#(Never a dull moment reading his interviews)

[snowfll]

Hi! Can you write one about Tom Blyth and actress!reader where after filming a movie they grew closer and closer until finally one day Tom or reader or both confess their feelings for one another? Or maybe it can be them both being oblivious and everyone basically knows they’re in love until one of their costars helps them finally confess to one another? Thank you!

Baby, You're Perfect; Tom Blyth

pairing - Tom Blyth x actress!reader summary - its easy to fall for Tom on screen and even easier to fall for him in real life words - 1.31k warning - js fluff! Tom's a cutie note - I tried my best! I hope you like it :3 idk why but the pictures aren't working. trying to fix it asap

"You two are awfully close."

Although neither of you answered the question, the interviewer could sense the unspoken truth lingering in the air, revealed by the way both of you were flustered.

Working alongside Tom on a romance film created a bond that extended beyond the scripted lines. Having played his love interest on screen, the chemistry between the two of you was through the roof.

From the moment you sat down in your designated seat at the table, he caught your eye. You were curious to see how the chemistry read would play out. It turns out you two got along extremely well.

“Well, yes, seeing him every day has that effect; he’s such a sweetheart,” you confessed during the interview, a smile playing on your lips.

“Oh, don’t listen to her; she’s over-exaggerating," Tom interjected with a playful grin, emphasizing the chemistry within your off-screen dynamic.

He is a known gentleman, bringing you flowers every week on set—a thoughtful act born from the understanding of your love for them. The cast playfully teased him for it, drawing parallels from his on-screen character, who loved giving gifts to his girl. You adored his actions; no one had ever brought you flowers before.

As filming wrapped up, a sense of melancholy settled in, originating from the reluctance to part ways—you enjoyed your time on set. The days were a blend of shooting scenes or relaxing with Tom wherever you were, no matter what you were with him at all times.

Now that you were on the press tour for your film, you and Tom were closer than ever. The days were a whirlwind, going from interview to interview and then straight to the hotel to catch up on rest. The limited days off were cherished, offering you both a break from the spotlight.

Walking through different cities with Tom by your side became a treasured routine, despite the presence of paparazzi trailing your every move. Cameras flashed every time you went out with your hands intertwined, capturing moments that fueled rumors and speculations.

“Tom! Are you and Ms. Jones matching shoes on purpose?” A paparazzo called out, drawing attention to the coordinated footwear chosen during your shopping spree.

“Ms. Jones, do you have anything to comment on the dating rumors between you and Mr. Blyth?” another inquired. That is what most of them ask nowadays. Could they sense the feelings you had for your co-star? Ignoring the persistent questions, Tom guided you away from the crowd of cameras, seeking refuge in the waiting car.

“That was a lot,” he remarked after a few minutes of silence, his tone carrying exhaustion.

“It was. I can’t wait to get back to my hotel room.” He sensed something was off as you muttered your response. You were always able to hold a conversation with him; there was never a dull moment between you two. Though he knew you were tired from the day’s activities, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had done anything wrong.

As the car pulled up to the hotel, you hastily exited and rushed up to your room, leaving him behind. Guilt gnawed at you, but facing him after the intrusion of the paparazzi was a challenge you weren’t ready to tackle.

A few hours later, a soft knock at your door interrupted the solitude. You welcomed him in before crawling under the covers once again; there was no reason to ignore him.

“What’s going on, sweetie?” He looked at you with concern filling his eyes as he sat down next to you on the bed. “I know it's not because you’re tired; you’ve been napping for a while. Please talk to me." His genuine concern cut through the unspoken tension.

Once you didn’t answer, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of bed. The two of you made your way to the door, where he handed you your shoes.

“Where are we going?” You questioned while standing back up, to which he replied by telling you your destination is someplace you would enjoy.

He dragged you all the way to the car and closed your door as you got in the passenger seat, like a true gentleman. The two of you drove around with the windows down, screaming along to your shared playlist.

“Are you feeling better, now?” He turned down the music, waiting to hear your answer. “I am, thank you. Would you like me to explain?" Communication was very important to you, and unable to deceive him, you felt compelled to reveal the truth.

“In all honesty, the paparazzi got too overwhelming. Especially with all the dating questions.” You admitted, your gaze fixed on a point in the car, avoiding direct eye contact.

Tom’s expression softened, a mixture of understanding and empathy in his eyes. He parked the car in an empty parking lot before reaching out for your hand and placing it in his lap. “Hey, you don’t have to face this alone. And, for the record, I hate how they invade our personal lives as well.”

A smile appeared on your lips, appreciating his supportive words. “It’s just... the questions about us and whether we are dating. I didn’t know how to handle it,” you confessed, vulnerability filling the open air.

He nodded, his thumb gently rubbing against your hand. “I understand; it's okay to feel overwhelmed. But you don’t have to worry about handling it alone. We can get through this together.”

The sincerity in his words reassured you and provided comfort in his presence. “Thank you, Tom. This means a lot more than you realize,” you replied, your voice genuine.

"Anytime, sweetie, we’re a team, on and off-screen.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

You couldn’t help but notice a shift in the air—a subtle change in the dynamic between you two. The unspoken feelings that lingered beneath the surface were now begging to be let out.

Silence soon enveloped the car; the only thing playing was the music set to a low volume. The weight of the implicit emotions hung in the air, yet there was a shared understanding that needed no words.

You debated breaking the silence, but fortunately, Tom spoke up before you could. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it more and more recently... Maybe it’s time we addressed the dating rumors.”

Your eyebrows were raised in surprise. “Agreed, but how do we go about it?"

“Let’s be honest with them,” he paused, thinking of how he should continue. “We were going to have to talk about it one day, so why not tell them the truth now?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and the idea of him actually liking you echoed in your mind. “The truth?”

He nodded, honesty in his eyes. “What if we tell them that the chemistry they see on screen is more than just acting?"

You caught your breath, the unspoken truth finally swimming to the surface. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I like you, not just as a co-star; everything we do together is what I've always dreamed about. Baby, you’re perfect.”

A rush of emotion swept over you, and a genuine smile graced your face. “Tom, I like you too, more than I ever thought I would.”

His smile mirrored yours as he stared into your eyes. “Then let’s tell them the truth. We like each other, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

As you shared a lingering look, he slowly leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Your surroundings seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that moment of equal vulnerability.

Breaking the kiss, Tom grinned, his eyes filled with love and affection. “Ready to face the world?” he paused, waiting for some kind of response, continuing once he saw you nod.

"So, let’s start right now.”

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth imagine #oneshot #fluff #tom blyth x you #confession #late night drives

[coolemmasulivan]

Love Wins (Even in Red)

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reporter!Reader

Summary: Fate reunites them under the red lights of Old Trafford. Interviews are frosty, leaving people wondering why. Can Mason forgive Reader for something that happened in the past? Can she win Mason's heart again and prove love wins even on red?

Word count: 3395

Read part 2 here

Author's note: My first language is not English. I'm sorry if this is confused I lost inspiration along the way. Tell me what you think. Part 2?

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

The roar of the Old Trafford crowd vibrated through the press box, but for you, it was a dull thrum compared to the storm brewing inside you. Your eyes flicked across the pitch, not to celebrate a goal, but to land on the figure currently terrorizing your mind - Mason Mount.

The boy you knew, the one whose smile could melt glaciers, was a distant memory. Now, every scowl and aggressive run on the field felt like a barbed message, a silent accusation. To you.

Three years. Three years since your paths diverged, leaving a gaping hole in your life. Now, fate had deposited both of you at Manchester United - you, a familiar star reporter, and him, the new name of the red team. Every interview was an excruciating dance. His curt answers and glacial stares were a constant reminder of the love story unfortunately cut short.

Today's post-game press conference promised to be no different. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself. As Mason strode into the room, the air crackled with an intangible tension. Your eyes met for a fleeting moment, a spark of something…familiar? It vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the new icy indifference that was only directed to you. You forced a professional smile, your heart thudding a chaotic rhythm against your ribs. The cameras flashed, the microphones materialized. Time to get down to business.

"Mason," You began, your voice firm despite the jitters in your stomach, "a disappointing result today. Can you share your thoughts on what went wrong?"

Mason, a chiseled face creased with a deep frown, looked up at you. His eyes, usually sparkling with competitive fire, were clouded with a frustration that went beyond the loss. "There's no right answer, no magic formula to explain a defeat like this. We were slow on the uptake, sloppy with our passes, and frankly, the other team just wanted it more. We all know we're better than that performance out there."

"The fans are eager to understand," You said gently. "Can you elaborate on what the team will do to address these mistakes in the upcoming match?"

Mason sighed, a deep breath that seemed to carry the weight of the entire team's disappointment. "We'll go back to the basics. We'll work harder, push each other further in training. It's all about rediscovering that killer instinct, that hunger for victory that seems to have gone missing today."

"Will that be enough?"

"Sometimes the best way to address mistakes it's about remembering why we fell in love with something in the first place. We need to rediscover that spark, that joy that sets our hearts ablaze. When that fire burns bright again, the rest will fall into place, believe me."

His gaze lingered on you for a bit longer than necessary. In that moment, the years seemed to melt away, replaced by a raw intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. Was he just talking about football, or was there something more?

"Thanks for your time, Mason." He offered a curt nod in response, brushing past you as he exited the interview area. The contact was brief, a brush of his shoulder against yours. He didn't apologize, but then again, no apology was necessary. You both knew exactly what that touch meant.

Sam, the cameraman put down the camera and gave you an intriguing look. "I never saw you so... tense, in a interview before."

You sighed, the pressure easing slightly now that the interview was over. "I just didn't slept well, that's all." You said, carefully playing with the mic in your hand.

"Uh-huh," Sam said, clearly unconvinced. "Have you met him outside of work? Everytime you interview him, the body language between you two is weird."

"No. Not at all. I don't even know the guy." The weight of the unspoken truth settled heavily in your gut.

He studied you for a moment longer, his brow furrowed. "O... kay!"

You looked away from Sam and scanned the interview room. In the far corner, stood Mason. He was talking with another reporter, but his eyes were already locked on yours. You swallowed a lump in your throat and quickly looked away. The last thing you needed was to be caught staring. 

"I think we should go."

The door creaked open, as you practically stumbled into the apartment, kicking it shut with a heavy sigh. Your roommate and best friend, Clare, was sprawled on the couch, a half-eaten bowl of cheetos on her lap while she scrolled through her phone, with the TV playing on the background.

"Rough night?" Clare asked, as you flopped down onto the armchair opposite her.

"You could say that." You said. "He makes me so nervous. Everytime I interview him, it's like someone's squezing my lungs."

"Oh, you poor thing." She mocked you. "When are you going to tell him the truth? The real reason why you broke things off with him?"

You stood up already not feeling like having a deep conversation. "It was three years ago. Why would I do that now?" You opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

"Because you still like him. If you didn't, you wouldn't get nervous around the guy." You hated how right she was.

"I don't like him, like that. Not anymore. It's just... Complicated talking to him and be around him again."

"I saw the interview. I saw how you were shaking while holding the microphone and the way you looked at him." Claire got up and walked toward you. She grabbed your shoulders and looked you in the eyes. "You need to stop lying to yourself."

The aroma of grilled steaks hung heavy in the air as the team finished their dinner at Luke's house. Plates were pushed aside, replaced with beers and lively conversation. Despite the loss that still weighed on their shoulders, the camaraderie between the teammates was undeniable.

The talk eventually turned to the post-game interviews, and all eyes turned to Mason, who sat brooding in the corner.

"Alright, mate," Martínez, nudged Mason with his elbow. "What was all that with Y/n in the interview? When you talk to her it always looks like you're about to swallow a lemon whole. And the way you bumped your shoulder against hers..." Mason shot him a glare that usually made Martínez back down, but not tonight. In fact, he leaned in further, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Spill the beans, Mason. Is there some hidden tension we don't know about?"

Mason scowled, a faint blush creeping up his neck at the thought. "There is nothing there. She's just not my cup of tea."

"Are you sure about that?" Bruno ever the voice of reason, chimed in. "I know she worked for Chelsea a long time ago, covering you guys. Maybe there's some history there we don't know about?"

Mason froze, the memory of a younger, more carefree you, flashing in his mind. "There's no history, Bruno. Just... annoyance."

Marcus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Annoyance, huh? That's the story you're sticking with?"

Mason scowled, running a hand through his hair. "Look, it doesn't matter. What happened, happened. We're both professionals now."

"Professionals, yeah right," Marcus snorted, leaning back in his chair. "The way you looked at her today, after the interview... It doesn't look professional at all."

Mason fell silent, lost in thought. His gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace, as his friends playful jabs continued around him.

The roar of the Chelsea fans echoed in your ears long after the final whistle. Your gaze fixed Mason celebrating with his teammates. He was a blur, and a wave of emotions washed over you: pride, admiration, and a flicker of something more potent.

Later that night as the celebrations took over, you found yourselves drawn towards each other.

"Thought you'd be writing victory epics already." He said, a touch breathless from the celebration. You tilted your head, your smile playful but shy.

"Actually, I do have to go," You admitted, your voice dropping a touch lower. "But I mean, the real story might be happening right here." Mason let out a chuckle. "You were incredible tonight," You murmured, looking up at him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his gaze dropping to your lips. The air crackled with unspoken desire. "You look absolutely beautiful tonight." Mason said, his voice slightly husky above the music. He leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling and you blushed.

"As beautiful as that trophy you've been practically worshipping all night?" You asked playfully. His gaze flickers between your eyes and lips.

"There's nothing more beautiful than you." A blush crept up on your neck.

Mason closed the gap between you, his kiss hesitant at first, then deepening with unexpected fervor. You lost yourselves in the moment, the music and the party fading away. Just as the kiss began to heat up, a voice boomed from behind you.

"Well, well, well! Look who's celebrating with a bang!" You jumped apart, breaking the kiss with startled gasps. Standing there, grinning from ear to ear, was Jorginho, obviously intoxicated. "Didn't know you two were such close colleagues," Jorginho continued, his eyebrows wagging suggestively. "Maybe I should write the headline for tomorrow's paper: 'Mason Mount Scores Off the Pitch!'"

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. The moment, so beautifully unexpected, had been shattered, but the memory of the kiss lingered on your lips.

Mason tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets tangled around him. Images of you flashed through his mind, vivid and unexpected, stealing his sleep. Every memory – the laughter he knew so well, the way your lips used to mould together – sent a jolt through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images away, but they persisted. Now that he was in Manchester, seeing you again messed everything up.

With a frustrated groan, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The cool metal felt grounding in his heated palm. He scrolled through his social media feeds, the mindless scrolling failing to distract him. Finally, he gave in to the urge and tapped on his photo gallery.

There, nestled among pictures of his friends and family, was a photo that took his breath away. It was you, from a date night back in London three years ago. You were leaning against his old car, a playful smile on your lips, your eyes sparkling with love.

He zoomed in on the picture, studying your face. A million questions swirled in his mind. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever feel the same way? ... Why did you leave him?

The car stopped in front of your apartment building. Mason glanced over at you, a question flickering in his eyes. Your stomach clenched, a fist of dread tightening its grip.

"Mason," You started, your voice barely a whisper. The words you had rehearsed a thousand times in your head seemed to evaporate on your tongue.

He turned his gaze fully on you, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah?"

Taking a shaky breath, you forced ourself to meet his eyes. "This isn't working."

His smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Us," You blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a rush. "This whole thing. It can't keep going."

"Why not?" His voice was barely above a murmur.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring his worried expression. "I... I got a job offer in Manchester. With United." The words felt foreign on your tongue, a betrayal of everything you had built.

A pained silence descended, heavy and suffocating. His hand instinctively reached for yours, but you flinched away, the movement a physical manifestation of the distance now growing between you.

"You're leaving?" His voice was rough, laced with disbelief. "Just like that?"

"I have to," You whispered, the lie a bitter taste. "Long distance never works. It's not fair to either of us."

