#also i always dread coloring The White Man that's another thing.

[dandyseedlings]

breathing out storms when she comes around, she comes around, she comes around.

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 2

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: ahhhh! sorry that i took so long for the next part! ive been so busy, how embarrassing. but here it is!! thank you all not only for your patience but also for your kindness and for enjoying my writing :) i really appreciate it.

all parts: pt.1,

December | Tokyo, Japan

Days have passed, and the rescheduled meeting went smoothly. Nanami was all smiles, his feedback limited, followed by a lot of praise for the department. The breakfast was to everyone's liking, and Nanami seemed to have been beyond satisfied. It definitely felt like a win for you. 

Nanami’s meeting with Mr. Takada went well, and he did receive approval to create another position for the corporate cafe (thanks to Mr. Takada). You’ve decided to take it upon yourself to offer him the job, a sort of nice surprise for Nanami. You rush to the bathroom, pulling down your short pencil skirt and fixing the wrinkles of your egg-white cardigan. You check yourself in the mirror, assuring your makeup didn’t smudge and your hair wasn’t the equivalent of a bird's nest. 

As you did, two of the ladies from the front desk entered, makeup bags in hand. They were a sea of chatter until they noticed you, but their smiles only widened. They place their bags down at their appropriate sink, and eye you. “You’re Nanami Kacho’s assistant, right?” The brunette asked eagerly

You turn over and nod, “correct. Is there anything you need?” 

The two exchange a look before turning back with gleeful smiles, “are you two… close?” 

“As close as two coworkers can be,” you said, hoping the dread didn’t imbue into your words. “Why?” 

“A-ah, well,” the blonde one quickly chimes in. “You wouldn’t know if he was single, would you?” 

It was always selfish of you to always live in your own world. In your perfect world, Nanami was single, simply waiting for you to make your move. In your world, nobody knows about Nanami but you. Particularly, you knew what his favorite coffee was, what colors he enjoys wearing. It was unheard of in your world for others to enjoy his presence at the capacity that you do. But you also acknowledged that you were delusional, and that that was simply not the case.

You look over and shrug, “as far as I know, he’s single. But I try not to endeavor in his personal affairs.” You were blessed to have such a professional voice, because each word burnt your tongue. “I’m guessing the both of you…” you lower your head, softening your gaze towards the two women. Their crimson faces and shy smiles said it all. You force out a smile and prepare your leave, “I wish you both luck.” 

You could feel your heart sink, somehow feeling jealous over a man that wasn’t yours. As you exited the bathroom, you let out a long, shaky sigh. It was moments like this that would bring you back to reality. 

As disappointing as it is, Nanami is your boss. Not your friend, or lover. He is the person that keeps you on payroll, instructs you on your work, and expects you to get your shit done. And he sees you as exactly what you are: his assistant. You have his back, but prior to your role, he had no assistant. Nanami is praised time and time again for his abilities as well as completing his tasks independently. Really, you need him more than he needs you. 

But you calm yourself down, remembering that you yourself are a single woman, and can’t hang onto this man forever. Nearing your desk and seeing Nanami’s perfectly side swooped hair, your ‘independent woman’ facade quakes. His eyes quickly leave the computer screen, and his lips curve into a gentle smile. “Y/N, you calculated your numbers beautifully,” he compliments in a warm tone. “You truly outdo my expectations.” 

Your cheeks heat up from the flattery, “thank you, Nanami…” You give him a curt bow before sifting through your drawer. Your fingers wedge between the documents, looking through the alphabetically-organized folders. Finding exactly what you were looking for, you quickly press it against your chest. 

Nanami’s eyes stare at the folder skeptically, “what are you up to now?” 

It wasn’t at all accusatory, but somehow his tone made you nervous, “ah, I have a few of last month's numbers to make copies of. I also have to go to our bigger database to reach last year's numbers so I can create a comparison chart.” 

Nanami accepts your excuse, though you’re confident he’s a bit aware of your white lie. He nods, “don’t feel rushed– those numbers will be due after New Years.” 

You nod, “I’d rather get a headstart before then.”

“We truly are too similar, Y/N,” Nanami hums, his warm smile uplifting your previously low spirits. He returns his focus to his computer, reading one of the many emails he receives on a daily basis. “That reminds me– tomorrow is Thursday, Y/N.” 

Your eyes flicker to your shared calendar, “that’s right. We’ll be working remotely for the rest of the week.” A silence sits between you two after your words. Catching yourself, you toy anxiously at your fob, “did you want to ask me something in person before then?” 

Nanami nods, finishing the draft of his email before a swoop! sound sends it off. “I wanted to ask you something– and you can absolutely say no if you’d like. It is a personal ask, but it is completely work related, so nothing to fear. I wanted to ask if I could come to your apartment during our remote day to work alongside you.” 

He looks over at you, his eyes dipped with kindness. Although his ask was big, and you were driving yourself insane at the idea of him coming over, it was difficult to refuse. Refusing would probably seem offensive to him, no? He was your boss too, so it was platonic and strictly work-related as he pointed out. “Is… there some sort of task that requires us together at this time?”  

It was Nanami’s turn to blush, his hands leaving the keyboard to allow his thumbs to fiddle. “It isn’t required by any means… I just find that working physically with you is much more relaxing and productive for me.” Your eyes narrow onto his now rosy cheeks, and the way he shyly tugged at his bottom lip. His eyes still meet yours however, still exuding that same professional aura he always does. 

You give yourself a moment before giving him a reluctant nod, “then it is not a problem. I will text you my address and apartment number. Feel free to call me early in the morning in case of anything– I’m usually up and ready around 5:45-ish.” 

Nanami nods at your promptness, “perfect. I’ll plan to arrive 5 minutes prior to our shift. And since you’re kindly allowing me into your home, I’ll bring you breakfast. My treat.” 

It felt like a dream. You were going to host Nanami in your home, for 8 hours straight, working next to one another on your couch. You quickly collect yourself, and begin to take your leave, “I’ll be back soon.” He smiles and nods, returning back to his work as you secretly leave to go and get his favorite barista hired. 

Some time passes, and Nanami makes quite a dent in his work load. But everyone could tell he was feeling the weight of the job and his position. But he does his best to take it easy, unbutton the few top buttons of his blue dress shirt. His collarbones were prominent, his light skin exposed to the cold of the ventilated office. He finally decides to leave his chair and go get his cup of water refilled. 

As he strolls to the kitchen area, he hears hush-tone voices already inside. He, for some reason, halts before the doorway, curious as to what his employees could be talking about. Although he was expecting complaints about work, or a conversation about confidential topics, he was not expecting them to talk about you… and him.

“...it has to be true!” One of them exclaimed in a whisper. “It’s obvious that she likes him.” 

“Every woman in our office likes Nanami kacho,” another one responds simply, “it wouldn’t be surprising for Y/N to have a crush on him as well. Actually, it would make more sense that she does, considering she’s his assistant.” 

“I’m sure I’ve heard her talk about her crush with Haibara kacho,” the previous voice chimes. “I admit to being a little envious when it comes to Y/N… she’s such a lovely woman. I’d be over the moon if she had a crush on me.” 

“Ah, he has no idea how lucky he is to have her under his management. I might take my chances and ask Y/N out– I’ve been considering it for a while now...” 

Before they could continue, Nanami makes his presence known and walks into the doorway. He looks up at the two gentlemen, instantly being able to associate names to their faces. The two freeze, their faces going pale as Nanami casually walks over to the water machine. Silence pierces the air as the two wait for their boss’s words. 

With a deep sigh, Nanami turns around and hovers over his two employees. They went cold from the warmth-deprived tone in Nanami’s eyes. With straight lips, he begins, “some advice… I highly recommend not getting into the hobby of rumor mongering. Or at least, do it outside of work."

"Y-yes, sir!" The two say in unison. "Sorry sir!"

Nanami waves his hand at them, "it's no big deal, really. Just get back to work." They immediately bank on the opportunity and rush out of the kitchen leaving Nanami alone to his thoughts.

It isn't like Nanami was deaf to those rumors. He lives them constantly, being the topic of many whispers by the young women that worked in the office. Even women from other departments would make their way to the Finance team just to take a peek at him. He didn't make much of it however, as he didn't care to be consumed by the crushes and false ideas about him as a partner.

