#ILL REBLOG WITH THE TAGLIST ONE SECOND

[hoseoksluna]

THE BALL OF LIGHT, i. | myg, jjk

pairing: friend!jeongguk x fem!oc (ft. brother!yoongi)

genre: fluff

word count: 2.9k

summary: life of other people never mirrored yours and jeon jeongguk will never be yours, either.

pin: ball of light / taglist: join / discord: join / masterlist: run

cp: ao3 / wp

warnings: smoking, suggestive but not described thoughts of nudity, pessimism, orphancy / the members in this series are fictional.

note: everybody, welcome the new series. it is a multiple member-centered fanfic, so the names you see in the title don't necessarily mean the pairing is endgame or anything like that. who the main love interest is will be a surprise that the fic will slowly reveal. trust the process with the first chapter. it's short on purpose and i will reveal the information and quicken the plot along the way. let me know what you think. reblogs and esp comments are mandatory unfortunately in the hoseoksluna house:/ ...... sfjsldfjsldfj ENJOY. i love u guys! should i crosspost it on wattpad? (im scared of wattpad)

… Or was his destiny from the start To be just one moment  Near your heart? 

(Ivan Turgenev)

— an epigraph from the book White Nights by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Your brother Yoongi was always the pair of hands that would tug your legs down whenever you would fly in your books for too long. He did it out of tender care and fatherly kindness, calling your name in order for you to come join him in the kitchen for a meal. To be some semblance of a family after the tragedy had sunk its teeth into your bloodline. And what you had never imagined was that one day, you’d have to leave him behind to step inside a dream of this very reality. 

Throughout the trajectory of your girlhood, you had lived inside the worlds of your books. Classical literature that carried more depth, more leniency, despite its hardships that the characters went through, than this world. The idea of love clung to you like a second skin, one you wouldn’t really receive from the two important roles in your life because you weren’t made out of love, but would find within flowery and difficult words of another time. Digging deep and understanding made you fall in love with it, seek it in school, in the streets and inside your own home, only to look and walk past those people still empty-handed. 

In spite of it all, your palms were, somehow, still heavy. As if they carried something invisible for worldly eyes. 

You would see it come to life whenever you would close yourself up in your room, with your folded legs, your short hair wild and with a book on your lap. Dostoyevsky taught you that love could be found upon a fateful coincidence and it marred you in a beautiful way that was pitifully disastrous. It forced your eyes to look for it everywhere, even through the reappearing pain of disappointment, and it especially forced you to look for it at home. 

The hope remained even after both of your parents went to the other side of this love, beyond this world. They passed away due to an unfair illness. And because they went at the same time, you often found yourself thinking if they loved each other in the realm of eternity, when they very seldom loved each other in this temporary realm. 

Your firm, ingrained dreaminess helped you cope with the sudden silence, the aftermath of your state of orphancy. You no longer had to reread a sentence in your book a thousand times, the once screeching voices beyond the door of your bedroom shunned out, dead, but still pulsing. The walls carried the ghosts of those parental fights and Yoongi… he, in his secret sensitivity to the paranormal, braided for you a bracelet of black thread. To keep you safe from those spirits, to help you heal. 

He didn’t have one of his own, and that fact faultlessly described the new role he clothed himself in within this abrupt change. He would stare at the walls with a cold gaze, threatening them with power if they ever made a sound. He sat more at the kitchen table now than he did at his music station in his room, spine hunched over a myriad of bills that would make him pull on his hair until a bald spot formed. On the left side of his head, just above his ear, where his amygdala bloomed with black flowers. 

You would come home from school, glide your eyes over his bare wrist pressed to his cheek,  and touch the tense muscles over his protruded shoulder blades. You saw, vividly, the way his new role tore him apart and you wanted to help him. Physically and emotionally. But Yoongi rejected your help, rejected the emotions you were so willing to smooth out and caress with the lines of your palm that knew love from the way you caressed the pages of your books. He would get up from the table, tell you to shower, and he would walk to the kitchen to prepare you a meal, a meatless one because meat was expensive. He would wash his hands in the sink, let the cold water hide the strands of hair he plucked out of stress. 

He would pretend that everything was fine when in reality, nothing was fine. 

Your parents didn’t leave you a dime, but they let you keep the house you and Yoongi grew up in. Left an unpaid mortgage in your hands instead of happy memories, instead of love. 

But Yoongi, he showed you love. He would show it to you by the way he would boil the water for you in the beginning of yours and his orphancy because he had no money to pay for the water bill and because all the money he had saved in his boyhood was used for funeral expenses. He would show it to you by the way your plate would have meat and his wouldn’t. And he showed it to you by the way he wouldn’t allow you to find a job and financially help him, but instead told you to focus on your degree. To focus on your dream. No matter how many times you pestered him that you could find a part-time job. 

No, your dreams require your full attention, he had said once, that Yoongi-coded frown shadowing his features. Go study. 

And so you bowed your head and silently left, retreating into your room while contemplating in your heart that Yoongi never knew what your dreams looked like. And neither did you. Not until they showed up right in front of you. 

It is a time perfumed by the upcoming winter, the November time of the present. Frost has been kissing each corner of glass one would stumble across in the city of Seoul, decorating it with its affection using its snowflakes. It’s what you’re looking at, perched with your shivering form on the bus stop with the only friend you ever had in your lifetime. 

Or a so-called friend. You don’t think you would use the term friendship with a guy like Jeongguk. 

He represented the unattainable aspect in the books you’ve read. The goal that hasn’t yet been reached. The agonized yearning that hangs by a thread around the character’s life. He embodied the aspect of pain itself—because if life had been a little kinder to you, he would be yours. 

Life, however, isn’t kind. 

Life is realistic.

You met the boy at a wrong time in his life. Passing by him on the stairway of your high school, you caught him in a tense, yet volatile situation of an emotional kind. Spring, still reminiscent of winter, had wrapped itself around your nineteen years of age, and you, dreaming a strange dream that you couldn’t wake up from, ran late for your class. You hadn’t spoken to him prior this fateful day, though you knew of his existence. He was just a background character that you didn’t pay any attention to until he blazed up with life and the sparks of sensitivity on that empty staircase. And you couldn’t take the other way; you couldn’t turn around and miss the class. You had to walk by him and his girlfriend at the time while they were in the middle of an argument that shook through the echo of the space. 

You walked by them, but the encounter changed your life. It changed your life because Jeongguk’s cheeks were tearstained, glistening in the uncanny white of the staircase. His eyes were fixed on yours, his eyelashes wet and long—prettily, so terribly prettily. You quietly apologized, running up the stairs as rapidly as you could, and his eyes did not leave yours until you were out of his view. And then you heard the shuffling of feet and where there was an absolute turmoil, silence replaced it. 

Jeongguk found you that very day. 

Alarm was eclipsed over those puffy eyes, his eyelashes no longer wet, but still long, so terribly pretty. You were on your way out, exiting the building, when he grabbed a hold of your backpack, stopping you from disappearing. And when you gazed back with absolute horror, your short bob swishing around you, Jeongguk smiled a soft half-smile, which thinned out that negative emotion—as if he did it on purpose, not wanting to scare you. 

What’s your name? he started with a question, his shoulders slouched and drooping, an evident tiredness misting him in a drowsy aura. His voice was strained, bubbling in his throat as if he either screamed his vocal cords raw or didn’t speak for a while, choosing silence. Both options turned your heart upside down, painfully. You felt a greater pity for him than you ever have for someone in your lifetime—and that was the beginning of all your firsts with him. 

When you said your name, Jeongguk averted his gaze and nodded his head. You expected him to ask you which year you were born, but he kept his eyes low as he uttered the words, which made your pity for him grow into a bare tree  with just one twig, a seemingly singular wing, within you. 

I don’t know how much you heard, but Ka-eun didn’t do anything wrong. It was a misunderstanding and I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. 

You had heard a female screaming, seething voice, but due to your sleepy state, you hadn’t made out what those words actually were. But remembering the tears dripping off of his lashes, you realized how hurtful those words thrown at his must had been. And while you thought about this all, Jeongguk took your hand, pried open your fingers and fished out of his pocket a small banana milk. 

Ka-eun, the it-girl of the high school. Jeongguk protected her reputation, in spite of the fact that she didn’t deserve it at all. 

That was the kind of person Jeongguk was. 

It wasn’t the only encounter you had with him. He would smile at you and greet you while passing you in the halls. Would put banana milks sometimes on your desk early in the morning. Would sit beside you at lunch when he wasn’t on speaking terms with her. And he would confide in you while knowing nothing about you. 

That’s the reason why you can’t call your intertwinement with Jeongguk a friendship. Certainly not, after the person he became when uni life spread its roots in yours and his and he chose the one opposite of yours. 

The faculty of medicine stood facing your faculty of philosophy and literature, and Jeongguk, wearing his green scrubs and his oversized hoodie, would meet you during lunch breaks, insisting that you spend it together because he didn’t know anyone else and he was too anxious to meet new people because of what Ka-eun put him through. 

But Jeongguk didn’t eat. Not so much like he used to. 

The trauma and the difficulty of his field forced him to turn to cigarettes. And him blowing out the smoke the other way so you don’t inhale it while eating your lunch made another twig, another wing begin to grow on your tree within your chest for him. 

You didn’t love him, but he was kind to you and he meant something to you. You never loved a man, besides Yoongi and Dostoyevsky. And Jungkook puffing out the smoke like that, he reflected Yoongi and his brotherly love for you in a way that made you dream. Dream about a romantic love that everyone else seems to have so easily, except for you. About that romantic love you read about in your favorite Dostoyevsky book White Nights. 

But perhaps the affinity you had for Jeongguk was some kind of love that the books haven’t written about, at least later on. A kind of non-romantic love that you, yourself, came up with. A love that meant nothing in this world, but everything to you. A love that blazed up like the tip of Jeongguk’s cigarette that he lit up for you at the beginning of autumn of this year, letting you try it out just because he felt like it. 

Another first that has become a habit. 

You didn’t have money of your own to spend it on packs of cigarettes, but Jeongguk did. And he’s never been the kind of person who was stingy. He would give himself if he could, and it completes him—the act of giving and the other person’s response of receiving. 

His eyes burst with light at this very moment, a few months later, just like they did the first time when he lit up a cigarette for you. Though this time, you don’t need his help. You feel their heat, in the middle of this frosty bus stop, as he watches you place the cigarette he pulled up from his pack for you, his own hanging from his lips, unlit. He always waits for you to light up your own first like the gentleman he is, but something about his gaze is different. You sense their intensity, their foreign, foreign intensity that you don’t think is meant for you. And when you take that first puff, you expect it to leave you—like you’ve learned that it always does—but for some reason it doesn’t. 

There’s depth to the eye contact once you reciprocate it. Murkiness descends upon the pair of you, the sun parting ways with the day in a much quicker way that you still haven’t gotten used to. And along with it, a light layer of snow begins to fall. 

Something is meaningful about it—like it should be written down. Jeongguk’s eyes of lingering seriousness, pensive. The snowflakes that settle upon his ebony hair. How silky they must be to the touch. Always so poofy and voluminous. 

Your hands itch to write and Jeongguk doesn’t ask for his pink lighter back. He merely keeps staring, and you start to think that maybe something is weighing his heart heavily. Something personal that he will soon pour out. Like he always does. 

You’re the listener, never the talker, but something inside you urges you, strangely, to make the first move. Get him talking, get him smoking, so he can go home, go to bed and awake with a fresh consciousness, ready to be filled with anatomy, sicknesses and all the other stuff he needs to cram. 

The hand that longs to write lifts, and it feels natural. It feels natural to flick your thumb on the lighter and call fire to life. It feels natural when Jeongguk purses his lips, lifting the cigarette in the process, and holds it up for you while his hands remain warm in the pockets of his oversized black jacket. It feels natural to watch him suck in, the cheeks that carry too many memories of his tears hollowing out. 

And for a second that is too brief, you let your soul imagine what it would be like… to have Jeongguk as your boyfriend. 

To have the full, ceaseless measure of his love. The one that is meant for the better people, but not for you. 

To have his hands touch your skin in a way that would convey what he feels for you— 

“Have you told your brother yet?” 

Too, too brief, that second. Internally, you take your imagination and sew it shut with a pink thread. Pastel pink, like his lighter. 

The question aches as if you pricked your heart with the needle. You haven’t told Yoongi that you smoke one cigarette a day with a boy after school. You haven’t even told your journal. All in fear that the only life you ever managed to experience out of the realm of your books would simply disperse, never to be found again. 

In fear that Yoongi would be mad and you’d add another layer of stress on top of his already high pile. In fear that he would yell at you like your father did over meaningless things. 

“No,” you respond, softly, dropping your gaze to the ashy tip of your cigarette, flicking it off. The prickling sensation deepens as the iciness of the weather grows. You shiver, sighing. The tree in you does as well. “I’ll never tell him. Never—”

“Never in a million years,” he finishes for you, and your mouth parts in the overwhelming realization that you were wrong. 

Jeongguk does know something about you. He remembers that this is a sentence that repeats in your vocabulary multiple times a day. And there’s such intimacy to it, him knowing this, him finishing the sentence for you, him being educated in the matter that bears your name. 

Or perhaps not. Perhaps you’re too starved of any male attention, love and touch. 

Your imagination in you fights against the seam. 

“What happens if he sees you?” Jeongguk asks, and you pause before replying. Take a puff of your cigarette, watch as a miniscule star of mischief begins to live within the macadamia chocolate of his eyes—as if the principle of him secretly corrupting you utterly enthralls him. You picture that’s what he smells like underneath all those clothes of his, your imagination poking a finger through the seam. And you let it—you let it grasp you because it’s stronger than you. 

Macadamia, musk, cedarwood. 

The kind of lustful smell that is dark to the sight, but innocent in its core. 

Behind him, the blue murkiness fully evens out, no hint of the sun’s coloring painting its corners with positivity. Pessimism abides, and you feel it burying itself into your literature-woven bones. 

You’ve been waiting twenty minutes for the bus, Jeongguk even longer for his. The roads are long and empty, darkening the longer you stand here. The snow forms a firm layer on the ground, and you already anticipate Yoongi’s anger-infused worry, crawling all over you. 

You turn to look at Jeongguk, your blood flow at full halt. 

“War happens, Jeongguk,” you say, swallowing thickly. “If Yoongi and I see each other outside of the walls of our house.”

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth , @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist | BACK to series masterlist

[mayolive-writes]

Ease Your Mind | Jungkook

Part One of the Seven Series: Seven Masterlist

Title: Monday - Ease Your Mind

Pairing: idol!jungkook x AFAB reader

Summary: Jungkook is finally coming home after a long tour. Work has been fun and fulfilling, but there’s no place like home. After being deprived of your attention for so long, He knows exactly how he wants to spend the week ahead.

Wordcount: 1128

Genre: Fluff, smut, pwp, established relationship

Warnings below the line, minors DNI

Warnings: fluffy hours bro, soft/slow sex, protected sex, vaginal penetration, they are both kinda subby, pet names (bun, koo, hon/honey), very brief overstimulation, jk is Clingy™️, if I missed anything, let me know and ill add it!

Notes: It took me a bit to determine how I wanted this to play out and what I wanted their dynamic to be like. Like I already said, they’re both kinda subby in this one, not enough people explore subxsub dynamics smh. But that won’t be the case for the whole series. I attempted to proofread but cannot promise perfection. Feel free to comment/reblog/like, I love getting feedback! And if you would like to be added to the taglist just leave a comment :)

Enjoy!!

⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘⁘

The days leading up to Jungkook’s return seemed to stretch beyond time, but it all becomes worth it as you count down the seconds, watching people exit from the terminal, eagerly waiting. You ease your weight from foot to foot, an eagle eye watching.

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually you’re forcing down the urge to yell out his name as you see him emerge. Attention is the last thing he wants after a long plane ride. Instead, you discreetly make your way to eachother before quietly embracing. Your heart doesn’t soar, but rather fills with relief and comfort, absorbing the warmth that you missed so much.  His arms wrap tightly around you, and you regain a sense of safety you didn’t realize was missing. Although you might never get used to Jungkook leaving, you’ll always be ready for his return.

Most of Jungkook’s face is obscured by a dark mask and wide bucket hat, but looking up you see his eyes watering, folded into crescents from the smile beneath his mask. Tears fill your eyes, and you squeeze him tighter. Not a word has been spoken yet, but it isn’t necessary.

You sit down in your car, drained from the long morning, relieved but tired. Jungkook grabs hold of your hand once more.

“How was the plane, Bun?” The only response Jungkook gives is to rest his head against the seat and release a long, exhausted sigh. You squeeze his hand, gently caressing the skin that you haven’t felt in months, but that still feels familiar and soft.

You drive home in effortless silence. In the passenger seat, you hear Jungkook dozing off, his head knocking against the window once or twice during the ride. Before waking him up, you watch his peaceful sleeping face, his lips parted lightly, breath low, and the crease between his eyebrows nowhere to be seen.

As you finally walk through the front door, Jungkook falls against you once more, hugging you close.

“I missed you.”

The soft background noise of the TV rouses you. Through bleary senses you feel Jungkook’s warm breath on your skin, feel him huddled close to you, and smell the peachy shampoo on his hair. It wasn’t a surprise to you when Jungkook said that before doing anything else, he wanted to simply lay with you on the couch, and watch something mindless. It was always his first request coming home from a tour. Each time, you would oblige.

You carefully shift towards the TV to occupy yourself while Jungkook continues to sleep. Time passes slowly in his arms, warm and secure.

Through the window, you watch as the sun sets, and the sky darkens with gray clouds. As the clouds stir, so too does Jungkook. It’s gradual, the way he awakes. A few grumbles, a bit of stretching, and a couple yawns later his eyes are open, and you feel them fixed on the back of your head. You adjust your position once more to meet his gaze and are quickly absorbed. His eyes look brighter, if not a bit foggy, after a much-needed nap; their gaze soft and tranquil.

Jungkook whispers, “Hon, I’m gonna be honest,” you nod, “I really, really need you right now.”

Oh.

Oh…

There’s an immediate shift in the air around you as your heart races. It doesn’t take long before he presses you gently into the couch and captures your lips.

Jungkook speaks with increasing desperation between each soft kiss, “missed you,” kiss, “want you,” kiss, “need you” kiss, “please, please—”

He whines quietly, and you allow yourself to get lost in his desperation, “need you too, Bun.”

Inching his hands beneath your hoodie, Jungkook revels in your soft skin that he spent months pining to feel beneath his fingertips again. You squeeze him closer, tugging at the roots of his hair when his lips attach to the crook of your neck. He steals this moment to suck a deep mark into the warm skin, easing the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

He doesn’t stop.

With swift movements, he removes your hoodie to uncover more skin. Or, to him, a wider canvas. One by one, bruises bloom along you. Neck, collarbones, chest. Wherever they can reach, he lets his lips touch. Jungkook ends up towering over you, the look in his eyes a crossroads between adoration and desire. He meets his forehead to yours, heat radiating off his body, “haven’t had you in so long…”

“Well, you have me now.”

“Never wanna leave you again,” He breathes you in, and you feel his hips rut into you.

No amount of over-the-phone intimacy could make up for the months spent apart from you. It’s no surprise that it takes little to no time before Jungkook is easing himself into your folds, face buried in your neck, uncontrollable whimpers escaping the both of you.

He works slowly for both your sakes, cautious in his movements, barley able to control himself. One hand holds your waist as the other intertwines with your fingers, his grip unbreakable. The way he slides through your walls with ease, gently rocking in and out as he desperately holds onto you makes your brain go numb. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him tighter, needing more.

“H-honey, I don’t think I’ll l-last long.” He whines in your ear and his prediction is correct, only a few more thrusts cause him to break. Despite him coming, however, he doesn’t stop, “M-more, need more.”

“Keep going, Koo, please keep going—” You softly beg, “

His thrusts are faster and deeper now, fueled by need and desperation. “Oh, god, you feel so good” Jungkook cries.

“I’m so close, please, please—” you feel yourself become feverish as your high approaches, hands grasping at Jungkook’s back, the graze of your nails causing him to groan in pleasure. Your back arches, a final stifled moan escaping your throat. But still, Jungkook continues to drive his cock into you. The overstimulation makes you whine and squirm, gasping for relief. Gradually the feeling gives way to pleasure once more. Your limbs feel weak, your brain lost but begging for more until you’re both whimpering against eachother.