"We could try," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "We could make it work."

The desperation in his eyes was almost too much to bear. "It's not about the distance, Mason." But the truth, the blackmail hanging over your head like a dark cloud.

"Then what is it?" he demanded, his voice rising slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like you're throwing everything we have away."

Shame burned in your throat, acrid and suffocating. "It's not that simple," You choked out. "There's just... I have to go."

His jaw clenched, his expression hardening into a mask of anger and hurt. "I guess that's it then," he said finally, his voice cold. "If you can't even be honest with me..." The engine roared back to life, the sound a harsh counterpoint to the tension that had fallen between you. "I..." He hesitated, then blurted out, "I fell in love with you."

Your breath hitched. The words hung in the air, heavy and heartbreaking. There was so much you wanted to say, to confess.

With a choked sob, you lied. "Mason, it's been great getting to know you, but..." You hesitated. "Love? No. Not even close."

He stared at the picture on his phone, the playful smile you used to flash him a constant reminder of what he'd lost. Maybe you were right about long distance, maybe it wouldn't have worked. But the way you flinched away from his touch, the choked sob that escaped you... those weren't things a simple goodbye could explain.

He slammed his phone on the nightstand. He couldn't let you walk away again, not without a fight. He didn't care about the reasons you gave, the distance, whatever it was. Seeing you again had ignited a fire in him, a determination to win you back. Maybe you didn't love him then, but that didn't mean things couldn't change. He wouldn't give up without a fight. This time, he'd hear the truth.

The bass throbbed through your chest as you stumbled down the dimly lit hallway, a misplaced sense of confidence fueled by tequila and flashing lights. You spotted the line for the bathrooms and was navigating towards it when, as you celebrated a friend's birthday, a figure materialized in front of you, blocking your path.

It was Mason.

His write shirt stood out starkly against the dark backdrop of the club, completely out of place. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of something warring between anger and surprise in his blue eyes.

A nervous flutter erupted in your stomach, warring with the tequila already muddling your thoughts. "Mason," you managed, a single word that escaped on a breath. "What are you doing here?"

He shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Came with a friend," he muttered, his eyes flickering to your bare legs before returning to your face. "Couldn't believe it when I saw you walk in."

You felt your cheeks flush, a mixture of surprise and something more unwelcome – a fluttering in your stomach. "Couldn't believe what?" You asked, your voice breathy.

He scanned the hallway behind you, his gaze landing on nowhere in particular before returning to you. "Getting wasted with… whoever that was."

You frowned, the memory of a friendly conversation with a guy from the bar twisting in your mind. "It was no one," you protested, a touch defensive. "He was just being friendly."

He scoffed, a harsh sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Right," he said, his voice tight. "The Y/n who swore she'd never touch a drop after…"

His words trailed off, hanging heavy in the air. Fueled by the alcohol and his accusing tone, you raised your hand and slapped him across the face.

For a moment, you stood frozen. Mason's eyes, wide with shock. Then, in a move so swift it took your breath away, he slammed you back against the wall, his lips finding yours in a rough, almost desperate kiss.

You, even caught off guard, found yourself responding to the kiss. It wasn't the sweet, shy kisses of the past, but a hungry, possessive collision of lips. The taste of tequila and something deeper, a longing you'd both harbored for years, tangled on your tongue.

His hands on your hips, his touch warm against the thin fabric of your dress. Your own hands, hesitant at first, found their way around his neck, pulling him closer. The pounding rhythm of the music from the club seemed to fade away, replaced by the frantic beat of you heart.

But just as quickly as it started, you gained courage and pulled away, you hand pressed against his chest. His eyes, ablaze with a mixture of anger and something else, burned into your.

"Why did you leave?" he demanded, his voice raw with emotion. And his hand still warm on your hip.

Tears welled up in your eyes. Shame washed over you, battling with the raw emotions the kiss had unearthed.

"They made me!" You blurted out, a confession you'd held for far too long. Mason stared at you, his face a mask of confusion. "Forget it," You whispered. Turning on your heel, you stumbled towards the exit, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the moment.

A hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before you could take another step. Mason's grip was firm, but gentle.

"Y/n," he pleaded, his voice laced with concern. "What are you talking about? Who made you leave?"

But you shook your head, tears blurring your vision. The memory of threats, the fear that had driven you away from the man you were in love with was too raw to relive.

"Just… forget it." You repeated, your voice barely a whisper. With a final tug, you pulled free from his grasp and disappeared, leaving Mason standing alone in the hallway, confused and filled with a dawning realization that there was far more to their past than he ever knew.

The old popcorn on the floor crunched under your feet as you stormed into your younger sister's bedroom. The light from the TV cast a glow on the room. Your 17-year-old sister, Lily, sprawled on the bed, oblivious to the hurricane brewing inside you.

"What did you do?" Your voice cracked. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Why can't you be a normal teenager?"

Lily, bathed in the blue light of the phone screen, finally looked up. "I didn't know he was filming us," she mumbled, her voice laced with a teenage defiance that ignited a fire in your chest. "Don't be so dramatic!"

"He's blackmailing me because of you, Lily!" You yelled, the dam of your emotions finally bursting. "I have to leave my job, my friends and Mason, because of this, of course I'm being dramatic! You're so irresponsible. You never think about how your actions can destroy others!"

Lily scoffed, rolling her eyes. "So what if you need to leave your job? You'll find a new one," she said, her voice dripping with a casualness that made you want to scream. "And Mason? You'll find another dumb player to date in the new club."

The flippant dismissal of your relationship with Mason was the final straw. Fury surged through you, momentarily eclipsing the despair that threatened to consume you. You lunged for a decorative box on the dresser. With a deafening crash, the box shattered on the floor, its contents scattering like broken dreams.

"This is my chance to go to Cambridge!" Lily shrieked, finally understanding the gravity of the situation. "That video will be destroyed, you just have to leave the guy. I'm your sister. We're family. You're supposed to help me."

You stared at your sister. "I can't believe you're actually okay with me sacrificing my life because of this."

"This is my future," Lily pleaded, "You're 21, you'll find a lot of Masons in your life."

A humorless laugh escaped your lips. "This isn't just about Mason – although it hurts like hell that you think so little of my relationship. It's about the principle. You can't just expect me to throw away my happiness to clean up your mess."

"Our family will never forgive you if you don't do this," she whimpered, clutching the phone tighter as if it were a lifeline. "Show everyone that you're not the black sheep of the family."

#footballer imagine #footballer imagines #footballer x reader #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #mason mount #mm7

[feyascorner]

11 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3

He knows he hasn’t returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.

Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, it’s of surprisingly good quality. It’s the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.

When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldur’s Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadn’t had before—free of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of death…and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.

Being “stuck” in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book he’s already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence again…meaning some (Gale, specifically) don’t mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Gale’s incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.

An outing or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

So he embarks. Where to, he doesn’t know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. It’s not that he’s afraid of the cleric, of course. He’s a damn vampire, for heaven’s sake. He’s only being cautious.

The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and it’s not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isn’t exactly common, after all.

“Baldur’s Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if you’d like a peek.”

Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intended—not that he cares. “Who in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?”

The boy frowns, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t want one, you could’ve just said so.”

“Really? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,” Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boy’s distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed ‘Exclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldur’s Gate! Never seen before!’

He finds himself reading.

“Mister, if you’re going to read, you have to pay!”

Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boy’s palms with a plop. “It’s two silvers.”

“I’m fully aware, don’t worry.”

The Baldur’s Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where it’s due. Gortash’s death must’ve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they don’t provide as much entertainment as it surely could’ve if they stretched a few truths. He doesn’t read much into them, though, because he’s soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where he’s practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.

In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

He wonders if you’re ashamed of them as he’s ashamed of the ones on his own neck.

Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.

The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. They’re painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, must’ve been altered, as they don’t sound much like you.

One question catches his eye.

‘So what does the hero of Baldur’s Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?’

Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.

‘’This city is my home…but I don’t think I could stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve made some precious memories here, but I’ve also made ones that I’d rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, I’d have to embark for elsewhere.’’

His eyes widen. You’re leaving? When the hells did you decide that? 

‘Truly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.’

‘’Where will I go? I mean…I guess I’d just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.’’

Astarion’s gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesn’t even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. He’s not sure if he would’ve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he won’t have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.

This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if it’s only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.

Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.

He’s always wanted to be immortal. Even before he’d grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get here…left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes it’s not so bad, being a vampire—-besides the whole ‘not-being-able-to-see-the-sun’ fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, he’s essentially invincible as long as he doesn’t find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?

He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.

Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. There’s a reason why he’s always preferred wine over whatever’s filling their cups.

He paces toward the door, but just as he’s halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.

“Shadowheart,” the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. “What brings you here this morning?”

She certainly won’t miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.

Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. They’re just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. “Just picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearances…”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation because he’s already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but there’s one he tries that slides right open.

Much to his distaste, it’s occupied.

He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.

He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking it’s another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.

The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.

Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks he’s alone, until there’s another shrill voice rushing at him.

“There you are, Tav! I’ve waited days to see you here agai—" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "You’re not Tav.”

Way to state the obvious.

Clearly, he wants to spit back. But he’s too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. “Wait, you’re Tav’s friend!”

Friend. He hasn’t been considered your friend in a long while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” she tilts her head. “Did you maybe make up with Tav?”

Ah. You must’ve told her about his—peculiar arrangement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didn’t we?” she offers him a smile, which he doesn’t return. She doesn’t wait for an answer either. “I wasn’t expecting you here…Did Tav send you?”

Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sun’s radiant glow. She doesn’t seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“I—yes,” is all his damn brain can spit out.

“Oh,” her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. “You should’ve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how they’re doing…I haven’t seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?”

Hells. He’s already itching to jump off the roof.

“Does your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?” he grumbles. “And I’m afraid I don’t know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.”

Alfira’s shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. “...Well, that’s a shame. Then, what brings you here?”

This time, he’s prepared.

“Seeing the state you’re in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure they’re doing well. It’s a busy time of year, you see, and they haven’t had the time to indulge your—-outings up here.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say something—anything else about what you’ve been up to, but it comes up empty. It’s not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but he’s not sure if he knows any more about what you’re doing than this bard standing right before him. You don’t play music anymore. You don’t frequent the bars as much as you used to. You don’t do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?

It irks him: not knowing, that is.

He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.

“---and I’d really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I can’t imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,” she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. He’d be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. It’s a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. “I don’t know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think it’s fate. Tell them it’s a gift for helping with my songs.”

Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents he’s all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time he’d held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.

“Were you looking for it?”

“No. Like I said, it must be fate.”

How cheesy.

His lips quirk downward even further, if that’s even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but it’s clearly seen a different level of care than what you would’ve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.

“It’s seen better times, I know. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it even if it’s not how they left it.”

Wouldn’t you? No. He doesn’t know if you’d appreciate it. Why would you? You don’t even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.

“Please,” she pleads. “Give it to them.”

His brows pinch.

And because he doesn’t want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because he’d much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. “Fine. I will.”

The smile she gives him doesn’t prompt him to do the same.

Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, that’s what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesn’t hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.

The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.

“I won’t pry,” Alfira says. “They never really told me what happened between the two of you…I respect your privacy, so I won’t ask. But whatever it was…I do hope it won’t happen again.”

It’s a weak one, but it’s a warning. He’s had plenty of those to figure it out.

“It won’t,” he mutters. 

He’ll be long gone before it can.

Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.

Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it weren’t for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. “Is now not a good time?”

You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. “It’s alright. I’m only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.

“You’ve been busy. I’ve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.”

Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think it’d be a sign to close the tavern down.

Your tone remains grim. “Were any of them the woman you were looking for?”

He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. “No, she’s…I still haven’t found her.”

And maybe it’s the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. “You would think she’d try to meet someone she was so close to.”

It’s insensitive, and you wouldn’t blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s gotten much rest recently, either. “Trust me, I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

“No. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and I’ll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,” he groans. “Well, deader body.”

“Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. She’s always been stubborn, and she’s far more determined than myself, believe it or not.”

“Not you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely can’t be so easy to control, and let’s be honest…” you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. “You’re practically a blood pot being offered to her.”

He frowns. “Is it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I don’t know much about vampire spawn aside from the obvious…”

You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. “Believe me, they’re beasts when they’re ravenous.”

“Beasts?”

“Do you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,” you shrug. “It tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really like…it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"

Yevir’s face pales.

“See?”

His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. “I’ve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the time…Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, I’d want to find some way to make her new life more tolerable…it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

You blink.

Shit. You’ve said too much.

What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and he’s living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?

You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.

“I have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,” you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.

“I’d appreciate it.”

You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isn’t much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but you’re sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to be…so a small push certainly wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Gale’s left on the stove into a cup.

If you were in Astarion’s shoes, you’d think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought he’d felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time you’ve spent with him and the stories he’s told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when he’s drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality he’s long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you can’t deny it, either.

You wonder if it hadn’t been for Cazador’s leash tying him down, he would’ve turned out differently. More twisted. That he would’ve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldn’t have learned the value of a life. That he would’ve become more alike to him—the man he would’ve become if he’d ascended.

That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything he’d gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.

You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, you’d rather have this than what could’ve happened if you hadn’t listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.

You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.

But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesn’t drink tea at all.

Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarion’s pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.

You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.

“You—Is he—” Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. “He’s—”

Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevir’s hand reaches his sword. “Now, let’s not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...”

The Fist snaps his head in your direction. “He’s a spaw–!”

The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible ‘thud,’ and he’s out like a light.

You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Lae’zel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. “Your soldiers are such children.”

Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.

You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer @roguishcat

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #tfbu #astarion x oc #tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 26

Summary: Princess makes a worrying discovery while looking through Lloyd’s briefcase. Zach and Lloyd search Copper Ridge Quarry and have an argument. Meanwhile, Princess becomes entangled in the issue of a spy operating inside of Bishop & Howard.

Word Count: 5,024

Warnings: This story contains content that is intended for those who are at least eighteen years old, such as explicit sexual content, strong language, references to spying, murder, kidnapping and criminal elements. 

Masterlist

Author’s Note: I did get this chapter published today as promised but editing took a really long time because it snowed here today, which was really depressing for me (come on, it’s March, give me sunshine) so I was feeling very unmotivated and lazy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Chapter Twenty-Six

As promised, you reviewed the footage of Nguyen’s interrogation. Two moments raised red flags. The first occurred when Lloyd mentioned Tate Corbin’s witness statement. From his previous interviews and court testimonies, you knew Nguyen wasn’t easily drawn into speculation, but the topic of his neighbor’s observations caused an abrupt change in his demeanor. Suddenly, he was eager to speculate. You marked the timestamp and wrote a note for Lloyd. The second red flag was more significant. As an interrogation subject, Nguyen was usually willing to answer questions, though the quality of his responses varied. That said, an outright refusal to respond was rare; in fact there was only one instance where it cropped up. 

When questioned about his former colleague who testified against him at trial his evasion stood out sharply in contrast to his typical style of guarded cooperation. It caught your attention, so you annotated that spot as well. Nothing in particular jumped out at you as significant in the rest of the footage, but watching it all together, it irked you that Nguyen hesitated to challenge his colleague’s testimony. Most murder suspects protested vehemently when confronted with false accusations.

The fact that Nguyen didn’t was unsettling. 

A staccato rap of knuckles on your door startled you from your musings. Landon stepped into the room and raised an eyebrow when he saw you massaging your temples. 

“Headache?” 

"Yeah. Re-watching Nguyen's interview is driving me nuts."

"Skip the aspirin this time."

You snorted. "Never again. What's up?"

"Jake and I have a stakeout. Need a ride home?"

"No. Lloyd's my ride, whenever he gets back."

"Text if you need us. Remember the silent alarm triggers are under the receptionist’s desk and in Zach’s office. He showed you?"

"Yeah, he did. Thanks."