But to think that you could have a crush on him... was conflicting. You were his assistant, the byproduct of his commitment to his job and his work ethic. It would be easy to think nothing of this like he did with every other women. But you were different. You were hardworking, honest, kind, considerate. You were his diligent assistant, whose work proves that she was practically destined to become his assistant.

He walked back to his seat, his mind completely clouded. It was unsettling, this feeling in is chest. Was it regret from his foreseen plans to reject you? Was it surprise that you would have a crush on a stoic man like him? Was it guilt for her to fall for someone like him? Nanami couldn't quite pin point it, but the feeling in his chest had no plans to leave.

As he tries to get comfortable again, you quickly make your way to him. Nanami's hazel eyes immediately fix onto you, but making eye contact felt dazing. He looks at your eyes briefly before his gaze falls onto the cup of coffee offered in your hands. Your face was beaming with excitement.

Written on his coffee cup: thank you for having me. excited to join you guys soon! :) - Tae Ito

"He accepted our offer," you begin with quiet excitement, "he will be joining us starting Monday!" You put down the folder, in which its contents held a signed offer letter. Your whole body was freezing, your face and fingers red from the cold as you left your coat in the office. But the warmth of surprising Nanami was enough to waive the potential frostbite.

Silent gratitude emanates as Nanami kindly takes the cup of coffee from your hands. "So this is what you were scheming," Nanami says in a hush, calm tone. He looks up at you with a sheepish smile, and tries to find peace in the heat of the coffee cup, "thank you, as always Y/N."

You couldn't prove it, but when you realized that Nanami let his coffee go cold, you could tell something was off. And you didn't like that one bit.

Taglist:

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

pls let me know if anyone else wants to be added to the taglist!

[katrinapavela]

Hi Katrina! I JUST found your blog here and I'm SO excited. I'm a long time Olivia Pope stan but short term Scandal watcher; as in I watched random episodes when it was on the air and have always adored Olivia Pope and the powerful woman she is, but I am currently doing my first full watch through. And I'm loving every minute of it.

I'm so excited to get to go through and read all the incredibly thoughtful analysis and posts you've written, dissecting the details of the show. I'm greatly appreciating all the underlying symbolism they use. I just read one of your write ups about the Helen of Trot comparison. I also like how the motif of lighr is weaved theough everyrhing and how they have her usually in white to display that, but that her clothing color gets darker as the lines of light and dark get blured. I'm loving watching her as a strong female lead who is infallible yet somehow still vulnerable. I also really am enjoying how the scenes and interactions between her and Fitz have a type of chemistry I feel like we've never seen on TV before even though in many ways it's an unhealthy and arguably toxic love, it also seems so real the pain and anguish in how much they care for one another is almost palpable. I am also admiring that their intimate scenes are done so tastefully and look like passion and love, unlike what I feel like we see in the media so often these days (I also recently finished shameless and as the title suggests, that show was truly shameless in how they portrayed spicy scenes). Fitz definitely gives man-written-by-a-woman to me. I'm currently in season 4, but I just read a spoiler that Olivia does become command and I'm dreading getting to that stage of the show just because I've already seen how damaging that role is to society and the person who holds it, I feel like I need a little reassurance to keep watching. The thing I think is incredibly interesting about this show is it calls into question everything we think we know about ethics and morals; it goes to an extreme to do so but it highlights that everyone has a mix of good and bad in them and I think that's such an important thing to touch on.

Anyway, just wanted to pop on and say I'm so excited to have discovered your page. I feel like I just found an extention of the shows content and am thrilled to read all the insights you shared over the years - I have a tendancy to obsess over TV shows, especially those with strong female leads that have elements of what I aspire to be. I love tumblr serving as a space to indulge in content from my comfort shows and analysis of them with people who want to talk abou them. I think the details of the show were masterfully written. I also am SO in awe that you took this interest and made it into a whole dissertation. Literally love that for you. In the interest of also asking a question, I am curious what your favorite episode or you favorite moment of the show was, and why? Or, if you feel there is an episode that is the most impactful and why. So far, the most impactful monologue I've heard in the show (and possibly ever on tv) is when Eli/Rowan Pope sits down with Olivia and tells her that the point and the people worth saving is everyone, and that it's up to her to drag people back into the light. I thought that was incredible. Thank you again for your thought contributions for us all to consume and learn :)

Welcome! Thanks for writing me :)

Thank you for the lovely things you said about this blog. I am so happy that I chose to keep writing according to my own perspective and understanding of storytelling. The archive is serving the exact audience I knew would keep discovering this show. Yeah, sometimes I can't believe my little tagline for this blog was transformed into a real PhD thesis. 2 articles based on 3 of those chapters have been/will be published soon. And several actual tumblr posts were transformed into something more critical for a chapter in this book:

How unfortunate that you saw that spoiler about Command. I'll just let you know you don't have to deal with that until S7, and it won't be for the entire season. But, Olivia will get on your fucking nerves for a bit. Well, she did that to mine. But some great things happen, too. I saw this dissent as part of something I predicted (S7 poster analysis) would (and needed to) happen for Olivia. But anyway, don't let that knowledge distract you from S4-6.

Yes, I agree with you about obsessing over TV shows with compelling female leads. My two previous obsessions have that in common--ever since my teens! I can see now that those characters were showing me parts of myself I would discover.

Answer to your question:

My favourite moment of the series? Or my favourite episode? This is so hard! If I have to pick one episode--it's 2.20. I love the theme of time and how it functions in multiple characters' lives, Olitz included. If I had to pick a really impactful moment, it would be 4.22 when Maya tells Olivia about her need for self-importance via creating problems that only she can fix. It was the closest she ever got to therapy. Since it's the same episode, I will sneak and say (without spoiling the beauty), that the ending for Olitz is the perfect inverse of a moment in 4.01. Ugh, there are more, but I'll stop there.

Thanks for leaving comments as you read the blog during your rewatch !

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪx

❝ ꜱᴡᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴄʏ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!MC ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 4.9k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, alcohol consumption

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"that face, baby, it ain't fair. but what you don't know, don't know. don't know—I eat boys like you for breakfast."

- breakfast, dove cameron -

Kiara interlaced her fingers with Taehyung's, loving how his hand swallowed hers. She leaned into him as they walked along the bricks placed in an intricate design that led to their neighbor's front door. Ever since their revelation the other night, she felt closer to him. That hazy vision of a ring on her finger was getting more apparent by the day. Even so, she still couldn't fathom willingly being in the same space as Jimin.

"Remember to try," Taehyung mumbled to her as he knocked on the front door. She sighed deeply, and he gave her hand a gentle, encouraging squeeze. In seconds, the door swung open. A grinning Hoseok greeted them, his smile also spreading to their faces.

The last time tonight Kiara would genuinely smile.

"I'm so glad you guys made it!" He beamed as he pulled them both into a hug, one arm wrapping each body.

The couple chuckled softly. "As if we'd miss it," Taehyung said as he led them inside. Hoseok took their coats, placing them in a nearby closet. 

The Jung's home always felt so warm and cozy. They had a shabby chic vibe going; white furniture to compliment the light brown wooden floors and beige colored walls. There were pops of colors here and there, like the bright yellow throw they had hanging off the couch that matched the yellow-themed paintings they hung over the TV. There were little potted planters meticulously placed on various shelves and surfaces. It felt like a home, their home. 

Kiara instantly spotted Momo as she returned from a hallway with an armful of blankets and pillows. She tied half of her midnight hair in a cute ponytail while the rest gently brushed her shoulders as she walked. As soon as Momo looked at Kiara, the broad smile on her blush-stained lips faded, and concern flooded her innocent features. She approached the girl, spotting Kiara's fake smile from a mile away.

"What's wrong?" She whispered, eyes peering around for Hoseok.

"I don't wanna be here," Kiara whispered, her lips frozen in a smile. She was trying, honestly dreading the moment when Blondie made his appearance. But she wasn't going to lie to her friend.

"Why?" Momo's brows furrowed as her eyes finally caught Hoseok's. He was smiling, entertaining his guests, but his glances were worrisome. He raised a thumbs up, and Momo nodded, not wanting to worry her significant other.

"Yo! Hoseok, can you—" Out from the kitchen walked the man of the hour, and his eyes automatically latched to Kiara's. Her smile dropped so quickly that her body couldn't keep up the facade. While she glared at him, Jimin shared a smile that seemed genuine. It caught Kiara off guard, her glare wavering as he looked at Hoseok. 