Countless minutes pass as you and Jungkook cling to eachother, refusing to let go. His hands stroke up and down your body, and in return, your fingers brush through his hair. Rain patters against the window, creating a lull.

You mumble, “feel better?”

“Much better, baby.”

“We should shower, Bun.”

Jungkook snuggled in closer, “don’t wanna”

“Too bad, so sad. Promise I’ll wash your hair.”

He raises his head from your chest, showing off his puppy eyes, “Really?”

The week ahead promises to be tiring, but it’s good to be home.

Taglist: @alpha-mommy69 @jkslaugh97 @eyesforjungkook @skzthinker @sporadicarcadebanana @kookswifesblog @hipeople123456-blog

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter five | The American dream.

masterlist

universe : Reeves, the batman 2022

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!OC

words : +9k

author's note : Hello to my loyal readers !! If you’re new here, welcome !!! This chapter is packed with angst—seriously, a lot of it… So brace yourselves. We’ll delve into Maryam’s struggles, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes… As always, don’t hesitate to comment; I genuinely enjoy reading your feedback, and it motivates me to keep writing :) Also, this chapter is dedicated to @gaypoetsblog bc your reblog meant so much to me and helped me finish the chapter 🫶🏽

I’m thinking of starting a taglist, so if anyone’s interested, please let me know in the comments :)

cw : Maryam going through an existential crisis, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, depression, ptsd, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

THE NIGHT AIR slipped through the cracked window like a whispered secret, cool and heavy with the weight of unshed tears, brushing against Maryam's skin as if it knew the burden she carried.

She pushed open the glass of her kitchen window to enter her apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges barely registering in her tired mind.

Finally, she was alone.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, her hands went to the scarves draped around her neck and head, tugging them free. The fabric fell to the floor in soft waves, revealing sweat-slicked skin and disheveled hair. 

She didn’t bother turning on the lights; she knew the space by heart.

The shadows were her refuge, offering quiet sanctuary after the whirlwind of the night. She moved through the room like a ghost, her bare feet making no sound against the cold tile.

In the silence, her thoughts caught up with her—the weight of everything she had pushed down, shoved aside, now rushing back.

Her body felt heavier with each step toward the bathroom, the scent of Gotham's streets clinging to her suit like a second skin. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the countertop as she made her way in. Inside, the soft click of the door closing felt like a final seal against the outside world.

She flicked on the light. Its harsh glare bounced off the mirror, exposing a truth she could no longer avoid.

The violet bruise on her brow stared back at her, dried blood in a thin line across the cut, a crusted reminder of the night’s violence. She muttered a curse under her breath—it's going to be hard to hide that. Her skin was still smudged with dirt from the alley.

Bracing her hands against the sink, she leaned in to inspect the damage, touching the wound gingerly, wincing at the sting. It wasn’t deep, but still noticeable. 

Sighing, she straightened and began peeling away the rest of her clothing. First, her cloak, then her suit—her fingers moving methodically, though her muscles ached with stubborn fatigue.

The Wraith was shedding her armor, piece by piece. With each discarded layer, she felt a small part of herself return.

Next came the contact lenses.

Carefully, she removed them, blinking as her natural hazel eyes, tinged with a yellow-green sheen under the light, came into focus. 

But it wasn’t her eyes that held her attention.

Dressed only in her bra and panties, her eyes fixated on the constellation of bruises that marked her body—a silent testament to the fight, to the brutality of her return to the streets. Dark violet shadows bloomed along her ribs, and bruises traced her tibia. She lifted her leg onto the counter, examining them more closely under the yellow light. At least there were no cuts, save for the one on her brow.

For a moment, she simply stared at herself. The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger—scarred, beaten, but still standing.

But beneath the bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion—anger simmered.

And she knew tonight had only been the beginning.

Then, without warning, tears pooled in her eyes.

She hadn’t expected them, hadn’t realized how close they were to the surface until her chest tightened, and the raw ache began to spread through her throat. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that was clawing its way out, but it was too late.

Her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her, and the sob broke free, echoing through the cold, sterile bathroom.

It wasn’t just the physical pain or the exhaustion. It was everything. The years on the streets, the things she had seen, the violence that had become a constant in her world—it all came crashing down at once. It was too much.

She hated this life.

Hated every inch of the skin she had just shed—the suit, the cloak, the Wraith. It was a mask she’d worn since she was barely ten years old. It wasn’t some romantic notion of justice or a heroic vigilante life.

No.

It was a prison.

From the moment she was taken in, she had been molded into this.

She thought she'd escaped it two years ago, but somehow, she always found her way back—like an addict drawn to a drug. 

Her training was not empowering; it was soul-crushing torture, a brutal crucible that shattered her spirit and forged her into a weapon for the greedy hands that sought to control her. Each blow felt like a countdown, a clock ticking down to the moment she would either break or become something darker. 

Beaten and broken, she transformed into a tool, a phantom of vengeance, for those who saw her not as a person but as a means to an end. In the shadows, she learned to embrace the pain, channeling it into a deadly precision that left no room for doubt. Each lesson carved away at her innocence, leaving only a relentless hunger for survival and a chilling resolve to escape the chains that bound her.

Fish Mooney, the merciless gangster who had held the reins of her life from the very beginning, had stripped her of her innocence, her will, and her freedom. In the beginning, she wore the name Madam like a shroud, even as she felt the chill of its implications. Mooney's sweet words, laced with sickening honey, wrapped around her like a noose, promising a kind of safety that was always a mirage. 

She was the definition of a witch, weaving a web of knowledge and manipulation, knowing the darkest secrets of everyone, especially Maryam's. This power was her weapon, used to threaten and terrify, ensuring Maryam’s compliance with every command. 

To Mooney, she was a prized possession—a little spy, a puppet sculpted to perfection, a wraith in service of her sinister ambitions.

When Maryam first set foot on American soil with her family, she unknowingly crossed into a world where debts were owed and innocence was a luxury long expired. As the eldest, the burden fell on her—she was chosen to pay the price for dreams wrapped in deception.

Her family could do nothing but watch, their voices stifled by fear as threats loomed like shadows over their fragile existence. They warned her of the dangers, but what could they say to the merciless people who held their lives in the balance? 

Nothing.

Nada. 

So they stood by, hearts heavy, as she was engulfed by the seductive lies of the American dream, ensnared in the web of blackmail and veiled threats that hung like a storm cloud over their family.

They watched, helpless, as their little girl transformed into a hollow shell, caught in the very corruption that had promised freedom yet shackled her to a life of fear and deceit.

With each passing day, as she morphed into a mere instrument for the greedy, the weight of her family's helplessness settled over her like a leaden shroud. Yet, within this suffocating nightmare, a flicker of defiance began to blaze—an ember ignited by heartbreak and desperation, a fierce will to reclaim her stolen innocence and escape the clutches of a world intent on devouring her whole.

But amidst all this turmoil, becoming the Wraith was never a choice.

No— it was a matter of survival, stripped bare of all illusions and pretense, leaving only the raw, unyielding instinct to endure.

She had seen things no child should ever see. Blood, cruelty, the endless cycle of violence.

Gotham devoured its own, and she had been thrown into the thick of it before she even understood what it meant to live. 

The things she had done—things she had been forced to do—were never for any noble cause. It wasn’t about protecting the innocent or stopping crime.

It was about serving those who had power over her, doing their bidding, becoming their weapon.

The memories flooded back, each one more painful than the last. The nights spent alone on rooftops, watching the city eats itself of corruption. The cold steel of a knife in her hand, the way it felt when she was ordered to hurt someone. The screams, the fear in their eyes—those were the things that haunted her. Not the criminals, but the fact that she had become just as ruthless.

She hated herself for it.

Hated the Wraith, hated the mask, hated the world that had forced her into this life. Vigilantism wasn’t heroism—it was a cage.

A brutal reality where she had no choice but to become what others wanted her to be. And the worst part? She had never known another way.

Maryam Ben Halimi was the embodiment of the immigrant struggle, a quiet girl sitting in the back of the classroom with wide, restless eyes. 

She poured herself into her studies, each late night and early morning spent hunched over textbooks a defiant act against a world determined to render her invisible.

Yes, she made it to medical school, driven by the crushing weight of her family's dreams pressing heavily on her narrow shoulders. 

Yet, the emptiness remained, a chasm within her that no amount of achievement could fill.

Often, she found herself questioning how she managed to survive medical school while Fish Mooney lurked in the shadows, her suffocating demands as oppressive as Gotham's thick summer humidity. Mooney had her hands deep in Maryam’s life, ever ready to drag her back into darkness if she dared to stray too far. 

But somehow, against all odds, Maryam triumphed, donning the title of Doctor  like a hard-earned badge of honor— a promise she had made to her parents before their lives were cruelly extinguished.

The day she received her diploma was supposed to be a celebration, a moment of triumph.

Yet it felt more like a double-edged sword.

That piece of paper not only represented her hard work; it signified the end of her obligation to Mooney. 

That day, she was free of the Madam. 

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she drew in a breath untainted by fear, the shackles of her past finally falling away. It was a bittersweet victory, her heart swelling with pride even as the ghosts of her past hovered at the edges of her consciousness.

But beneath that fragile surface, weariness coursed through her veins. 

She was tired—tired of battling invisible demons that raged within her, tired of pretending she could shoulder the weight of her life alone, tired of wearing the mask that had been pressed upon her for so long. 

Though she no longer worked for Mooney or her clients, the memories lingered like an unwanted specter, always lurking just out of sight.

The nightmares, too, were relentless reminders of the wars that had marred her childhood, the chaos and destruction that had driven her from her homeland. 

Each night, she carried those haunting images and sounds into her dreams, a heavy burden coloring her waking hours. She woke up screaming, grasping at shadows, and even the therapists she consulted couldn’t unlock the depth of her torment. 

There were some truths too dark to share, especially with her remaining family, who could never truly understand. For them, the subject of Mooney was taboo, a whisper that could shatter the silence they clung to, while the past loomed as a silent monster, lurking in the shadows of their lives.

In her family, like many immigrant families, when something was wrong, silence reigned supreme. 

They had mastered the art of avoidance, burying their grief beneath layers of unspoken words, pretending nothing had ever happened. 

But Maryam could not shake the feeling that something was profoundly amiss, that her life was a web of contradictions—of duty, survival, and the relentless pursuit of an identity she could never quite grasp.

As she navigated the churning waters of her existence, the Wraith lingered in the background, a haunting reminder of the girl she had been and the woman she had been forced to become.

And so, for once, she allowed herself to cry.

Cry for the life she could never have.

Cry for the bruises on her body that told the story of a woman who had never been free.

She wept for the dreams that lay shattered at her feet, buried under the weight of expectations and the relentless demands of survival.

It was like a release, a desperate attempt to reclaim pieces of herself that had long been buried beneath the façade of the Wraith.

Her chest tightened, and her breathing became shallow.

Instinctively, she reached up to rub her neck, her fingers pressing into the tense muscles, trying to force herself to calm down. But it wasn’t working. The memories clawed at her, tearing through the thin layer of control she’d tried to hold onto.

Her hand slipped from her mouth, fingers trembling as she pressed them against her eyes, rubbing as if she could erase the blurry vision. But the world kept spinning, becoming more surreal with every passing second.

And then she heard it.

The screams—hollow, haunting, echoing in the silence.

Her heart lurched, and her breath caught as the sound of her mother’s voice echoed in her mind—a desperate scream that cut through her like a knife.

She could almost feel herself being pulled back into that moment—when everything changed.

Gunshots.

They rang out like explosions in her mind, and she gasped for air, her pulse racing wildly.

Serbian voices barked harsh commands—words she couldn’t understand, but their cruelty was unmistakable. They had been everywhere that night, flooding her home like locusts, devouring everything in their path. Her father’s face flashed in her mind, twisted with fear as he tried to protect them.

But the gunshots—the terrible, piercing gunshots—had silenced him.

Her vision swam. The bathroom lights were too bright, her breathing too loud. She could still hear the screams, the gunfire, the chaos of that night. She wasn’t here anymore, but trapped in that nightmare.

Her fingers dug into the sink, gripping it as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

But it wasn’t enough.

The Serbs’ voices, their boots pounding on the floor, her mother’s terrified cries—they overwhelmed her.

Her heart raced, breaths coming in short gasps. She wasn’t the Wraith now.

She wasn’t Maryam.

She was just a little girl again, watching as her world was ripped apart.

Her hands shook violently, her knuckles white as she gripped the sink harder.

“Breathe,” she told herself, but it didn’t help. The walls were closing in, memories consuming her. She saw her father fall, heard her mother scream—it all played out like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

Desperate, she opened the medicine cabinet and fumbled for her pills, her fingers trembling as she grabbed two bottles— Sertraline for PTSD, Prazosin for nightmares, and Lexapro for depression. 

She swallowed them quickly, chasing them down with an ibuprofen for good measure, ignoring the bitter taste that lingered in her mouth.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

Next, she opened the glass door of the shower. 

Stripping off the rest of her clothes, she stepped in, wincing as the warm water hit her sore muscles and cuts. It soothed her aching body, but she didn't linger. She was too tired. She just wanted to sleep.

Before that, though, she had to take her diabetes meds—something she hadn't done in two days. With everything that had been going on, she'd forgotten to take care of herself, and the familiar wave of guilt rose in her chest. She quickly washed her hair and body, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones.

When she finished, she stepped out of the shower and slipped into a bathrobe, pulling the soft sleeves over her arms and tying it snugly around her waist. The mirror was fogged up from the steam, so she wiped a hand across it. 

Her reflection stared back at her, and her stomach plummeted. The jagged cut beside her right eyebrow stood out sharply against her once sun-kissed skin, now a sickly shade of pale, swollen and inflamed.

She grabbed the first aid kit, her movements mechanical as she cleaned and dressed the wound, pressing gauze against the cut to stem any remaining blood. Her hands moved with a tired efficiency, applying a sterile bandage over the area.

When she was done, she slipped into her pyjamas, the soft fabric a small comfort against the cold air.

Then came the part she dreaded. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the case for her blood glucose meter. Pricking her finger, she watched the small droplet of blood form before pressing it to the test strip. The familiar beep from the meter told her what she already knew—her blood sugar was too high.

Sighing, she reached for her insulin pen. After attaching a fresh needle, she dialed the correct dose, pinching the skin on her stomach before inserting the needle and pressing the plunger.

The medication stung as it went in, but she was used to it.

When she was done, she placed the pen back in its case, rubbing her eyes as the fatigue finally hit her full force.

She snuggled under the covers, pulling them close as the warmth enveloped her aching body. Reaching for her phone, she quickly scrolled through the missed messages from the night. 

As expected, the family group chat was filled with the usual chatter. Aunt Meysa had sent more links to prayers, while Uncle Fawzi shared pictures from the local market—cucumbers were apparently at a low price.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion.

And, of course, there were Aunt Jamila's long-winded voice messages, probably about something trivial.

Warda had shared pictures of little shoes she'd bought for her unborn child, prompting everyone in the group to coo in excitement.

Baya, Aunt Jamila's daughter, sent a few shots of Big Ben from her time in London—just the usual family stuff.

After a quick glance at those, she moved on to other messages. There were over a hundred from Sherine, and she sent a quick reply, telling her she was fine. Well, a lie, but Sherine didn't need to know the truth right now.

Tammi had sent an article about the drops, she skimmed through it. Nothing she didn't already know.

Setting her phone to charge on the nightstand, she turned her gaze toward the balcony. Outside, Gotham was its usual icy, chaotic self—couples arguing, police sirens wailing, people swearing at each other. 

Just another night in dear old Gotham.

Her apartment didn't offer a spectacular view of the city, but from her bed, she could still make out a few stars flickering in the night sky. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second. 

Exhausted to her core, she let sleep pull her under.

The dim light from the kitchen barely illuminated the cramped apartment, cluttered with unpaid bills scattered across the counter.

Batman's eyes lingered on one of the envelopes, its name reading Selina Kyle, before the TV caught his attention. The broadcast blared a grim headline :

‘Serial Killer Claims Credit for Second Victim in Two Days — GCPD Commissioner Murdered.’

His jaw tightened beneath the cowl.

Selina came in, visibly rattled, guilt shadowing her sharp features. "Jesus, what are they going to do to her? She's just a kid," she muttered, her voice wavering with worry. "And now they know who I am too. They took my phone, everything—"

She caught sight of Batman staring at the TV, which displayed a disturbing video.

The Riddler's eerie, altered voice filled the room as a newscaster warned viewers of the graphic content.

The screen showed the killer, his face obscured by a green hood and a question mark scrawled over his chest, taunting Gotham with another murder.

The camera panned to Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped with rats circling him, his muffled screams cut short as the video ended abruptly. A photo of the Commissioner, smiling in happier times, replaced the grim scene.

"Holy shit," Selina whispered, her eyes narrowing. "I've seen that guy too. At the club."

Batman tilted his head slightly. "The Iceberg Lounge?"

Selina shook her head, her voice low. "The 44 Below. It's the club within the club—where the real stuff happens. It's a mob hangout."

He stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "That's where you work?"

She shot him a glance, caught off guard. "I work at the bar upstairs, but yeah, I see them."

"Who?" he pressed, his tone unyielding.

"People who shouldn't be there. The ones who act all respectable in public... but they're not fooling anyone. I'm not stupid. I know what's going on."

Their eyes locked, his unrelenting gaze not letting her off the hook. "You're going to help me. For your friend."

She stiffened, then took a slow breath.

"Do you know the Wraith?" he asked, almost like it was an afterthought.

Selina blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "The Wraith?" She turned toward the fridge, grabbing a carton of milk. "Yeah, I've heard of her." She took a sip, the cold liquid contrasting the tension in the room. "Kind of a myth, though, right? Some people don't even believe she's real."

Batman's only response was a grunt, deep and unreadable.

Selina let out a faint smirk, shaking her head as she set the milk down on the counter. "It's funny, really. The rich, the mob—they call her 'The Wraith,' like she's some shadow they can't pin down. But the people on the streets? They call her 'Lady Justice.'" She crossed her arms, the leather of her suit creaking, her brow furrowing as she thought back. "I saw her a few times in the Narrows, years ago. Then she just... vanished. No one's seen her since."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Selina admitted, her voice softening. "But I used to look up to her. She didn't seem real, like something out of a legend."

Batman didn't respond, slipping back into the shadows as the faint sound of police sirens echoed through the streets outside. His cape whispered against the floor. "You're not safe here," he muttered before disappearing.

"I can take care of myself," Selina shot back abruptly, her voice sharp.

But he was already gone.

She turned her attention to the TV, the grim news continuing its endless cycle.

The newscaster's voice echoed through the apartment. "...with two public figures dead in just the last two nights, and only days before the election, police and city officials are left scrambling for answers, hoping to catch the killer before he strikes again."

Maryam had barely gotten three hours of sleep when the shrill sound of her phone jolted her awake.

Groaning, she blinked her heavy eyelids open, her muscles screaming in protest as she blindly reached for the phone on her bedside table. Her hand flopped around, knocking over her lamp, her alarm clock, and a book before finally landing on the ringing device.

She squinted at the screen.

Jamie G.

Great.

She glanced at the time: 5:20 a.m.

What the hell do they want now?

With a sigh, she swiped to answer. Before she could speak, Gordon's voice came through, rushed and stressed.

"Mar, I need you to come right now. I'm in front of your building—"

"What?" Her voice, hoarse from sleep, cracked as she sat up, still rubbing her face. Her caramel curls fell messily over her eyes, adding to her confusion.

"Listen, just hurry. The killer struck again."

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice.

"Wish I was, kid. I need you for the autopsy. It's urgent."

She ran a hand through her wild curls, pushing them out of her face, annoyance clear in her tone. "Who the hell dies at this hour, making me leave my warm, comfy bed?"

Gordon's voice was grim. "It's Commissioner Savage."

The doctor froze, her eyes wide. "What the fuck."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Now get your ass down here. We don't have all day."

With another exasperated sigh, she muttered, "Give me 15 minutes. I'm coming," before hanging up and tossing her phone aside.