- - - - - 

After the guys left, the office was silent. You finished reviewing the interview footage and made an attempt at Lloyd’s strategy of listening to the interview audios alone, which proved fruitless. The audio alone was too dull to be endured. After saving your notes to the shared drive, you strolled around the office to stretch your legs. It was nearly nine o’clock, and there was still no word from Lloyd or Zach. You opened the tracking app on your phone and verified their location in the woods near Copper Ridge Quarry.

You needed a distraction, so you poked around in the share drive and read the report Lloyd had filed on his meeting with Tate Corbin. When you clicked through the attachments for his handwritten notes nothing came up. There were no attachments anywhere in his last few uploads so they hadn’t been filed mistakenly. Your gaze landed on the hazelnut leather briefcase he’d left beside your desk. After a brief debate, you decided he wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t snooping if there was a purpose, right? You lifted the briefcase to your desk and took a deep, steadying breath. As you unzipped the main compartment, your phone rang, making you almost jump out of your skin.

Jen’s face flashed on the caller ID.

You sank back against the cushioned backrest of your chair and answered. “Hey, Jen. What’s up?”

“Not much, just checking in. How’s working from home?”

"It’s different. Kind of boring, but I’m getting a lot done.” 

“I haven’t seen much of Lloyd around the office lately. Is he working from home, too?” 

“He’s been doing a lot of field work,” you said, ducking the question.

“Mmmhh, really throwing himself into it, is he?”

Knowing Jen as long as you had, the dry tone of her voice tipped you off that she wouldn’t let the matter of Lloyd's absence go. She’d poke and prod and side-step you down the garden path until she had an explanation. You should’ve anticipated that the cover story Bishop had spread around the office, spinning your attack as a slip and fall by the pool, wouldn’t pass the smell test with Jen. 

“Yeah. Things picked up a bit in the investigation… uh, new leads….” 

“I’ve always appreciated that Lloyd goes after things like a force of nature.”

“Have you?” You raised an eyebrow, reaching into the front divider of Lloyd’s briefcase and pulling out a stack of files. The third degree was coming, and you knew it.

“He takes the bull by the horns,” Jen said.

“Interesting. Are you developing a soft spot for Lloyd?”

Jen snorted. “He’s right up there with Hawaiian pizza in my book.”

You laughed, flipping through the files. None of them were related to the Harmony case, so you set them aside and searched the second pocket in the briefcase.

“Wanna know something else about Lloyd?” you teased, hoping to distract Jen.

“Hmmm?”

“I only found this out recently, but he actually was a cowboy.”

“Are you for real?”

“Would I lie to you? He called me when he was in Idaho and told me about herding cattle and roping and my ovaries almost exploded.”

“I love that for you. Did he bring you pictures? Also, does this have anything to do with his odd choice of facial hair?”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Right, you’re too young to remember Westerns. You know the old movies about Doc Holliday, The Sundance Kid, Wyatt Earp…? I could go on, but you get the point.”

“I’ll have to ask him,”

“How’s your neck?” Jen asked.

“A lot better.”

You cringed, waiting for the attack to begin. 

“Mmmhh. Glad to hear it.” 

There was a long pause and you held back, distracting yourself from the temptation of talking by opening the next compartment of Lloyd’s briefcase. There was a padfolio and a few more files. You opened one of them and found insurance paperwork for a 1971 Mercury Cougar. 

“Listen, I heard about your fall by the pool from Bishop, and I know it was bullshit. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t really talk about it, Jen. I’m sorry.” 

“Talk about what, exactly?”

“Jen… I can’t tell you what’s going on, okay?”

“Is it personal? Professional? Does it have something to do with Lloyd?”

You blew out a breath, considering your answer. The stalking was personal, but the IP address that the stalker had used to hack your work laptop was definitely professional. If he’d hack your laptop, who was to say he hadn’t tapped Jen’s work line, too?

“I’m dealing with some personal stuff.”

“And you were in the hospital twice this past month. There was an ER visit at Georgetown University Hospital and another in Harmony.”

“How do you know about those?” you demanded.

“Your apartment building forwarded over a stack of mail. I saw the medical bills and figured they were ER visits, thanks for confirming, though. I didn’t actually open them.”

“I can’t share it yet, but me staying out of the office is what’s best for right now.”

“Why were you in the hospital?” Jen asked.

You rubbed your forehead and wondered why you chose to develop friendships with people who had the personalities of Jack Russell Terriers. “I hurt my neck, just like Bishop said. The other one was for a medication reaction, but it turned out fine.”

“Fine? But who picked you up from the hospital? Did you call your Mom? Never mind, don’t answer that, I know you didn’t. Have you told your Mom what’s going on?”

Jen meant well, and you knew that, but she’d never comprehend that your Mom didn’t take her responsibilities as a parent to heart the same way Jen did. 

“I didn’t tell her I was in the hospital because it’s just not something she could handle. She’s kind of high strung,” you gently reminded her. “Lloyd drove me home both times.”

“So, Lloyd is taking care of you? Adequately?”

You rolled your eyes at her suspicious tone. “Yes, he’s shockingly good at playing nurse. And he can cook.”

“Thank goodness, I’ve been worried that you were subsisting on takeout alone.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” you said.

“Mmmhh. Well. I’m not trying to be pushy, honest. I just… worry about you.”

“I know that, Jen. Give me some time, okay? I’ll tell you everything when I can and hopefully I won’t seem like such an asshole then.” 

“You’re not capable of being an asshole except when you’ve been provoked to it,” Jen said. “That’s why I’ve been so worried.”

“Thank you.”

You picked up another file that had been in Lloyd’s briefcase and leafed through it. Once you realized that it was a copy of Joe Hansen’s will, you snapped it shut. Jen’s voice morphed into the background as she turned the conversation to a recap of current affairs at the law firm. Why was Lloyd still carrying a copy of his father’s will? On a scale of one to ten, how much of a violation of privacy would it be to read… maybe just the first page? The first few pages? Your internal debate was interrupted by a gasp from Jen. 

“I almost forgot to tell you! I met Mr. Howard the other day!” 

“Mr. Howard?” You drew a blank, having been more preoccupied with the will than the conversation. 

“Wilson Howard? The other half of Bishop & Howard? The infamously silent and absent founding partner of B&H…?” 

“You’re kidding!” 

“No, it was crazy, like stumbling on a unicorn on a jogging trail. He actually came into the office.”

“Why did he come in?”

“Because of you,” Jen said. 

“What did I do?!” 

“Remember the emails that you forwarded to HR? The ones from Westin Tafferty? According to the grape vine, they made their way up to Bishop, who responded by siccing Mr. Howard on Westin.”

“Oh, shit.”

Jen chuckled at your dismay. “He was here all morning and met with paralegals to get the tea on Westin before coming to visit me. He asked about you.”

“This is not good.”

“Relax,” Jen said. “He just wanted to know if Westin had harassed the whole paralegal department, or if he’d focused on you. And you’ll never guess what else I found out…”

“I’m afraid to ask,” you said.

Jen snickered. “Per Mr. Howard, there was a conversation between Mr. Bishop and Lloyd a month ago where Lloyd threatened to ‘use the Geneva Conventions as a to-do list’ if Westin kept bothering you.” 

You buried your head in your hands, groaning, while Jen laughed.

“Anyways, after he’d interviewed the team he went down to HR and had a two hour chat with Westin, who denied everything, but given that it was a two hour meeting, I think we can guess how that went.”

“No one called me about this.”

“You’d already done your part by reporting him,” Jen said. “Also, according to my sources, Westin left that meeting looking very rattled.” 

“I almost feel bad for him.”

“Ugh. Get a grip and cut that out, girl. You have no idea how incredibly therapeutic it was for the whole paralegal department to vent about Westin. The best part was that Mr. Howard just listened and took notes. If a man ever listened to me that attentively on a date, I’d jump his bones.”

You commiserated with her about Westin, and let the conversation drift back to the latest gossip from the office. When you finally hung up, you stood over the mess on your desk and examined the damage. It was littered with a treasure trove of mundane artifacts - five khaki file folders, a tin of mints, sticky notes, a travel tube of cologne, a power bank and phone charger, airpods, reading glasses, and three hundred dollars in cash. The files were what drew your eye. 

Curiosity was killing you, especially about Joe Hansen’s last will and testament, but you forced yourself to set them aside. It would be a betrayal of trust and if the situation were reversed, you’d be offended if Lloyd went through your private documents without asking. You surveyed the items you’d strewn over the desk from Lloyd’s briefcase and sighed, dipping your hand into the last, smaller back pocket of the briefcase in search of the missing interview notes. Your fingers brushed against paper and for a moment, excitement surged, but instead of papers you pulled out an envelope. 

Inside were three laminated bookmarks.

They were delicate and beautiful. One featured a bold splash of golden petals with a dark center like a miniature sun in bloom - a long stemmed Black-Eyed Susan. The other two flowers weren’t familiar. You inspected the bookmark that contained pale lavender flowers with tinges of blue, then examined the third marker, which featured pink petaled blossoms. Frustratingly, it was another flower you didn’t recognize. The pink flower reminded you of Prairie Phlox and Fire Pink, except to the best of your knowledge, no one had ever crossed those plants. There was no receipt in the envelope but when you flipped it over, the outside read: “Josephine.” 

Your eyebrows raised. Josephine? Who the hell was Josephine? Why had she given Lloyd pressed flower bookmarks, and more confusingly, why had he accepted them?

It crossed your mind a second later that the floral bookmarks might be a gift for you. That was a logical enough explanation but it didn’t hold up to closer inspection. Lloyd took pride in being an excellent gift-giver. He knew your tastes, interests, and preferences. The bookmark with the Black-Eyed Susans would be the kind of gift he would give you, but the other two were decidedly not. 

Using the plant identification app on your phone, you scanned the bookmarks to identify the flowers. The lavender flower was Common Camas and the pink was Elkhorn Clarkia. You didn’t recognize either name and when you checked the map of their native range, it made sense why you wouldn’t - they were native to the upper Northwest. Lloyd must have gotten these in Idaho. Frowning at the bookmarks, your mood slid from confused to suspicious, then darkened. 

Your chest was tight and your heart pounded out a chorus of eighth notes, turning your skin hot. The floral bookmarks weren’t something Lloyd would keep without a good reason. On the envelope, you inspected the handwriting of the name ‘Josephine’ and confirmed it was Lloyd’s. Who was Josephine? Did she live in Idaho or had she traveled there for his father’s funeral? Did they spend time together while he was there? Was she the real reason he’d neglected to call you while he was gone? There was a horrible feeling in your gut that you couldn’t ignore. 

The realization that there were parts of Lloyd that you were completely closed off from hit like a slap in the face. There were sides to him you’d never seen. He had a past that transcended the three years you’d shared. Of course that was normal, but the utter lack of awareness you had of Lloyd’s past wasn’t normal at all. If you knew who Josephine was, maybe these bookmarks wouldn’t make your heart slam against your rib cage. You’d know if she were a matronly ex-neighbor or an ex-girlfriend. That was something you ought to know, and the fact that you didn’t have a clue made your stomach churn. It seemed that beneath the veneer of trust you had in Lloyd there was an abyss of uncertainty. While your friendship had been built on healthy habits, it was painfully obvious that your romance lacked the same sturdiness. The dawning awareness that all it took was three flimsy bookmarks to fracture your relationship burned. 

You took a deep breath and tucked the floral bookmarks into the envelope and returned it to the same pocket. Then you began methodically returning all the items back to their original position, careful to order them exactly how you’d found them. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

A strange chemical scent hung in the air. Lloyd wrinkled his nose and swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste of rotten eggs. He stood with Zach at the chain link fence that sealed off Copper Ridge from the rest of the world, looking up at the double rows of twelve-foot high razor wire topped fencing. The sight reminded him of prison.

Decorating the fence were brightly colored posters signaling danger lay ahead. 

Zach coughed into his elbow. “This place smells like my grandmother’s garden, but way, way, worse.”

“What?” Lloyd asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Her garden plot had alkaline soil, so she treated it with Lime-Sulfur every spring.” Zach coughed again, then examined the warning posters. “Arsenic, sulfur, lead, benzene, radiation… What did they do? Nuke this place?” 

“That probably would’ve done less environmental damage.”

“Check those security cameras,” Zach said, tilting his chin at the gate post. 

“We can assume the killer isn’t just driving up to the main gate.”

“Given what they’re containing up here, those cameras probably aren’t new.”

“He must have a more discrete method of accessing the site,” Lloyd agreed.

“So, we’re hiking the perimeter?”

“It’s due diligence. The three bodies we have prove that we’re looking for an experienced hiker who isn’t afraid of moving his victims over rough terrain.” 

“The perimeter is thirteen miles and the sun’s about to go down.”

“Got an extra flashlight?” 

Zach smirked, and quipped, “one is none.” 

Their flashlight beams were necessary under the thick canopy of vegetation, even with the sun still shining overhead. The trees cast long shadows and stretched their fingers across the forest floor. Recently fallen leaves squished under their feet as they followed the fence line, still too wet to crunch. Crisp air whipped against his neck and Lloyd flipped up the collar of his jacket. 

“I hope Princess doesn’t intend on letting your genes into her bloodline. Not after this.”

“Shut up,” Lloyd muttered.

Zach snickered. “Touched a nerve, eh?”

“You’re getting exposed to this shit right along with me, asshole.” 

“Not really. I had a procedure in the 90s to ensure none of my swimmers were medal contenders.” 

“For the love of all that is holy, please shut up.” 

“Why didn’t you bother with a vasectomy? Nervous about someone poking around down there?” Zach asked.

“Getting clipped has never been on my agenda.” 

Zach stopped abruptly. “You want kids? Really?” 

“Fuck no! You of all people get why.”

“I do. Hence, the vasectomy I got at twenty.”

“I don’t want kids,” Lloyd stated.

“Your actions say otherwise,” Zach said. 

“No, they don’t. All my actions say is… Why are we having this conversation?”

“What about Princess?”

“What about her?”

“Does she want kids?” Zach asked.

“How should I know?!”

“You’re dating her.”

“This is what you want to talk about right now?” Lloyd demanded.

“Does she?”

“Come on, we’re in the middle of something. Now isn’t the time.”

“What are your intentions towards Princess in the long term?” 

“Zach, are you giving me the shovel talk?”

“Why would I bother digging a grave when I know this place exists? Answer the question. Where is this thing with Princess going? Are you serious about her?” 

“She’s important to me, of course I’m serious.”

The blond man’s eyes sharpened. “Serious is different than being serious about her. Are you going to move in together? Get married?” 

“Move in where? The townhouse? Her place? She was nearly strangled in my backyard and Aiden planted a camera at her apartment.” 

“Fine, sell both places, combine funds and get a house with a yard for the kids. I’m in Thursday night golf league with a couple realtors. You want me to hook you up?” 

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” Zach agreed cheerfully. “Look, the past three months are the happiest I’ve ever seen you. Princess, too. But I also know your track record with relationships so I need to know that you’ve got your head screwed on straight when it comes to her.” 

“I appreciate that,” Lloyd said. 

“Good. When are you going to talk to her about moving in together?”

“Have you always been this pushy?” 

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know, damn it!” 

“You’ve been dating for three months. Figure it out,” Zach said. 

Lloyd sighed. “Three months isn’t very long.” 

“Sure, but the math is different for you two. You were friends first.” 

“She’s my best friend. I don’t want to see her hurt. Not by a stalker, or anything else.” 

“Look, Lloyd, Princess is a good friend to me, too. I don’t want to see her hurt either. She’s going to need a commitment from you soon and what I’m trying to ask is this: how close are you to giving her that?”

“You know my track record with relationships,” Lloyd deflected. 

“I also know your track record with Princess. You’ve never disappointed her before and I’d prefer not to see you screw that up.” 

“I care about her, Zach. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone, and I don’t want to lose her or hurt her.” 

“But you’re afraid you will.” 

“My issues with women are legendary.”  

Zach snorted. “Let’s not pretend they’re just with women. You’ve got issues with everything.” 

“I’m not the white picket fence happily ever after type of guy.” 