"That's why." As she mumbled to Momo, it felt like she had to convince herself they were on bad terms for a second. Her brows furrowed as she bit down on her lower lip momentarily.

"Can you guys help me bring out the snacks? I may have brought too much," Jimin chuckled, making Kiara's lips twitch. The men agreed in unison before following Jimin like ducklings.

As soon as the coast was clear, Momo grabbed Kiara's wrist and pulled her towards the couch. She tossed all the pillows and blankets before sitting the girl down on the ground. "Spill." She looked at the other, protection flickering like a freshly started fire in her eyes.

Kiara loved Momo dearly, but she sure was terrifying when she entered mother mode. "Do you remember the guy I told you about? The one from the coffee shop?" Kiara asked, the moment still vivid in her memory. She hated how his stupid face made a home in her mind. Like that one annoying cousin who invades your couch for a little too long, there Jimin was with that stupid perfect smile.

Momo nodded, remembering Kiara's colorful rant in the group chat, followed by several well-placed memes. She pulled out the game Cards Against Humanity from under the coffee table and started to set it up neatly.

"That was him."

Momo gasped loudly, "What?!" Kiara quickly silenced the girl. Their kitchen was close enough to be heard easily. "No way," Momo whispered, "he's such a nice guy! I've seen him tell off assholes politely."

"Maybe he saves all his rage for unexpected victims, like people he spills coffee on," she grumbled as she played with the zipper on her jacket. She swallowed suddenly, eyes fixed on her fingers. "He's mad I rejected him and won't get over it. And he's fucking everywhere. The gallery, the grocery store, even here!"

"Well, I'm kinda to blame for the last two places," Momo sheepishly admitted as she fiddled with one of the blankets. Kiara stared at the girl, waiting for her to continue. "He's my boss."

Momo's eyes met the others, staring at each other in silence.

"You're lying," Kiara suddenly said. There's no way he's been intertwined in her friend group this whole time. Momo shook her head, prompting a loud groan to rip from Kiara's throat.

The fucking odds.

The men returned from the kitchen, arms filled with various snacks and drinks. Hoseok and another man carefully put everything on the table while Taehyung walked around to sit on the other side of Kiara.

"What's wrong?" He whispered to the girl. She shook her head, not wanting to get into it. From all he knew, they got off on the wrong foot with the clientele dinner. He didn't see it as a substantial reason to have so much grief with the person, but he knew how Kiara was and remembered how Jimin was—two very fickle people with just as inconsistent personalities. 

They'll get along eventually, he thought; the more I bring him around, the more they'll get used to each other.

Jimin lowered himself to the ground directly in front of Kiara. She glared at him with those lovely eyes full of flames. If she were Starfire, she would have obliterated him long ago. And yet, for some odd reason, it made the corner of his lips tug ever so slightly into a smile.

"It's nice seeing you here, Kiara." His smooth voice had the slightest hint of satisfaction. Was he excited for the night full of torture? She hated how he said her name, how his lips formed to pronounce the noun. She wanted to rid it from his vocabulary.

Kiara pressed her lips together, earning an elbow in the side from Taehyung. "Likewise," she forced a grin before leaning over to Momo. "Can I have some wine?" She whispered, feeling as if this night would go so much longer if she were sober. Game nights with just the four of them are usually fun and a highlight after a stressful week. But with this blonde around, he would permanently be a thunderstorm on her parade. Momo nodded, prompting her to spring out of her seat. She made a beeline to her kitchen, quickly finding her wine cooler. She poured herself a glass of red wine with hopes of babysitting the glass all night so that she wouldn't get too drunk.

Hoseok was keen on picking up the energy of a room, and he was surprised to find out there was tension between Kiara and Jimin. If anything, he was prepared for awkwardness as he would've had to introduce the two. He picked up the way Jimin looked at her, wondering if Taehyung also did. It wasn't his place, so he never addressed it. As Kiara returned to her seat, swirling the liquid crimson in her glass, Hoseok grinned at her.

"Ki, this is Namjoon, by the way."

Kiara's eyes met Namjoon's, offering him a heartfelt smile as she greeted him. She watched the large man sitting next to Jimin grow shy, looking down at the cards in his hands. She smiled fondly. Namjoon reminded her of Jeongguk for a second, specifically how these men twice her size could grow shy from a simple smile. It was adorable. 

After introductions, the games began. Since Jimin had a cordial act going, she decided trying couldn't hurt. It couldn't be that hard anyway. Some fake laughs here and there, maybe soften her eyes whenever she looked at him. It would be easier if he didn't always have such a smug look on her face. It's like he couldn't hide that he knew her secret.

As they played, Kiara sipped on her wine, laughing outrageously at the inappropriate and culturally insensitive answers they conjured up. Jimin, surprisingly, won a few cards from her, and she won a few from him. She never thought he was the dirty type—his head seemed way too far up his ass. It was a shame that he turned out to be an asshole. Their conversations and jokes seemed to flow together once the tension had subsided. They would've been great friends.

After three rounds, everyone slowly stopped playing and started to chat. Taehyung wrapped his arm around Kiara's shoulders as she leaned into him. The wine had settled into her system nicely, calming her and making her on the reserved side. Sometimes, she enjoyed taking a step back and watching everyone interact. She liked being in the moment, seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter. It warmed her and made her feel happy. She was one of the lucky few to find her people. She took her last sip and got up slowly to replace her glass. She didn't necessarily think she needed it, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. She felt relaxed and maybe a little heavy, humming to herself as she walked into the kitchen.

Feeling that some cheese would pair exceptionally well with her drink, she opened the fridge and stuck her head in. 

"So you know Hoseok and Momo, too, huh?" The smooth voice startled her, causing her to jump. She hit her head on the fridge shelf.

"Ow," she mumbled as she pulled her head out of the fridge. She looked over, seeing none other than the blonde. Her eyes instantly narrowed as she rubbed her head. "Yeah. I do."

He chuckled softly, white teeth beaming through his pink, plump lips. "Interesting. So they know about your double life, or am I gonna have to tell them?"

"First of all, you're under contract. If you say anything to anyone, I will sue." Her glare hardened at the man, pointing her finger at him as she spoke. Of course, why wouldn't their first conversation of the night be filled with threats? Appearance couldn't last that long, unfortunately. 

"Oooh, I'm so scared. Look at me! I'm shaking him my boots." A smirk played on his lips as sarcasm filled his tone, wrapping around his words gracefully. Like Kiara, he was fluent in the petty language. He filled the gap between them, taking deliberate steps as his arms folded over his chest. "I understand hiding your identity from fans and the public, but your close friends? Tsk." He shook his head, stopping a few feet from her. "Does your boyfriend even know?"

The alcohol in her system was nowhere near enough to deal with this. She felt anger bubbling up in her chest as she reached for the bottle from earlier. "Of course, he knows!" She rolled her eyes as she filled her glass once again. "You think I just bring him there for funsies?"

Jimin wondered if she could hear the slight slur in her words, watching as she filled her glass way past the appropriate amount. He said nothing, figuring he wouldn't have to do her the favor if she was drunk enough. "I don't know what you and your boyfriend do." He leaned against the counter. She could see how his arms subtly flexed underneath his white long-sleeve shirt. She tried to ignore it, focusing on resealing the wine bottle. "Honestly, he barely talks about you when we hang out."

Kiara's hands froze, her heart suddenly taking a cliff dive in her chest. His words were the loud beep that started the race of her thoughts. He doesn't talk about me to Jimin? She always thought men in love gushed about their partners. Regardless, she couldn't let Jimin see that his words created a whirlpool in her mind. She kept a blank face, finally closing the bottle. "Well, he has other things in his life, obviously."

Jimin shrugged his shoulders casually. "If that's what you want to believe."

"Why does it matter to you?" Her facade cracked instantaneously, snapping at the blonde while staring at his profile. She was growing to hate everything about him—from his stupid hair that looked great whether he styled it or not to his stupid lips that were too plump and frozen in a permanent pout. They looked soft, like being kissed by a cloud. She wondered if her hypothesis stood true.

Stop. 

She looked away, taking a large swig from her glass and drowning those other thoughts in the process.

"It doesn't, I'm just saying."