Maryam sat on the edge of her bed, still processing what Gordon had just said.

Commissioner Savage.

Murdered.

"What the hell is going on in this city..." she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples as the weight of the news sank in.

She dragged herself out of bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion from te night before.

In the faint light of her apartment, Maryam shuffled to her closet, grabbing the first clean scrubs she could find—black ones.

She threw on a gray undershirt since her scrubs had no sleeves and pulled on her trench coat. She quickly slipped into a pair of sneakers before heading to the bathroom.

The harsh bathroom lights stung her eyes, making her squint until her vision adjusted. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—dark circles under her eyes made her look just as lifeless as the people she examined. Her hazel eyes reflected green under the yellow light, and the bruise near her brow still hadn't faded. Great, she thought, another thing to explain to Gordon.

Fixing her face seemed pointless. She wasn't about to impress anyone while cutting open a dead commissioner.

Her hair, a wild mess of curls, was exactly how she'd left it. I should've listened to myself and straightened it, she thought, regretting not doing it earlier—more like three hours ago—but exhaustion had won that battle. Instead, she threw it into a quick French twist, ignoring the stubborn curls that escaped the updo.

After splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, she grabbed her bag, keys, and phone, and rushed out the door.

The early morning chill hit her as soon as she stepped outside.

Gotham's streets were eerily still, save for the distant hum of police sirens—a constant reminder of the city's chaos.

As Maryam approached the curb, Gordon stood leaning against his car, the streetlight casting harsh shadows over his exhausted face. He straightened when he saw her coming.

"Fifteen minutes? More like twenty-five," he said, tapping his watch, his voice laced with weary sarcasm.

Maryam shot him a sharp look, pulling the belt of her trench coat tighter around her waist. "You woke me up at 5 a.m. You're lucky I'm even vertical."

Gordon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, Mar. This one's bad. Real bad."

She could see it in his face—the strain, the weight of whatever mess was waiting for them. If the commissioner was dead, Gotham was about to spiral into chaos.

Without another word, she slid into the passenger seat, the cold leather biting through her scrubs. Gordon got behind the wheel as she buckled her seatbelt. "Worse than the mayor?" she asked, disbelief creeping into her voice.

He didn't answer right away, just shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the dark, empty streets of Gotham. "You'll see."

Gordon glanced sideways at her, eyes lined with fatigue. "You good?"

She sighed, pushing a stray curl from her face. "I'm here, aren't I?" She bit her thumb lightly, her gaze fixed ahead on the road. "But yeah, everything's just peachy." She turned to him with a raised perfect structured brow. "You?"

Gordon gave a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "How do you think?" He didn't look at her, just focused on the road, eyes narrowed against the dim streetlights and the occasional flash of a police cruiser speeding by.

"Yeah, thought so." Maryam leaned back into the seat, letting her head rest against the cold window.

The rhythmic hum of the car as it cut through Gotham's early morning streets was almost soothing, but her mind raced, unable to shake the weight of what Gordon had said. Worse than the mayor? That didn't leave much room for optimism.

They drove in silence for a while longer, the city slipping past in shadows and flickering lights. The distant sirens and low rumble of Gotham waking up to another day of chaos filled the quiet, and Maryam closed her eyes, trying to gather herself. But no matter how much she loved her job, sometimes it was all too much. The pit in her stomach deepened.

Gordon finally broke the silence, his voice rough and low. "This isn't just about the commissioner. It's the way it was done." His jaw clenched as he shook his head. "It's like this city's being torn apart piece by piece. I don't know how much more we can take before it completely falls apart."

Maryam didn't respond, but a cold chill crept up her spine. Gordon wasn't exaggerating. She'd seen enough of Gotham's darkness to know that when someone like the commissioner was taken out, it was never just a simple murder.

There was always something more beneath the surface, something twisted.

"Did you see the livestream?" Gordon asked, adjusting his glasses with one hand as they waited at a red light.

"Livestream?" she echoed, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"That freak recorded it live. Streamed the whole thing on social media." His voice was tight with disgust as he shook his head.

"Are you serious?" Maryam pulled out her phone, opened Twitter, and immediately saw the trending post.

Her heart sank.

Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped in a small iron cage with rats circling his head, gnawing at his flesh. His muffled screams filled the car through her phone's speakers. It already had millions of views. She scrolled through the comments—some people panicking, others making dark jokes. 'Only in Gotham,' one read.

She locked her phone, shaking her head. "What the actual fuck is wrong with this guy?"

"I don't know," Gordon muttered, "but he needs to be stopped."

As they turned the corner toward GCPD headquarters, Maryam noticed fewer police cars than she had expected. Gordon pulled up to the curb and parked, then turned to face her. His face was pale in the streetlights, worry etched deep in his features as he rubbed his mustache.

"Just so you know, the Bat's coming," he said quietly.

Maryam groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. "Oh my god, Jamie, you invited that autistic bat?"

Gordon shot her a look as he got out of the car. "Behave, Mar," he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

With a dramatic sigh, Maryam followed suit, shivering as Gotham's morning chill wrapped around her.

She shrugged her bag over her shoulder, muttering under her breath, "I'm always behaved..." Then, jogging to catch up with his hurried steps, she called after him, "You could've warned me at least!"

They didn't enter through the front, but slipped around to the back of the station. That's when Maryam saw him—standing in the shadows by his car.

Vengeance.

Even from the distance, their eyes snapped to each other instantly. Just hours ago, they'd been chasing and fighting one another, and now here they were again, face to face. Her, in civilian clothes; him, still in his suit.

Her fingers instinctively brushed the bruise behind her brow. Anxiety twisted in her gut.

What if he recognizes me? she thought, panic creeping in.

But she quickly shook it off. Don't be ridiculous. It was night, you were both fighting.

He. didn't. see. anything.

As they approached, Gordon led the way, walking straight toward the Bat, while Maryam held back, keeping her distance—just in case.

She stayed quiet, head down, but could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on her.

Gordon nodded at the towering figure. "Right, let's get this over with. I don't want them to see you," he said before heading inside the station.

Maryam kept her head low as they moved past, still staying behind. But she could feel Vengeance's eyes on her, even though she avoided looking directly at him.

Inside, they were greeted by Officer Martinez, who shot a dirty look at the Bat before turning to Maryam. His expression softened as he leaned in, kissing her on the cheek and handing her a small cup of coffee. "For my favorite colleague," he grinned, his mustache lifting with the smile.

She returned the gesture, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Lucas. You're a lifesaver."

Gordon interrupted the brief moment. "Hey, Martinez, keep an eye out while we go check the body, will you?"

Martinez looked between the trio, eyebrows raised, but nodded. "Uh— Yeah, sure thing, Lieutenant. You got it."

Without further exchange, they descended into the cold, sterile halls of the medical examiner's rooms. The familiar smell of disinfectant greeted them.

Maryam squirted some alcohol on her hands and snapped on a pair of gloves. "Which drawer?" she asked Gordon, gesturing to the rows of body fridges.

Gordon pointed to the far end of the room. "Third from the right."

She walked over, her footsteps echoing in the quiet, and tugged open the heavy metal door. The cold air hit her immediately as she pulled out the slab with Commissioner Savage's body lying still and lifeless, the weight of Gotham's madness now reduced to just another corpse.

Maryam took a deep breath, steadying herself as she pulled the drawer fully open. The sight of the commissioner's body sent a shiver down her spine. He lay there, pale and motionless, a stark reminder of the brutality that had engulfed Gotham. She couldn't help but notice the way his hands were positioned—fingers curled as if grasping at something that was no longer there.

The medical examiner grimaced at the sight in front of her, and Gordon muttered a low, "Jesus," looking away and clenching his jaw. The Bat approached from behind, cold and calculating, assessing the body over her shoulder.

"Let's see what we've got here," Maryam said, reaching for the flashlight on the autopsy tray.

She waved it over the commissioner's eyes, checking for any reaction. "No pupil dilation," she noted. "Which means he was likely already unconscious when it happened."

"He waited for him. At the gym. Pete liked to work out late at night," Gordon said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Not the best choice in a city this volatile," Maryam added, raising her brows to drive home the point, continuing her examination. "This isn't just a simple murder... no, there's definitely a pattern."

"There's a needle mark on his neck," Batman observed, his tone flat.

"Son of a bitch injected him with—" Gordon began, only to be cut off by the vigilante.

"Rat poison."

"That seems to be his theme," Gordon replied, frustration creeping into his voice. He stepped back angrily, running a hand through his hair.

"It wouldn't have taken long," Maryam said calmly, her gloved hands moving over the body. "Depending on the dose, the poison would've shut down his organs in minutes. A cruel way to go."

Batman followed Gordon to the evidence table, while Maryam kept her focus on Savage. As she worked, something caught her eye—the creepy, hinged cage-like head box nearby. She moved closer, peering inside at the intricate network of channels.

"It's a maze," the Bat said, examining it over her shoulder.

"What kind of sicko does this to a person?" Gordon asked, disgust lacing his voice as he looked into the bloody maze.

Batman pulled out a violet light, flashing it over the channels. "More symbols." A crudely painted cipher ended in a question mark within crosshairs. "Another cipher."

"What kind of light is that?" Maryam asked curiously, her brow furrowing as she eyed the tool in his hand.

The Bat turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke. ***

Her focus shifted back to the maze. She narrowed her eyes, her voice firm. "This isn't just torture. It's a message. A twisted game." She clicked on her own flashlight, carefully illuminating the channels in the gruesome head box. "Each path could represent something—maybe even the victim's fate."

Batman's gaze shifted to the surveillance photos Gordon was sifting through. "He blasted those out after his message went viral. This guy murders you and your reputation."

"That guy's pushing drops," Batman added, spotting a figure next to Savage in the photos, his gloved hand still holding the violet light. "On the East End."

Maryam frowned as she glanced at the photos, her heart sinking. The commissioner was emerging from the Iceberg Lounge, shaking hands with a shady figure. "This doesn't look good," she said softly. "Even in death, he's destroying reputations. This could ruin lives..."

Gordon sighed heavily. "Why would Pete get involved in this?"

"Looks like he got greedy," Batman replied.

Maryam scoffed, shooting Gordon a knowing look. "Come on, Jamie, we all know half the cops in Gotham work for you-know-who. It's not a stretch to think Pete crossed that line."

"Are you kidding me? After everything we did to bust up the Maronis? We shut down their whole operation, and now he's caving to some dealer?" Gordon's voice was incredulous.

"Maybe he wasn't who you thought he was," Batman said coldly.

"You make it sound like he had it coming," Gordon muttered, frustration evident.

"He was a cop. He crossed the line," Batman said flatly.

Maryam nodded. "Zorro's right, Gordon. Even if you arrested Maroni, the drops and drugs are still out there. New ones hit the streets every day. I've lost count of the bodies with this stuff in their systems." She glanced back at the corpse. "The system is failing us. And now, someone's turning it into a game. More lives are being sacrificed."

Gordon exhaled, weighed down by the situation. Batman noticed something taped to the back of the head box—an envelope labeled To the Batman.

He opened it, revealing another greeting card. A cartoon scientist mixing beakers smiled out at them with the words, I'm MAD About You! Want to Know My Name? Just Look Inside and See... Inside, a cartoon explosion with the words, But wait, I cannot tell you—it might spoil the chemistry!

Maryam rolled her eyes. "This is childish. Whoever did this thinks it's a game?" She leaned closer, studying the envelope with a critical eye. "But it's also an invitation. A challenge."

Batman scanned the scribbled message and read aloud, "Follow the maze till you find the rat—bring him into the light, and you'll find where I'm at."

"What the hell does that mean? Bring him into the light? Find the rat?" Gordon asked, unnerved.

Batman's eyes narrowed as he stared at his name on the envelope. "I don't know..."

Maryam crossed her arms, contemplating. "It's a metaphor, right? Exposing someone, forcing them to face the consequences of their actions." She looked at the Bat, her voice firm. "We need to figure out who this rat is before more bodies pile up." A dark look crossed her face as dread gnawed at her. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Suddenly, Martinez hurried down the stairs, snapping the trio out of their thoughts. "Lieutenant, they're coming back."

"We need to get out of here," Gordon said sharply, turning to his two companions.

The trio made their way out of the police station through the back, where the dim streetlights flickered over the darkened alleyway.

The heavy steel door shut behind them with a metallic clank, leaving them in the cool night air. Batman's shadowed figure was already scanning the surroundings, always alert, while Gordon fumbled with his phone, the screen glowing in his hand.

Just then, Gordon's phone rang urgently, the shrill tone cutting through the quiet. He glanced down, his brow furrowing. "I've gotta take this," he muttered before answering the call. His voice grew tense after a few exchanged words. "Yeah... Yeah, I'll be there. Right away."

He hung up, slipping the phone into his coat pocket, and turned to Maryam. "I need to go. Something's come up."

Maryam gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine, Jamie. I can walk from here."

Gordon hesitated for a moment, his expression softening as he stepped closer. He pressed a quick, fatherly kiss to her cheek—a simple gesture filled with warmth and concern. "Just be careful, alright?"

"I always am," Maryam replied with a faint smile, the weight of the night still heavy between them.

Gordon gave Batman a nod, a silent acknowledgment between the two men.

Without another word, he strode toward his car, the tension of Gotham's unrelenting chaos pulling him back into the fray.

The moment he slipped inside, he flipped on the sirens. The red and blue lights burst to life, flashing across the walls of the alley, followed by the sharp wail of the siren as the car sped off into the distance.

Maryam watched for a moment, her expression inscrutable as the siren's wail faded into the distance.

She exhaled softly, her breath misting in the cold air, then shifted her gaze to the looming figure of the Bat beside her. As she expected, he was already watching her, his shadowed eyes piercing through the darkness.

Fumbling with the belt of her trench coat, she pulled it tighter around her waist, as if it could shield her from the weight of his presence.

That gaze—it was relentless, cutting through her defenses. She swallowed hard, her heart quickening as she forced herself to look anywhere but at him. "Well... bye, I guess," she muttered abruptly, her voice sounding smaller than she intended. She turned on her heel, ready to disappear into the night.

But before she could take another step, his voice—low, grave, and unyielding—cut through the stillness of the alley. It stopped her cold.

"What happened to your face?"

She sighed, knowing he had seen it.

Gordon knew better than to ask, but him? "What are you talking about?" she replied, trying to feign confusion as she turned to face him, his form now just a few centimeters away.

"This," he said, pointing with a gloved finger at her brow, where a cut was surrounded by a bluish bruise.

"Oh," she attempted a reassuring smile, letting out a small chuckle and raising a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really. I just banged my head against a table yesterday."

He remained silent for a moment, still looking at her, while she found herself unable to meet his gaze.

Having had enough of the silence, she crossed her arms defensively. "Can you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his tone calm yet curious.

"Like you're dissecting me," she shot back, her voice carrying a hint of irritation. "I'm fine. Really."

His eyes narrowed slightly, a mixture of skepticism and concern flickering in the shadows. "You're not fine. You're hurt. And it's not just a cut."

Maryam rolled her eyes, her defensive posture making her shoulders tense. "It's just a bruise, Zorro. I've dealt with worse." She turned her back to him, taking a step toward the alley's exit, but his presence felt like a weight she couldn't shake off.

"Doesn't look like it," he said quietly, closing the distance between them.

Their eyes locked, and she crossed her arms defiantly. "You're doing it again—looking at me like you can see right through me," she shot back, her voice tinged with frustration as she held her ground against his piercing gaze.

Vengeance tilted his head, the shadows accentuating the angles of his mask. "You think you're hiding something from me?" he asked, his tone steady but edged with curiosity.

Maryam took a step back, her heart racing as she fought to regain her composure. "It's just a bruise. It's not a big deal," she insisted, trying to force a casual demeanor despite the tension crackling between them.

He reached out and took her arm, the contact eliciting a short gasp from her lips. Then, he pulled her closer, his breath warming her neck as he examined the cut. "It's too deep to just be from bumping your head on a table."

She clenched her jaw, gripping his muscular arm, feeling the fabric of his suit tighten beneath her fingers. "Stop it," she said, her voice firm, and she pushed him away. But he caught her hand this time, refusing to let go.

"Get on the bike. You're not walking home alone."

"No."

"This isn't up for debate," he said, his voice low and commanding, though there was a hint of concern beneath the surface. "The streets aren't safe, especially not for you right now."

She met his gaze, unyielding. "I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself. I'm not some damsel in distress."

He let out a soft sigh, the tension between them thick. "This isn't about being a damsel. It's about the dangers out there—the ones you can't see coming."

Maryam shook her head, frustration bubbling up. "I'm not afraid of whatever's lurking in the shadows. I'm not afraid of you, either."

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, stepping closer, his intensity unwavering. "You think you can handle everything on your own? You've seen what I can do. I'm not just some myth; I'm real, and I'm trying to help."

"I don't need your help," she shot back, her heart pounding from the confrontation. "You don't get to decide what I need. I can protect myself." Her voice was firmer than she felt, muttering under her breath, "I've been doing it for years."

Silence hung heavy between them.

"Just get on the bike," he finally said.

Frustration surged within her. "Oh my god, are you deaf or something?! I can handle myself, thank you very much!" Her hands punctuated her words, a familiar gesture when she felt cornered. "And why do you even care? We barely know each other!"

His gaze narrowed as he absorbed her words. "I won't stand by and watch someone get hurt when I can do something about it."

Maryam clenched her jaw, the defiance in her eyes flickering like a dying flame. "I'm a medical examiner. I've faced danger before. I don’t need someone babysitting me."

He shook his head slowly, frustration seeping through his tight-lipped expression. "This isn't just about you anymore. Gotham's a dangerous place, and you're already in over your head. You need someone watching your back."

"Maybe I don't want anyone watching my back," she retorted, taking a step away. "Maybe I'd rather take my chances on my own than rely on someone who thinks they know better."

He exhaled sharply, the tension between them thickening. "It's not about knowing better. It's about keeping you safe."

"Safe?" Her voice rose, anger sharpening her words. "You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You think you can just swoop in and—"

"I know enough," he interrupted, his voice low and steady. "I know enough to see that you're hurting. And I’m not going to let you push me away because you’re scared."

Her heart raced, caught between anger and something softer. "You think this is fear? This is me standing my ground."

"Then stand your ground on the bike," he said, his voice calm but laced with concern. "I'm not asking you to give up control. Just let me help."

She paused, torn between her stubborn pride and the truth hanging in his words. "I don't want to be a burden," she muttered, her earlier defiance weakening.

"You're not a burden," he replied, though his words came slower, more deliberate. "You're... an ally."

Maryam bit her lip, weighing her options. After a long pause, she exhaled, her resistance faltering. "Fine. But this doesn't change anything."

He almost smiled—just a flicker of amusement in his usually stoic expression. "I wouldn't dream of it." Then, his expression hardened slightly. "Wait here."

She nodded suspiciously, watching him disappear into the shadows of the alley. Minutes passed, her gaze darting around anxiously. He was gone for at least ten minutes before he reappeared, but this time, the suit was gone.

In its place stood a drifter, or at least, that's what he looked like—his lower face hidden behind a bandana, black sunglasses covering his eyes, and a cap pulled low over his brow. The baggy clothes he wore made him unrecognizable, a stark contrast to the imposing figure from earlier.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him, but she still couldn't piece together who he was. His disguise was too good.

Without a word, he gestured toward the motorcycle parked nearby, a sleek, black machine that fit the man of mystery he was. He handed her a helmet, and she hesitated for only a moment before taking it, slipping it over her head.

Once she was seated behind him, she felt the rumble of the engine beneath them as he settled in front.

Through the hum of the engine, she spoke up, giving her address. "I live on—"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice steady but muffled through the helmet.

She blinked, surprised. "What? How?"

"Just hold on," he replied without explanation, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Maryam frowned but didn't have much of a choice. She reluctantly wrapped her arms around his abdomen, feeling the solidness of his frame beneath the loose clothing.

The motorcycle roared to life, and they sped into the early morning, the city blurring around them as she tightened her grip, wondering just how much he really knew about her.

The wind whipped past them, the early morning chill biting at her skin even through her clothes.

Maryam's heart raced, not just from the speed of the bike, but from the thoughts swirling in her head.