Silence descended, lingering in the air, as if Zach was waiting for Lloyd to continue. He gritted his teeth and held his peace, refusing to add fuel to the conversation. 

“Figure it out, man. Lay your cards on the table soon, because Princess deserves to be with someone who’s all in.” 

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but-”

“What? You’re waiting for the right time to make up a bullshit excuse and end things with her? Once we catch her stalker, and we will, you can’t just turn around and break her heart-”

“Shut up.”

Zach sneered. “Like hell I will. Don’t tell me-”

Lloyd grabbed the Texan by the collar and covered his mouth, silencing him. 

“Shut up and listen, damn it!” 

Zach froze, alertness sweeping over him in an instant. They waited, silent. From somewhere ahead of them in the woods came a rustling sound. 

“You heard that?” Lloyd murmured. 

“Yeah.” 

Lloyd reached into his jacket and pulled out a Glock 19 while Zach took a .38 pistol from his boot. The gun clicked as Zach chambered a bullet.

“Turn off your flashlight,” Zach whispered. 

From ahead there was a flurry of rustling accompanied by the sounds of breaking twigs and branches. 

“An animal wouldn’t make that much noise,” Lloyd muttered. 

“Whatever it is, we’re not alone out here.” 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

You struggled to focus on the computer screen. It was 10:30 and your eyes stung from too much screen time. Blinking against the dryness, you watched the rapidly moving footage flashing on the monitor. You’d shut off the lights in the office and re-played Nguyen’s interview at 4 times the normal speed. The rapid fire images helped to exaggerate changes in body language, which was what you’d decided to focus on. 

After attempting Lloyd’s technique of listening to the interview without visuals, you’d come to your senses and realized that while Lloyd could listen more accurately than anyone you’d ever met, you needed visuals, especially body language. Therefore, you turned off the audio and sped up the footage, watching Nguyen speak, noting his facial expressions and movements. 

Your eyes watered in protest at the excessive amount of blue light they were enduring and you squeezed them shut.

When they opened again, the laptop screen wasn’t as bright. You tapped the trackpad and the screen brightened. The laptop was plugged into the wall socket next to the desk. You leaned down and double checked the connection, then looked at the icon menu on the bottom right corner of the screen. The battery was at fifty percent and the plugged-in symbol was conspicuously absent. Your eyes darted to the digital clock on the wall and found its dial frozen, displaying the time as 12:00 AM.

Your stomach dropped. 

No electricity. Shit. How long? You had no illusions that the source of the electrical disruption was anything other than man-made. There was no heat wave, thunderstorm, or high winds. You moved to the window and peaked through the blinds to see that the lights were still functioning in the shopping mall. Zach’s suite appeared to be the only one without electricity. 

You grabbed for your phone, only to find that the spot where it had been was bare. Goosebumps broke out on your skin. The room was eerily silent. Your heart raced as you scanned the deep shadows and debated whether to run or scream.

“Sorry to drop by after visiting hours.”

The voice from the darkness was calm, almost conversational, but laced with an undercurrent of humor that was more terrifying than malice. You lurched back, eyes focused on the barely discernible silhouette of a man standing in the corner of the room. 

“Who are you?” you gasped, the catch in your breath turning your voice into a whisper.

The figure moved and you lept backwards, then screamed when your back slammed into the solid barrier of the wall. A man stepped out of the shadows, into the pool of light from the east window. He had sandy blond hair and cerulean eyes. Something about him triggered a wave of recognition, but you struggled to place him in your memory. 

“Hello, Princess.”

Your muscles bunched and your nostrils flared at his casual use of your nickname. The man raised his hands in surrender. Despite his overture of peace, you didn’t relax. 

“My name is Court Gentry. We met briefly in Singapore.” 

“When and where?” you challenged.

“The casino bar. It was your birthday.” 

The memory came flooding back. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

Hair rose on the back of your neck, but you defiantly tilted your chin. 

“I know Lloyd,” Court said, taking your lack of response for confusion.

“Yeah, I’m aware. Why are you here?”

“Because Lloyd refused to help me.”

“Sorry?” 

“I need someone to help me get into Bishop & Howard,” Court said.

“By ‘get in,’ I’m going to assume you actually mean ‘break in.’”

Court’s lips twitched into a split second smile that faded into seriousness.

“There’s a spy in the firm,” he said. 

“And you know this, how?”

“I keep tabs on Lloyd. I assume you’re aware of why?” 

“Mmmhmm.”

“A few months ago I was on a job and… came into possession of a laptop. There was a reference to Bishop & Howard on the contents of that device, so I followed up. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I’d uncovered a plot to steal top secret information from the U.S. military.” 

“You thought Lloyd was behind it, didn’t you?”

Court inclined his head, conceding the point. “It wouldn’t be the first time he betrayed his country, Princess.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “That’s why you were in Singapore.” 

“Yes. Events in D.C. from the law firm proved Lloyd innocent, so I approached him and asked for help. His answer was a very vehement ‘no.’” 

“He doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore.” 

Court nodded. “But that puts me in a bind, because the spy is making his final transmission tonight and I need someone to help me get past security. That’s all I’m asking, Princess. If you can get me to the sixth floor of the firm-”

“Bishop is the spy?!”

“No. He’s not behind this. I already cleared him as a suspect.”

“Executives and administration are the only departments on the sixth floor. What kind of government secrets would they keep up there?”

“There’s another department on the sixth floor,” Court said. “Patents.” 

“Right. I knew that, but there’s only like five people in the patent department. They keep to themselves and everyone else kind of forgets they exist.”

“Will you help me?” Court asked.

“What, exactly, am I helping you with? You never told me what these secrets I’m supposed to be protecting were.” 

The blond man studied you, weighing his words, before he spoke. 

“It’s a Department of Defense project called Project Prometheus. Whenever the government enlists private groups to develop top secret technology, they allow them to file patents on their inventions with a private firm. Only once the technology is de-classified do the patents become public record.” 

“What’s Project Prometheus?” 

Court sighed. “If I tell you, will you help me?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Project Prometheus is next generation jet fuel. It’s designed to power the upcoming F-37 Valkyrie fighter planes. The spy at B&H already sent information on the chemical structure of the fuel and how to synthesize it. All that’s left for him to transmit is the engineering specs of the jet’s fuel system.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think the cat’s already out of the bag if they have all that.” 

“It’d be more accurate to say that they have the cat, but no bag. Without the right bag to put the cat in… ka-boom,” Court said, illustrating an explosion with his hands. 

“Why are you reaching out to me now?”

“Because the spy contacted his handler today to let him know that he’d be sending the rest of the documents at midnight tonight.” 

“All I would have to do is get you past security?”

“You have access to the sixth floor,” Court said.

“What about the security around the patent department? I’ve seen their door. It looks like Fort Knox.”

“Doors, plural. I have a plan for that. All we need to do is get in, set up some equipment and hole up in your office while we wait for the spy to show.”

“Are you going to turn him in or capture him?”

“My goal tonight is only to block his transmission and learn his identity. Once I have that, I’ll go to the FBI. Confronting him on my own would be counterproductive. If the authorities can get him to flip on the Chinese, that would be the best outcome.” 

Lloyd would kill you for even considering this, but at the same time, you felt compelled to help Court. He’d go after the spy with or without you and his chances of success were a lot higher if you went along.

“Okay. I’ll help you.” 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Next - Chapter XXVII

- - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Masterlist

Tag List:

@denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess @amiets2 @seitmai @elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers @kaleidoscopepov @fangirl-and-doctor-help @terry2227 @jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind @kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar @ultrasilentwhispers @awkwardgiraffe726 @pono-pura-vida @mysweetlittledesire @maylaysia109 @liecastillo @unluckyevans @marantha @literaturelove @babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @roseeatta @pensieve-foryour-thoughts @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87 @michalkasimp @namelesssav @yiiiikesmish @lavenderx0 @calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @andydrysdalerogers @mrsbarnes32557038

#the princess and the lawyer #series: the princess and the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer #series: the princess & the lawyer #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen fic #the gray man fanfic #the gray man fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans characters fanfic #chris evans character au #chris evans characters au

[9800sblog]

wooyoung tarot reading

public persona vs real personality

do I have his energy permission to do and share this reading? queen of wands

in public

hypnotizing is the word to describe what wooyoung goes for; childlike (childish), immature, hard to ignore, messy - fun, entertaining, funny, never a dull moment, makes you wanna re-watch his content multiple times. bad, dangerous - sexy, captivating, impressive, killer moments (literally the 10 of swords), he wants to kill with looks, and skills (dance, modeling, body, literally his eyes, etc). out of all ateez members tho, he seems to be the one to try to look most unavailable (the devil reversed), he acts rude, sassy and sometimes distant, because he is the dangerous dude, the bad boy. but never actually too harmful, he's approachable, more like a best friend you're secretely in love with, that you're so close he doesn't even care what he does around you, he's a menace and if you try hard enough you can actually turn your feelings into reality (lmaaaaao). he tries to look super inner confident, like others’s opinions really don't matter to him, he just doesn't listen and they can never get to him, you can't force wooyoung to be or do anything he doesn't genuinely wants to, he's wooyoung, he's the synonym of self control. if he gets bothered, you'll get sliced, he's dangerous and you guys are close enough that he can just show it when he's uncomfortable. big party, big social life, a man of the night, trendy and cool, in with the kids

in privacy

dude's so chill and casual, familiar, literally giving the vibes of a big family that lives nearby each other. he's like so much more introverted, not only did I get the hermit but the 4 of cups at the same time. you see wooyoung quiet in the back during interviews? that's genuinely how he is casually, just vibing in his own head, in his own world. he doesn't move much, he likes things to stay the same forever and ever, if possible, he likes what he already knows. he's a very polite dude, "excuse me, please and thank you" seem to be natural part of his vocabulary, he treats people fairly like how they treat others, actually. very protective of his kind, would kill for those he loves, big big heart. he's not as flashy with his money or physical appearance, like how his style is mostly casual and comfortable gym clothes or how he spent years with that old ass iPhone 5 just because it still worked 😭😭😭☝️I don't think he keeps a lot to himself, he seems to give away his stuff to family and really really close friends, he doesn't care that much about being socially powerful, he likes genuine connections with those that are similar to him (example, moving from a company with a big name to follow a friend because he's genuinely happy with little things and moments). I think he's pretty quiet and private in general and very traditional for SURE, like "there's a proper way to treat people and exist in civilization". hobbies would include quality time with friends and family, arts like pictures, drawing, paintings, cooking, games. he loves company.

#ateez tarot #kpop tarot #ateez #celebrity tarot reading #wooyoung

[firstemcee]

”So, what’s really on your mind?”

Veneer x Male!Hip-Hop/Rap artist!Reader(can be read as female or gn, i jus feel like they’re male leaning. uses amab pronouns(?) or labels.)

Warnings: discussion of abusive (platonic)relationships. Reader is written to talk like how I do. No use of y/n.

wc: 822

Part 1 — Part 2 (you’re here)—

Summary: An evening stroll in a familiar park leads to running into a pop-star you’ve met before. Who knew he had so much to get off of his chest? Veneer can feel himself growing more and more fond of you as time passes.

As promised, this part focuses more on Veneer. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THE PEOPLE WHO HELPED ME!!! 😭🫶🏽 @miralunawritez @lexischococoveredblueberries @nym-blogs @alldoll3dup

The sun, dipping below the horizon, cast rays of golden light throughout the park. You found yourself walking through the simple space, the rhythmic beats of your favorite tracks in your ears as you admired the scenery(On A Clear Day - Oliver Hart a suggestion of a song i personally really like). The park was like an escape from the chaos of the world, one of the places where you could unwind and enjoy the simple pleasures.

As you made your way along the gravel trail, you spotted a familiar figure seated on a bench. Veneer sat casually, the ‘disguise hoodie’ he wore catching the last rays of sunlight. His green lips curved into a smile as he noticed you approaching. “Hm. What’s he doing here?”

"Well, if it isn't the master of rhymes…" Veneer greeted, his voice dripping with lingering confidence from the stage. You chuckled at the title, taking a seat beside him on the bench. The various animals and sounds of the earth did well to hide the awkward silence.

"Didn't expect to see you here," you remarked, sipping on a can of cola you had brought along. Veneer raised an eyebrow, tilting his body towards your sitting figure. "Honey, I'm everywhere. It's practically a public service."

The conversation flowed smoothly as you discussed everything from music to the downsides of fame. Veneer, used to having to entertain, shared anecdotes about his various encounters, sprinkling humor into every sentence. Your easygoing demeanor complemented his flamboyant one, creating a simple yet sweet dynamic.

As the laughter and jokes continued, a subtle shift occurred. Veneer, usually guarded behind his confident persona, seemed…contemplative. The playful shimmer in his eyes just seemed to dampen as he gazed into the distance. You couldn't help but notice, having looked into his interviews and content on your own time well enough to analyze his personality.

"So, what's really on your mind?" you asked, your typically laid-back demeanor taking on a more concerned tone. Veneer let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped just a bit. "You're perceptive, aren't you?" he mused, his usual smugness replaced by vulnerability as his elbow rested on his knee and his chin in his palm.

As the park settled into a dark evening, Veneer began to unravel the layers beneath the persona he’s built up over some time. He spoke about his sister, the abusive relationship hidden behind the scenes. His words made an image of a desperate desire to keep her happy at the cost of his own well-being.

Of course, all while keeping their secret safe. Out of all the things he would tell you, that would never escape his lips.

You listened intently, the usual humor you displayed simply fading from your expression. Veneer's eyes, usually vibrant with confidence, now held a mixture of sadness and frustration. Like they were dull. "Nobody should be treated like that, man." you said, your voice firm. Veneer, for a moment, looked like he had expected harsh judgment but found understanding instead. When he looked over at you, he seemed almost defeated.

"Yeah, well, it's complicated. I just want her to be happy, you know? It's like… an unbreakable loop," Veneer confessed, his hands now resting in his lap idly. You shook your head, the sympathy in your personality seeping through. "Nah, that's messed up. You can't be sacrificing yourself like that."

The park's peace held heavy silence as Veneer processed your words. He appreciated the genuine concern, the rare moment of someone seeing beyond the thrill of meeting a popstar or the basic ten questions. "You're…cool, you know?" he admitted, a hint of admiration in his gaze.

You chuckled, trying to bring back the familiar lightness to the conversation. "I mean, I did grow up spitting rhymes in my parent's basement. Not everyone's journey involves an illegal pet monkey." Veneer laughed, the sound surprisingly genuine in comparison to what you’ve seen online. "Yeah, yeah... I guess we all have our unique paths."

The night carried on with shared experiences, personal confessions, and a newfound friendship that went far beyond the simple facts of fame and struggles. Veneer, once confined to the glossy pages of tabloids, found relief in the unfiltered authenticity of the park conversation.

As the moon arose in the night sky, casting a soft glow on your faces, Veneer couldn't deny the growing crush that had taken root. It wasn't just about the rhymes or the laid-back charm. It was the person behind the vinyl, the one who saw him beyond the carefully constructed exterior.

The park, where you found each other once again, became almost like a sacred spot for shared confessions and the beginning of an unexpected connection. The world might know Veneer as the overnight sensation alongside his sister, but in that secluded area, he was just another person seeking understanding, finding comfort in the company of someone who saw him beyond the stage lights.

under no circumstances do i accept you posting my shit on other sites. don’t.

#trolls 3 #trolls band together #veneer #veneer x reader #velvet and veneer #veneer x reader fluff #mount rageous #slow burn #fanfic #new writer #veneer being emotional 😨

[sunkenma]

9:30PM

with oikawa tooru

766 words, fluff

“isn’t it about time you gave your boyfriend some of your attention?” 

your rampant typing comes to a rolling halt, lifting your gaze away from your laptop screen and onto your aforementioned boyfriend. at the doorway of your home office stands oikawa, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and a pout pressed on his pretty face. 