"You didn't need to say shit, though, and that seems to be your fucking problem." With her mask shattering under the alcohol, there was no point in holding back now. She looked at him again, his glare meeting hers. "You're always saying shit you should probably keep to yourself."

Jimin turned to face her fully. "I say what no one else has the guts to!"

"If that's what you wanna believe." She quickly mocked him, putting on a voice way higher than his own to watch his face twitch angrily.

He walked over to a cabinet, grabbing a bag of chips from inside. "You know, for a coward, you have quite a mouth on you."

There goes that word again. And just like before, Kiara had half a mind to drench his white shirt with red. It would be pretty, like something she's painted. Instead, she took another drink from her glass, ignoring how the bittersweet liquid warmed her chest as it went down. "Shhh," she voiced while putting a finger to her lips, "you wouldn't want your little friends catching a glimpse of the real you, Park."

"Why the fuck is Taehyung even with you?" The bowl he grabbed from the cabinet hit the counter with a loud thud. He turned around to face the dark-haired woman, and his brown eyes narrowed to slits as his voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "You're such a little shit."

"You came in here starting shit with me." Kiara nonchalantly shrugged as she leaned against the counter. She ignored how his words slashed into her self-esteem. She didn't want to think about the possibility of the jackass knowing something about her relationship that she didn't. He already knew too much.

"All I wanted to know was if your so-called best friends out there knew that you were a Hannah Montana wanna-be. I would hate to have something slip out."

"Oh, bullshit," she scoffed. "I don't know if you get off on holding secrets over people's heads or threatening blackmail," she suddenly began to walk towards him. Kiara crossed the width of the kitchen, closing the distance between them. Jimin stood his ground, arms folded over his chest as he ignored how seductive she looked approaching him. With a wine glass in one hand, her eyes lowered at him, hips swaying effortlessly in her baggy sweatpants. She looked like a fucking sin. "but it's a really gross look on you. Get a hobby."

He raised an eyebrow slightly, "How do you know my hobby isn't annoying you?"

She looked up and down at him, placing a hand on her hip as she tilted her head to the side. "Aww," she cooed, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, "you really did mean it when you said you were a big fan."

Jimin's eyes went wide, feeling heat rushing to his face. Was he blushing from embarrassment, or because of how those eyes of amber looked up at him? He wanted to move his lips and say something just as snippy to keep hearing her voice, but he was too distracted. Kiara was close, dangerously close. Close enough that he could smell the bitter wine in her glass. Close enough that Jimin could easily catch a whiff of that addictive scent of hers. It was so sweet and subtle; it made him think things he shouldn't be thinking. She was his friend's girlfriend. But as she sipped her wine, the intoxicating liquid moistened her lips and made him curious for a taste. 

He never felt such conflicting feelings when looking at someone. Being in the public eye meant Jimin had to know what someone's intentions were. He had to be good at reading people before they even said a word to him for his protection. So, people around him fell into one of three boxes—friends, lovers, or enemies. He was rarely wrong due to mastering his craft for the past ten years. That was until he met Kiara. All the years of practice and knowledge were flushed down the drain within a week of knowing this woman. She was dangerous, and she knew it. She locked him into her gravitational pull, and no matter how hard he would try to resist, something in him just needed to be around her. He couldn't be the only one feeling this; she had to know, too. That's why she was doing all of this—teasing him without teasing him and looking at him like she wanted the same thing he was thinking. The universe threw her into his path for a reason, and he had to find out why.

She walked away from him, leaving that same sweet scent trail that tempted him to follow before. She felt proud that she managed to make the man who couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut silent, even if it was for a few moments. She lowered herself back into her place next to Taehyung while Jimin sat across from her. He looked at them, watching as she cuddled into the dark-haired man with glaring eyes. Taehyung's brows furrowed as his eyes danced between the two. 

"So, has anyone seen Luna's newest collection?" Jimin's voice cut through the chit-chatter, demanding everyone's attention. His eyes remained glued to Kiara's, watching her golden skin drain of its color. She may have caught his tongue in the kitchen, but now the game was on. "It's a true beauty."

Kiara took a sip of her drink nonchalantly, despite her heart pounding so viciously that her hand gently trembled. She heard a small whimper, feeling something tugging at the material of her sweatpants. She didn't have to look, knowing the familiar child named Nerves had arrived. 

"Luna?" Hoseok questioned.

"I think I heard a little about her," Namjoon added as he looked at Jimin. "She's kinda like Banksy, right?"

"Yeah," Taehyung said as he subtly reached for Kiara's free hand, "but better, in my opinion." He gave her a light squeeze as he grinned, causing Kiara's heart to warm. Nerves started to loosen their grip, beginning to return to where they came from.

"I've been following them since debut," Jimin said casually, "but not once have they shown their face. They're completely anonymous." He glanced around, meeting everyone's eyes at least once before locking in on Kiara's. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper, "They could be anyone, even one of us." He looked away to take a sip of his drink. 

Kiara tried to exhale softly, Co2 leaving her system shakily as the anxiety rose again. She could feel Nerves wrapping their arms around her leg, crawling up her appendage until they took a swan dive into her abdomen. They bounced around, threatening to empty the contents of her stomach.

"Oooh, I love that!" Momo mused, clapping her hands in excitement. "A complete mystery artist. Do they hold art shows?"

Jimin nodded. "I just went to one a month ago. They're called A Luna Eclipse. That's where I ran into Kiara and Taehyung."

"A Luna Eclipse is such a sick play on words," Hoseok said while Namjoon ferociously typed away on his phone.

"Fuck, their art is so good," Namjoon commented as he scrolled through some pictures. "I have to get them in my gallery." Kiara raised an eyebrow slightly, making a mental note. She may send him a few pieces to test the waters. Just as she was going to open her mouth to ask more about him, someone promptly cut her off.

"What kind of art do they do?" Momo asked as she leaned over to peek at Namjoon's phone.

"Abstract paintings," Taehyung answered, "they use different mediums to create whatever they're feeling."

"Wow, these look right up your alley, Ki!" Momo practically ripped the phone from Namjoon and shoved it in Kiara's face. The girl laughed at the phone being too close to see anything correctly. "Do you have anything from them?"

Kiara shook her head, pushing the phone away from her face. "I can't afford to buy much when you're saving for a house."

"Then Taehyung should buy you a piece," Jimin added with a smirk just barely forming on his lips. "I could tell how much you adored them from the art show."

Taehyung let out an awkward chuckle while Kiara's gaze hardened at him. The game he was playing wasn't funny in the slightest. Did he get off making her so uncomfortable and on edge that it was killing her buzz? What was he trying to accomplish here?

"That would be such a nice birthday present!" Momo grinned while looking at Taehyung. "You have a few months to save up!"

Part of Kiara felt bad; Momo was such a pure soul, and lying to her for this long was almost physically hurt. It was something she had to do, though. There was no point in being anonymous if everyone knew.

And now Jimin had a spot on that short list.

"Yeah, I'll definitely consider it," Taehyung smiled softly.

"So, how is work going for you guys?" Kiara asked as she took advantage of the silence before Jimin could. She needed to switch the topic off of her for a while.

"I finally found a space to rent out for my gallery!" Namjoon suddenly beamed, a broad smile appearing on his lips. "It took a while, but this place is absolutely perfect. I already have a few artists who really speak to me, so all I have to do is wait for construction."

Everyone congratulated him, causing the man's ears to turn red. Kiara smiled fondly at him, cursing Jimin in her mind. She wanted to give a few pieces to Namjoon without asking for any profit. Aimee would kill her if she knew of this, and she didn't care. Seeing how Namjoon spoke so passionately about his goals inspired her. He deserved a few limited-edition paintings. He deserved something that set him apart from the rest.

"Jimin and I just made up some new choreo for class, and Jimin went trending on TikTok again," Hoseok said as he elbowed Jimin playfully.

The man glared at him. "Stop saying our accomplishments as if they're just a me thing! It's an us thing!"

"It was your post!"

Kiara remembered seeing that post on that faithful night of scrolling through TikTok when she definitely should've been sleeping—face illuminated by her phone screen, volume lowered to just above a whisper to not wake the sleeping man beside her. By the time she stumbled upon the video, it had already accumulated over 100k likes, even though he posted it just a few hours before. The high-tempo song was sped up from the original, yet he hit every beat effortlessly. He was a talented dancer, and it irked her to the core. The way he moved was captivating, almost hypnotizing. His body moved like flowing water, hitting every beat effortlessly. Somehow, he was both hard and soft, smooth and ridged. It was hard to look away, watching the 15-second video until she memorized the dance. If the song played, she would be able to do it with ease.