The city lights streaked by in a blur, the darkened streets and shadowy alleys blending together as they tore through Gotham's chaotic maze.

She felt her grip tighten around him instinctively, her cheek nearly pressed to his back, sensing the calm rhythm of his breath against the wild beat of her own heart.

The streets were far from calm, even in the early hours.

She caught glimpses of figures huddled in makeshift shelters, a couple of homeless men crouched by a fire in a barrel, their faces hollowed by hunger and hardship.

Shadows flitted between the crumbling facades of abandoned buildings, home to those whom Gotham's elite had long forgotten. Maryam swallowed hard, her chest tightening with a blend of embarrassment and discomfort.

It wasn't the people that embarrassed her; she had once walked in their shoes. No, it was the man on the motorcycle—a figure that felt foreign, as if he had never known the grit of these streets.

The bike began to slow down as they neared a slightly quieter corner, still rough around the edges but not quite in the heart of the Narrows.

Maryam's heart was still pounding, her fingers curled tightly around his jacket, but she forced herself to loosen her grip as the motorcycle came to a stop.

"You can let go now," his voice broke through the rumble of the engine, a hint of amusement mixed with something more unreadable.

Exhaling shakily, Maryam removed her arms from around him and slid off the bike, her legs unsteady on the gritty concrete.

She stood there for a moment, watching him as he kicked the stand down, turning off the engine. With slightly trembling fingers, she fumbled with the helmet, removing it and shaking her head to loosen her hair.

A few stubborn curls had escaped her carefully pinned-up hair during the ride. She tried to brush them back in place, but they were wild, framing her face in soft, unruly waves.

Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, but it only made her look more striking.

Despite the smudges of fatigue and tension etched around her eyes, there was a sharp beauty in her features—a hint of vulnerability hidden behind the determination in her gaze.

"How—" she began, her voice still hoarse from the ride. "How do you know where I live?"

He turned to face her, his lower face still hidden behind the bandana, his eyes obscured by those dark sunglasses. "I make it my business to know things," he replied, his tone casual, though there was an underlying weight to his words that set her on edge.

Maryam's frown deepened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not an answer."

"No," he admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "But it's the one you're getting."

Her frustration flickered, and she crossed her arms tightly, struggling to calm her racing heart. "You can't just—"

"You're safe," he cut her off, his voice sharp and final. "That's what matters."

Maryam clenched her jaw, her pride stinging. "I can take care of myself."

He didn't argue, just stood there for a moment, as if sizing her up. Then, without another word, he turned back to the bike, preparing to leave.

"Wait." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

He paused, turning his head just slightly, though he didn't look at her fully. "What?"

She hesitated, feeling the weight of the tension between them. "Why are you doing this?"

There was a long silence before he spoke again. "Because someone has to."

And with that, the engine roared back to life. Before she could react, he sped off into the gloom, vanishing into the shadows as if he'd never been there.

Maryam stood in the dim light of the street, watching the empty space where he had been moments ago.

The cold air stung her face, her mind buzzing with unanswered questions. She shook her head, muttering to herself, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

As the engine hummed beneath him, Bruce felt the familiar tension ease slightly from his body.

She reminded him of someone.

Actually, she reminded him of himself.

He could still feel the ghost of her arms around his waist, the way her grip had tightened instinctively when the bike picked up speed.

She hadn't trusted him—he could feel that—but she hadn't had much of a choice, either.

The same way he hadn't had a choice but to intervene.

But why? Why had he stepped in tonight? It wasn't like him to involve himself so deeply, especially not with someone like her. Someone with a past she kept hidden, someone fiercely independent who clearly resented any intrusion.

Bruce's gloved hands tightened on the handlebars as the streets blurred past him.

There was something about Maryam that nagged at him, something he couldn't shake.

She had secrets—just like everyone else in Gotham—but hers felt especially tangled. That bruise on her face? He knew it hadn’t come from a table, no matter how convincingly she tried to spin her story.

And he actually had an idea of how... he just had to watch and analyze the night that he has captured through his contact lents.

He had a sense of how it had happened; all he needed to do was watch and analyze the night captured through his contact lenses.

But it wasn’t just the physical injuries that caught his attention.

He had seen it in her eyes—the quiet pain, the weariness that she tried so hard to mask with that bravado. She was running from something, even if she wouldn't admit it. But what? And why did he care?

Bruce shook his head, focusing on the road ahead. He wasn't supposed to care.

The mission always came first—Gotham came first.

That was the only thing that mattered. Yet, there was something about her—something about Maryam Ben Halimi—that he couldn't quite let go of.

He turned down a narrow street, heading toward the Batcave, the night wrapping around him like an old, familiar cloak.

His thoughts lingered on her words, the fire in her voice when she insisted she didn't need help. He knew that feeling, the instinct to push others away, to rely only on yourself.

He had been doing it for years.

But it was different now. She was different. He wasn't sure why, but he felt drawn to her in a way that made him uneasy. It wasn't just about protecting Gotham this time.

He pulled into the cave, the cool, dark expanse opening up around him. The bike's engine echoed off the stone walls as he came to a stop. He took off his sunglasses and slid the bandana down, revealing the familiar, stoic mask of Bruce Wayne.

But even as he shut down the bike and removed his helmet, he couldn't shake the feeling.

He couldn't shake her.

She had gotten under his skin in ways that made him question his own instincts.

Pacing toward the center of the cave, Bruce's mind kept circling back to her—her sharp words, her defensive stance, and the way her eyes had softened for just a split second when she gave in. Fine. But this doesn't change anything.

Of course, it didn't change anything. It wasn't supposed to. But something had shifted. Maybe not for her, but for him.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

This was why he worked alone.

This was why he kept his distance.

Attachment—any kind—was dangerous.

It clouded judgment, made things messy.

Yet, here he was, thinking about Maryam again, about her bruised face, about the vulnerability she tried to hide beneath her sharp tongue.

Maybe it was because she wasn't afraid of him.

Or maybe it was because, despite everything, she was still standing her ground.

She wasn't running from him.

And she didn't see him as a myth, a legend, or a hero. She seemed to saw him for what he was—a man, flawed and just as tangled in this city's web as everyone else.

Bruce exhaled slowly, his breath heavy in the stillness of the cave. He couldn't afford distractions.

Not now.

Not ever.

But as he stood there, in the familiar shadows, one thought kept gnawing at him:

He wasn't just trying to protect Maryam from Gotham's dangers.

He was trying to protect her from becoming something like him.

Or perhaps it was too late; perhaps, unbeknownst to him, she had already shed the city's sins, leaving her pure and untouchable.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to plunge into the depths with her, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned.

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[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 2: love confession

Masterlist flufftober 🎀

Reblog if you liked it!

When Spencer watched you enter the office he felt that strange thing again. It was as if his stomach was turning completely, his heart was racing uncontrollably and his brain was turning off completely. And that had been going on for the past few months which, honestly, had become a pain.

“I knew we would be the first to arrive” you laughed, extending one of the two cups you had in your hands towards him “I bought you one.”

“Bless you, I needed my morning caffeine” he laughed, and when he heard you laugh that empty feeling returned. It was as if your presence triggered symptoms of a strange illness that he didn't know how to cure and that morning he woke up knowing that he was going to clear things up. “Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”

“About me or your person?”

“About me,” he clarified and you smiled, leaning against his desk so you could hear him better. You nodded your head, so he could start telling you whatever he had to say. “I've been feeling strange… but I guess I don't know why that is.”

"What are you talking about?"

“It's been happening to me for a few weeks now. I have had heart abnormalities, my hands sweat, my face feels hot, and out of nowhere I become a nervous wreck and I feel a knot in my stomach. All at the same time and that is horrible”

“Jesus Christ, Reid…” you began, genuinely concerned. “And have you been to the doctor?”

“No, because my symptoms only appear when I see… a specific person. But I don't understand why it is, do you think there is an allergy to a human person?

You watched him for a few seconds, digesting what he had just said and wondering if he meant it; his expectant look suggested to you that it was so, and you kept thinking until you could find the right words for an answer.

“Are you telling me that all this happens to you only when you see that person?”

“Yes,” he admitted, oblivious to anything you were implying.

“And it happens at another time? You know, like when you think about that person” you murmured cautiously, watching him reflect afterwards and finally nod his head frantically.

“It's strange, right?”

“And haven't you thought that you might not be sick, but in love?” 

"In love?" he muttered confusedly, as if it were an impossibility “That's absurd.”

“Why would it be? All of that sounds to me like your body gets excited when you see that person and it can only be if you are in love with them” you smiled, truly amused by the matter “It's something completely normal.”

"But that can’t be. It would mean that I am in love with you.”

Spencer didn't mean to say that. Spencer pretended to think that. But once the words left his mouth and he realized the mistake he had just made, he felt all the blood rushing to his cheeks. He only meant to ask you what all that was about, you weren't supposed to know that you were responsible for it. 

"What did you say?"

"Nothing"

“Do you feel all that when you're with me?” you asked stunned, verifying your theory with the simple blush on his cheeks. Your friend's silence was prolonged, until he felt he owed you an apology for such an indiscreet outburst.

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable”

“You didn't,” you admitted, reaching out to pat his knee “I'm just surprised. And you flatter me, in a way."

“Can we just pretend this didn't happen?” he asked, his eyes squeezed shut in shame and his hands fiddling with each other.

You leaned in his direction and planted a kiss on his nose that forced him to open his eyes and look at you.

“I also feel that whole chemical mess when I'm around you. There is nothing to be ashamed of” you laughed, feeling his soft gaze on you and almost hearing his heart beating rapidly “Now get to work. They don't pay you to be pretty”

And the memory of that exchange was enough to keep Reid working with a sweet smile on his face all day.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove @vivian-555 @r-3dlips @rhiannonhippiegirl

[gvcci-bxby]

the arrangement (mini series) - chapter 4: reconciliation

pairing: neteyam sully x omaticaya reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: SMUT! (p in v), light cursing, fluff, probs misspellings (ill revise later, im tired ya'll lol)

other installments: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

author's note: I just wanted to thank everyone for the reblogs, likes, and overall engagement with my first series. I apologize for the long wait for the final installment but I hope you all enjoyed it. It's definitely a basic ending but enemies deserve happy endings too. Much gratitude.

taglist: @bakugouswaif @erenjaegerwifee @rav3nh3aven @aysha4life @marriedtolike18fictionalmen

“Y/n wait,” Neteyam says, firmly grabbing your arm. 

“For what? So, I can watch another girl climb all over you?”

Neteyam sighs sharply, putting both his hands on your shoulders. “Stop, and just listen. What you just saw was nothing, she approached me while I was waiting for you.” 

You roll your eyes, “What do you want Neteyam? You’re the one that asked me to meet you.” 

“Yes, I did because I wanted to explain what happened last week. What Korra said about Nalu and I isn’t true. In fact, every rumor you’ve heard about me, and another girl isn’t true at all. I haven’t been with anyone, ever.” Neteyam could help but divert his eyes, embarrassed by admitting his lack of experience. 

You open your mouth to respond but couldn’t find words to say. You had been wrong all along, not allowing Neteyam to bring clarity to the situation. You felt guilty and foolish, thinking about how you could’ve moved passed the situation and spent the last several days being excited and discussing your ceremony. 

“I’ve been waiting for you, and I wish you would have allowed me to explain it all. Korra has always made it clear she likes me, but I only think and care about you.” 

“So, you waited? To mate with me?” You ask, making your jealousy of imagining him with other girls known. 

Neteyam nods, bringing you close. “You’ll be my first and my last.” 

You shake your head, looking down at the ground. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you, Neteyam. This whole time we could have-. “ Neteyam interrupts you, shushing you. He brushes your freshly braided hair to the side, brushing his fingertips across your cheek.  “It’s okay,” Neteyam’s voice coming out as a whisper. 

Your arms wrap around Neteyam’s torso, bringing your fronts closer. You feel relief, knowing Korra only targeted you to make Neteyam her own, that there is no truth to what she, Nalu, or any of the other Na’vi girls have said. 

You feel a course of excitement surge through your body, the close proximity being close to Neteyam again thrilling you. You let the emotions get the best of you and you crashed your lips into Neteyam’s. His response was quick, picking you up swiftly. You wrap your legs around him, pushing your mouth into his, his tongue maneuvers its way into your mouth.

You both stand in the village, and it was totally possible that others could see you and Neteyam. Neteyam walks you into the edge of the forest that was only a few yards away. 

Your lips move with Neteyam’s in synch, urges you had never felt before gathering in your stomach and between your thighs. Neteyam was in between earth and heaven, the feeling of you against him exhilarating him. Your legs part, allowing him to Neteyam to rest and stay close to you, gave him unholy ideas. Your hips buck up, meeting Neteyam’s, and you feel his bulge growing by the second. Your skin tingles, satisfied by Neteyam’s reaction to your touch, your body. 

You were so deeply lost in Neteyam to noticed people approaching the edge of the forest where you and Neteyam made out. 

“Lo’ak, do you think it’s a smart idea for Neteyam and y/n to be seen making out, in the forest, before their ceremony tomorrow?” Kiri says, standing off to the side with her arms crossed. 

You gasp, surprised by your friend spotting you. Lo’ak shakes his head, “Bro, I never want to see you in this position ever again.” 

Kiri wrinkles her nose, “Neither do I. Come on, y/n, you need to get rest before tomorrow. Neteyam, you need to pull yourself together before you go home, mom and dad are waiting for you.” 

You stand up robotically, thoroughly embarrassed. Kiri and Lo’ak walk ahead of you, allowing one last moment of privacy before tomorrow. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Neteyam whispers, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

You smile, squeezing his hand that was placed in yours. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest.” 

As you walk home, Kiri escorts you home. Lo’ak parting to walk home with Neteyam. “I see you two have made up.” 

You laugh, nodding. “We did indeed, it was just a giant misunderstanding. But I’m so nervous for tomorrow.” 

Kiri squeezes your shoulder, “As you should be. It’s the biggest day of your life. You’re getting mated for life and being announced as the future leader of the clan.” 

You sigh, approaching you home. “Thanks for the reminder.” 

Kiri laughs now, “I’m just saying y/n, it’s okay to be nervous. But don’t worry, it’s all going to be perfect. I’ll be there, your parents will be there. We’re all here to show our love and support for you and Neteyam.” 

You pause at the bottom of your steps that lead to your home. You turn to your friend, opening your arms to hug her. Kiri accepts your embrace, offering you encouragement. “I’m excited to have you become a part of my family, sister.” 

You smile, stepping back. “I am most honored to become part of your family, Kiri.” Kiri ushers you inside where you find your mother whirling around your living room. Kiri stands behind you taking in the sight as well. 

Your mother holds your ceremony attire, the pearls, and bright stones drip down from the dress, and the outfit glitters in the light. “There you are, y/n.” Your mother exclaims. “Get in here, we have finishing touches to do.” 

Behind you, Kiri touches your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kiri says with a small smile. She slinks off into the dark, most likely heading towards her own house. 

Your mother lightly grasps your forearm, having you stand in front of her. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” 

You shrug, heat starting to crawl up your neck. You know she’s referring to what’s will happen after the ceremony. “Mom,” you say, averting your gaze from hers. “We don’t have to have that talk.” 

Your mother raises her eyebrows, lifting her arms up in defense. “If you say so, I was just going to offer you an answer to any of your questions.” 

You shake your head at the thought but before you could respond, your mother changes the topic. 

“Now,” she says, stepping back to look at you. “Let’s do some finishing touches.” 

For the next hour your mom primps you. To distract you, you imagine what tomorrow will be like. When Neytiri had come over, your mother and she had discussed the itinerary for the day of the ceremony so you had a good idea of how it would all play out. 

First, the ceremony will occur, Jake, Neytiri, your mother, your father, and Moat will stand on the alter with you and Neteyam, requesting your vow to promise to protect and lead the Omatikaya people. Then there will be a clan meal except you and Neteyam will break away for your own personal ceremony. That part brings chills up your arms and spine. 

Finally, your mom taps your shoulder, your eyes flickering open. “You keep dozing off, you can go to bed now. Just make sure to put your hair up so you don’t mess it up while you sleep.” You nod, groggy with sleep. Before you got far away, your mom wrapped you in a hug. “If you’re nervous, don’t be.” She kisses the top of your head and then gives you a soft nudge into your room. 

--- --- --- 

Before you can even comprehend, you’re in your ceremony dress; Neytiri and your mother pulling your hair into a style, your dress being tapered to your torso as you stand back in the living room. Your stomach is in a knot, knowing that a grand ceremony and big responsibilities await outside. You bite your lip thinking about it. 

“You look beautiful,” Neytiri says, standing in front of you. Her big, gold-flecked eyes observe your face, taking in your emotions. “You’re nervous. Don’t be, we’ll all be up there with you.” 

You hum softly, slightly comforted with that fact. It’s not just you on the stage, yours and Neteyam’s family will stand on the platform with you. “I know, but still,” You say. Neytiri shakes her head, waving her hand. 

Behind her, your mom tugs at her dress and you can’t help but smile at her excitement. While her pressure on you has been annoying when you were growing up, you, too, would most likely react the same way if you were in her position. 

Your living room door opens a crack and Jake sticks his head in. “Ready ladies?” Jake says, eyeing you. “Y/n, you look great.” You smile in response, bowing your head towards Jake. 

Neytiri and your mom stand beside you, their arms looping into yours. “Are you ready?” your mom whispers to you. You look down at the floor, taking in what’s about to happen. You think about how you and Neteyam’s relationship has evolved over the past few weeks. It gives you hope for the future and what awaits for both of you. 

Jake disappears behind the door and it’s you, your mom, and your soon-to-be mother-in-law alone. Together, you all venture out the door and towards the center of the village. Every step you take feels like you’re floating, and you feel confidence and excitement growing within you. 

After a short walk, you approach your ceremony, the clan looking back to see you. Ahead, your father, Jake, Neteyam and Moat stand. Even from far away you can see Neteyam’s smiling at you. Neteyam’s breath is almost taken completely away, his mind in awe of how beautiful you look. 

Neytiri and your mother hold you at your arms, and you’re thankful for that. You feel your knees get weak approaching the platform, but the mothers are there to support you the entire way. Neteyam looks beautiful as he stands in Omatikaya traditional clothing. 

You take the steps to the platform one-by-one, and you are now in front of the whole clan, your friends, your future family, your enemies, and Neteyam. You face Neteyam, taking his hands that are outstretched to you. 

The ceremony begins. 

The ceremony lasts close to an hour, prayer and song laced within the statements made by your family and Neteyam’s. Each family member must make commitments to support you and Neteyam’s time in leadership. Finally, the attention turns towards you and Neteyam. 

“Neteyam and Y/n,” Jake says to you and his son. “Do you promise to work together, physically and in spirit, to protect the Omatikaya people and their land.” 

You nod, looking from Jake to the clan that is splayed out in front of you. All the faces you recognize, and you feel complete honor to lead such a peaceful yet fierce clan. You are flashed back to when you were just a young na’vi, dangling on some of their hands and legs, and now you stand in front of them as their future leader. “Yes, I do.” Neteyam follows too, knowing he would do anything for the clan he loves. 

Jake smiles looking at you and Neteyam. Despite your previous rivalry, Jake knew that you would come around to each other and would protect the clan until you passed the torch to your own children. Neytiri, too, gazed at her son and you in amazement, hoping you can lead the clan in peace and never deal with the tragedies her parents and now her and Jake have endured.  

“I’m pleased to make it official that Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan and y/n as the future leaders of the Omatikaya clan and Neytiri and I’s replacement if anything should happen to us. I believe, wholeheartedly, that they will lead the clan with love and commitment, under Eywa, until the pass.” Jake says, and immediately the clan begins to cheer.  

Your parents rejoice as well, providing happy smiles towards you and your new mate. Neteyam pulls you close to him, his face hidden from the audience by your long braids. He plants a kiss on the nape of your neck, his scent filling your nose. Your knees get weak again, the thought of what’s to come making your stomach twist with anticipation. But first is the clan meal. 

You are seated, next to Neteyam, at the head of the table. Your parents sit on your side of the table, Jake and Neytiri on Neteyam’s side. The table is long, making a place for every clan member. An incredible amount of food is place on the length of the table, ensuring that everyone’s stomach will be filled. You make a note in your head to thank the na’vi that spent so much time preparing the food. 