“sorry babe,” you rub the back of your head apologetically, simultaneously taking the chance to stretch out your arms, “i gotta finish my resume before the deadline tonight.” 

oikawa saunters over to your desk, the ghost of a grumbling complaint haunting his lips. he takes root behind you, weaving his arms around your neck to envelop you in the familiar warmth of his woody cologne and comforting hugs. you let yourself lean into his touch, feeling the stress weighing on your shoulders dissipate within moments. as expected from simply being in your boyfriend’s arms. his chin takes rest on the top of your head, curious hazel eyes sinking into your screen to look over what you’ve been so focused on for the entire day. so much so that you neglected him.

neglected is a dramatic word to use, but your boyfriend is one for theatrics.

“damn, i always forget how accomplished you are,” he whistles. “maybe i’m the lucky one to have such an amazing partner.” 

a whisper of bashful heat tickles the curve of your cheeks as you pinch his arm, as if that would be enough to stop the embodiment of cheekiness himself. he laughs in response, kissing the top of your head before continuing to engross himself in your resume.

“looks good,” he nods approvingly, shifting his position to lean closer to your screen. “but you’re forgetting one important job you’ve had for a while.” 

“wait, what? where?” 

your eyebrows furrow, eyes darting over the document to narrow down the detail that you had overlooked. perhaps in the flurrying midst of your stress and rapid typing, you had missed something. but you’re sure you included everything — all of your requirements and qualifications. 

shit, what were you missing?

“you forgot to put oikawa’s lover on your resume, duh.” 

…are you kidding me? 

you feel every thread of self-control in your body grow taut as you desperately hold back the urge to smack him and that stupidly handsome grin on his face. 

“shut the fuck up,” you grumble loudly, leaning back against the backrest of your chair as you feel your soul swim back to you. though, you can’t conceal the equally stupid and amused smile that sits on your lips.

“stop distracting me. the longer you stay here, the longer i have to work on this,” you say.

you roll your head up to look at him, eyes painted with a mischievous tint, enough to erase the shit-eating grin he’s still wearing, “and the longer you go without cuddles.” 

and you swear you’ve never seen oikawa move so quickly, not even when he's playing volleyball. 

THE NEXT DAY, as oikawa floats around the kitchen to clean up after breakfast, he catches sight of your resume haphazardly strewn on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“oh shit, did they forget this?” he wonders, wiping his hands on the hand towel before reaching over to the file neatly tucked into a clear folder. you were long gone by now, having left earlier than usual to get to a job interview.

but being the good boyfriend that he is, he still attempts to call you, to ask if you need him to drop the file off. as the buzz of the call continues to ring, he takes a peek through your resume once more. despite already perusing most of its contents the night before, he still feels the urge to reread it.

what can he say? you’re amazing and he’s incredibly proud of you. not to mention he’s madly in love with you. he’d never stop running after your shy self to remind you of that.

after three raspy rings of the call, the beep of your voicemail prods him to leave a message, “hey, you left your resume on the kitche—” 

his voice dulls into a silence, eyebrows crooking up as he reads the first job you had outlined on your resume. or rather, a copy of your resume that he quickly realizes was intentionally left behind for him to see. 

oikawa’s lover, from now until forever, the resume reads. 

a soft smile curls against his lips as he chuckles, still on the line with your voicemail. perhaps he doesn’t have to run for you after all.

#oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa scenarios #oikawa imagine #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa toru x you #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa drabble #oikawa #oikawa toru headcanons #oikawa tooru #hq oikawa #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu fluff #oikawa headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu!!

[deripmaver]

What’s The Point Of Elaine?

There are three eras of Casca in Berserk so far: Golden Age, Elaine, and Revived Casca. I find that within the fandom, Elaine is written off as not particularly worth analysis, that she just represents a transition state between the real Cascas, pre-eclipse and now revived. 

I do in some ways understand this feeling - Miura has said that in developing the story of Berserk, he ultimately decided in keeping Casca alive only because he needed a way to keep Guts’ rage intact, and not let the sands of time dull his need for revenge. This comes from an interview with Miura from 2017, that he spared Casca because she makes sure Guts never forgets the Eclipse. If I may editorialize, though, I think there are narrative reasons to keep a character alive, but that doesn’t mean said character isn’t being independently developed and doesn’t have their own inner world, especially when Miura has said repeatedly he’s trying to write real people and not archetypes. If I may also be snarky for a moment, considering one of my first interactions on Berserk tumblr had someone arguing that Casca stans read too much into Miura’s quote on her recovery to the point where you can’t even really assume he intended to have her recover - perhaps it’s reading too much into this quote to extrapolate that “Casca remained alive to fuel Guts’ anger = Casca as a character is only a plot device for Guts and Miura had no intention of developing her outside of that.”

Another reason to overlook her as a character that I do understand: Elaine is completely voiceless. She literally does not speak except for baby-ish noises from the time after eclipse until chapter 355, practically 275 chapters. For all of that time, we are given no indicating of how Casca is processing the eclipse (or not processing) - and so in some ways Elaine is just a narrative place holder as Kentaro Miura found his footing with her recovery. 

My intention with this post is to show that it is possible to gain a bit of insight into Casca’s feelings and emotions as Elaine from some key moments, even though she is never given a voice. Much like (in my opinion lol but also I’m right) Beast of Darkness is just a facet of Guts’ mind and not a separate being, ditto Femto for Griffith, Elaine is Casca, and she’s being written as Casca, just a shallow and surface level version of her. 

Elaine has these few shining moments where Casca comes through, showing that deep inside her mind, Casca is there, a terrified little sprite shielded by this childish outer shell, hiding from the world. First, when she jumps down the cliff during Conviction Arc:

Next, when she kills the men who attempt to rape her during the Winter’s Journey. 

I won’t post any more panels from that chapter lol. It would be better if there was just... A look into her mind during those moments, just for an instant. What made the actual Casca come through in those moments? How did she feel, suddenly being back in her body, in a world infinitely more terrifying than the one before she regressed? What happened to make her go back in, in her safe little cocoon of Elaine? 

Another moment where Casca comes through just for a moment is, in my opinion, one of the most powerful in the series: 

Casca has run to Griffith on the Hill of Swords. It’s not clear why - perhaps she remembers their closeness before the eclipse, or perhaps she’s being drawn to the moonlight boy, her son, in his body. All of a sudden, the unstable rock wall cracks, sending boulders tumbling towards her, and Guts isn’t close enough to get to her in time...

But Griffith is.

He protects her from the falling rocks, and we get the page posted above. This is the first time Casca has seen Griffith since he raped her during the eclipse. She starts to shake and sweat with him holding her still, her noises becoming terrified. She reaches out to him with a trembling hand, her eyes filling with tears. Her brand lets out a burst of blood, and her trauma and terror overwhelms her, while Griffith stares down at her impassively. Casca is still in there, and being confronted by her rapist again, she is absolutely terrified. This, to me, says so much about Casca in this state. Again, if we only could have gotten a glimpse into her mind at the moment, even if it was through the jumbled confusion of Elaine. I think it would have added so much.

I kept waiting for this scene to happen again with Casca revived, but at this point it hasn’t happened. Even with Casca in Falconia it hasn’t happened. MAYBE ONE DAYYYYYY.

There’s a particular look Casca gets when she’s terrified and dissociated, and that remains constant from the Golden Age, to Elaine, to post-revival. 

I also especially like that second panel, when she first wakes up as Elaine because her first instinct when terrified is to attack and bite Guts. It feels like a very Casca thing to do, and in fact that’s more or less what happens on their first meeting in the Golden Age, just a tragic perversion of it. Also, her expression is so similar to the one she made when she was begging Judeau not to die.

I think it’s worth noting that the impacts of Elaine on Casca are ongoing, and unlike some of the discussion I’ve seen, I don’t think anything that’s happened to her as Elaine will be brushed aside. As Elaine, we’re first introduced to her because she is absolutely terrified of all men, even her companions. 

This is reflected in the corridor of dreams, in my view, with the very unsubtle penis monsters (which I won’t post an image of LOL) - the association of men with sexual violence and sexual assault. Her close companions as Elaine were majority women, and this remained true after her revival. By the time Guts and Casca were reunited in Conviction arc, she seemed to have lost some of her mistrust of men, and him in particular - but of course that didn’t last long.

There’s also this imagery of her in a coffin, which is again reflected in the corridor of dreams.

Finally, and most interestingly, in chapter 372 it was pointed out to me that it seems Casca remembers her ordeal at the Tower of Conviction, and being surrounded by Falconia’s soldiers reminds her of the mob trying to burn her at the stake. 

There’s a lot to say also about Casca and Guts’ relationship and how his assault of her as Elaine impacted it, but I think that’s been discussed elsewhere and better than what I could. My point in writing this is to show that Miura was writing Elaine as Casca, and that there are moments where Casca seems to come to the surface and break through the protective façade. I think it could have only helped to give us just a brief glimpse into her mind in those moments, and it’s a detriment that there was nothing. In looking at the panels of Elaine, I think we can get a sense of where Casca’s recovery might go.

Interestingly, most of the moments I’ve shown here happen from before Farnese and co. join the group, and as the later arcs drag on I feel like Elaine gets goofier and less serious of a character, kind of like chestnut puck. Still, I still hold out hope that with Casca revived, even if she is in Falconia, we’ll start to see her process what happened to her as Elaine - especially if she comes across Luca and the girls, as I’m sure she will. 

Must protecc

#berserk meta #berserk #casca berserk #casca #gutsca

[kyleoreillylover]

Always Take Care of You

Sami Zayn x Fem!Black!Reader x Kevin Owens

After a pretty dull weekend (Nothing too special, just you, Kevin and Sami main-eventing WrestleMania, no big deal), your boys want to take care of you.

Word count: 2,303

tagged: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius @whatdoeseverybodywant @raya-hunter01 @afterdarkprincess

A/N: Zowens brainrot at the moment. That's it. This can be read as platonic or romantic, it is up to you! inspired by a zowens fanfic I read<3

Everything felt like too much yet not enough at the same time. The flashing lights of the cameras were blinding, the cacophony of voices echoing throughout Wrestlemania weekend like a relentless drumbeat.

But none of those could compare to the electricity that surged through your veins as you walked inside your hotel room, Kevin and Sami following behind you, your new Raw Women's Championship shimmering in your hands.

"I've never went inside her hotel room, we're best friends but there are some things that are just sacred," Kevin joked to an interviewer earlier that day, and you had nudged him with a smile, knowing that his jest was a cover for the genuine bond you shared. But he would follow you anywhere if it meant he could share in your success.

And as you carefully set all your titles onto the richly furnished dresser (now 5!!), your boys watched the glimmer in your eyes as the you stared at your Raw Women's Championship. The golden plate reflected the ambient glow of the room, and your face seemed to glow as well, and Sami and Kevin's hearts swelled with pride.

You had done the same with them yesterday when you had stood by them when they won the Tag Titles from Jimmy and Jey the previous night, cheering them on with unwavering support. Now, it was your moment, your time to revel in the glory you had rightfully earned.

"We did this." You whispered.

"You did this." Sami corrected, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. His voice was soft, but his words carried the weight of their meaning.

You turned to face them, the smile on your face widening. "No, we did this," you insisted, your eyes meeting each of theirs.

Kevin gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his blue eyes reflecting the pride and camaraderie that flowed between the three of you. "We did this, we fought for this together, and now we get to celebrate together." he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "This isn't just your victory, it's ours."

You breathed out, feeling the warmth of their friendship envelop you like a comforting blanket. "Ours."

Then you let out a giggle, and the tension that had been building up in the room suddenly dissipated, replaced by your shared laughter. It was a moment of pure joy, a moment where the pressures of the wrestling world melted away, leaving only the bonds of friendship and the thrill of victory.

"I can't believe we actually pulled it off," Sami chimed in, his voice filled with disbelief and elation.

"I can't believe Adam actually gave me the main event over Roman," Your voice was filled with awe and disbelief. "I can't believe he hates him that much that he would give me the spot over him," You chuckled, shaking your head in wonder. "I feel bad for Cody, but it ain't my fault that I'm just that good," You added with a playful smirk.

Kevin let out a hearty laugh, clapping you on the back. "You earned every bit of this spotlight, and Roman can take a backseat for once." Kevin wasn't gonna let you diminish everything you did.

Sami nodded along with a soft grin, his eyes shimmering with pride. "You've worked so hard for this moment, and no one deserves it more than you."

As the adrenaline of the victory began to subside, a sense of contentment settled over the room. For a moment, there were no rivalries, no feuds, just three friends that made their way from the Indies basking in the glow of their shared success.

"Now go shower, you stink of victory!" Kevin interrupted with a playful shove, breaking the momentary solemnity.

Typical Kevin. It seemed like he was on a sugar rush from stealing all your snickers bars from the press conference, and you knew that you were gonna have to monitor his candy intake if you wanted to get any sleep tonight.

You chuckled, swatting at him half-heartedly. "Hey, I earned this stench," you retorted, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Sami smirked, leaning against the dresser. "Yeah, but the rest of us don't have to suffer through it," he teased, earning himself a mock glare from you.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your face. "Fine, fine," you relented, giving them both a playful glare before disappearing into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the room.

When you came out of the shower, a bonnet wrapped around your head and soft robe draped over your shoulders, you found Kevin and Sami sprawled out on the plush hotel bed, talking amongst themselves.

You plopped down onto the bed beside them, the softness of the mattress a welcome relief after the long day of wrestling and celebrations. You immediately cuddled into Sami, making him smile and wrap an arm around you, while Kevin made room for you with a playful shove but then he pulled you both into a tight embrace, sandwiching you between him and Sami.

"I'm tired. So, so tired." You mumbled into the cozy embrace of both men, feeling the exhaustion from the day's events finally catching up to you.

Kevin let out a sympathetic chuckle. "Well, you did just win the Raw Women's Championship in the main event of WrestleMania, I think being tired is allowed," he remarked with a teasing tone, though his eyes betrayed a genuine fondness for you.

"I thought all that chocolate you ate was supposed to give you energy," Sami added with a smirk, earning a playful smack on the arm from you.

"Kevin stole all the chocolate, remember?" you shot back, sticking out your tongue at Kevin who grinned sheepishly in response.

You winced slightly as you shifted to get more comfortable, the soreness from the match still lingering in your muscles. Sami noticed and reached over to grab a nearby pillow, gently placing it behind your back for added support.

"Better?" he asked with a warm smile.

You nodded gratefully, sinking deeper into the embrace of your friends. "Much better, thanks," you replied, feeling the tension easing from your muscles as you settled in.

"How much does it hurt?" Kevin asked, his voice soft with concern as he traced your scar.

You winced again, the memory of the stinging pain flooding back to you. "Bianca whipped her braid into my ribs, how do you think my side feels?" You answered with a playful grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"I think I blacked out when she hit me with it," You added with a chuckle, though the pain was still very real.

You leaned into Kevin's touch when he traced your scar, the warmth of his hand providing a comforting reassurance. "It's not too bad," you replied, though you couldn't deny the lingering ache in your side.

Sami's expression softened with empathy. "Well, you bruised her eye, so I'd say it's a fair trade," he quipped, trying to inject some humor into the situation.

"Yeah, because me punching her equals instant karma," you replied with a laugh, closing your eyes when Kevin and Sami chuckled, the sound a soothing melody in the quiet of the hotel room.

For a moment, the three of you simply existed in the space, the weight of the day's events mingling with the warmth of friendship. Despite the pain and exhaustion, being surrounded by Kevin and Sami made everything feel bearable.

You hummed when you felt Sami's hands gently massaging your shoulders, the tension gradually melting away under his skilled touch. "You're tired too, you don't have to—"

"I want to," Sami interrupted softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You've carried us through so much, it's the least I can do to help you relax."

You smiled gratefully, feeling a rush of warmth spread through your chest at Sami's words. You wanted to protest, but Sami's hand working out the knots on your shoulders felt too good to resist. Instead, you let out a contented sigh, allowing yourself to fully surrender to the moment.