The 15-second video tempted her to go to Jimin's page and scroll through. For research purposes, obviously. Not because the way he moved was attractive or anything. She wanted to see if it was a fluke, like he got lucky and posted at the exact moment when some popular teenage girl stumbled upon it and showed it to all her friends. But she knew that wasn't the case. For the next couple of days, TikTok would recommend her videos of people recreating the dance under the hashtag Collide dance.

Momo rolled her eyes before lazily looking at Kiara. "This is what I have to deal with at work."

"Oh, how fun," she responded with a sarcastic smile.

"You should apply! And be the deal breaker because Momo refuses!" Hoseok chimed in.

"I don't wanna get in between that!" Momo exclaimed.

Kiara let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "I keep telling y'all I don't dance professionally. You only see me on the dance floor when I already have a few drinks in my system."

"But you do dance?" Jimin asked, seemingly genuinely interested.

Kiara suddenly caught her breath in her throat. She didn't like when he looked at her like that—eyes drinking her in as they filled with curiosity. "I'm not applying for your job."

"That's fine; I wouldn't hire you anyway."

Hoseok let out a loud gasp while Taehyung attempted to hide his giggles. "Jimin!" Hoseok scolded.

"What?!" He looked at the silver-haired man with innocent eyes. "You know we have a strict hiring process!"

"You're always taking things so seriously. Both of you are." Momo said as she stood up, causing Kiara to shoot her a look. She started to clean up the various snacks and cups from the table. "You guys don't have a funny bone in your bodies?"

"Maybe she should take a one-on-one class with Jimin so they can both loosen up," Taehyung grinned while nudging Kiara. 

Jimin and Kiara both laughed obnoxiously. Momo and Hoseok locked eyes briefly. 

"That'll never happen," Kiara deadpanned.

"Why not?" Taehyung asked.

"She seems like she has two left feet like Namjoon, and I refuse to have that disaster of a class again," Jimin said as Kiara's jaw dropped.

"It wasn't that bad!" Namjoon said, suddenly sitting up from lying down.

"You managed to knock down four people with one move!" Jimin glared at the man, who now had a sheepish smile on his lips.

"It was quite impressive, though," Hoseok added as he gathered the cards.

"You're such an asshole," Kiara said as she shook her head. 

Namjoon loudly scoffed as he laid back down on the ground. "You can say that again."

"Aw, darling, it's just a joke. I think your left feet are cute," Taehyung grinned before kissing the side of Kiara's head. She fought the smile that wanted to form on her lips, opting to burn a hole into Jimin's soul instead.

"It's not a joke," Jimin started as he leaned back onto his hands. He mirrored the same glare at Kiara, a smirk tugging at his lips, "It's an observation."

"Jimin!" Momo called from the kitchen. 

"Yeah?!"

"Shut up!"

Everyone but Jimin shared a laugh as the man in question pouted his lips like a child. Kiara and Taehyung decided to call it a night soon after that. They bid everyone farewell, including a sneaky middle finger to Jimin from Kiara when Taehyung wasn't looking. The walk home was short and peaceful. It was a blessing to live close to your friends. Once they arrived home, they prepared quietly for bed, enjoying each other's presence.

"So what the deal with you and Jimin?" Taehyung asked as he put down his toothbrush, using a towel he grabbed to dry his face.

Kiara's eyes widened as she stared at him through their bathroom mirror. She stopped applying her skincare for a second. Her heart started to race at the sound of his name. "What do you mean?"

"You guys have this weird tension. Like, I know you guys dislike each other or whatever…, but…." He trailed off momentarily, chewing on his lower lip as he tried to figure out the right words. "That was a lot."

She let out an awkward chuckle. She didn't realize it was that obvious. She thought everyone would be so tied up in the game or conversations even to notice the growing hatred she and Jimin had for each other. "I told you he didn't like me."

"I know," he sighed as he leaned against the wall, watching as she finished her routine. "I've never seen him act that way towards someone, at least not openly. It's like you guys trigger each other."

"Cuz he doesn't know when to shut the fuck up."

Taehyung chuckled softly, following Kiara as she walked out of the bathroom. "What was that Luna thing about, too?"

Kiara sighed as she belly-flopped dramatically onto her side of the bed. "He's trying to ruin my life!" She yelled into the pillow before turning onto her side. "He hates my choice to stay unknown to the public, which includes some of our friends as well, and it just feels like I'm Spider-Man, and he's trying to unmask me around every corner. If I wanted to be fucking Tony Stark, I would be Tony fucking Stark!"

The man laughed at her analogy, realizing the wine she was drinking was catching up to her fast. He crawled into bed next to her. "He wouldn't do that to you, knowing it could end your career. He's too much of a fan of yours." Kiara let out a single cackle, cracking a smile on Taehyung's lips. "He's just teasing you in his own way. Watch, you two will be friends in no time."

"Yeah, aight. Maybe when I'm on my deathbed from the brain aneurysm he'll give me."

Taehyung shook his head, responding to a few messages on his phone before placing it on the nightstand. "You're so dramatic," he said lowly, reaching over to pull the woman into him. He snuggled in close, burying his nose in the crook of her neck before they drifted off to sleep.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

[jaclynhyde]

The Shade's Journal

In lieu of a letter column, James Robinson's run of Starman occasionally featured text pieces from the Shade's journal. As these are not included in the Starman Compendium or DC's digital versions, I wanted to type them up so everyone can experience such treasures as the Shade's love for dogs, Howard Hughes getting beat up, and Jack Knight's weird thing for mimes. All of these are written by James Robinson; the rest will come eventually, as will a compilation post.

Starman v2 Issue 2

FROM THE SHADE'S JOURNAL

The problem with immortality is the memories. Prolonged life means more events, which in turn means more recollections at a later date. And there are so, so, so many events to recall.

Today there was nothing much occurring that I felt warranted inclusion in my journals. David Knight patrols the nighttime streets, and the city is Opal City. For this reason, with my book open on a blank white page, and my pen in my fingers, I feel compelled to write of the other times. Times past.

I remember London. Visiting it for the final time. Visiting Oscar too, at his Tite Street home. This was long before his fall from grace, thankfully. We ate a fine cream tea that afternoon, and I think this was not the first for Oscar, as his waistline was more than beginning to show. Not that it really mattered to me; I merely pause now to reflect.

Our time together was a delight. I sat and listened mainly. Oscar's night before had been one of fine port and rakishness, so he was slow to start with his wit. But, of course, he started eventually. And I listened and laughed as Oscar commented on "this" public figure or "that" bit of scandal. Indeed, that week there'd been a salacious new tale about Catherine Walters. "Skittles" as she was known, was one of London's more famous "grande horizontales." There had been talk of her and W.H. Grace, the famous cricket player. Oscar made a remark about "Dr. Grace getting a sticky wicket" that had me doubled over with laughter.

I'd just begun to realize, then, that perhaps, just perhaps, I was no longer going to age. This fact had crept up on me. It was with shock I realized that the week prior I'd turned sixty and yet still looked to be in my late thirties. And that day was when it really sank in. Oscar was beginning to show those signs of a misspent life that should have been mine also. Seeing the signs of wear and tear in my friend made me sad. And a little ashamed. Guilty.

Yes, looking back, perhaps that was why I never saw Oscar again. It was 1891, years after we'd last met in Opal City during his American tour. And years before his troubles with Queensbury and all the dreadfulness that followed. Poor Oscar, perhaps I should have been there for him in '95. But like many other friends, I was nowhere to be found.

Anyway, Oscar's evening was to be spent with Lord Alfred whom he'd recently met. Oscar was charmingly firm in telling me that I was not invited to accompany them.

And so we were alone that night, London and I.

My mood and the wind both had a sharp sting to them, and one or the other bid me to venture forth to Tiger Bay, down by the Thames where the air was foul and all good folk know never to go. But I am not, nor ever was, a good man. And so I went.

The opium dens and drinking clubs were full, with sailors, and doxies and Orientals. You could hear any language in the work. You could see any color skin too. London has always been a melting pot, and on this night in Tiger Bay, the fire beneath that pot was burning fierce.

