength. Also, everything else Odalia shows off as Blight Industry tech is legit, much to Luz's detriment.

SO. As you can see, the fandom is essentially dead wrong when it comes to Odalia. They took kernals of truth, that she's a strict mom, capitalist, judgemental, etc. and blew them up to be as bad as they could be. Why did they do this though? Why is this even important?

Well, it's because the show WANTS you to take her that far. Amity doesn't actually do much to redeem herself, especially to those she wrongs. She NEVER does anything but a bare minimum apology to Willow for YEARS of bullying that Odalia didn't ask her to do. Odalia just asked her to stop being friends with Willow. But hey, since all Amity does is an apology, that Willow only kind of accepts, literally stating they're not friends still... What do you do about that? Standing up to Boscha is for Luz after all. Standing up to her mom is for Luz. She never even bashes the ideologies she used to have to show her change, just that she was nebulously wrong but she's better now without any real sacrifice or meaningful acts of redemption. So... As a viewer, what the fuck do you do with that?

Edit: Someone pointed out that she doesn't actually apologize. She does say she was wrong when she was younger which is actually good for redemption BUUUUUT she claims she'll make Boscha and everyone else stop bullying Willow. Then Winging it Like Witches happens where Amity doesn't give a fuck about what Boscha is doing until it is focus fired on Luz making her whole speech there just a bold faced lie. Good job Amity.

Well, you do what the show did and scapegoat people. Why is it okay that Amity abandons her friends like she did Willow so many years ago? Because they're evil and bad people, or Boscha is at least, despite Boscha doing nothing Amity hasn't already in the show. But she was only like that because of her mom. Her awful, abusive, controlling, classist...

Wait a second. Do you dear reader see the problem?

This is why the projection is required. TOH actually is really bad at redemption arcs, namely that it doesn't know what redemption means besides no longer being a dick, and so you actually no way to forgive the characters for what they did by what they do. As such, you need excuses. The people the fandom hates the most are usually those scapegoats, especially for Amity. Why is Boscha worse than Belos when all she is is a bully? Because people claim she was the reason Amity was a bully and shift the fact that Amity was Willow's main bully to Boscha, despite all evidence to the contrary. Why do they make Odalia worse than all other villains in media combined? Because otherwise, their blorbo, the lesbian that helped make TOH as popular as it was, the one who was endlessly praised for having a transcendentally written character arc... Is never redeemed nor actually has much of an arc or depth to her character. She NEEDS to have all these serious elements put upon her through her mom or else... She's just a mean girl who fell in love and decided to care about one person and be a LITTLE better to other people. Remember, at the point of Labyrinth Runners, an entire season after Understanding Willow, Amity does not recognize that she was wrong that Willow is weak despite Willow's entire character for the past season being defined by how overpowered she. Amity very clearly has not been paying attention or caring about anyone about Luz and that's not what a good person does? You care because caring is the correct thing to do.

And I care because I would like her to be written better. I would like her to be more than what she was. I would like the whole show to be. But... Odalia isn't what you think she is and that matters because it means Amity isn't either. The show isn't either. See you next tale.

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[dullgecko]

ooo the whole ruz chronic pain was really interesting: while i hc that most of the bad kids have chronic pain, i hadn't actually considered it in detail before. what thoughts do you have on the other bad kids? i definitely think kristen has issues from having to revive herself, and fig's horns ache sometimes, but i haven't considered anything else yet

Fabian lost an eye. Other than the fact that the scar and the empty socket hurts sometimes he has to deal with eye strain from having only one eye left. He can get pretty bad headaches if he's focusing on things too much.

Figs horns ache whenever the weather starts to get bad. You can tell a nasty storm is coming because she'll spend the day rubbing the base of her horns because the air pressure change is making them ache horribly. She also gets quite a bit of jaw pain for a while after becoming an archdevil as her sharper canines grow in and push the old set out.

Kristens body is physically fine, but she'll sometimes wake up from a dream she cant remember and be able to feel the horn that pierced through her heart for a few moments afterwards. She had to go get all her vacinations again afterwards though, and despite being a cleric and GENERALLY well protected due to her magic she gets colds easily these days.

Gorgugs back hurts from having to hunch so often. His house has way too low ceilings and when he hit his growth spurt in middle school he had to scrunch down when walking around so he wouldnt hit the ceilings. His own bedroom used to have the highest ceiling in the house, but his parents had the place renovated during the nightmare king quest to make the place more accessible to him.

Adaine gets migrains from her visions, especially the really long ones. Short ones will only hurt for a couple of seconds afterwards but she knows she's in for a bad time if she's still in the vision after a minute or so.

Riz lives in a world that is NOT accomodated to his species. Other than his hands being messed up he also has to deal with the fact that everything is loud, bright and generally more suited to creatures that are neither nocturnal or live underground. He doesnt like how painkillers make his head fuzzy, which is good because his liver doesnt need more abuse, so he genrally just grins and bares it in regards to the eyestrain.

Needless to say, most of these kids need to hang out in a dark room, get a massage or take some ibuprophen.