Food is place in front of you, but you can’t get yourself to eat; you’re too nervous. Neteyam can tell, and he places a hand on your inner thigh, out of sight of anyone’s gaze. Neteyam leans closer to you, offering a comforting presence. “Can you believe it?” Neteyam whispers 

You shake your head, leaning towards Neteyam. “I can’t; we’ve known about this day since we could talk yet it seems to have happened so fast.” Neteyam smiles at you, brush your braids behind your shoulder. “You look beautiful.” He says, his eyes gazing down your body. You blush under his gaze. 

You pick on your food, trying to intake some food, but you feel too nervous to even function. Clan members whisk by, congratulating you and your mate. You try to be present, thanking them for their kind compliments, yet your mind is stuck on what’s to come. 

You heart thumps against your chest when Jake leans towards Neteyam. Jake touches Neteyam’s arm, gaining his son’s attention. “I think it’s a good time to sneak away so you can… you know.” Jake says, shifting his eyes towards you. You try to pretend not to hear, and act as if you are taken aback when Neteyam leans towards you. You don’t want to come off as too nervous. “Are you ready?” Neteyam asks. 

You swallow, trying to take a deep breath. You nod and take Neteyam’s hand when he stands up. Thankfully, the rest of the clan is too busy celebrating and in conversation with each other to notice you and Neteyam sneak away. 

The Tree of Voices is not a far walk from the center of the village, only a few hundred feet away. Your feet seem to carry you to the location, your hand getting sweaty with Neteyam’s. The tree ignites brightly against the darkening sky, and it take your breath away. You’ve been here a million times, yet it looks completely new to you. You and Neteyam stand at the center of the tree, and you face each other. 

“Are you nervous?” Neteyam asks, brining you closer to him. 

You shake your head and Neteyam cocks his head to the side. “Are you sure?” You sigh heavily, pressure leaving your chest. “I’m really nervous.”

Neteyam laughs, snaking his arms around your waist and clasping behind your back. His face dips down, his lips hovering yours. “Don’t be,” Neteyam says, his lips inching closer. “I’ll take good care of you.” With that, his lips crash into yours. 

Your eyes flutter shut, your hands grasping his strong biceps. They muscles feel bigger under your touch and you wonder how hard he’s been working out lately. Swiftly, Neteyam navigates your body to the soft ground, making sure to place you down gently.  Your lips move in synch, your tongues flicking against each other. Again, you feel a pit growing inside of you and you begin to feel hungry for Neteyam. You sigh softly against his lips, the anticipation beginning to eat away at you. 

You spread your legs apart, allowing Neteyam to rest between them. He fits perfectly as he arranges himself comfortably on top of you. His hands and fingers trail down your torse, leaving goosebumps on your skin in their wake. Your fingers lace into his hair, bringing his mouth deeper onto yours. Neteyam pulls back, only to move to kiss the skin along your neck, collarbone, and stomach. You begin to fold, feeling his kisses get closer to your core. 

Neteyam lets his kisses trail downwards until he meets the band of your embellished loincloth. Neteyam sits up, leaning on his knees. He hooks his fingers into the band of your loincloth, beginning to pull them down your thighs. You swallow hard again, knowing your core is now exposed to Neteyam. 

Beneath him, Neteyam gazes at you with love and lust. The way Neteyam feels about you amazes him; he never thought he would feel such a way for anymore. You are the most beautiful Na’vi Neteyam has ever seen. How did he ever despise you? 

Once your loincloth is off, Neteyam tosses it to the side, repositioning himself over you. He begins to take his loincloth off, but you beat him to it, your fingers jitter with lust. You lean up, helping Neteyam slip the piece of clothing off. Neteyam’s cock bounces up to meet you and you try to nonchalantly take a peek. Your jaw clenches at the sight and you are impressed by his length.

You lean back, letting Neteyam hover over you. Again, he brushes your hair out of your face, a small gesture of comfort. “Tell me if you want to stop.” Neteyam whispers. You offer him a smile knowing how gentle and kind he’s trying to be. 

Neteyam connects your mouth with his again and you spread your legs further apart for easy access. With a swift movement, Neteyam lines himself up with you and pushes himself into you. You gasp, your body adjusting to his size. Pain enters you but after a several strokes, the pain subsides into pure pleasure. You grasp Neteyam’s biceps, the pleasure overwhelming. Neteyam goes slow, taking in every moment he spends with you under the Tree of Souls. The pleasure is overwhelming for Neteyam, yet he tries his best to focus only on you. 

Neteyam separates his mouth from yours, hovering near your ear. His soft moans echo through your ears and you’re glad he is enjoying himself as much as you are. “You feel so good,” Neteyam says, a soft moan interlaced as he strokes into you. 

You feel like your lost in the feeling, never wanting for it to end. You feel present and connected with your mate, but you know the end is near. A build up in your core is about to burst and every stroke Neteyam gives you brings you closer and closer. Neteyam, too, is close, yet he tried to preserve himself anyway he can as he’s not ready to be finished with you. ‘Although,’ he thinks to himself, ‘this is only our ceremony night; there’s many more opportunities to come in the future.’

Your legs clench around Neteyam, as a strong sensation of pleasure courses through you. At the same time, Neteyam leans into you, his face buried into your neck. “Fuck,” he whispers into your neck. Neteyam finishes into you, allowing his last stroke to stay deep inside of you. Your back arches, your chest brushing his, and then you slump down. Your limbs are intertwined, as your roll into one being. Neteyam holds you against him, his fingers running through your hair. He places a kiss against your temple, his scent washing over you once again. 

“We’re officially a mated pair,” you say in awe. “Future leaders of the clan.” 

Neteyam hums, letting your head rest against his chest. “You’re the only person I’d want to be mated to or lead the clan with.” 

You take his comment in, thankful to have had the luck of not only being the leader of the Omatikaya clan but to also lead it with Neteyam. You felt lucky that you were forced to learn about Neteyam in a different capacity and learn that he isn’t what you thought he was. But a funny thought enters your mind. “Can you believe we were enemies before? Now looks at us.” 

--- --- --- 

epilogue

Since the ceremony and your time spent under the Tree of Souls, you and Neteyam have been enjoying your time as a mated pair. The first several years you enjoyed being young, taking advantage of having your own home together. You cooked for each other, sometimes doing it together. You stayed up late, lying in bed in the dark and whispering to each other as if the room was full of people. You told each other secrets, made up stories, or talked about your future until the sun began to peek up behind the horizon. 

You also enjoyed flying on your ikran together, and Neteyam would take you for flights when you felt like getting away from the village. He’d bring you to your secret spot, taking late night or early morning swims in the river where you and he had first spent time together. Every moment with Neteyam you loved and wished would never end. 

The clan loved you together, confident that you will successfully lead them one day. You appreciated your role as the future Tsahik and you enjoyed tending to the clan with Moat and Neytiri. You also loved spending time with the Sully’s, combining your family and the Sully’s together for big family meals. Life was good to you and Neteyam. 

A few years into your mateship with Neteyam, you decided it was time to have children. It had been fun finding time to be intimate with Neteyam; being future leaders of the clan kept you busy sometimes. Countless nights you stayed up with Neteyam, working with love and passion to bring life into this world. 

It wasn’t long until you brought your first child into the world, a son, that looked so much like Neteyam. A year later, you and Neteyam brought a daughter into the world. You were in awe of the family you and Neteyam had created together, as it felt like it was just a short time ago that you were children yourself, Neteyam tugging on your tail or playing pranks on you. Before you, Neteyam grew into a man, and you couldn’t wait to see him as the Olo’eyktan one day. For now, he was an amazing mate and father, and you can’t wait to see what the future continues to hold for your family. 

[collapsedglasshouses]

WOULD YOU SAY I'M WORTHY || ONE

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x OFC ; slight Nick Folio x OFC

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY: When Eden meets Noah, her life is anything but perfect. Her heart is far more broken than Noah can even guess at this point. Will he be able to mend the wounds he hadn’t caused?

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, eventually smut, mentions of grief/loss, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of mental health issues, mentions of illnesses

A/N: FIRST OF ALL, COVID DOESN'T EXIST IN THIS STORY! Second, hello! :) This is a new series. We will see where this goes. Thank you for everyone joining in before it was even a real idea haha. If you liked the first part, consider reblogging it! Thank you!

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @lma1986 @missduffsblog @cookiesupplier @thescarlettvvitch @bngurngheart @dream-machine-love @arkiliastuff @vinyardmauro @lacktoesandtoddlerants @princessmarshmallowx

If you wanna be added to the story's taglist or to my taglist in general, leave a comment or message me privately!

The rain was pouring down with no regrets. It had been like this for a few days. And still, the bar business was booming. It was a cold Friday evening in October and Eden was done. She had been on her feet since around six in the morning and she just wanted to cuddle herself into her blanket on her small couch at home.

It wasn’t like she despised her job at the bar, but she just couldn’t feel her feet anymore. She had been pouring beer into glasses for five hours straight and there was seemingly no end. Every time she thought she had a second to herself, the next person ordered something.

On the light side, she also really hadn’t had the time to think about anything outside of work, which was the exact reason why she went for the job. She had been living in Los Angeles for about three months now. Three months of none-stop working. Three months of keeping her mind of reality.

She was doing better than she had originally thought.

As she was giving a woman her change, she noticed how the door opened. She always noticed when the door opened and she surely always noticed him. A young man in his early twenties entered the bar and shook his head for a second to get rid of the excess water in his hair. Eden felt like she could breathe for a second.

When the man lifted his gaze again, he quickly was met with Eden’s exhausted but welcoming smile.

“Eden!” The man beamed. “Thank God, you are here. I thought, you weren’t working today.”

“I’m always working, Nick.” She answered the man, as he approached the bar and set down on one of the chairs. He leaned a bit towards her with a smug smile on his face. “The same as usual.” – “Everything for you, Nick.”

She poured another beer into the glass before turning back to him and setting the drink in front of him. She didn’t even have to tell him what it cost, the money already laying on the counter, “Keep the change.”

Eden smiled to herself. Her day just got better.

“How has your week been?” Nick asked her, before sipping on his beer. Eden sighed.

“Pretty good.” She said, as she always did. “Yours?”

“A lot of stuff with the band.” He answered.

Right, the band. She knew he was the drummer of this metal band. Sometimes she forgot Nick was somewhat popular.

Eden nodded, before being called to the other side of the counter to yet pour another beer. When she went back to Nick afterwards, he was quick to gift her a sweet smile.

“What are you doing tomorrow?" Nick asked her interested.

“The same as always. Cuddling on my couch and watching some movies.” She answered him and he looked shocked. “But it’s your birthday!” – “That is the reason why I’m doing nothing out of the usual.”

Nick shook his head. “It’s also Halloween, Sunshine.” Eden smiled a little at the nickname Nick had given her other the last couple of weeks. She knew it couldn't be further from the truth, but she enjoyed the image Nick seemed to have of her in his head.

“Don’t make it even worse than it already is.” Eden breathed out, not even sure if Nick heard it over the noise that filled the room.

Eden hated her birthday. It was a hard reminder of the time just slipping through her fingers. To her, it was even worse that she was also born on a national holiday. And if that wasn’t enough, she also had her name tied to said holiday. While her name was representing some kind of delight or place of pleasure, her parents had chosen that name for her, because they thought it sounded mysterious and spooky. Fitting for Halloween.

“Oh, come on.” Nick exclaimed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She blinked at him for a second, waiting for him to continue his sentence. “Enjoy yourself for once.”

Eden rolled her eyes. As much as Nick was a delight to her, she also hated his happy spirit in moments like this.

“Okay, hear me out.” Nick said, when he saw her facial expression. “A good friend of mine is celebrating his birthday tomorrow. You should come. This way, nobody will focus on you, you can enjoy my company outside of work for once and you’re out of your little hobbit-house for once.”

Eden tapped her fingers against the counter and started to think. It had been about the fifth time that Nick tried to get her to do something with him. Since now, she had always turned him down. Not, that she didn’t want to see him, she just was scared. She liked being alone. She liked being to herself. She didn’t even speak to anyone outside of work, except her sister and her parents, but even that contact was strongly limited by her. Nick was the only one she would call somewhat a friend.

Eden ran a hand through her hair and then over her face. She was going to regret this. She just knew it.

“Okay… Just once.” She gave in and Nick clapped his hands together in excitement.

“Fucking finally!” He exclaimed. “I was really starting to think, you hated me.”

“I do not, and you know that.” She reassured him before taking another order. When she was ready with the customer, Nick’s beer was empty. She allowed herself to look at the clock that was hanging over the entrance of the bar. Her shift would end in half an hour.

“So, where should I go tomorrow?" She asked Nick, who was still smiling to himself.

“Give me your phone number and I’ll text you the address.” He answered her and reached his hand out, waiting for her phone.

For a second, she simply looked at his hand. He was getting bold.

She sighed in defense and pulled her phone from her pants to hand it to him.

Right when he handed it back, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her boss Michael looked at her. “You can go. Anna will be here in a second.”

Eden nodded, before looking at Nick again, who stood to his feet, also ready to head out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She exclaimed, before Nick nodded at her with a smile and left.

“The guy is cute.” Michael said to her, and she smiled a little. “Yeah, he is also a total pain in the ass.”

Michael only shrug his shoulders, before wishing her a good night and soon Eden was in her car.

It didn’t take her long to reach her apartment. She had been lucky, getting a flat close to her work. When she reached her front door and opened it, she sighed at the familiar sight of her home. Things hadn’t been easy the last couple of months. After moving to the other side of the country, she was just happy to have some peace again. She liked not living in that old house anymore, back at her hometown. Everything reminded her of her pain back there.

Not even twenty minutes later, she fell onto her couch, a bowl of instant noodles in her hand and some sitcom playing in the background, when her phone vibrated. Three messages from an unknown number.

She opened them.

?: Hey, here is Nick.

?: The party starts at 8, you have to come in a custome

?: [adress attached]

That's when it hit her.

She agreed to go to a party with a man, she barely knew, even though he was the closest she had to a friend in LA.

She was definitely going to regret it.

[bluexiao]

#sing for me

— if scaramouche has a singer s/o (from a request)

Scaramouche; singer!gn! Reader || fluff

WANDERER / SCARAMOUCHE

First of all, it doesn’t really matter who you are, it just depends on how patient you are.

And besides, once you’ve managed to slip through those big, big walls of his that he has built over the years, it’s an endgame. You’ve got him wrapped up in your little finger, no matter how much he wanted to or not, despite not making it obvious as well.

Maybe it was your voice, maybe it was your eyes, or maybe it was just him—how he was so weak to even resist the temptations of a lowly mortal such as you.

The first time he heard you sing was literally just that—unintentional.

For the time being, he listened in, wondering how in the world he did not know you had such talent, or that you were even hiding one. For a brief moment, he thinks of how many more secrets you fail to tell him, but with that soothing voice of yours, his anxieties were slowly fading away into thin air, drifting off with the breeze as he awaits for the last tune to leave your lips before he sets off quietly, not even bothering to let his presence known.

The second time was intentional.

“Y/n,” he calls you, “sing for me.”

“Pardon?”

He looks up from his seat and crosses his arms before saying,, “What? Don’t you know how to sing?”

He observes you carefully as you unconsciously bite your lower lip and look away from him—would you? Would you continue to hide it to him?

Do you not trust him that well?

“Nevermind-”

“Wait! I do, I’m just… uh-what song do you want me to sing? I can’t… think of a song so just suggest me one.”

Since then, he’d always ask—command—you to sing for him.

“You have such a nice voice, you could’ve become a singer if you wanted to,” he smirks, “do you want me to help you? Hm, I don’t know, should I?”

If you turn out to really be a professional singer, ah well good luck, because you’ll have to apologize to him for keeping such a secret to him. He would be supportive, nonetheless. You are the lover of a divine being such as him, you deserve every bit of worship and praise as well.

Supportive in a way that he would be attending any kind of event that features you as a singer and would glare at anyone who speaks ill of you—if they were any, but he doubts that would occur as in his eyes, you are the best singer there is in this god forsaken world. (He does this as well even if you’re not a professional singer… yet. He’ll make it so that you should be.)

Nevertheless, he still asks you to sing for him from time to time.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but this is a reminder for him—a reminder that you’re there and you’re dedicating these songs to him, singing for him, staying for him. Things no one even when he was a Fatui Harbinger had willingly done for him, genuinely.

And so he takes. He takes as much as he could because these memories with you, he won’t ever let anyone take them away from him.

comments & reblogs are appreciated ♡

p.s. cannot do the taglist rn bc my laptop’s charger gave up on me :((

[gettinshiggywithit]

!Bakugou falling asleep with his s/o on video call!

Scenario:-what if Reader and Bakugou fell asleep on a call/video chat?

Pairing:- bakugou x gn!reader

Genre:-fluff/comfort

Type:- oneshot

A/N:-shout out to @cloudy-zephyr for bein my muse on this one too!couldnt do it without you babes😘

Okie so it started at like 8pm

He wanted to finish ‘cos he had to go to bed by 9 and well he didnt wanna stay up too late

Dont get me wrong the boi loves ya but he NEEDS his eight hours😭

So eight pm rolls around and you join ur special zoom link🥰

AND HES LATE

(like GURL WHY IS U LATEE FOR A VIDEO CALL)

but then while ur fuming cos NOW U ONLY HAVE 55MINS AND NOT 60

He comes into the chat and guess what homeboy’s wearin😭

This man is wearing a full three piece tux and is at his kitchen table(the lighting is perfect there)

And ur just like “BITCH WHERE HAVE YOU- oh wow well hello there~”

And he’s just 😏

And nowww u feel insecure and a lil embarrassed cos this bitch is in a tux and you’re in bed in your pjs with messy hair

Oh also as if on cue ur led lights just turn to red and it looks like u AND ur room are blushing

You ask him why he’s wearin a tux and he just says “gotta look presentable for my partner dont i😏”

And ur like “SIRRR you look amazing REGARDLESS”

But ofc u cant sayyy that so u just say “dam right😤”

You laugh and then move on

You talk about the most random shit and also talk abt some pieces of shit😅(i.e. people you both dont like~)

Eventually it becomes 8.55 and he seems a lil tired

So you ask him if yall should sign off

But HE say No~

You are FLABBERGASTED

but you dont complain

You go on for another 1.5 hrs and then he keeps his head on his arms and closes his eyes

He still replies durin ur convo

But hes slurring his words

And soon enough hes out like a light

And keep in mind this man is in a FULL FUCKIN TUX asleep on the kitches table~

For you🧡

So you keep ur computer on ur second pillow and cover up the laptop a little with your blanket too

And then you fall asleep while admiring ur boyfriend and his adorable features

Be starts to snore so u mute him and then before you forget you take plenty of screenshots

He wakes up the next day at 6 to find that hes still on call,hes still in his tux and-

He was starting to get annoyed with himself (he thought hed fallen asleep thinkin abt u after the call) but then he sees that ur still there and smiles

Maybe it was worth it after all~

Oh btw he DEFINITELY took screenshots of you too

Made it into a collage and gave it to u on ur birthday is what he did~😭

please dont repost my work here as your own on any platform all rights belong to me except that of the characters used,their right belong to their respective owners.but these stories? mine.

feedback,likes,reblogs and comments are so very appreciated tbh :’)i hope you enjoyed and ill catch ya next time!

Comments & Reblogs w/ tags >>>>>>>>>>>likes please

Taglist open for anyone interested!

[simplygyuu]

Nouvelle Crown : 23 - Under the Streetlights

synopsis : choi beomgyu, the second prince of the royal choi family doesnt have much of a life outside of his duties. even then hes not allowed to do much, his brother is the crown prince after all. but when he meets you, a regular commoner girl, through his brothers friend soobin he cant help but be intrigued. commoner life is so different from what he knows and you are the only person to treat him like the normal teenager he always longed to be. with you he gets to experience the normal, teenager life behind the backs of his overbearing family.

the two of you sat quietly at the bus stop where you had truly hung out for the first time, happily chatting. beomgyu wasnt supposed to be out, but he didnt care. he needed to see you. plus, he knew yeonjun had his back now.

the crickets chirped and the only light was from the yellow streetlights. there were no people walking around, not this late at night at least. you were completely alone.