I walked into a deserted courtyard, on my way from one street to another, and there stumbled on a most singular occurrence: a large brown bear being clubbed to death by its owner. The beast was close to the end, from the many repeated blows his owner had given it with a sharp studded mallet. I inquired what terrible thing the beast had done, that it should be treated so, and the man replied that the bear was too old to perform anymore. The bear had been a street dancer and on weekends in Pitney Market and other parts, had made this fellow much coin. But now old, the bear was costing the owner more to feed than the animal brought in, and so the man and resolved to kill the beast and sell its flesh to the slaughterhouses.

Something about the scenario struck me as ludicrous. The man was small and weak, and yet had somehow overcome this huge animal and with no regard or affection was now ending its existence merely for aging. I think my guilt over Oscar's aging might still have been affecting me. Perhaps.

Whatever. I killed the man.

The reason I'd gone to Tiger Bay was that this had been where I was born. "I" being the Shade, of course. I had even then ceased to think of my "human" existence, before my transformation, as living. I suppose by returning to my roots, I'd thought to gain some inner peace. To this day the horror I witnessed during my creation and the countless deaths that occurred then still haunt me. Back in 1891, they were vivid and terrible, and I know I'd have done all and anything to end them. 

But going back never allows one to go forward. That's a myth fashioned by poets. And I am no poet. All I got from my journey was sadness—the kind that grabs and clings and threatens to drag you down to the shadows of a dark place, where even I, who know much of dark places, am fearful to go.

It was as I turned back towards the city that I saw her, the final nail in the coffin that was my waning affection for London. The Victoria Match Factory employed over a thousand girls and women. The work consisted of tipping match sticks into phosphorus, which, after prolonged contact, caused the bones of the workers doing this to decay. The sight of beggar girls without jaws or fingers was a common one. "Phos girls," as they were known. And it was now that one such poor wretch approached me. The lack of a jaw prevented her from speaking, and instead she mewed plaintively, like a kitten. I had seen such girls before. I had seen them. And I had thought my heart hardened by it, that sight, and everything else.

Yet that night a tear fell from my cheek.

I gave the girl a guinea. More money than she'd ever seen, to be sure.

And I turned and walked from her and from London and from England. Never to return. Opal City had been my residence then, a place where I lived and went forth, visiting London and Paris and Gotham City. But from that moment on, the Opal truly became my home. My place in the world.

*****

It's been an hour since I wrote those last words. In that time, much has happened. I've enjoyed a rather good French wine; this, the perfect complement to my dinner of beef and oyster pie. Also, some lucky citizen of Opal City won seven million dollars in the lottery. And finally…David Knight, this city's current champion, has been less than lucky.

David Knight was murdered twenty minutes gone.

The reports are still vague, definite answers few, but it does indeed appear that David Knight has died. There's nothing I can do about it, of course. Until I know more, it would be unwise of me to attempt anything. And of course, there's the distinct possibility that I won't want to attempt anything, anyway. So for now, I listen to the news reports, and I think, and of course, in my present mood…

…I remember.

Few recall the Starman of the 1950's, but I do. He flew the night skies over Opal for a year and a week, and then died a brave death. Brave and foolish, Ted Knight was still intent on his research. He'd just developed the prototype Cosmic Rod, and I think his mind was wrapped up in furthering that work. He was recovering physically too, from injuries sustained in Washington. Indeed, thinking about it, he looked the worse from that for quite some time. And then he married also, and women will ever be the death of men's endeavors, so who can blame Knight for his time away from the cape and costume.

I've many theories on the identity of the champion who arose to take Ted's place in those days when the Starman of lore wasn't there for his city. Alas, the ultimate answer to that question is still one that eludes me. Perhaps Knight knows. Perhaps one day I'll get the opportunity to ask him. However, it was evident that the 1950's Starman had different powers and a different costume and bore no real relationship to the one before or any since. A riddle surely. A puzzle. Some love such twisted passageways, but I detest them.

I'll know the truth, the whole truth, one day. I will.

But for now I content myself merely to remember.

[birichardswift]

The Shade's Journal (Starman Omnibus 2)

(While taking pictures of the journal pages, I found out that my phone has the ability to extract text from photos, so I decided to post these in text form for those who might have trouble with reading the photos. Enjoy!)

From the Shade's Journal…

The problem with immortality is the memories.

Prolonged life means more events, which in turn means more recollections at a later date. And I have lived my life to the fullest. And there are so, so, so many events to recall.

Today there was nothing much occurring that I felt warranted inclusion in my journals. David Knight patrols the nighttime streets, and the city is Opal City. For this reason, with my book open on a blank white page, and my pen in my fingers, I feel compelled to write of the other times. Times past.

I remember London. Visiting it for the final time. Visiting Oscar too, at his Tite Street home. This was long before his fall from grace, thankfully. We ate a fine cream tea that afternoon, and I think this was not the first for Oscar, as his waistline was more than beginning to show. Not that it really mattered to me, I merely pause now to reflect.

Our time together was a delight. I sat and listened, mainly. Oscar's night before had been one of a fine port and rakishness, so he was slow to start with his wit. But, of course, he started eventually. And I listened and laughed as Oscar commented on "this" public figure or "that" bit of scandal. Indeed, that week there'd been a salacious new tale about Catherine Walters. "Skittles," as she was known, was one of London's more famous "grand horizon-tales." There had been talk of her and W.G. Grace, the famous cricket player. Oscar made a remark about "Dr. Grace getting a sticky wicket" that had me doubled over with laughter.

I'd just begin to realize, then, that perhaps, just perhaps, I was no longer going to age. This fact had crept up on me. It was with shock I realized that the week prior I'd turned sixty and yet still looked to be in my late thirties. And that day was when it really sank in. Oscar was beginning to show those signs of a misspent life that should have been mine also. Seeing the signs of wear and tear in my friend made me sad. And a little ashamed. Guilty.

Yes, looking back, perhaps that was why I never saw Oscar again. It was 1891, years after we'd last met in Opal City during his American tour. And years before his troubles with Queensbury and all the dreadfulness that followed. Poor Oscar, perhaps I should have been there for him in '95. But like many other friends, I was nowhere to be found.

Anyway, Oscar's evening was to be spent with Lord Alfred whom he'd recently met. Oscar was charmingly firm in telling me that I was not invited to accompany them.

And so we were alone that night, London and I.

My mood and the wind both had a sharp sting to them, and one or the other bid me to venture forth to Tiger Bay; down by the Thames where the air was foul and all good folk know never to go. But I am not, nor ever was, a good man. And so I went.

The opium dens and drinking clubs were full, with sailors, and doxies and Orientals. You could hear any language in the work. You could see and color skin too. London has always been a melting pot and on this night in Tiger Bay, the fire beneath that pot was burning fierce.

I walked into a deserted courtyard, on my way from one street to another, and there stumbled on a most singular occurrence; a large brown bear being clubbed to death by its owner. The beast was close to the end, from the many repeated blows his owner had given it with a sharp studded mallet. I inquired what terrible thing the beast had done, that it should be treated so, and the man replied that the bear was too old to perform anymore. The bear had been a street dancer and on weekends in Pitney Market and other parts, had made this fellow much coin. But now old, the bear was costing the owner more to feed than the animal brought in, and so the man had resolved to kill the beast and sell its flesh to the slaughterhouses.

Something about the scenario struck me as ludicrous. The man was small and weak and yet had somehow overcome this huge animal and with no regard or affection was now ending its existence merely for aging. I think my guilt over Oscar's aging might still have been affecting me. Perhaps.

Whatever. I killed the man.

The reason I'd gone to Tiger Bay was that this had been where I was born. "I" being the Shade, of course. I had even then ceased to think of my "human" existence, before my transformation, as living. I suppose by returning to my roots, I'd thought to gain some inner peace. To this day the horror I witnessed during my creation and the countless deaths that occurred then still haunt me. Back in 1891, they were vivid and terrible, and I'd have done all and anything to end them.

But going back never allows one to go forward. That's a myth fashioned by poets. And I am no poet. All I got from my journey was sadness — the kind that grabs and clings and threatens to drag you down to the shadows of a dark place where even I, who know much of dark places, am fearful to go.