"Thank you." You murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into Sami's touch. "Both of you, thank you."

Kevin reached over to squeeze your hand, his eyes reflecting the depth of his affection for you. "For what? You're the one that won the title tonight. You're the reason we're all here," he said sincerely, his voice warm with admiration.

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. "No, the reason we're all here is because you two bozos are the best friends a person could ask for," You said, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. "20 years of laughter, tears, victories, and defeats. You've been there for me through it all, and I wouldn't trade that for anything in the world."

Kevin chuckled, a hint of emotion in his voice. "Bozos, huh? Well, I guess we'll take that as a compliment," he replied with a playful grin, squeezing your hand in return.

Sami nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with affection. "Yeah, wouldn't want to be anyone else's bozos," he said, his voice tinged with fondness.

"I just spilled my heart out to you and the only thing you guys hear is "bozos," you finished, pretending to pout, though the playful twinkle in your eyes gave away your true feelings.

Kevin and Sami burst into laughter, the sound filling the room with warmth and light. You would never get tired of hearing the sound of their laughter and being the cause of it. You loved making them happy, being the cause of their grins and overall happiness. You just loved them in general...

"I guess we're just used to your insults by now," Kevin quipped, brining you out of your thoughts, earning himself a playful swat from you.

"You love it," you retorted with a grin, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you like a comforting blanket.Sami wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a tight hug. "We do," he agreed, his voice filled with sincerity. "We love you, champ."

You leaned into the embrace, feeling the weight of the day's events finally catching up to you. But in that moment, surrounded by the warmth and laughter of your friends, you knew that everything was going to be okay.

"I love you both too." You mumbled into the embrace, feeling a surge of gratitude and love wash over you. It was moments like these, the quiet ones filled with shared laughter and heartfelt sentiments, that made all the struggles and sacrifices worth it.

You laid down on the bed, sandwiched between Kevin and Sami, feeling their warmth enveloping you like a protective cocoon. Sami continued to massage your shoulders, his touch gentle and soothing, while Kevin rested his head on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. It was a simple moment of closeness, but it was everything you needed after the whirlwind of WrestleMania weekend.

"Remind me to owe you for massaging me like this," you murmured with a contented sigh, feeling the tension in your muscles slowly dissipating under Sami's skilled touch.

Sami sighed contentedly, his fingers working magic on your shoulders. "Consider it payment for all those times you've had our backs in and out of the ring," he replied softly, his voice warm with affection.

Kevin chuckled, his breath tickling your neck. "Oh, don't worry, I'll make sure to collect on that debt if he's too nice not too," he teased, though there was a genuine warmth in his voice.

As the laughter faded into comfortable silence, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fully bask in the warmth and love of your friends. In that moment, surrounded by the people who had been with you through thick and thin, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and peace wash over you.

WrestleMania weekend had been a whirlwind of emotions, but as you lay there with Kevin and Sami by your side, you knew that no victory or championship could ever compare to the bond you shared with them.

"Go to sleep, champ," Kevin murmured, his voice soft with affection.

"Can we get Waffle House when we wake up?" You groggily asked, earning a playful groan from Kevin and a wide smile from Sami.

"Of course we can, as long as you promise not to order everything on the menu this time," Sami replied with a laugh, his voice filled with fondness.

You grinned, feeling the exhaustion finally catching up to you as you snuggled deeper into the embrace of your friends. "I won't," you mumbled sleepily, feeling the comforting weight of sleep beginning to pull you under.

"Whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy, we'll make it happen," Kevin said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

With those words echoing in your mind, you let yourself drift off into a peaceful slumber, surrounded by the warmth and love of your two best friends.

Sami kissed the top of your head gently, his touch light and filled with affection. "Goodnight, champ," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands squeezed Kevin's as a silent kiss in the night as well.

Kevin followed suit, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Sweet dreams," he murmured, his voice warm with love.

There had been so much noise over the past few days — press, fans, interviews, and the roar of the crowd. You cherished that, loved the connection with the fans, the love the three of you had been getting.

But in that moment, in the quiet intimacy of the hotel room, where all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your friends' breathing, a comforting lullaby that carried you into a deep and restful sleep, was what you truly wanted.

And that was worth more than any championship title or victory in the ring.

#wwe x reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x black reader #nxt x reader #sami zayn imagine #sami zayn fanfiction #sami zayn #sami zayn x reader #sami zayn x fem reader #kevin owens x reader #kevin owens imagine #kevin owens fanfiction #kevin owens x fem reader #zowens #zowens x reader #wwe x fem reader #wwe x oc #wwe x y/n #wwe x you #sami zayn smut

[moo-blogging]

Late night thoughts #76.5:

Modern Au - CEO Levi (Short version)

You finally got accepted into your dream company in another city. You thought your dull life was finally getting better. However, your colleagues looked down on you being a small town girl. They made fun of you and gave you lots of work. Still, you sucked it up and bore with it, hoping to prove yourself one day.

Things got worst when your colleagues boycotted you during lunch time. They commented how your homecooked meals stink the pantry, pressuring you to eat your lunch cold or eat somewhere else. While looking for a quiet place to eat your cold lunch, you came across "heaven", the 47th floor.

The whole floor was a pantry with a single table and two chairs. There was a ceiling to ground window showcasing the sky and a whole wall of mirror reflecting the sky. After a week of inspection, it was safe to conclude that nobody used the pantry here, or you never met anyone while using it. You spent your lunch there everyday, enjoying a stolen moment of peace from your hectic department.

One day, when you were having lunch, the lift went ‘ding!’ and a man alighted from the lift. He was unbuttoning his grey suit with one hand, showing his black buttons up underneath while his other hand ran through his hair. Your eyes met and he stopped for a while. You held your breath. Your head went blank. But the man simply nodded and headed toward the counter. He filled up the electronic kettle. The sound of water replaced the awkward silence.

'Coffee? Or Tea?' a deep voice rang. You jumped at the sudden question and stammered 'tt-tea please.'

He clicked the kettle on in a swift motion and took 2 cups from the cupboard. You were mentally looking for alternative places to eat your lunch.

"You can eat here." The man said as if he read your mind. He was leaning against the counter, wiping the cups with a white towel. You looked at his face while he looked at yours. You nodded in gratitude.

After that, you started seeing him in the pantry. He never ate anything but plain tea. You felt awkward eating alone so you made extra for him. He always finished everything and helped you washed the food container before you left for your department. You asked for his name one day. He thought for a while, and said “I’ll tell you next time.” You told him you would tell him your name when he told you his. He smirked.

After 8 months of working in the company, you received an internal call for an interview at the 47th floor. When you reached there, you saw the man you had lunch with for the past 2 months. You asked if he was there for an interview too. He said yes. As you talked, one of the mirrors on the wall swinged opened, revealing a tall man. You watched in shock.

The tall man spoke “Mr Ackerman, the office is ready.”

The man next to you nodded and turned to you. “You have passed the interview. You will be my PA starting today.” And he held his hand out, “My name is Levi. May we work fine together, y/n.”

Levi’s eyes gleamed as he smirked.

Levi’s POV (does it count as POV?):

(Levi had been watching you having lunch in his personal pantry from his office for a couple of months. From the outside, his office windows were mirrors, but he could see the outside clearly from the inside. Initially it came as a shock, but soon your presence gave his cold, quiet office some warmth as you hummed while microvawing your food, or how you stretched your back or waved at planes in the sky. He forbade other people from visiting him at his office during your lunch time, just to have a quiet moment with you even though you never knew he was there. It was an accident he walked into you. He forgot about your lunch time and you both saw each other. He took this chance as a change, often waiting for you at the pantry just to sit next to you silently. He always wanted to say something, but he did not know what to say. He did not want to seem like a creepy stalker or do anything that would scare you away. He learnt your name when you started to show up in his pantry, but never had the guts to say it out loud. Unbeknownst to him, he would smile whenever he watched you from his office, you were his little daisy, bringing joy so small yet so impactful to his life. And he decided to keep his little daisy close to him.)

#here's the short version #hope you enjoy :) #levi fluff #CEO levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x y/n #midnight thoughts #levi ackerman x reader #aot x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi fanfiction #aot fanfiction

[bardic-tales]

OC Interview: Brennan Draig

Thank you so much for the tag, @blind-the-winds. I really enjoyed reading your answers. I also think the interview style for this was brilliant. I've already did this for myself.

Rules: Answer the following questions for an OC of your choice.

I did something like this many years ago for Cyras, the protagonist of Cold as Ice, and I loved it. It helped me really sink into her character.

I decided to do this with Brennan, the love interest of Flight of the Dragon. Brennan is a 1200-year-old silver dragon who is also one of the rulers a city-state in the Olessan Region.

Please be aware of the following triggers: talks of death. Flight of the Dragon is set in a dark fantasy world, so very dark themes apply to it.

Knight-Errant Brennan Draig

1. Are you named after anyone?

In the world, Brennan is not named after anyone. I had debated whether he would be named after a relative or not, but ultimately decided that he wouldn't be.

As Flight of the Dragon was originally wrote to be low fantasy and exist on our planet, Brennan was originally written as King Arthur. I got his name from the Irish name Brennan (sorrow) and Welsh word Draig (dragon).

2. When was the last time you cried?

Brennan never cries. He believes that in order to make changes in the world that action is required. This is why he rushes to the cathedral to protect a newborn Alystin and her mother and agrees to train Alystin in martial and ranged weapons in FOTD.

There was one pivotal moment when he did cry. After he confronts Jhaer and his clutch is completely destroyed, he is running on pure adrenaline. The chief god appears before him and tells him that in exchanged for his freedom Brennan needs to fulfill the promise all silver dragons pledged to Amés. He vows to live his life for Amés and free all of the dragon souls that Jhaer is using to fuel her blood magick.

After the adrenaline wears off and he is far away from his castle / lair, Brennan breaks down and cries. He mourns the mate and children that died in Jhaer's siege.

Interesting that Jhaer was originally Morgana from the legends of King Arthur.

3. Do you have any kids?

Brennan lost his mate, Beatrix, and children in the siege let loose by the Enethian necromancer, Ellarian Jhaer. The only ones that are left are the twins named Aldrien and Palar. He sent them away to learn from the golden dragon: Kalzeruth.

He also has one more child who survived the seige named Kanderth. Kanderth becomes corrupted, raised as a great draconic lich, and works with Jhaer. Brennan is the one who lays Kanderth to rest.

He and Alystin will become the mother and father of Flame. They have two hybrid children together. These children are the ancestors of modern men and drakl. Drakl are dragonmen and are at war with men.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

Although he is considered a wise wyrm, Brennan can't help but use sarcasm on occasion. He tries to lead by sincerity, integrity, and candor, but those sarcastic moments tend to shine through when he is dealing with Jhaer or her cult.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

The first thing that Brennan notices about people is their eyes. He is fond of saying that the eyes are windows to the soul.

Brennan has a draconic ability that allows him to see auras and determine if someone is friend or foe. This ability is triggered by looking into the eyes of the target. The world around him becomes ghostly grey hues. The Wraith, the anti-hero protagonist from Cold as Ice, has a similar ability from her draconic ancestry. Some could say that this comes from the father of the modern dragons.

6. What's your eye color?

From my notes in Flight of the Dragon.

Brennan Draig has eyes almost the color of silver. When he uses any magick, they will glow a powder blue. His left eye is clouded a dull grey with a darker silver around the outer edge of the iris. A vertical, thick raised scar darts from right above his left eyebrow, runs down his eyelid, and stops at the beginning of his cheek.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

During the early Age of Men, civilization told sagas instead of showing movies. That technology doesn't exist until the Age of Steam.

Brennan enjoys stories about the great battles his clutch fought and the dangerous journeys they made. These stories were to record and preserve their culture and things that the Elders thought was important for future generations.

With that in mind, he doesn't care one way or the other about the endings.

8. Any special talents?

Brennan has a knack for languages.

As a dragon, he has most of the talents that you would normally associate with an ancient wyrm. He is immune to cold and can exhale a cone of icy air which freezes most of everything it touches.

One of the special talents that he personally teaches his offspring is the ability to use body magick to shift bones, wings, and flesh into a human form or beast. This is a painful process that the dragons tend to either spend their time in human or draconic forms.

Once Alystin becomes his dragon knight, she and Brennan will often share telepathy, pain, and even something simple as hormone changes.

As a dragon, he has impressive flight. He will often tell Alystin to mount him, so they could transverse the world quicker through the skies, but she insists that she would never disrespect him like that as he is not a beast of burden. Brennan loves to soar.

9. Where were you born?

Brennan was born in the northern forests of the Olessa region. These forests are old-growth forests that was inspired by forests in England.

When he was only a young dragon, he was left in these forests and told only to survive. His father thought that this would help him when it was time for him to pass onto the Ven plane. Brennan would take over and rule after that.

10. What are your hobbies?

There are several hobbies that Brennan enjoys. when he was the ruler of Seralia, he enjoyed falconry. He enjoyed teaching the young birds of prey to hunt wild animals for food.

Brennan enjoys reading. There were many times that he could be found in Adwen ferch Afan's library bent over old scrolls and tomes.

With Eternity threatening to end the Planes of Existence, he doesn't have time to practice the hobbies that he enjoyed.

11. Have you any pets?

Outside of his falcons that didn't make it out of Adwen ferch Afan when Jhaer besieged them, he travels with a malamute named Emray.

Emray is Alystin's dog. He stands about 26 inches in height from his shoulder and weighs 95 pounds with a plumed tail that is held over his back. Emray is very loyal to Alystin, even going so far as attacking Brennan after the Huntsman is burned to the ground. However, once he realized that Brennan wasn't going to hurt his master, Emray would become his best friend.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

There were several outdoor games that Brennan would play with his flight. Most of these sports were based on his knights' warrior skills. There were competitions in archery, wrestling, stone throwing, and sword play.

Brennan engaged in running and swimming. They would play a ball game with stick and ball. In other communities, it wasn't uncommon for someone to be hurt or killed, as early Olessans tend to play rough. Women were not allowed to participate in these games, but they would gather and watch their partners.

13. How tall are you?

Human-form

Brennan stands 7 feet 2 inches. He is one of the tallest characters that I have, and his height is inspired by Johann Petursson and André René Roussimoff.

Dragon-form

As an ancient wyrm, Brennan tends to stand 120 feet. He has a 35-foot body and neck length, 50-foot tail, 150-foot max wingspan, and weighs over 640 tons. He is rarely in this form as he knows that it inspires terror in his follows. It actually surprises him when Alystin accepts him.

14. Favorite subject in school?

There are no schools during the early Age of Men. Education was provided through private tutors. Only a handful of early Olessans could afford to educate their sons. This is seen when Brennan sent away the twins to learn beneath the tutelage of Kanderth.

Brennan's favorite thing to learn would be soaring through the heavens.

During Flight of the Dragon, after Alystin asks him about a time he was truly terrified, he recalls to him the first time he spent among the clouds. He was frightened as his wings became slick with dew, sending him plummeting toward the ground. At the last moment, he unfurrowed his massive wings and righted himself at the last moment. He tells her that he could have given up and died, but he pushed forward, as she will have to during the fight with Eternity.

15. Dream job?

Despite railing against his destiny when he was younger, Brennan was always met to follow in his father's footsteps and rule his region. He once wanted to be a poet, a storyteller responsible for keeping the history and tradition of his people alive, but that quickly fell apart when his father was fatally wounded during an assassination attempt.

Now, he wishes to recapture Adwen ferch Afan, unite all of the Olessan region, and have Alystin take her place beside him.

#tumblr games #writeblr #oc: brennan draig #wip: flight of the dragon #tw: death

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. Based on everyone’s convos about the Papotin's trailer and Brigitte’s potential response, I wrote this piece. I’m looking forward to his whole answer because the snippet we already got is making me melt even if I’m super angry that someone actually asked that. I’ll probably write something after the interview on Saturday, but for the moment …

(PS - to the Anon mentioning the Elle interview, the quote from Brigitte was: “And by the way, Emmanuel was never in my class. Any fool who claims that I used to read his poems and his homework is lying.”)