"y/n?" you hear beomgyu say and turn to face him when hes already looking at you. theres a small smile on his face, one you can't really decipher. its not his usually shy smile nor is it his mischievous wide one. its too dark to see any of the red color on his face but youre assuming its there. hes been blushing the whole night after all. you softly hum in response, head tilting a bit.

"thank you so much for.. everything." he suddenly begins, turning to almost fully face you. "i..i never knew what it was like to live before i met you. everyday i looked forward to texting you or finding a way to hang out, you fill my mind 24/7," he then nervously chuckles and there, you see his shy smile as he glances away. "i just love you so much... i hope you dont think this is too soon its just, ive never felt like this before. ever. and i want to tell you as often as i can that i love you and you changed my life for the better."

beomgyu almost glows in the dim light, his hair lightly blowing in the wind. you can imagine the blush on his cheeks and you can see the way he slightly gnaws on his bottom lip. his eyes flicker around, landing on you then the grass then his hands and then the cycle repeats. god, you really like him dont you?

without responding to him you tap his cheek to get his eyes on you again. his cheek is warm to the touch as he turns to you and thats when you lean in a bit. its a slow thing as you give him the chance to move, the chance to back away, yet he does the complete opposite. despite his lack of experience he closes the gap between your lips.

the kiss is slow and gentle, just full of love. so, so much love. its not rushed or messy, its not needy or careless. no its romantic, loving, and just so beautiful. beomgyus hand hovers over your waist for a second before he finally places his hand down on your waist and pulls you the slightest bit closer, melting like putty into the kiss. it lasts for a few long seconds but easily feels like an eternity. you could kiss beomgyu for hours if you had the chance to.

you end up breaking the kiss and beomgyu leans his forehead against yours and smiles, eyes crinkling happily. you cant help but giggle softly and he quickly follows suit with a round of chuckles. you lean forward to give him one little peck on the cheek, your mouth hurting from how much you've smiled tonight.

"i love you too, beomgyu. i love you so much"

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

previous masterlist next

notes : IM SEEING TXT TODAY!!! im so excited and rlly wanted to get this out... AAA IM SO HAPPY IVE BEEN WAITING FOR YEARS TO SEE THEM IN CONCERT!!! anyways IM HOLDING MY PROMISE OF TRYING HARDER TO UPDATE! school ends at the end of next week, so ill only have work and this to do :)

reblogs and replies are really really appreciated and keep me motivated!!

taglist (open) : @mazeinthemoon @pokyloky @run2seob @bluebearybeom @wonioml @rikismiel @yumilovesloona @captivq @soobin-chois @thisisnotjacinta @silvsie @sullystraw @luvsoobs @ddeonudepressions @woncheecks @ioszzn @dudufodd @jaeminanklelicker @strawbrinkofdeath @softcabur @luvsooby @ilovewonyo @kaewonie @sugar5 @itzxvaxella @il0vebeomgyu @angelbythewindow @gyuville @myknifeyourlife @sandhyaaa-aa @beomiebears @vocaloshin @streeete

send me an ask or message to be added to the taglist! i dont add from replies :)

[kiatheinsomniac]

Hello, when you can I’d like a little something for Altair, Connor, Edward, Jacob, Arno and Ezio. I was watching Harry Potter and when Hermione smells the potion which clarifies who/what shes attracted to. So that gave me an idea for an ask. What is each characters ^^ signature scent like do they smell like mangos random I know but an example. I don’t necessarily mean perfume though I mean by natural scents.

☾ ⋆ﾟ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ooooo it's always interesting to get headcanon requests about the characters themselves and not ones that involve the reader. I feel like I could talk ab these boys for so long after how much time I've put into playing the games and reading the books lol

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Altaïr, Ezio, Edward, Connor, Arno, Jacob

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: none

｡･:*˚:✧｡ altaïr ibn-la'ahad

♡ his own scent and frankincense.

♡ Altaïr's clothes have captured the labours of his occupation and the smoke of the incense burning in the bureau. It's a lingering but subtle smell.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ ezio auditore

♡ musk and amber.

♡ these were both popular scents during the renaissance and he smells quite strongly of it. During the renaissance, people believed that miasma carried disease and so they would try to ward off illness with more pleasant scents (think of the lyrics to Ring Around the Rosie). Though, he's still an assassin so it's not too string that you can smell it unless you're very, very close to him, that is.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ edward kenway

♡ the sea breeze.

♡ the salt in the air has made its way into nearly every part of Edward after so many years at sea, notably his clothes and sun-bleached hair. He always smells like the seas that have become like a second home to him.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ ratonhnhaké:ton | connor kenway

♡ fresh rainfall or sage.

♡ Connor spends a lot of his time outdoors so I think that would show in how his clothes and hair smell. He would smell of the fresh rainfall that he just got back from being caught in, of ferns and pine needles. Also, I think Connor would keep up with some of his cultural practices, even after what happened to his village. Perhaps burning white sage and inviting in better energy in the place of what it's cleared out is one of them? He would smell like the smoke after.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ arno dorian

♡ coffee and old books.

♡ the guy lives above a café and has stacks upon stacks of books and papers around him. They've permeated the air of his whole living space and, consequently, him. On worse days, he might smell more like the wine he downed to forget his troubles the night before but his entire wardrobe has been filled with the scent of coffee and he doesn't even realise at this point that his home smells like a library.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ jacob frye

♡ soot and violets.

♡ Victorian London had a definite issue with the smog everywhere as a consequence of industrialisation and he lives on a train so the smell of soot has, without a doubt, embedded itself in his clothes. Cologne wasn't a very big thing at the time and Victorians had moved on from believing in miasma, germ theory having been popularised. Perfume was no longer practical but aesthetic and wasn't very popular among men in the late 1860's. However, Evie once bought a violet perfume that she quickly grew sick of but Jacob quite liked. He doesn't wear a lot but it's enough for a few people to pick up on and he uses it as an opportunity to get close and flirt.

☾ ⋆ﾟlike my work? why not: 

∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ join my taglist ∘ consider following/reblogging

🏷️@gojohater101 @ayameiris4 @veryfancydoilies @asuni921  @writing-noah @danielle-marie@havatnah @aarnodoriann @asianbutnotjapanese @daddyadler @b3k1720

[elliemarchetti]

The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition (part 4)

Posting on Tumblr too because this fic's sister is already there.

Reading The Queen of the Quills - Blackinnon Edition will not be mandatory to understand the developments of James and Lily's story, but some details could be shared, therefore, for anyone wishing to fully enjoy the experience, I will leave a small index.

Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 1

Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 2

Jily Edition - Chapter 1

Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 3

Jily Edition - Chapter 2

Jily Edition - Chapter 3

This was @athenasparrow's gift for @jilymicrofics ' Exchange 2024, but if you like it and are willingly to reblog, it would be super appreciated since stories like this require quite some time and effort🥰

Taglist (if anyone wants to be added, please DM me or comment and I'll gladly add you!): @thaisthedreamer

Plot: James Potter, London's most evasive bachelor, an impertinent libertine, has decided to get married. He has also already chosen his wife, the debutante Lily Evans, a self-confident young woman who has not the slightest intention of being seduced by such a man. A Bridgerton inspired Regency AU.

By the evening, it had become apparent that Lily hadn’t come through her, albeit brief, bath in the Serpentine unscathed: her nose turned red, her eyes began to water and it was apparent to anyone who glimpsed her puffy face for even a second that, while not seriously ill, she’d caught a bad cold. But even while she was tucked in bed with a hot water bottle between her feet and a therapeutic potion brewed up by the cook in a mug on her bedside table, Petunia was determined to have a conversation with her.

“What did he say to you on the ride home?” she demanded, perching on the edge of her sister’s bed.

“Who?” Lily replied, sniffing fearfully at the remedy.

“Mr. Potter,” Petunia ground out. “Who else would have spoken to you on the ride home when he was the one who rescued you and asked a stranger for their curricle?”

“Just the usual sort of things,” she responded, vague as always. “You know what I mean. Polite conversation and all that.”

“He made polite conversation while you were both dripping wet?” Petunia insisted, doubtful.

“He asked for my welfare, of course, which was only reasonable, considering I had just been dunked in the Serpentine, which, I might add, was perfectly wretched. Aside from being cold, the water was most certainly not clean,” Lily shrugged, clearly not as interested in the conversation as her sister.

Petunia cleared her throat and sat back down, preparing to ask a most scandalous question, but one which, in her opinion, simply had to be asked.

“Did he make any untoward advances?” she inquired, trying to keep her voice devoid of the complete and total fascination that was coursing through her veins.

Lily lurched back, her eyes growing round with shock.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “He was a perfect gentleman. Really, I don’t see what has you so excited. It wasn’t a very interesting conversation; I can’t even remember half of what was said.”

This, Petunia knew, was a complete lie, like all the veiled compliments she was paying to the wizard who until a few hours earlier she hated with all her heart. Why she behaved this way, however, was beyond her. Had she perhaps changed her mind about him? Hard to believe, when her sister was so stubborn. So, something must’ve happened, something if not scandalous at least romantic, that type of interaction fate seemed to have decided to forbid to Petunia. So, after a few moments of peaceful silence, she decided to investigate to find out if Mr. Potter had said anything about her, but Lily shook her head.

“He had a lot to say about his dog, though,” she added, as if it might make her feel better, but Petunia’s lips parted with dismay. It was never flattering to be passed over for a dog.

“I assured him I bear no ill will toward Padfoot, and that I wasn’t at all angry with him, but he was rather charmingly upset on my behalf. You, on the other hand, are rather interested in him,” Lily pointed out before grabbing a handkerchief and blowing her nose unceremoniously.

“I had the pleasure of spending a while conversing with him,” Petunia replied, as if that ought to explain everything.

“Good, then you’ve had the chance to see how utterly unremarkable he is,” sniffled Lily, fumbling around for a fresh handkerchief. “I’m afraid London’s society had been blinded by his wealth and gave him a position he’s not really deserving of. Sure, he’s rich, but I don’t think one can choose a husband based entirely on finances.”

“Well…” Petunia hedged, knowing her sister was absolutely correct but not wanting to say anything that might be construed as disapproval for Mr. Potter. “I still think we should add him to our list.”

“Our list?” Lily echoed, her voice strangled.

“Of possible matches,” explained Petunia, trying to ignore the expression on her sister’s face.

She knew what Lily thought of her: since she wasn’t a witch, she would never find a husband who was part of the wizarding society, and since she had never been invited to any of their parties – but Petunia told herself this was only dictated by a respect for the law and not from the disinterest of the magical community in her regards – she had no chance of getting the attention of even the least gifted of them. It hurt her to know that her sister had so little consideration of her, but even more so that she didn’t actively apply herself to not be separated again by those abilities Petunia hadn’t been granted. When they were little, and that cursed letter from Hogwarts hadn’t driven a wedge between them, they were inseparable: the minimal age difference, the same interests and their complementary characters had created an unforgettable dynamic duo, for which everyone showered their mother with compliments, even though she had failed to produce a male heir before her husband’s death. Then an owl had arrived, a not so strange occurrence in their country house, but instead of waiting for the night it had flown onto the windowsill of one of their living room windows in broad daylight and started pecking so hard at the glass that Petunia feared it might break. As soon as it saw the butler approaching, he left the letter he was holding with his talons and came back to where it came from, taking with him the bond between her and Lily. Petunia knew she had been wrong for indulging in the jealous outbursts she’d made early on, but then she’d tried to make amends, to ignore the bitter taste of bile that rose in her throat every time her parents praised her sister on a school result or some oddity she managed to achieve to simplify life at home in a way not even a crowd of maids would’ve been able to. Once she came of age, she had accepted that, although she was the eldest, she was second to Lily in everything else, but she didn’t care, her only goal that to get back the affection of the one who had always been her best, and probably only, friend. But despite her commitment, despite the interest she showed in a world that considered her rubbish, Lily had now built a wall Petunia didn’t know how to get around, and it did nothing but make her furious.

“I though you wanted a scholar,” the younger pointed out.

“I did,” confirmed the oldest. “I still do, but since the likelihood of finding a true scholar here are minimal, I think I can settle on Mr. Potter. He seems intelligent enough, so you’ll just have to devise a way to discover if he likes to read.”

“I’d be surprised if he could,” Lily muttered, making her laugh, the cheerful sound coming to a halt when a low rumble of distant thunder reverberated in the night and her sister flinched. She usually was all right when the storm was far away, but when it was closer, she looked like she was about to burst from her skin.

“Petunia,” she said, apparently needing to have this discussion with her but also to say something that would take her mind off the approaching tempest. “You must put him from your mind. He’s absolutely not the sort of husband who would make you happy, and aside from the fact he is the worst sort of rake and would probably flaunt a dozen mistresses in your face, haven’t you read The Queen of the Quills? Or listened to anything any of the other young ladies’ mothers have to say? The ones who have been on the social circuit for several years and know what’s what, all say his only saving grace is how nicely he treats his mother.”

“Well, that would be a mark in his favour,” Petunia asserted. “Since a mother is family and a wife is too.”

“A wife isn’t the same as a blood relative,” groaned Lily. “Men who would never dream of uttering a cross word in front of their mothers trample all over other women’s feelings every day.”

“And how would you know this?” Petunia demanded, causing a shocked reaction in Lily. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she had questioned her judgment on an important matter, and unfortunately for her sister, the only answer she could think of on such short notice was an unsatisfactory “I just do” that didn’t pass the muster.

“Aside from all that,” she resumed, in a placating voice, deciding to steer the topic in a different direction. “I don’t think you would even like Mr. Potter if you got to know him.”

“He seemed pleasant enough when I met him,” she maintained.

“But he was on his best behaviour!” Lily persisted. “Of course he’d seem nice, he wants my family to like him but it was all an act! Between last night and this afternoon, I spent several hours in his company, and I can assure you, he wasn’t on his best behaviour with me.”

Petunia gasped with horror and maybe a little titillation.

“Did he kiss you?” she breathed.

“Of course not!” Lily howled. “Where on earth would you get that idea?”

“You said he wasn’t on his best behaviour,” rejoined, innocently, Petunia.

“What I meant,” Lily ground out, “what that he wasn’t polite, nor very nice. In fact, he was insufferably arrogant and dreadfully rude and insulting.”

“That’s interesting,” Petunia murmured. “Very odd indeed. One would think he’d go out of his way to be nice to you first, since he’s you he wants to marry. Why behave the churl?”

“He said he couldn’t help himself,” she retorted, her face coloured a dull red, not so noticeable in the candlelight and mixed with the redness already present because of her cold, but still a different, embarrassed shade.

Petunia’s mouth fell open, and for one second she sat utterly frozen, as if suspended in time. Then, she dropped onto a pillow, hooting with laughter.

“That’s splendid!” she gasped. “It might be the funniest thing I’ve heard all month, maybe all year!”

“There’s no need to dwell on it,” Lily grumbled,

“He might be the very first gentleman you haven’t been able to manage,” Petunia went on, ignoring her sister’s pleas. “And although you say he’s rather unremarkable, I bet my best dress you’ll be married by the end of the year!”

_____________________________

Early the following week, after he and Sirius had amicably sparred, made peace over a glass of Firewhisky, and the bruises had faded into faint greenish marks, Mrs. Potter announced her intent to host a musicale. The organization of these events was not as tiring and expensive as that of a ball, and the space required was undoubtedly smaller, but it was still necessary to take care of sending the invitations, carefully selecting the audience, and distributing the seats adequately, so that no stupid arguments would break out between families who didn't see eye to eye. Of course, the front row would be occupied by the homeowners, their esteemed guest, and the McKinnon family, but the seats behind them were yet to be filled.

“I think Mrs. Evans would appreciate our invitation,” Euphemia said, not even looking up from the list she was making in her elegant handwriting.

“You should invite her eldest too, maybe together the sisters will be less uncomfortable among us Londoners,” Sirius added, trying to hide the sadistic smile spreading across his face. James glared at him, but made no comment, determined not to let his mother know how much his courtship of Lily was proving to be a fiasco.

“What a wonderful idea!” Euphemia exclaimed, adding a + 2 next to Mrs. Evan’s name. “I just hope the youngest has overcome the nasty cold she got last week. Gossip says she slipped in the Serpentine while trying to escape from a crazed beast. Do you think it was a Blast-Ended Skrewt? I heard some have been sighted near Rotten Row…”

“Probably,” James replied, feigning disinterest, while Sirius barely managed to hid a chuckle with a cough. He was the cause of Miss Evans’ fall into the Serpentine, and he claimed he did it for James’ sake, who had looked like a true romantic hero as he took off his jacket to jump into the water and help her back to shore. How The Queen of the Quills wasn’t aware of the matter, and hadn’t mentioned it in her damned columns, was a mystery for which James found himself immeasurably grateful.

“We should send her some flowers,” his mother went on, scanning the room as if hoping to find a bouquet there.

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t make a welcome gift,” James found himself saying, before he could bite his tongue. Receiving a grim look from his parent, he was forced to add that she was allergic, a detail he wouldn’t have been aware of if he hadn’t been at their house.

“We talked about it when we danced together last week,” he concluded, when the silence stretched long enough for him to understand that the day’s occupation wouldn’t continue until he provided an explanation to his knowledge.

“I’m sure she’d appreciate a thought from you, though,” Sirius interjected. “Maybe a book. I know she loves to read.”

And so, James found himself practically forced to retrace the road to the Evans residence, this time without any flowers but equipped with three invitations to his mother's musicale and a novel he knew was very popular among young witches of his future wife's age. Because despite the embarrassment, despite having acted like a fool and almost let the temptation to kiss her take over while he was fixing her bonnet, he still intended to marry her. After all, even while drenched and dirty, her skin possessed a flickering glow that make his muscle tighten at his inability to touch it freely, and although she might be too bossy and too quick to jump to conclusions, her eyes reminded him of the walks he used to take with his father, and her mouth, which vexed him to no end with its endless stream of insults and opinions, delivered the most perfect laugh.

James shuddered when he reached the front door, already familiar. He had dreamed about this moment, but in his sleep he was furious with her for whatever reason, and it wasn’t the butler who opened the door, but Lily herself, and there was no need to make polite conversation with her mother, to get out mindless words that tipped from his tongue as if by rote, because she was the one standing in front of him, a blessing indeed, since his mind was most definitely set on kissing her out of her mind. Oh, if she had known what he did to her with his imagination, she would’ve never agreed to marry him, but the Lily of his dreams was much more even-tempered than the real her, and although she still made his blood rush, and they spent enjoyable time together, he was able to not fall in love with her. The fake Lily he constructed in his head was exactly what he needed, but he was sure the one sitting on her bed in the company of her sister, hair let down and cheeks flush, would make him sweat and slide into mindless temptation given the chance.

“Why are you here?” she asked, trying to appear much tougher than she actually was.

“To apologize again for what happened,” he muttered, triggering a fit of giggles from Petunia. “And to bring this to you, to cheer your healing process.”

Guarded, Lily reached across the bed to take the book handed to her, giving him a glimpse of what she usually hid with her chaste dresses. Whatever thanks he had received, whatever words had been said in the room, never reached his ears, which began to ring dully with lust.

“And the envelopes you’re holding in you hand?” Petunia asked, her voice too high-pitched to ignore after a few moments.

“They’re your tickets for the musicale my mother is hosting on Friday night,” he replied, and although Lily didn’t seem the least bit interested, her nose already buried in the book she’d just received, Petunia’s eyes lit up.

“Don’t pay attention to my sister, giving her a book is the only way to shut her up,” the eldest joked. “But we are both grateful for the invitations, and you can already tell your mother we will be honoured to be present.”

“See you on Friday, then,” said James, as a farewell, with a little bow.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” he thought he heard Lily murmur once the door was closed behind him, but it could only be a figment of his imagination, so he tried not to put too much weight on the softness in her tone. Their next meeting would be the decisive one, the one that would allow him to court her in style and marry her by the end of the year, but for now, he had to settle for crumbs and cold courtesies.

[m-yg93]

I posted 685 times in 2022

That's 496 more posts than 2021!