It was as I turned back towards the city that I saw her, the final nail in the coffin that was my waning affection for London. The Victoria Match Factory employed over a thousand girls and women. The work consisted of tipping match sticks into phosphorus, which, after prolonged contact, caused the bones of the workers doing this to decay. The sight of beggar girls without jaws or fingers was a common one. "Phos girls," as they were known. And it was now that one such poor wretch approached me. The lack of a jaw prevented her from speaking, and instead she mewed plaintively, like a kitten. I had seen such girls before. I had seen them. And I had thought my heart hardened by it, that sight, and everything else.

Yet that night a tear fell from my cheek.

I gave the girl a guinea. More money than she'd ever seen, to be sure.

And I turned and walked from her and from London and from England. Never to return. Opal City had been my residence then, a place where I lived and went forth, visiting London and Paris and Gotham City. But from that moment on, the Opal truly became my home. My place in the world.

★★★★★★

It's been an hour since I wrote those last words. In that time, much has happened. I've enjoyed a rather good French wine; this, the perfect complement to my dinner of beef and oyster pie. Also, some lucky citizen of Opal City won seven million dollars in the lottery. And finally...David Knight, this city's current champion, has been less than lucky.

David Knight was murdered twenty minutes gone.

The reports are still vague, definite answers few, but it does indeed appear that David Knight has died. There's nothing I can do about it, of course. Until I know more, it would be unwise of me to attempt anything. And of course, there's the distinct possibility that I won't want to attempt anything, anyway. So for now, I listen to the news reports, and I think, and of course, in my present mood...

...I remember.

Few recall the Starman of the 1950s, but I do. He flew the night skies over Opal for a year and a week, and then died a brave death. Brave and foolish. Ted Knight was still intent on his research. He'd just developed the prototype Cosmic Rod, and I think his mind was wrapped up in furthering that work. He was recovering physically too, from injuries sustained in Washington. Indeed, thinking about it, he looked the worse from that for quite some time. And then he married also; and women will ever be the death of men's endeavors, so who can blame Knight for his time away from the cape and costume.

I've many theories on the identity of the champion who arose to take Ted's place in those days when the Starman of lore wasn't there for his city. Alas, the ultimate answer to that question is still one that eludes me. Perhaps Knight knows. Perhaps one day I'll get the opportunity to ask him. However, it was evident that the 1950s Starman had different powers and a different costume and bore no real relationship to the one before or any since. A riddle, surely. A puzzle. Some love such twisted passageways, but I detest them.

I'll know the truth, the whole truth, one day. I will.

But for now I content myself merely to remember.

He's no Brian Savage. That's for sure.

It is November 20th, 1939, and Opal City has begun to take an unpleasant turn. Crime appears to be on the increase: petty theft, murder — the full catalogue. It has been my observation that the mood of the country, and the actions that mood dictates, both tend to veer down a new path with a new decade. It appears my city has the jump on that, if that is the case, for after the relatively placid '30s, this new time we enter seems overly predatory by even the most offhand of comparisons.

And worse, we see the advent of the "superbeing." A few. But I have the distinct fear that these few are the beginnings of a larger trend. Another example of 1940 trickling in early. The man of sleep, the man of the hour, the man of speed, and the man of green have already made their presence known, the last two only in recent weeks. There are a few others, also. There's a shiny one and one who glides on the wind, too, I think. And of course not everyone lucky enough to be gifted with powers has an altruistic soul. There are villains, too. Super-powered criminals. I suppose with my thefts and my transgressions I might even be seen as one by society, although I fail to agree with that perception and think little of society's stifled mores to begin with.

Anyway, the point is that I'd hoped Opal might avoid the empowered champion. I fear that such a figure in the city might spur villainy rather than deter it. At least that is a feeling that crumbles within me.

Nevertheless such a hero has appeared. Starman, he calls himself. And a more fumbling, bumbling fool I've yet to witness.

He's been successful in his first few forays, true, but with a need for such luck and with a lack of any skill, grace or foresight that I would find truly comedic...in a darkly French kind of way...if it were not my city that he's chosen to romp around in. He has a rod, which he holds in his hand. It glows bright. It fires rays. He can fly with its aid, too, from the look of things. I'll leave the symbolic significance of this weapon to men like the late Dr. Freud. All I know is that with such a weapon, a man might be the country's greatest champion. Starman, however, seems lucky to hold his own in encounters with the pettiest of petty criminals.

Even making allowances for this fellow's inexperience, surely, oh surely he could do better than he has. Surely. So far no one has lost his life cavorting about in costumes and righting wrongs as they do, but I fear this man of the stars in his green and red will be the first. Indeed I fear that greatly. I know I said I wanted no super-hero in Opal City, true. But now a hero has elected to come forward. If he feels one tenth what I feel for this place, then I am loath to see him dead for that love.

We shall see. We shall see if Starman is champion…

...or chowder.

★★★★★★

The fire burned for 37 hours. So fierce was the blaze that it took a full hour until the firemen could get close enough to seriously even begin to fight it. There was a beauty to the blaze. A stunning beauty, especially as dusk fell and the pyre flared merrily on. Had it been any other place, I would have adjourned to a nearby café or bar close to the spectacle, ordered wine and perhaps some finger foods, and then watched the events and enjoyed the aesthetic of the flame for many happy hours.

But this wasn't any other town; it was mine.

It's October 13th, and my opinion may have changed somewhat in the time since I last pondered the merits of Opal's champion.

Since then he's grown. I feel I'm perhaps a short while away from discovering the man's real identity, but for now that knowledge proves yet elusive. Still, the fellow doesn't even wear a mask, for heaven's sake, so how hard could it really be? It's been time that's impeded me more than anything.

I've been away for a month or two. There were trinkets and riches I felt were wasted in the vaults and museums they were in, and much better used and loved in my possession, or in the hands of those private and wealthy who'd pay me for the acquisition of same. And then there is The Flash. Don't even let me start on The Flash and his city.

I've hated the idle rich. My betters...the upper class of England. One of the things I left my country of birth for was to escape the snobbery and stupidity of the so-called upper class. And I've long felt their obsession with chasing a poor scared fox, until the point when their hounds can tear the creature apart, to be flawless as the epitome of barbarism.

With The Flash, however, I perhaps begin to see the thrill of a blood sport. I don't know what it is. I'm drawn to him...to the thrill of the joust with this silly speeding character.

But here in Opal, things had grown...grim in those months. And they'd be grimmer still if not for Starman. Sure enough, within three months of Starman's stellar debut, villainy of extraordinary nature came to the city also. One such character is The Mist. The man is not new to me, or to the headlines. I think I recall him fighting Sandman many years prior and with powers of a far more rudimentary nature. The Mist and the Starman have fought three times now, each battle more violent and desperate than the last; yet Starman has managed to persevere and to ultimately emerge the winner each of those times. I'm piecing together that Starman must be a man of science, too, for twice he foiled The Mist through his knowledge of such secrets...beating The Mist each time, I think, as much to the villain's astonishment as to mine.

And then there's Johnny Sorrow, who attempted to take control of this metropolis lock and stock. The battles waged by hero and villain combine into something of an epic. Each of Sorrow's apparent defeats was actually a piece of a master plan where the end-mate would have resulted in the far greater victory. In fact, I'm envious that I failed to dream up such a scheme myself — though perhaps that says something about my character, and the lack there of anything truly malignant.

The new Gladstone Towers, the biggest, brightest building to grace the Opal skyline, was being opened this week. Every city dignitary was there, plus Carole Lombard, the Ritz Brothers, and Benny Goodman, who's all been flown in for the event.

All Johnny Sorrow's defeats were unveiled as steps to his ultimate victory at the point in the evening when Sorrow's minions attacked the proceedings. Whether the burning of the Gladstone was intended or not is a mystery that Sorrow's demise means will remain unsolved. But burn the place he did, and I said before, the sight of it was truly breathtaking.

There were many inside the building at the time, and as the first waves of fire swept over everything, these unfortunates seemed doomed. The city officials I could not have cared less about. The Ritz Brothers were chimpanzees in suits as far as I'm concerned. And Benny Goodman is Benny Goodman. However, I do enjoy the talents of Miss Lombard, and so would have been loath to learn that she had perished in such a terrible manner.

Yet fire is not my friend, nor that of the creatures I create from the shadows, so I was powerless to do anything but sit there and await the bad news.

The explosions began as dusk became night, fierce percussions that the firefighters feared were the beginning of the building falling in on itself.