She was having a great time watching this interview from her spot safely back in the corner with the cameras and the editor’s bank. While she loves her husband, and is happy to support him in whatever way he needs her, including being there for every major TV interview, some of them were a lot more boring than this one.

But that joy came to a crashing halt when she heard him read out the question (could it even be called that?) passed to him on a sheet of paper: “He is the president, he must set a good example, not marry his teacher.”

She couldn’t breathe. Once again, she could feel the hard, judgment filled stares of everyone around her, could hear the phantom ghosts of the years in Amiens parroting their venom over and over in her head until she wanted to run, to hide. It was a trauma that never really went away, for no matter how much the passage of time had dulled their words and the feelings, one snide remark, one snarky comment, one question like this brought it all back to the surface.

“I never taught him!” she wanted to scream. “He was never in my class!” But she knew that just like those comments had been received previously, no one would listen. No one cared about the truth, about the reality.

For his part across the room and surrounded by others who were a mix of shocked at the audacity of the question or giving approving glances to the contents, he was stewing with rage.

“Set a good example,” he wanted to scoff. Where was this outrage when Hollande fled like a coward from his mistress’ apartment with his silly little jacket and helmet on his silly little motorbike? Or when Sarkosy divorced and remarried within a year - his first year in office? Or how about all the secret families housed at the Élysée? Or affairs that kept the President from actually governing?

But he, a man who has loved and has been faithful to one remarkable woman his whole life, a man who has lived a fairytale (at least, that’s how he would describe it), he gets told he’s the bad example?

He is half a mind to lay into the sexism and ageism underlying the question, or to point out that hypocrisy in blatant cutting words. Another part of him wants to launch into a soliloquy extolling everything he loves about his wife (even if that would take ages) just so someone would maybe finally understand just how of a no-brainer it was for him to fall in love with her. There’s even a small part of him that just wants to call it quits right now and storm out of the interview. He can’t keep putting her through this, can’t keep watching people tear them apart, tear her apart.

But he knows he can’t do any of that. So instead, he settles on the most obvious truth he can think of, the simplest way to express the complexity of his feelings, the depth of his love. “Love is something that is stronger than you, and it transcends you.”

His love for his wife is, was, and will always be stronger than him, just like he knows her love for him is, was, and will always be stronger than her. It’s why, 15 years of marriage later, 2 presidential elections and 5 and a half years in office, 7 grandkids, kids’ weddings and divorces, and happiness and heartbreak, but not in equal measure, they are still together, still as in love now as they ever were, despite whatever stupid comments anyone else makes. Their love is stronger than everything (see - a fairytale).

She can hear him responding despite the buzzing in her ears, knows he’s talking about love, his love for her, she can just hear that word love over the din in her head. It’s enough to keep her grounded for now, return her back to reality where there’s still more questions to go and a lunch afterwards.

After the interview, they second they unmike him he is at her side, whispering, “are you okay?”

Smiling softly at him, she replied, “do you love me?”

“Of course I love you,” he answered her instantly, forcefully.

“Then I’ll be okay,” she stated simply, slipping her hand into his with a gentle squeeze. “As long as you love me, I’ll always be okay.”

Helloooo fanfic anon #2! ❤️

This piece was really beautiful! At some point, I almost forgot I was reading a fanfic and not actually my thoughts... or even their own thoughts!

It’s interesting how we all seem to have reacted the same way with that particular question on the teasing video... really really curious about the all thing.

Thank you so much, fanfic Anon #2! ❤️❤️❤️

#fanfic #fanfic anon 2

[reflectismo]

The Two Virgins cover, despite police confiscations here, did not create as big a stir as Jim Morrison (of the Doors) with his alleged indecent exposure in Florida. Lennon wasn't particularly impressed by what happened.

"I suppose the show wasn't going too well, so Jim decided to liven things up a bit. If he likes doing that sort of thing that's OK. If he did do it, I would have liked to see him do it properly and have intercourse on stage."

Lennon still thinks that the Beatles have more influence on young people than Jesus Christ, an opinion which brought a heavy load of wrath upon him when first mentioned it two years ago.

"Some ministers even stood up in their churches and agreed with it then," said Lennon. "Kids are still more influenced by us than by Jesus Christ. As it happens, I'm very big on Jesus Christ."

"I've always fancied him because he was honest. He said in his book that anyone who followed his ways would be knocked. He was so right about that."

Lennon said that he liked Jesus Christ – "I'm always saying his name and talking about him " (the word Christ is featured several times in the Beatles latest hit, 'Ballad of John and Yoko'. which shoots into the Top Ten this week).

John Lennon interviewed by Ritchie Yorke, included in New Musical Express (June 7, 1969)

#John Lennon #The Beatles #Jim Morrison #Ritchie Yorke #1969 #(Never a dull moment reading his interviews) #New Musical Express

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hi! Weird ask: but do you have any podcast recs where the voices are mainly British ? (Including Irish and Scottish). I know it’s silly but I like to have podcasts on in the background and I find American voices too distracting. I really like wooden overcoats , Magnus archives and the beef and dairy network. Thanks 😊

I do! Here's 20 podcasts from around the UK and Ireland that I've quite enjoyed:

The Amelia Project: Comedy. The Amelia Project is a secret organisation, highly specialised in faking people's deaths! A new client each episode, with their own wacky backstories, followed by the client and interviewer planning how to fake the death. Very funny and never a dull moment.

The Antique Shop: Urban Fantasy. Maya, a university student in desperate need of work, finds a part-time job at an old antique shop under the eye of the enigmatic Madam Norna and surrounded with items far from mundane. A new customer every episode, and a new item each time, every one as strange and interesting as the last.

I Am In Eskew: Horror. Tales from a man living in something which desperately wants to be a city, and from an investigator who was, in her words, hired to kill a ghost. Told with gentle voices and unending rain. Some of the most creative horror I've encountered, and I really enjoy the writing style too.

The Lost Cat Podcast: Horror (Cosmic, Soft), Weird Fiction(?). A man loses parts of himself, befriends strange entities, and drinks an awful lot of wine as he searches for his missing cat. Fun horror which values kindness and connection, with great writing which has always stuck with me but is also just the right amount of cliché to be very satisfying in the moment.

Lost Terminal: Sci-fi, Hopepunk. Gentle podcast about a lonely AI living in a space station as he contemplates life, learns more about the world around him, and makes friends. Really charming, great music, takes a respectful look into mental health (including anxiety, depression, ocd, did, loneliness) and talks about all kinds of fun topics like radio, D&D, orbital mechanics, and plants. Big favourite of mine.

Maps of the Lost: Supernatural, New Weird(?), Urban Fantasy, Light Horror. A guidebook style podcast to the strange happenings, people, places, and creatures around the UK. A few of these per episode in an almost microfiction format, all really fun and creative, and read in a wonderfully soothing voice.

Middle:Below: Supernatural, Mystery, Adventure, Comedy & Horror Elements. Ghost adventures! Humans Taylor and Heather, Gil the Ghost, and occasionally Sans the Cat travel to the Below, the land of ghosts, to solve mysteries and to help or contain the spirits that live there. This one makes me feel a bit like a kid again, it's very fun and has really crisp audio.

Modem Prometheus: Urban Fantasy, (Horror?). From the same team as Lost Terminal, this is a newer podcast featuring 'modern folktales', stories which feel like myths but are set in the city in the modern day. Each one tells it's own story, but in a shared world established by subtle consistant elements and sneaky references to the other tales. Good audio, music, writing, and I like the narrator's voice.

Monstrous Agonies: Supernatural. "Agony Aunt" radio show (where listeners can write in with their problems and receive advice), but for the supernatural in a modern world where humans, former humans, and people who were never human, live together. Featuring one of the most soothing voices in audio drama, really well written, supportive, full of fantastic advice, and very queer. Another big favourite of mine.

Murray Mysteries: Comedy, Supernatural. A queer, comedic, modern, and delightfully faithful adaptation of Dracula. Taking the form of Mina's podcast, I really enjoy how it's subtley altered the characters to fit a modern setting.

Neighbourly: Horror, Supernatural, (New Weird?), Some Sci-Fi Elements. Welcome to Little Street, where behind each door lives one or more residents with their own strange lives and curious secrets. Narrator has a great voice and you can never be quite sure what flavour of strangeness you'll be in for.

The Orphans: Sci-Fi, Thriller, (Horror?): While I could spoil this podcast and it'd still be great, I'm not going to. I will say it's a very well made, far future sci-fi featuring AI, unethical science, quality worldbuilding, heart-crushing tragedies, and a dash of political intrigue.

The Petrol Station: Horror. A short podcast featuring stories of the weird encounters of a petrol station attendant living in an isolated British village. If you enjoyed TMA, you'll probably like this a lot as well, it's very well written and I have all my fingers crossed for new episodes.

The Secret of St Kilda: Mystery? Thriller-ish? Cult Horror? Unsure. Podcast about a former conman who moves to the mysterious island of St Kilda, fleeing his past and into the arms of the strange island cult, who both think they need him, and deeply distrust him.

Spirit Box Radio: Supernatural, Mystery, Horror Elements. After the famous and supposedly powerful radio psychic Madam Marie goes missing, her enthusiastic young assistant takes over in her place. The first, but certainly not only, problem is he's never had much talent for the arcane before... Not that he can remember learning much to begin with, anyway.

Tartarus: Horror, Sci-Fi. An astrobiologist gets a job at a research facility in Antarctica which isn't quite what she'd expected. Along with the tearse station manager, and facility AI, she finds herself now responsible for protecting humanity from the monsters contained within. Really new but full of promise, looking forward to seeing where it goes.

The Tower: New Weird? Magical Realism? Idk. Short, meditative podcast about a young woman who decides to climb a seemingly endless tower. Modern setting with it's own delightful ancient lore. Fantastic music, quality soundwork, strange, reflective and enchanting. By the same folks as Middle:Below (Above).

VAST Horizon: Sci-Fi (space), Horror, Thriller(?). An agronomist tasked with kickstarting agriculture on a new world wakes on the ship before they arrive, to discover something has gone horribly wrong. The ship is adrift and riddled with issues, and nobody but the malfuctioning AI is left aboard... Right? She must do her best to save the ship and herself, and work out what happened. Stellar piece of audio by Fool & Scholar, who also do arctic horror podcast The White Vault, which has a very international cast and also highly recommended.

Victoriocity: Mystery, Adventure, Steampunk, Comedy. In an alternate steampunk 1887 London, an inspector and a journalist team up to solve a bizzare mystery, possibly even a conspiracy. Full cast, great sound design, full of wacky characters.

We Fix Space Junk: Sci-fi, Comedy, Adventure. An interstellar repairwoman, her AI best friend, and their brand new fugitive socialite assistant travel the stars to complete various tasks at the behest of the evil monolith of a company they are in debt to. A new job every episode, full cast, crisp audio and sound design.

I hope you can find one here which appeals to you!

#audio drama #podcast recommendations #the amelia project #the antique shop #i am in eskew #the lost cat podcast #lost terminal #maps of the lost #middle:below #modem prometheus #monstrous agonies #murray mysteries #the orphans #neighbourly #the secret of st kilda #the petrol station #spirit box radio #tartatus #the tower #vast horizon #victoriocity #we fix space junk #sorry if any of this reads strange I got dozy while typing it #█████ posts

[tteokdoroki]

had it | k.bakugou.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 4.5K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff, comfort.

♡ summary: your pro hero husband is a show off, always has and always will be... but when his big ego gets in the way of you doing your job, you give him little piece of your mind..

♡ warning(s): please read ! mentions of violence, i gave reader a quirk?? bakugou with a daughter ok literally nothing. oh and angst if you squint.

♡ author’s note(s):  hi besties!! happy birthday to meee!! today i’m dropping a fic that’s been a long time coming, its a short and fluffy little piece with domestic baku bc i love him with babies n kids ok ok!! i hope you all have a lovely day <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

some say that working for a pro hero is an honour, no matter what the position is. some may work behind the scenes— creating gear and suits that support the pros protecting their cities or livelihoods. others are in charge of things like reports, PR and even physical health. everyone plays an important role in a hero's career. there’s never a dull moment working in a team supporting the pros, especially if that pro was dynamight.

the offices for katsuki bakugou’s hero agency were always buzzing; usually because the clean up team were rushing through with stacks upon stacks of receipts and paperwork from the damage done during bakugou’s patrols— other times it would be his secretaries gossiping about how good he looks in his winter costume because damn did that tight black shirt do his arms justice but usually it was just because of the PR team contacting media outlets with excuses for bakugou’s potty mouth.

working for the hot headed blonde was more laid back than it seemed however, the man himself was rarely ever in the office as the number two hero but out on missions instead, the pay was pretty decent and no one ever really faced his angry wrath nor his sailor like mouth unless they had royally fucked up on their job. katsuki bakugou was someone to admire, he never gave a damn about what people had to say about him— he only cared about getting the job done and maybe that’s why most people enjoyed their time under the dynamight agency.

particularly this time, right around noon.

the doors to the floor of the secretary offices fly open, crashing loudly against the walls and drawing the staff from their daily work. this office space is around ten floors up and somehow you’ve made it in record time today. “where is he?” your voice crawls through the entrance of the room, settling over the workers like a thick fog— commanding, menacing and soft all at the same time. newbies cower in their boots, confused at what’s going on and it’s safe to presume those who have been working here for years have yet to give them the run down. “don’t make me ask again.” you add, eyes darkening as you cast your gaze across the room.

an intern approaches you, visibly shaking with fear which makes you loosen your stance and raise an eyebrow toward them. “he-uh... he just went for his lunch break—“ the stutter, gulping under the stare of another highly ranked pro hero. “in his...office— ma’am!” they stumble through their words, hiding behind the ungodly amount of paperwork that's been dumped into their hands. you make a mental note to chew bakugou out on the load his interns have been getting as well as your prior reasons for coming to his agency.

nonetheless you shake your head and drop the frown, a sweet smile quickly replacing the look that could put anyone six feet under if you really tried. with a tap to the side of your head, the visor to your hero costume rises above your eyes— allowing you to give the poor little intern a cheeky wink as thanks. “‘ppreciate it darling, have a good one!” you thank them properly with a ruffle to their hair, resuming your previous stance as you march the rest of the way through the office and kick open the door at the end of the room.

the intern sags, a whimper of relief passing from tired lips while they wipe at the sweat forming on their brow. they’d not even encountered their boss yet and they’d already come face to face with a top pro hero. “w-what’s her deal?”

a chuckle to the left of the poor kid startles them out of their mind; but they relax upon realising it’s just another one of dynamight’s secretaries— haruto, who’d apparently been working at the agency since it started up. “that’s nightsky, her quirk is lullaby, which allows her to control certain people if she hits the right note. she can also put them to sleep, if she really wants to,” the intern now perks up, remembering you from countless interviews on tv. you ranked pretty highly too, managing to the reach the top five this year along with others like shoto and deku. “she owns the hero agency across the street, herself and dynamight have been going at it ever since. it’s like they’re elderly lovers or somethin‘.”