284 posts created (41%)

401 posts reblogged (59%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@m-yg93

@kithtaehyung

@jungk0oksthighs

@jeonjcngkook

@sunshinerainbowsbts

I tagged 129 of my posts in 2022

#ptd on stage seoul - 8 posts

#bts smut - 5 posts

#jungkook fic - 5 posts

#jungkook smut - 5 posts

#jk x reader - 4 posts

#jungkook x you - 4 posts

#bts - 4 posts

#jungkook x reader - 4 posts

#jk smut - 4 posts

#jungkook fanfic - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 112 characters

#i don't have money for bail so i'll post again once i'm out of jail for the homicidal spree i'm begging to go on

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Surface Pressure

Pairing: KSJ x Reader

WC: 6k

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Rating: T

Warnings: Panic attack, emotional abuse, parental abuse, bullying, mention of mental illness, descriptions of depression and anxiety, mention of JK Rowling (don't support TERFs)

Part of @thebtswritersclub project: “Sentimental”

Banner by @introlxv

Beta’d by @mapleglasses27

Summary: Your life has always had various aspects of pressure. Cracks in the wall at every turn so it's no surprise when it finally breaks. Thankfully there's someone there to help keep you together.

Under the surface, I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus

See the full post

52 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

#4

REMATCH TEASER

Pairing: JJK x Reader ~~ Gamer AU

Teaser WC: 839

Teaser warnings: Mentions of erections and orgasms

Genre: Smut, PWP

Rating: M (minors dni)

Summary: Jungkook’s only interaction with you lasted less than an hour but you’ve ingrained yourself in his mind since. You gave him a taste of a dynamic which he now desperately craves more of. If only you’d answer one of his DMs. Guess he’ll have to up his game. 

Taglist open: please comment under this post if you’d like to be added. 

☆☆POSTING JULY 31ST 7PM EST☆☆

Jungkook might have overdone it on the cleaning to make sure his place was up to your standards. He had put on his alarm to wake up early and spent the day scrubbing at any surface he could reach. Would you see the top of his kitchen cabinets? Absolutely not. Did he make sure to grab his step stool and eliminate any speck of dust up there? Yes, he did. 

By the time he’s done, his clothes are damp with sweat and his head is dizzy from the overpowering lemon scent of his products. He opens up all his windows and turns on the diffusers in every room. His friends often told him he was excessive in the amount of air purifiers he had in his two bedroom apartment. Sorry if he’s sensitive to smells and wants to be able to breathe properly. He’s rushing to jump in the shower when he finally finishes and notices the time. You’ll be here soon and he stinks. 

He’s in a matching set of soft sweatpants and a hoodie, hands still furiously rubbing at his wet hair with a towel when the doorbell rings. His heart is in his throat knowing that you’re only a few feet away behind his front door. The doorbell rings a second time, breaking him out of the panic-induced freeze he’d been stuck in.

“Coming!” At least, he sure hoped he would be.

He’s steeling himself with one last deep breath before he throws the door open. He has his most charming smile plastered on his face and a warm welcome on the tip of his tongue. All of which immediately dries up and dies on his lips when he’s finally faced with seeing you in the flesh.

All your streams had you in comfortable clothes, soft fabrics and modest necklines but the woman on his doorstep is a vixen. His eyes are pulled down by a gravitational pull outside of his control. They pass through your hair hanging loosely around your face, pausing at the skin of your cleavage peeking through the low cut of your top, flesh straining against the right fabric across your chest. His gaze continues further down to the pleated skirt that ends dangerously high on your leg, letting a smooth expanse of skin catch his attention before it disappears into your thigh high socks. He’s hypnotized by the soft pudge that is created where the fabric of your sock digs into the meat of your leg. His mind is reeling and thoughts of bite bite bite are bouncing in his empty cranium. 

“You’re drooling.” It’s a reflex to bring his hand up to his mouth to check if a little bit of saliva had ended up pooling at the edge of his open lips, but it comes away dry. Just the start of the teasing he knows he’ll be subjected to. 

“I- uh, thighs.” 

The loud laugh that echoes around him finally breaks him out of his hypnosis. “Yes, very astute. Are you going to let me go inside or are you intent on giving your neighbors a show?” His brows furrow at your words until he follows your eyes down to his groin where his dick had started to press against his sweatpants, forming an embarrassing tent.

His hands are quick to cover up, cheeks heating in humiliation. Why is it always so easy for you to get a reaction out of him? You haven’t done anything at all and here he is, boner out for anyone to see like some horny teenager.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, voice quiet enough for it to only be heard between you. He gets out of the way to open up the doorway for you to come in, then closes the door behind you, making sure to check that nobody in the neighborhood had been privy to this shameful moment. 

“I swear I can control myself. I’m not some sort of animal.” It’s only once you’re fully in his living room, eyes drifting to every corner and taking in his space that he notices the black bag you brought along. “What’s in there?”

Your smirk is devious, inching slowly as your eyes darken. “Training materials, of course. You see, I figured out your issue. Your main flaw is your lack of focus and that’s because you’re not actually a gamer, you’re a streamer. You’ve programmed yourself to respond to distractions, like incoming subs and donations so you can reply and interact with your chat. It makes for a good influencer and entertainer, but breaks your skills for whatever game you’re playing.”

“So I have to practice staying focused and ignoring distractions?” he asks. You’re nodding in reply. “Okay, that makes sense. How are we going to do that?” 

There’s an evil twinkle in your eye as you drop the bag to the floor, bending down to rip it open and dig your hand in to pull out your so-called ‘training materials’ into his view. His heart beats a little harder as each item is divulged.

165 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

#3

Room For Rent ~ A Bangtan Collab

Living with a roommate isn’t always smooth sailing. Whether it's being plagued by a history of conflict, having met under bizarre circumstances or simply falling in love with the one person you know you shouldn't be falling for. Are you ready to put pen to paper and sign away on that room for rent?

After all, “the fate that brings people together is not a cord so easily cut”

Posting January 2023

*All works in this collab are marked 18+. Minors DNI*

See the full post

676 notes - Posted November 17, 2022

#2

Rematch

Pairing: JJK x Reader

WC: 13k

Genre: Smut, PWP

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Toxic!JK, Mean!Reader, D/s dynamics, teasing, humiliation, praise, degredation, crying, spanking, semi exhibitionism?, oral (m. and f. receiving) butt plug, edging, anal play, face sitting, cuffs, restraints, piercings (nipple and genital), begging, unprotected sex, choking, creampie, pain play, overstimulation

Banner by @introgfx​

Beta’d by @sunshinerainbowsbts​

Summary: Jungkook’s only interaction with you lasted less than an hour but you’ve ingrained yourself in his mind since. You gave him a taste of a dynamic which he now desperately craves more of. If only you’d answer one of his DMs. Guess he’ll have to up his game.

Author’s Note: Okay so Have Mercy was supposed to be a One Shot. Then I decided to make a drabble and now I have 13k. I’m a CLOWN. 🤡 Thank you to my moots who let me ramble on about this brat and encouraged me to write. Special thanks to @audreonne​ for giving me her e-sports knowledge and letting me use her username as OC’s gamertag.

See the full post

855 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Have Mercy (on me)

Pairing: JJK x Reader

WC: 9.3k

Genre: Smut, PWP

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Toxic gamer boy JK, Mean OC, sexism, Subby JK, D/s dynamics, excessive use of petnames, tattoos, piercings (nipples and genital), spit, edging, self asphyxiation, overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, praise, NO AFTERCARE

Banner by @introlxv

Beta’d by @amourtae

Part of: Bangtan DLC: A Streamer BTS Collab hosted by @joonscypher​, @kookskingdom​, & @lavienjin​

Summary:  Jungkook is finally popular enough to quit his job and make a living off his streaming and he’s very proud of his Master rank. His cockiness takes a turn when an unknown player joins his team and starts talking shit but what’s worse is they’re not just talking the talk but walking the walk. Jungkook ends up humiliated in multiple ways but there’s only one of which he ends up liking. 

Authors note: It’s finally here! A special thank you to @audreonne​ for using her esports knowledge and correcting everything I had wrong with the Overwatch gameplay (because I’m a filthy casual and don’t play) and letting me use her username. Also to my lovely writing net @thebtswritersclub​ and everyone who supported me with hype and writing alongside me in sprints.

Read the sequel: Rematch

VICTORY

“Let’s get it!” Jungkook whoops as the rest of the boys echo the sentiment in the voice chat. His eyes fall to his Twitch chat, messages zooming by nearly too fast to keep up.

 GG

That was a close one!

Honestly thought you were going to lose that round

“Thanks so much for hanging out with us tonight, Goldens. That’ll be all for today’s stream but make sure to tune in tomorrow, it’s our Sub Sunday where we play some more chill games with you guys. We’ll be running some Among Us so keep an eye out on my Twitter for the code drop, 1pm on the dot. We’re going to end this by sending out a raid to my friend BamBam, he’s streaming a blind run of Mario Odyssey right now. He’s a good buddy of mine so send him all the love that I receive here. Good night!”

His face cam closes and his screen is replaced with his usual end stream background that he’ll keep up for another 5 minutes or so as people filter out.

His attention shifts to his dashboard which holds his account statistics. A few people had subscribed during his stream and he can see his new number now nearing 5,000. It had been a grueling few years to get to this point and the exhaustion from working his regular job on top keeping a steady streaming schedule can still be felt in his bones.

He liked his cinematography internship, don’t get him wrong but the freedom of choosing his own work schedule and content was much less of a burden on him creatively. Plus the attention he got from the community he created was good for his ego. Admittedly, half the comments in stream were more about his looks than his gameplay but what’s there to complain about. He gets to play videogames every day and makes enough money to pay his bills and spend frivolously on ridiculous things for a serotonin boost when he needs it.

The voices echoing in his headset brings him back to reality as he watches his viewer count decrease and eventually disappear.

“Hobi’s out since he has to join Yoongi at the studio for a project they’re working on but is everyone else down to stay on and get some practice in? The next season of competitive is starting soon and I want to make sure I’m keeping on top of it.” Jin whines in the background.

The rest of the group all give off varying excitement levels of agreement. They pile into the waiting room but since their team is now missing a player a random added player comes in. Audreonne, master rank. At least they should keep up with them. Their icon flips to Mercy. Strategic teamwork at least, they needed a healer to balance out since Hoseok’s Lucio was now out of the ranks.

The countdown starts and they’re thrown into the game, it’s a familiar map and the guys easily split to their usual procedure. The Mercy player veers away with Namjoon and Tae.

Jungkook’s Widowmaker turns a corner and is instantly double teamed by the opposing Genji and Doomfist.

“Motherfucker,” he mumbles under his breath as the screen indicates eliminated. He respawns and quickly heads back the same way. “Yo, Audreonne, can you stick by me so I can deal with these assholes?”

He’s not waiting for a reply before dropping down into the area he was just eliminated from only to immediately repeat the process and go down again. “Where’s the fucking res, dude?” 

The action replay of his death shows no trace of the Mercy player around him. He scoffs, of course, guess that master rank came with more luck than skills.

“Hey, healer, if you’re going to pick support the least you could do is actually fucking support. Get your shit together.”

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1,930 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[lunaflvms]

I posted 2,197 times in 2022

That's 2,197 more posts than 2021!

1,741 posts created (79%)

456 posts reblogged (21%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lunaflvms

@enloveclub

@mitsukifilms

@maiwon

I tagged 2,125 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#˖ ࣪ luna’s mailbox! ˖ ࣪ - 1,319 posts

#˖ ࣪ mail from: ˖ ࣪ ⸱ - 1,315 posts

#✦ luna’s anons。°˖ ✧ - 560 posts

#ˏˋ*⁀➷ luna’s moots ˖ ࣪ - 508 posts

#˖ ࣪ luna’s reblogs! ˖ ࣪ - 350 posts

#˖ ࣪ luna’s thoughts ˖ ࣪ - 311 posts

#chuu cherrie - 75 posts

#one16core - 59 posts

#enhypen social media au - 55 posts

#enhypen smau - 55 posts

Longest Tag: 143 characters

#bye jokes and all parent issues are so not cool 🤬🤬🤬🤬 like why would you (grown ass adult that has kids) beef with some teenager (emo child)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

🌷🧚‍♀️🧼; ᝰꜜ ᩠˚ 𖤐 fairy of shampoo !

sypnosis: demons and angels have always existed in this world, hidden away in the shadows and guiding people to do right or wrong in many different forms and identities. This time as broke stressed out college students, Hyunjin a 1000+ old demon had a special duty to go guide a young boy in college but struggles when he see another person in the boys life that might make him fail his task. What happens when one demon and one angel both get assigned to the same person?

pairing: demon!hyunjin x angelfem!reader

featuring: enhypen, straykids, txt, itzy, wonyoung from ive and more!

genre: enemies to lovers, slowburn?, fluff, crack, angst maybe, fantasy au, college au

warnings: swearing, idk not much tbh ill add when i need too, maybe some suicidal jokes? like saying kys or kms or sumn 🤕, mentions of blood

author’s note: please ignore the fact the header looks very similar to my fiesta one 😓 i made it at 1 am and im lacking my creative mind rn, it still took me more than 1 hour tho 😒 HELP AND MY SCHOOL STARTS TOMORROW⁉️ IM SOBBING CRYING BLEEDING AND THROWING UP 😭

also this fic is inspired by @ddeonuism my accidental demon roomate!! i just wanted to give creds cuz one part of the story i planned for them is something similiar that happened in her book :) DONT WORRY THO THE PLOT IS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT 😭

release date: 25th january 2022

taglist: (open) send an ask

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471 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

#4

鐵線蓮花; ᝰꜜ ᩠˚ 𖤐 enhypen reactions !

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705 notes - Posted February 26, 2022

#3

西村力; ᝰꜜ ᩠˚ 𖤐 WISHLIST !

sypnosis: having a famous idol brother had its pros and cons, the pros? well you kind of get second hand fame if you ever go public on social media. the cons? well your annoying brother always tries to set you up with his members, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he didn’t keep trying to set you up with his groups maknae nishimura riki who you once met and had accidentally spilled coffee on you and then told you to suck it up.

pairing: idol!nishimura riki x fem!reader

featuring: enhypen, txt, itzy, straykids, ive + more

genre: social media au, fluff, crack, enemies to lovers, idol au, brothers bestfriend au

warnings: swearing, my humour 💀

author’s note: WISHLIST came first with over 20 vote 💀 wow anyways if you still want to vote for another one please do its for the future works im going to write i will add more maybe even a soobin smau 😱🤣 lol vote here

release date: after fiesta (will release prologue before that tho)

taglist: (open) send an ASK, replies will not be added anymore

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1,848 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

#2

엔하이픈 ; ᝰꜜ ᩠˚ 𖤐 luna’s enhypen fic recs !

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2,090 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

🎨 🌷; ᝰꜜ ᩠˚ 𖤐 FIESTA !

sypnosis: Jungwon has always admired you from a distance, watching you practice dancing in the hybe practice rooms, purposely trying to bump into you while wondering around the hybe building and also leaving nice notes for you to find. When you debut in a group, being Enhypen’s younger group, it’s Jungwon’s perfect opportunity to get to know you better but one day he gets into a dating scandal with your best friend. Which leads to you trying to get both of them together, what will he do now?

pairing: idol!yang jungwon x trainee to idol!fem reader

featuring: enhypen, straykids, txt, nct dream, itzy, ive + more!

genre: fluff, crack, maybe a tiny bit of angst? friends to lovers, idol au

warnings: swearing, my humour 😓, y/n is a lil clueless, yeonjun /j, dispatch, invasion of privacy idk

release date: 20th january 2022

taglist: closed!!

See the full post

2,175 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[voidselfshipp]

Second Chance

Cw: implied injury, mentions of stitches, mentions of ricks death (sharp debrie to the heart).

Summary: Rick flag gets a second chance at life,and with it comes a chance to find a home.

->Only mutuals allowed to reblog.

♡Lovely taglist: @tex-treasures @malewifehenrycooldown @mercuryships @hedone26

Hazy, deathfilled dreams.

Screams of pain and anguish.

And last words "peacemaker. What a joke".

Rick flag wakes up in a cold sweat, instantly, his body hurts like bitch. Searing hot pain overwhelms him and makes him lay back down.

--Oh thank the sun youre awake!-- a voice says.

He turns to face the source and sees a young woman, Brown messy hair, green eyes, a barn owl perched on her shoulder-- wh- who are you?

--Names Jerico, and I rescued you from under a pile of rubble and brick, you were almost dead...-- she leans over him, inspecting his bandages-- no bursted stitches...thats good

--how did you...? I was as good as dead-- he mumbled, head feeling light.

--you dont gotta worry about that, for now you need some rest-- her hand pressed against his forehead, and soon Rick flag was out like a light.

Some days passed since then, with him coming into conciousness and then go back to sleep. But he slowly recovered, spending more time awake and slowly being able to move on his own.

And so here he is now, shaving for the first time in weeks, he sighed with relief, finishing to clean up his face to then limp carefully back to bed.

--Good morning Rick!-- jerico Chirped with a tray with coffee and pancakes-- breakfast?

--Please, lm starving -- he said, grabbing the tray and putting it on his lap.

Her barn owl, Sunny, flew from her perch ontop of the door to his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek with her beak-- she likes that your face is clean

--Well, thanks sunny-- he cut up a piece of pancake And fed it to the bird. Hes seen the owl eat practically everything under the sun, so he wasnt worried about the effects of the pancake.

--Shes so spoiled-- jeri teased, gaining an ill look from the bird-- dont look at me like that you know im right

Rick chuckled, he'd gotten used to the homey domestic feel of it all-- and what do you think?

--I think it looks good on you-- she replied with a coy smile, sipping from her own Cup of tea.

His cheeks get warm and he looks away,-- why, thank you

The continue to eat their breakfast in quiet conversation, mostly planning what they would do today.

--Even if I cant do much, lemme help with something-- Rick pleaded.

--Well, you can make lunch, how about that?-- She offered.

--Id say like that idea-- he replied, flashing a playful smile her way.

It was pretty obvious that both had some sort of feelings for eachother. Since the first time Rick came into conciousness (And was coherent) he had found in his savior something like a kindred spirit.

And her gentleness, how kind and caring she was with him was one of the Many things he liked about her.

--Are you sure I cant do anythin' else? I feel pretty shitty when you do all the work-- he admitted looking at her with what jerico could only describe as "puppy dog eyes".

--Rick...-- she cood, putting a hand on his cheek, caressing it-- we've talked about this

He takes the hand on his cheek and says-- I know.. I know I cant do much in this state but you saved my life, helping you is the least I can do

She chuckled said-- when youre better you can help me with anything you'd like, soldier boy, for now, you rest and then make lunch-- she kissed his forehead, her hand slipping through his fingers like melted chocolate.

He blushes, trying his best to not meet her eyes, Incredibly flustered.

It took all of his self restraint to not kiss the air out of her sometimes.

--Where are you going?-- Rick asked, cringing at how clingy that sounded.

--To the supermaket,gotta get some stuff, ill be back in a flash-- she smiled at him and he felt like he was melting.

He had it bad.

After she left, Rick laid back down on the bed, looking at the ceiling and drumming his fingers on his stomach, he was bored out of his mind.

He sighed, sitting up once again and deciding to get out of bed.

Sunny tried to pull him back by the shirt, but the poor owl could only do so much against a creature four times bigger than her.

He started with simple tasks, cleaning the dishes and putting them back in their place.

Then, he cleaned the Windows and the floor, smiling in contempt as he could see his reflection on the floor.

By that time, his body was already asking him for a break, taking a piece of debrie to the heart had left him some serious issues with cardio and moving around.

So, he laid back down, absolutely tired. The only good thing being that he didnt burst any stitches since he was fairly carefull when moving around.

Rick had made a Cup of tea for himself, reading one of the Many books Jerico had lying around.

It was mildly interesting and soon he got lost in the story, being pulled out of his daydream when Sunny nudged his cheek with her wing, pointing at the clock with her beak.

"I should get started with lunch" he thought, getting out of bed carefully and walking to the kitchen.

--Im feelin' somethin' simple, what do you say, sunny?-- he asked rhethorically, taking out some instant mash potatos and some steak from the freezer.