“d-do you think they are? lovers like you say?” the intern asks a little too excitedly, touching at their messy hair from where you’d ruffled it. a crimson blush warms their cheeks, the idea of two pros playing enemies to the public eye but being lovers in secret seemed like something right out of a romance novel. how romantic.

haruto only chuckles at the newbie, standing to ruffle their hair as well before heading over to the coffee stand to fix himself a cup. “beats me,” he mumbles cheerily as he walks away, arms crossed behind his head. “but with the way yn bursts in here at the same time everyday to scold bakugou, and leaves with a huge smile on her face— i wouldn’t put it past them. they probably have a whole life together.” he taps his nose once as if he’s given away too much information, turning away without a word.

the intern hums, seemingly happy with their superior’s answer and easily heads back to work from there.

katsuki bakugou was bored out of his mind.

being a successful pro hero was all he’d ever wanted— being the number two pro hero just came with that. bakugou wanted to get to the top and show everyone he was the best of the best and with him being blessed with a powerful quirk there was no way he couldn’t be where he was today. yet, now that he’d finally achieved his dream all he wanted was a fucking break. the blonde stares down at his microwaveable bowl of home cooked stew, a frown cutting deep into his cheeks. it was his lunch break for crying out loud, but instead of scarfing down the delicious meal before him, the hero was forced to watch it cool as some dumb fuck reporter asked him questions over the phone.

the telephone interview ( or a waste of his fucking time, as katsuki had called it ) , had been set up by his PR team right after he’d taken down a couple low level villains downtown earlier this morning. katsuki had called it nothing but apparently the whole world and their mother had been on his ass, watching as he took the criminals down with ease and raving about how glorious dynamight was during that fight. the reporter drones on about said event, asking the same old questions and it takes everything within the hot headed pro not to blow a casket— he’d been promised a few extra days off from his manager if he could finish the interview without blowing something up and only god knew how much katsuki needed a break from dumb paps and some overly obsessive fans.

‘so, final question, how does it feel to be the number two?’

bakugou grunts, buying himself time to formulate an answer. what he really wants to do is kindly tell the reporter to fuck off and ask more original questions; but with the prize of a longer weekend hanging in the balance he bites his tongue for the sake of freedom. “well i—“

“katsuki bakugou.” your voice cuts through his sentence before he can finish, vermillion eyes land on your hero costume clad form as you burst into his office. a lazy smirk now decorates the hero’s lips, brow quirked with piqued interest. “i have a bone to pick with you, you motherfucker.”

the reporter on the other end falls silent as katsuki watches you, leaning back in his plush leather chair. you look slightly disheveled, costume torn in a few places, scrapes littering your skin as you pant heavily from exertion— chest rising and falling with every breath, it seems ragged and bakugou makes a mental note to remind you to get your ribs checked out later. “you’re late, shitty woman.” the number two sits up a little straighter as you enter the room, leaning up to look at you while you slam your hands down on the smooth marble desk— the force rattling the items he has neatly placed on it.

‘uh-? mister...dynamight-? sir?’

your eyes sweep the room while the pro before you deals with the reporter, mentioning to her that they’ll have to continue their call later. in the meantime, you note that katsuki’s office is meticulously clean, not a single book, folder or pen out of place— it’s high up with a perfect view of the city and the large windows allow golden beams of the sun to light up the room. the sound of a phone being placed back on its hook brings you from your thoughts; annoyance settling deep in your veins as you turn to face bakugou again.

“i had it,” you growl lowly, jumping the gun before he can even register what you’ve said. “i’m a grown woman, katsuki, i can handle a couple of criminals myself, you know.”

the blasting hero does nothing but smirk even wider at the irked tone that litters your voice, standing up as well to tower over you. bakugou still wears his own hero costume, considerably in less damage than yours— not a single tear had formed in his suit, mind the small scratches on his face no doubt from his stupid explosions creating some debris. leaning over the desk between you, bakugou uses a forefinger and thumb to tilt your head up, bringing you even closer than before. “clearly y’didn’t sweetheart, or otherwise that icyhot bastard wouldn’t have needed to back you up ‘fore i got there...” his timbre voice sends sparks of electricity through the air in the room, it’s low and gravelly which is enough to send shivers down your spine but you’re not about to let katsuki bakugou know that he makes you flustered— it’d go straight to his head, the cocky bastard.

nonetheless; you roll your eyes at the mention of your old classmate and fellow pro hero— shoto todoroki. yourself and shoto got along fairly well, even back in high school, so it was normal for you to work together from time to time; you both made a great team and your skill set complimented each other’s well. katsuki was just jealous. he never really got along with todoroki like that. “he didn’t back me up, we were working together,” you snap back at the blonde, shaking yourself from bakugou’s grasp and flicking him right between those alluring vermillion eyes. “something you might not be familiar with, mister number two.” bakugou backs away from you completely ( only wincing slightly ), making you smirk in victory. you’ve struck a nerve. deciding to leave the conversation at that, you turn to make your exit as he collapses back into his seat with a deathly scowl and a quiet ‘tch’. “like i said, i had it, dynamight. next time, don’t jump in uninvited.”

happy that you got the last laugh, you open the door to leave his office but pause when a wave of heat hits your back. you should have known, katsuki bakugou was never one to back down from a challenge and you certainly weren’t an exception. well shit. when you turn around to face the blonde, small explosions spark from his right hand and he has some what of a look of a feral pomeranian, blood red eyes full of rage.

you visibly gulp and katsuki growls out his next words with the upmost venom, designed to hurt and cut at your feelings. “well maybe y’sudda let the actual pros handle shit like this,” bakugou begins, voice rising in volume with every syllable that passes his lips. “we both know you’re no good at short distance attacks with your quirk, shitty woman, you couldn’t have taken those villains down without me.” the blonde finishes with a short ‘tsk’, settling the explosions that spark in his palms. now it’s your turn to be pissed. you could handle katsuki’s jealousy, his petty reasoning for joining you on your patrol and taking the credit but bashing you and your quirk? no way in hell would he get away with that.

“bakugou?”

“what? the fuck y’still here for?”

you roll your shoulders, gracing the blonde with a devilish smile as your eyes light up mischievously. “why are you hitting yourself, bakugou?” you sing, hitting just the right notes that will have him under your spell, the tone in your voice as smooth as chocolate. katsuki’s eyes widen in horror and before he can stop himself, his free hand comes up to slap him across the face. that was your quirk, lullaby. you had the ability to sing your way out of any situation— adjusting the tune of your song to control the actions of certain individuals or groups of people. it was near impossible to resist but the more people you used your quirk on, the weaker your control over them was. that doesn’t mean you weren’t going to use it on bakugou from time to time. the blonde tries to fight it, he really does, but he’s no use up against your ability— losing all control of his own body. he grunts on impact, looking bewildered for a moment as he moves to grab his own wrist to stop any impending blows. “not so cocky now, are we dynamight?”

“h-hey!” he stammers, refusing to accept defeat against you. “shitty woman, no fuckin’ fair. you know i can’t use my quirk against you in here.” he was right, while your quirk was poor against short distance attacks ( meaning you had to result to hand to hand combat ), bakugou couldn’t use his own in enclosed spaces without hurting anyone he didn’t want to. especially you, he would never hurt you intentionally unless you were sparring.

“shoulda thought about that before you decided to taunt me, you know better than to piss off your wife, katsu.” you chide, still smiling just as brightly as you were earlier, before taking a seat on his desk and folding one leg over the other. it was quite amusing to watch your husband of four years fight against himself— everyone knew katsuki had an unbelievable amount of strength even without his quirk so he was definitely beating himself up ( literally and figuratively ).

bakugou looks up at you through gritted teeth while he struggles to keep the wrist you have control of down and you almost feel bad for the guy. “turn it off, dammit!” he curses at you, said hand rising above his free one to tug at his own sun kissed locks.

feigning interest in the objects on your lover's desk, you ignore his pleas for you to release him from the holds of your quirk and hum “apologise.”

“f-fuck... fuck y-you.”

you sigh knowingly, picking up a hand crafted paperweight, covered in glitter and sequin stars,  inspecting it carefully. bakugou could hardly ever say the word ‘sorry’, it was just in his nature and he’d been that way since you were young. part of you knows it’s because of how he was treated as a child where people praised him for his quirk. that meant he became prideful yes, thought highly of himself too and struggled to admit when others were right...but he had his own way of apologising— through actions instead of words.

like when you first moved in together and he had broken your favourite mug, instead of saying he was sorry, he spent all night super glueing it back together for you to use in the morning. to him, actions were louder than words but you right now; you were being mean and just wanted to hear him say it.

“fuck fuck, fine. alright. ‘m sorry.” bakugou lets out a strained growl as the hand you control gives a particularly hard yank to his hair. “i’m sorry for lying about your quirk. it’s not shitty…’n ‘m sorry for... barging in on your patrol. again.” you grin, satisfied with his answer and grab the hand he keeps down with his wrist. you press a simple kiss to the skin, making your husband blush as you release your hold over the limb. katsuki shyly yanks it from your grip, rubbing over the area that you’d kissed, shooting his gaze to the side in the process. “jesus shitty woman, if i don’t die from being a hero or of old fucking age, i know for a fact you’ll be the one to kill me first.” he mutters harshly under his breath, but you know he’s only kidding from the way his hands now fall to your thighs and his fingers rub small circles into the exposed skin.

“pro hero nightsky murders number two pro hero dynamight in cold blood!” you joke as if you’re reading a headline in a news article, katsuki only glares up at you— making no effort to curse you out because of your shitty joke, which causes you to frown while leaning  forward to brush some of his hair away from his face. “you know i’m only kidding right? is something wrong? did i come at a bad time?”

it’s only now that you notice the exhausted expression that paints your lover’s face. he’s always up to playing this game with you, at the same time every day— you come to bother him about some trivial matter, tease him a bit and leave with a kiss. but today, you can tell he’s trying to hide something from you. something that bothers him.

bakugou shakes his head, leaning into your touch as you play with his hair— a habit he’d picked up from even before you started dating back in high school, although he’d never admit that to you if you’d asked. “nothin’, just this stupid fuckin’ interview the PR team want me to do about the fight today. the one i took from you,” your husband smirks slightly at the thought and you roll your eyes for what seems like the nine hundredth time that afternoon. “didn’t get to finish my fuckin’ lunch but they promised me a couple days off if i got the interview done.”

“better the number two than me, eh? but don’t worry, i’ll order us some take out tonight,” your suggest, voice coming out as soft and mingling with your slight giggle— a quiet melody to katsuki’s ears. your only reply from him is a grunt, so you stop your fingers in his hair and watch as he scowls up at you. you quickly press a kiss to the explosive hero’s lips, pulling away to reveal his blushing face. you smile, knowing that you’re the only one who can make him flush red like that. “there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”

if there’s one thing katsuki bakugou hates, it’s how you read him like an open book. one look at him and it’s like you know exactly how he’s feeling. he can never hide anything from you— sometimes that both pisses him off and reminds him of how much he is loved by you. he hesitates with his words at first but decides to confide in you anyway, knowing that you’ll get it out of him in one way or another. “‘m worried about you, dumbass.” he mumbles, nudging your hand with his head as if to ask you to continue your earlier actions. “i know you had it, yer fuckin’ powerful but you looked so tired in that fight today ‘n i thought something bad was gonna happen to you, y’fuckin’ shitty woman.”

he toys with the tears in your costume now, smoothing over scars from your bumps and scratches as a result of combat. “oh lovebug,” you mumble, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at you. “you know i can handle my own, they just took a lot out of me today. i promise i’ll—“

“that’s not it, fuck,” katsuki cuts you off, brows furrowing deeply as he grabs your wrists— pulling your from his desk and into his lap. he holds you close, burying his nose into your neck as if you’re going to disappear. you sit still, a little shocked by his actions and his quick change of mood, but wrap your arms around him anyway and slowly fall silent. “it's just that...we’re both pros now and at the top of our ranks ‘n we both have a lot to lose.” you instinctively cling tighter to katsuki, mind flickering to the homemade paperweight you’d spotted on his desk earlier... causing your heart clench.

your daughter had made that for him during her time at preschool for fathers day; something your husband cherished with his whole heart, even if the thing was still sticky with glue when he’d gotten it.

katsuki loved taiga more than anything in the world and if something had happened to her because of your line of work, you don’t know what either of you would do. “what if something were to happen to you? or to me? or shit...both of us? who would look after taiga? you know what happens to kids who end up in the fucking system.” bakugou pauses, the same tired expression from earlier now sitting heavily on his face. “i just want you to be careful, stop pushing yourself so much, y’fuckin’ dumbasss. we have a family take care of. it’s not just you and i anymore.”

you nod, grasping onto your lover’s clothes tightly. the air is flooded with a comfortable silence, the pair of you holding one another right the way through it. you treasure moments like this, where the world stops and katsuki shows you another, more vulnerable side to him.

he would never admit or show this to anyone; but he cares , more than he lets on... especially for you and especially for your daughter. he was attentive, paid attention to you and your weaknesses and helped you overcome them. it was something you couldn’t stop loving about him. “i promise to be more careful, for you and for taiga,” you say quietly after he’s done scolding you, brushing your lips against the side of his head in a soft peck. “that must’ve been why jumped in earlier, you were worried about me?”

“somethin’ like that, you crazy woman,,” bakugou whispers, there’s a tinge of fondness to his ruby eyes as you pull away to look at him, his hands settling on your hips while he moves up to press a soft kiss to your awaiting lips. “didn’t want you getting yourself killed.”

you stay with katsuki in the office for a little longer than usual, laying on his chest as he prattles away about everything and anything even though he should be working. you make sure he eats his lunch, despite how cold it is and promise him a boat load of take out when he comes home later— your sweet cuddling session only being cut short by a call from your assistant to tell you that your daughter is ready to be picked up from school. “better finish that interview katsu, taiga’ll be happy to know her daddy’s getting some time off to spend with her soon,” you remind him as you gather yourself together, your husband pouting ( he swears on his life he wasn’t ) from the loss of your warmth in his lap. “she has a lot to tell you.”

the blonde quirks a brow, watching you as you head for the door. “yeah? like what?” a hand comes up to cover your mouth as you giggle at his curious face. sometimes, when you look at katsuki, you could see how much your daughter resembles him, right down to his mannerisms. she had somehow inherited the shape of your nose and the brightness of your smile ( the only reason barely anyone realised bakugou had a kid, he never fucking smiled. ) but the bakugou genes were incredibly strong so there was no way she’d miss out on those crimson eyes and uncontrollable, untameable messy blonde hair.

she even acted like him. a very brazen little girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it, so she had her daddy wrapped around her stubby little fingers.

you grin, eyes sparkling with the same mischief as before. “oh y’know, just her little crush on midoriya’s boy.”

“yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“i would never joke about such a thing,  just make sure you’re home in time for dinner, number two!” you squeal, dashing out of the office before your husband has time to demand more answers from you. slamming the door shut, you chuckle at the melody of curses that leave your husbands mouth before heading off to pick up your daughter.

on your way, you admit to yourself , that maybe you didn’t have this fight in the bag. but what you did have; was a loving husband, a beautiful daughter and the best life you could have ever imagined.

extended ending:

“so, taiga... daddy hears you have a little... crush on someone.”

you’re in the kitchen, washing the dishes from tonight’s dinner as bakugou wipes tentatively at your little girl’s messy face— she was a poor eater but it’s something you didn’t mind, not when your husband was so soft with cleaning her up. you can see them from where you stand, watching katsuki knowingly.

taiga looks up from the colouring you’d set out for her when she finished up her meal, crimson eyes shining brightly as she fixes her gaze on her father. “mhm mhm!! he’s mister deku’s son! and i’m gonna marry him!”

“no yer not.” bakugou answers simply, looking close to popping a vein.

“why not?”

your husband scoffs, throwing away the tissue he’d used to clean his little girl up before joining her in her colouring. “‘cause daddy says so ‘n boys are gross, especially ones who’s dad’s look like broccoli.” the older ash blonde seems satisfied with his answer, grinning to himself as you dry the dishes with an amused smile.

but taiga isn’t finished, swapping her green crayon for a red one to finish up her drawing. “but you’re a boy...and mommy still married you!”

bakugou pauses, lost for words as taiga continues to colour— humming the theme song from a commercial for some of deku’s merch. you can tell it’s taking everything katsuki’s got not to combust right there on the spot, but he can’t stay mad at taiga for too long, not when she’s describing her wedding and how her daddy is going to walk her down the isle.

setting the dishes to dry and towelling your hands; you smile to yourself as you admire your family. some would say you had it all, and looking at the pair of bakugou’s now, who were you to deny the truth.

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