He cooks to the rythm of the music that came from the radio, which sunny was so kind as to turn it on for him.

Lunch is ready just as Jerico arrives with some bags on her hands.

--Mírenla, miren, miren, mírenla

Mírenla, ella está tan sola

Mírenla, en sus ojos hay placer

Mírenla, cuando te enamora

Ella viene desde lejos y de

De jugar con tu ilusión

Buscabas la libertad y ahora

Cómo huir de esta prisión-- he sang, completely butchering the pronounciation of the words.

Rick turns around to serve the food and his eyes meet Jeri's.

Instantly, he leaves the food on the counter and helps her with the bags-- Rick! Be carefull!

--Im being carefull-- he said-- im just helping

Both quickly put everything in the fridge, and he finishes serving the food.

Both sit on oposite sides of the round table-- nice singing by the way-- she teases.

He tensed, coughing a little and saying-- oh...you heard that?...sorry I probably butchered everything

--i mean yeah but in an endearing way!-- She Chirped putting a hand on his forearm.

He chuckles, looking at his Plate-- you think im endearin'?

--yes I do, and I think youre cute too-- she flirted, taking him aback.

Flustered, and trying to save what dignity he had left, he says-- Carefull...sunny'll get jealous

As if on cue, Sunny hissed at both of them, tearing appart a piece of steak Rick had given her.

--Youre cute too, you feather ball-- the woman cooed, petting the birds head, to then meet her companion's gaze-- couldnt help but notice how clean everything was,did you do it?

--uh no?-- he replied not hiding the fact that he was lying.

--did you burst any stitches?

--i didnt,I promise-- he reassured, taking the hand that was on his forearm-- you worry about me too much

-- I cant help it, I care about you, yknow?-- jerico said sheepishly-- I dont wanna be overbearing but I couldnt live with myself if anything happened to you

He sits back in his chair, clearly in awe by what he just heard.

Regardless, Rick gives her a warm smile-- Nothin's gonna Happen to me because you take such care of me -- he flirted right back.

--Charmer-- she teased trying to brush everything off.

--Learnt from the best-- he winks at her and he doesnt know where that confidence came from. Yet he cant help but feel somewhat delighted at the blush that spreads across her cheeks.

After lunch, Rick decides to take a nap, while Jeri goes to shower.

Once clean, she changes and goes to bed, carefully laying besides her companion.

She had a queen sized matress but it was the only bed she has, so they had to share.

Not like neither of them were complaining.

Jerico turns to Rick, smiling as she brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, tensing when her hand lowers to his cheek and he leans into her touch,still asleep.

She giggles and kisses her forehead, then the tip of his nose and then lowering to his lips being inches away from them.

A sigh scaped past her lips and her head rested on the fluffy pillow.

He had to leave at some Point...but she didnt want that. But most importantly, did he wanted to leave?

The answer was no, but she didnt know that.

And because of it, she closed her eyes, knowing full well she could use a nap.

What she wasnt expecting, however, was to wake up in the arms of Rick who hugged her from behind, using his body to envelop her in some sort of protective cocoon.

Neon red blush settled on her face, she knew military men were clingy but she was not expecting to experinexe that clingynesd first hand today.

But she wouldnt dare move. This was way too perfect.

So, jerico leaned Into his touch, relaxing her body against his, hands pressing against his. Maybe one day she'd tell him how she felt.

Rick slowly opens his eyes, hugging whatever he was hugging tighter, Yawning.

His hazy half asleep eyesight Settles, and look down to see Jerico in his arms.

His body tenses but not pulling away from the hug-- sorry-- he mutters.

--Dont worry..-- she whispers-- we all need cuddles every once in a while

He rests his head ontop of hers, relaxing once more-- guess so...

Soon, a calm silence bloomed, nothing could be heard but the usual city escape noises and their breaths.

--Ive been thinkin' -- Rick started-- when I get better, I need to find a way back to the 'states, I might need some help

Jeri's heart squeezes-- thats okay, ill help you

--Youve done enough for me already, but thank you-- he smiles but she doesnt.

She didnt want him to leave.

But he said he would, even if he didnt want to. After all, how long would he be here, leeching off of her. He could barely help her out in his state.

Ten minutes pass, until jerico goes to make some tea.

Her eyes catch the sigh of Rick basking in the light of the sun set. Her breath hitches and she stares at him.

--How can you be so beautiful..-- jerico asked under her breath

--What was that?

--D do you want coffee or tea?

--Tea

She nodded and Walked to the kitchen, putting the kettle to boil.

Rick looks at her walk to the oven, he sees the way the last bits of sunlight shower her in golden light.

He puts a hand behind his head, the other on his chest, and a warm smile appears on his face. Could he have more moments like these? With this homey warmth and calm? He hoped so

--You look beautiful in the golden light-- he said non-chalantly, looking at her.

Jerico stops what shes doing and turns to him, a shy and nervous smile on her lips-- thank you, Rick. You also look quite beautiful with this light

He chuckled-- thank you

She nodded and kept doing the two teas.

By the time the sun had fully set and the early night began, both are standing there on the balcony, teas in hand, a warm summer breeze blowing past them.

Both are leaning on the concrete handrail, looking at the city of coltomaltes.

--do you really need to leave?-- Jerico asked, voice shy and sad. A big change from her usual chipper self

He sighed looking at the city below-- I have to go back..., but I dont wanna leave you.. but I dont want to force you out of your home...its more beautiful than mine thats for sure -- he took her free hand, giving her a preocupied look.

--We'll make it beautiful-- she promised-- I would love to go with you..

--But you have a life, you have Friends here and..

She leaves her Cup on the handrail, putting said hand on his cheek, caressing it-- im no stranger to leaving people behind...-- jeri Leans in-- ill let you in on a little secret, technically Im not from here

--Then where are you from?-- he asks leaving his cup on the handrail too and cupping her cheeks.

She points upwards with her eyes and says-- im whats known as a wayfarer, an interdimensional traveler

--I would be skeptic if it wasnt for the ammount of weird shit ive seen-- he admitted-- but..can you show me?

She nodds-- opening portals are hard work, but I can show you some of my other powers -- jerico's hand Blooms a Rose, tucking it behind his ear with a smile-- thats one of 'em

Rick smiles, taking the Rose from behind his ear to inspect it, before putting it back where it was-- what else?

She walks back a few steps, yellow light flows through her skin, until her body is nothing more than energy.

He watches as that light takes the shape of a lion, and as the light dims, low and behold, there is a lion-- pretty cool huh?

--I- wow-- he mused,reaching to pet the head of the lion.

She returned to her normal form in the same way she had changed-- I can talk to animals, thats why sunny is so obedient, and before I show you I gotta ask you something, you afraid of heights?

--A little bit-- he replied-- w why?

Her feet float up in the air,and offers her hand-- y you want me to wh-at?

--Only if you really want, ricky

He sighed, grabbing her hand. Instantly, his body floats too-- trust me-- she whispers.

--With my life-- he reassured.

Both fly up little by little right to the Lower layer of clouds, Rick looks down at the sea of light and passing cars.

--This is beautiful-- he comments-- never thought id see the city from up here

Jerico floats closer to him, their shoulders touching.

He looks at her, his free arm hugging her waist-- youre so amazing...-- he says fondly.

--Thank you-- she smiles and both lean in.

--Can I kiss you?...please?-- he whispers.

--Yes,yes you can

And finally, Rick kisses jerico, her hand lets go of his and for a moment he thinks hes going to fall. But he doesnt.

Her arms go around his neck, and he hugs her waist tight, smiling.

-- not bad, soldier boy -- she teases.

--Hmm, thank you

They press their foreheads toghether, and smile.

Soon after, they are back in Jeri's home, cuddling up to eachother with Sunny resting comfortably on the side.

Days later, they were back at Rick's house, finishing to fix everything up.

--Gotta say, its nice to not be alone in this house anymore--rick said, drying his hands on a rag-- cant wait to see what you do to these plain old white walls-- he hugs jeri by the shoulders, pulling her closer.

--hmm, I have some ideas in Mind-- jerico showed him some sketches on her Journal-- what do you think?

He looks over the various concepts, to then double tap his pointer finger on one of them-- this one. Where'd you going to put it?

--That wall over there, right behind the couch

--what do you need?-- He asked with his voice low, kissing the back of her ear.

She shivers and Gently elbows him in the stomach-- some more colors, but ill get them myself

--Ah come on, you'll need a guide

She snorts-- as I said, this is not the first United States I visit

--Well, how do you know its there in this USA?

She sighed in defeat-- fine, lets go cowboy

He chuckles following after her with a smirk-- yes ma'am...~

While Driving to the craft supplies shop, both are jamming out to music, smiling and singing along.

During a red spotlight, Rick puts a hand on her thigh, and she looks at him with a warm smile.-- what is it,Ricky?

--Nothin' I just love you

--I love you too-- they kiss briefly, before resuming their drive.

Once they got what they needed and were back at home, Jerico started to paint the mural, Windows wide Open.

--Didnt know those paints stinked that much-- Rick complained, sitting besides jerico and giving her a Cup of tea-- take a break, honey

--My arm's gonna fall off-- she whined, leaving the paintbrush on the palette and taking the tea.

--All the more reason to take a break-- he coaxed, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around her waist.

Her head rested against his chest, nuzzling his jaw-- love you

--Love you too-- Rick looks up at the wall and says-- its coming along really well

--Thank you baby

Some more days passed until the mural was finished, but once it was, it looked great.

Ricky looked at the wall, now painted with none other than himself And his girlfriend, holding hands and looking at eachother in the eye, floating in a midnight Sky with stars.

--It looks beautiful, honey, well done-- he pressed her to his side, lightly tightening his arms around her shoulders.

--thank you, Ricky

He leans in for a soft gentle kiss. her hands, stained with paint resting on his neck, thumbs caressing his jaw.

And as both look at the mural, with warm cups of tea provided by Sunny, Rick realizes he had found a home, and he'd take this second chance at life and enjoy it to the very last minute.

[jack-kellys]

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVE DAAAAAY!!!

here's a fic for the holidays that will make up for @suddenly-im-respecsable's and @papesdontsellthemselves's angst

———

a snow party for the rest of our lives

words: 1800ish a bit more

warnings: cursing, nsfw jokes, its race guys

———

“Can we open any?”

“No.”

“Pleeease?”

“Race, you are a grown-ass man and you still use that tone with me?”

Albert slumped forward as he felt Race drape himself across his back with a long sigh.

“Albie, how am I not supposed to think about presents for an entire day?” Race asked, fitting his chin in the crook of Albert’s shoulders.

“Well,” Albert considered, bringing Race’s arms around his stomach. “Know how it snowed last night?”

He felt Race nod, his gold curls tickling his neck.

“You know how a lot of people are away or inside, too?”

Race nodded again.

“Then do you wanna…have a snow party in Central Park?” Al smirked.

Race let out a long gasp at the prospect, making Al laugh. Exactly the reaction he wanted from Race.

“Uh how about abso-fuckin-lutely?” Race beamed. “Acting like we’re ten years old on Christmas Eve day is an immediate yes.”

Albert kissed Race’s temple, then hooked his hands under Race’s legs and hoisted him onto his back, making Race laugh—and Albert’s heart melt—and kiss the back of Albert’s neck as he carried them to their room. He dumped Race on their bed and went to his dresser, pulling out clothes for Race.

“I can pick my own shit, Al, what,” Race laughed.

“No, you can’t, cause you never put enough on, and I’m not letting you get frostbite,” Albert countered. Race shrugged in agreement, putting on what Albert picked as Al went to go get changed himself.

Soon enough, the two were both bundled up and ready to go. Albert couldn’t stop smiling at Race, with his soft blue scarf matching his eyes like that.

“You look adorable,” Albert said, rather shyly. Race blushed, leaning down the slightest amount to kiss Al’s forehead.

“So do you, beanie boy. Now let’s go!”

•••

Race practically pranced around the streets as it started to snow again, spinning whenever there was enough space on the sidewalk. Albert couldn’t stop smiling—Race had this special naivety about some things that made something in Albert’s chest bubble with happiness. He couldn’t imagine never feeling that way again.

“Albie, c’mon! We’re almost there,” Race grinned behind himself, practically skipping the last steps into the park.

“I know this was my own idea, but Jesus, man, you’re like, five,” Al huffed.

“No, I’m twenty-five and having a good fucking time! You should try it,” Race said with a cheeky smile, making Albert roll his eyes.

They walked a few steps inside, taking in the trees laced with white, the air filled with the silent beauty of snow.

“I forgot how amazing it was this time of year,” Race breathed, a serene expression on his already pale face, eyelashes adorned with snowflakes.

Albert’s eyes were only on Race, watching his excitement with a full heart. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, really amazing…” he said softly.

And just like that, the moment was over, Race looking at Albert with mischief in his eyes. “Do you wanna build a-“

“Yes, but no singing that or I’ll literally punch you so hard you’ll miss Christmas,” Albert said with a straight face, zipping up his pockets so nothing would come out of them. Race gave a singular nod in return, his lips pressed together before laughing. He knelt down to the snow, packing a small snowball and then rolling it to accumulate its size.

“You do the bottom one. I ain’t into that heavy shit,” Race said, presumably working on the middle.

“Yes you are. You’re only like thirty pounds behind me on the bench press,” Albert deadpanned, starting on the bottom anyway.

“Shush, babe.”

They continued their snowman, laughing as their proportions were way off.

“Oh, no,” Race gasped, “we don’t have anything to put on him!”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Albert said, dejectedly taking his beanie off and placing it on the snowman. Race removed his scarf in solidarity, wrapping it carefully around their creation.

“Our son’s all grown up. He’s come so far from just being the bottom,” Albert said, wiping a fake tear away.

Race smirked. “So have you,” he snickered, making Albert’s jaw drop before his face went red.

“The worst part,” Albert growled, “is how fucking good that was.”

“Haha, that’s what I say whenever you to—“

Race didn't get to finish his dirty sentence because Albert tackled him into the snow after screaming “you little shit!”

Albert leaned over Race, Race’s eyes scrunched closed. He blinked one open.

“‘The worst part,’” he mocked, “‘is how fucking good this is.’”

Albert was in a state of shock. “I literally—oh my god, we’re not gonna fuck in Central Park,” he groaned.

“Yeah, but I’m on fire today, ain’t I?” Race smirked. Albert slowly returned it, an idea forming in his head.

“Fire, huh?” he said, gathering some snow in his hand. “Better cool you off then.” Then, he dropped it directly on Race’s face without any sign of emotion.

Race immediately shrieked, swiping it off of him as Albert burst out laughing, only to earn him a wad of snow in his face as well, his nose quickly feeling like it was going to freeze and fall off his face. Albert scrambled off of Race a good distance, packing a snowball and chucking it at where Race still lay. It broke apart on Race’s stomach, making the other boy sit up with a furious expression. Albert nervously started making another one. Race’s wrath was quite terrifying. His own would be, too, if he didn’t show it so often. Race’s was almost secret. Albert scootched himself backwards, throwing another one at Race. He dodged it, now coming towards Albert, who froze mid-backward crabwalk, resting on his arms as he watched Race storm towards him, snow whipping around his icy eyes. Al stared at his stomach as Race put his boot on it, pushing Albert into the ground with a small “ouff.”

Race leaned down. “This is so nostalgic. Just like old times, if ya catch my drift.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “There is no way you ain’t happy when I top,” he said, resting his hands behind his head with a sly smile.

“You cocky bastard,” Race shook his head, taking his foot off of Albert, who took it as an invitation to sit up. “Nope,” Race said simply, kneeling and pushing him back down, meeting his lips with his own.

Albert wanted to resist it. He really did. He was cold, and in the snow, and his face was still wet from the snow Race had pressed into it.

But he kissed back anyway, hands coming away from his head and moving to Race’s cheeks, immediately feeling warmer. Albert felt Race’s hand sneak up his side, and rushed to meet it with his own before it could reach his pocket.

“Race,” he muttered around Race’s mouth, “I already said we cannot fuck in Central Park.”

“Not my fault you get hot in the wrong scenarios,” Race hummed.

Albert thought back to Thanksgiving at Katherine’s house. Whoops.

“Well, it is a little your fault,” Al shrugged, pulling his lips away from Race’s.

“Not my fault you can’t resist meeeee—“

Albert sat up and heaved Race over his shoulder, then stood, grabbing their belongings from their snowman.

“Fuck you, man,” Race said, banging Albert’s back with his fist.

“Yeah, y’ clearly wanted to, which is why we’re getting a coffee break. Cause of your bad behavior,” Al retorted. Race kept whining as Albert took them to a nearby Starbucks.

Finally they were settled with their respective drinks, Albert blowing on his hot chocolate while Race sipped his white chocolate mocha, Al rolling his eyes.

“Ain’t that practically just warm milk?” he scoffed.

“Ain’t yours?” Race retorted.

“Fuck off.”

They ended up talking until it was dark, which was no big surprise. They always found something to talk about.

“Shit! We have to go skating!” Al said suddenly, standing up.

Race followed suit. “Have to?” He cocked his head.

“Yes,” was all Albert said, offering his hand to Race as they threw out their cups and left.

“Alright, well, we going back to the park or try Rockefeller?” Race asked, Albert thanking the heavens he had dropped his inquiry.

“I was thinking back to the park. Not as many people,” he shrugged.

“Sounds good!” Race smiled, swinging their hands.

They made it back to the park, finding the rink all set up with lights The ice glowed against the dark, making Albert smile.

“Haven’t been skating in a while, have we?” Albert murmured. “Kinda wild, considering….the entirety of high school.”

“Let’s make up for it then. You go really fast the whole time using your hockey skills and I will only spin the whole time,” Race said, effectively making Albert laugh.

The moment they got on the ice, though, it was like someone hit a switch.

They started out slowly, holding hands and gliding along, but quietly. The earlier jokes and name calling was gone. Albert felt like they were the only two people in the ice, like it was a performance—a dance between them, everyone else only watching, not skating along. Race turned inward, resting his hands on Albert’s shoulders and skating backwards as Albert placed his hands on Race’s hips. Race was smiling, a small but sentimental quirk of his lips that sent Albert’s heart reeling.

“You look really perfect, Tonio,” he breathed, blushing slightly.

Race’s smile widened. “So do you, Albie.” He pressed a soft kiss to Albert’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

Soon enough, their time was done, and they had to get off the ice for the next group.

“That was so perfect, babe,” Race beamed. “Best Christmas Eve ever!” He unlaced the skates quickly, putting his boots back on and standing up. “But I am so ready for blankets, holy shit.”

Albert grinned, his heart hammering in his chest as he stood up as well. “Me too. Let’s go home.”

They walked through the park again, the path still snowy, Race rambling about how much fun he had today, but Albert stopped walking.

“Oh my god, Al, and then we—Al?” he stopped to, turning around. He gasped, his hands over his mouth. “Oh my god…”

Albert was kneeling, a knee in the cold snow, and pulled a black box out of his now unzipped coat pocket.

“Hey,” he said.

“H-hey,” Race laughed, gesturing for Albert to continue. Albert took a shaky breath.

“You know that I’ve loved you since we were fifteen. You even called me out on it, scaring the shit out of me until you kissed me. And then I knew it’d be fine, y’know? Cause you were by best friend. You are my best friend. And I know it’ll be fine—well, more than fine, the best, actually—if I could spend the rest of my life with you. I want to so bad, Antonio. I can’t spend my life without my best friend. So...Sunshine, w-will you marry me?”

He swiped at his own tears as he looked at Race’s face, tears streaming from his as well. Race nodded, coming down to where Albert was kneeling.

“Yes, oh my fucking god, a thousand times yes!” he cried, throwing his arms around Al, enveloping his lips in a passionate kiss. Albert kissed back, arms tight around Race's back as they crashed backward into the snow. They laid there for a moment, giggling and crying, until Race asked, "wait, shit what's the ring look like?" Albert laughed, sitting them up and actually opening the box. Inside was a silver band with tiny yellow gems circling in the middle.

"Yellow?" Race smiled. Albert blushed, looking shy.

"You're my sunshine, babe."

Race hugged him tighter. "Jesus fuck, I love you so much!"

They walked home arm and arm, a new accessory on Race's finger.

[oasis-of-you]

damn