Then it became obvious that these blasts were being fired by something from within the structure, outward — to what end, no one knew. Some feared it another part of Sorrow's scheme. I knew better than to even try guessing.

The wall to the east finally fragmented outward, and through this chasm, running fast and scared from the flame that fell around them, those trapped inside the building all escaped with their lives.

It was Lombard, actually, who choked an answer through the soot and ash in her lungs, when asked how their escape happened.

"Starman," she said, before fainting away, though where the champion was remained a mystery as he failed to emerge with the others.

Another hour passed. The building now did begin collapsing. The structure groaned and then cried out in pain at what was happening to it. Huge angry barks emanated from within — a dog, bellowing his dissent at the flames that consumed him, or so it sounded to my ears.

And then the building fell.

But as the falling happened, something else did also. Something else.

There was another explosive blast, fired upward at an angle from one of the central tower's upper floors. And as the Gladstone toppled down…

So Starman arose. He flew up out of the fire, truly this time seeming like the gaudy god that many heroes try so desperately to appear as. And at that moment, as Starman appeared and rose out from the flames, he made it seem effortless.

No one ever saw him enter this mêlée. But everyone saw him leave.

If any had doubts as to the veracity of Opal City's Champion up to that moment, those doubts now faded.

In everyone but me.

Something was still missing, something Brian Savage had that this new hero lacks. I think I know, too. Starman is a hero without question, but I feel perhaps he'd be just as effective in Midway or Ivy Town or anywhere. Savage loved this city. He wanted it safe and well and spent his time here trying to bring about that safety and well-being and maintain it. As he died, Savage said that he'd return one day. Perhaps he will. Perhaps Opal City will one day know such a champion.

And Starman is still a hero. That shouldn't be forgotten, I suppose. He's brave. He's powerful. He's what this city wants at the moment, if not what it needs. And he's here.

As I wrote in an earlier entry, he's no Brian Savage.

But he'll do until something better comes along.

There is a dreary sigh to the light that hangs over Opal this evening.

I know not why this is, or if indeed what I write is the truth. Perhaps it is merely my mood that makes the night appear thus. I looked out of my window, earlier today, and found a blue bird lying dead upon the ledge there. At first, it seemed to be sleeping; its body still in that gentle soft way that babies and small things can have in slumber. And then a moment more, and the body is still for too long and suddenly a pallor falls upon it in the eyes of the beholder. And the thing is dead and obviously so, and there's nothing God or the maddest of science can do about it.

I used to hate animals. The only good that an animal could do when I was alive was to die so it could be eaten. Cows, hedgehogs, sheep, horses, and chickens were fine things when placed upon the plate, but when walking around they were something stinking to be avoided. Even feared. Dogs, inedible and foul, especially, were beasts to be shunned. Cats were less bothersome to me but equally detestable. I remember learning in my history books of the great Cat Massacre in Paris, an event that predated the French Revolution by some ten years. I recall suggesting to Charles that he should mention this in Cities, and that together we might encourage the people to duplicate that carnage on the felines in London of our time.

I don't know when I changed. Am I evil? I question this assumption made by the Boy Scout Barrys and Jays that I am. They have no sense of the world in its vast array of shades (excuse the pun). To them, anyone who didn't act as a white American of the 1940s and '50s acted was against that society and so must be evil. They decided I was evil when I began my thefts. First Garrick and then Barry much later. I was never that sure of my own fiendishness, but I said to myself...to Barry and Jay…

"All right, if you say I am, then I am. I'll be the Indian to your cowboy. Whatever you want."

Though I recall one encounter I had with another hero, the Tarantula, Jonathan Law. He was writing a book on us of the superpowers, and with his guard lowered and an olive branch extended high, he bade me meet him and talk.

We talked.

Jonathan Law was an obsessed fellow. His color was bad. His girlfriend had left him, I believe. He was letting himself go. Something to that end, and it seemed his book was all that maintained his sanity then.

We talked.

And it was he who waxed on about amorality. I was...am neither good nor bad. I am merely above it. Beyond the mortal laws. That sounds smug. Perhaps it sounds like an excuse. I'm sure half the maniacs and rogues captured say they are above the law.

Does my immortality make me better than those mortals, long dead, whose tenets we as a society abide by? I raise the question now as Jonathan Law did then. Rhetorically, I'm not sure I know the answer. And I'm not sure I should dwell on the matter too long or in too much depth either. Be as I am. Live as I live. And if I ever meet God a second time, let my judgment be what it is also.

Now, as an undying being, I have caused the deaths of many men. Have I guilt of this? No. Never. Some of them — most I'd dare say — were evil and deserved their fates. Some didn't. Some were innocents. Night watchmen. Police. A baker of erotic gateaux. An archaeologist who tried to beat me to a pharaoh's treasure in 1905. And of course there was my murder of Louis B. Mayer, suppressed by Hollywood and the Los Angeles Police, but long overdue, nonetheless. Revenge, finally, for what he did to my old and good friend John Gilbert.

At any rate, I have killed, and not once felt a flicker of remorse. Yet I have not killed an animal in a century. When I was mortal I hated them, but something about me now, how I have changed from the pious, simple soul of my mortality to the creature I am today, has had an inverse effect on my feelings for those who go upon four legs. There are faiths in the East that claim all beasts are lower than man because they turn their backs on God. Having met God once already, I would dispute that.

Furthermore, the animal I once hated most, I now love more than any other. Dogs. I believe...truly believe...that dogs are God's way of telling us that he...she...it...does indeed exist.

For although something as flawed as evolution could create something equally flawed as mankind, only a higher power could conceive something as pure and perfect as a dog.

There is a myth of old that when man and beast were first upon this world, they were as one. Then it became apparent that man was not as other animals, and the beasts turned against him. A line was drawn, and all the animals of the world stood on one side, with man on the other.

"You are different from us and can never be with us," the king of the animals said. "You can never be as we are. And no animal will side with you, for if it does, it will be forever cast from the other beasts and its lot shall be the lot of man. He must stay with man and be man's friend and never truly be ally to his fellow animals again."

There was silence among the beasts as the weight of this decree came to rest upon them. A fate such as this would be fearful, not one that any beast would dare bring upon itself. The silence continued for a moment more; then one animal stepped forward and crossed the line to stand with man — and has, since that day, been at man's side.

It was the dog; and no one who has ever known a dog's love will tell you that the myth did not happen once long ago.

I would have a dog myself, but they live so short a time, and my existence is eternal. The thought of having that purity of friendship for such a whisper of time is too dark even for me. Even for me. Kipling once wrote something along the lines that to have a dog is to know that one day you will cry. One day your friend will be gone and you will be left with a void. I couldn't bear such a void. I can't remember what it is like to weep, and I'm loath to find out at so late a stage in the game.

No, let others have the love and the tears. And I will adore dogs from afar. And woe to anyone I see harm one. I have used the shadow wraiths to inflict pain so prolonged and inspired and agonizingly savage that the inquisitors of olden Spain would blanch and gasp and envy my art. Yet whatever pain I have inflicted will be as feather pillows compared to what I'll do to those I see harming a dog.

And this brings me back to the bluebird on the window sill. It wasn't a dog, but it was a dead animal, and it saddened me in some way that I have yet to fully comprehend.

And so the day seems drawn and tired as it wanes to a lackluster nighttime.

Anyway, Jack, if you've read this and feel perhaps that it's a meandering trail to nowhere, then I agree wholeheartedly. But I didn't say that my journals would be a litany of amazing incidents, did I? Musings are musings, some thoughts grandiose and others not.

Here!

...If you want an event to note, I shall relate the time I undertook and investigation for Howard Hughes. It began in Hollywood in 1943. I'd recently returned from London where I fought the good fight with Captain X, a young American flier. Back in Opal I was immediately confronted by five of Hughes' men, who attempted to abduct me. Unfortunately they were as bad at explaining their actions as I was good at making an immediate and utterly erroneous decision. Three of them died as a result before a fourth poor maimed fellow could explain that Hughes simply had need of me and that he meant no harm. In fact he'd pay me well for my time and trouble, and it was this that bade me go with them to the smog and palm trees and Pacific waves.

Apparently it had begun for Hughes when a griffin (yes, the mythical beast) had exploded into his office and attempted to devour him. A stenographer Hughes was enjoying the favors of ended up being the meal instead that afternoon; nevertheless the incident was unsettling enough that even someone as singular as Hughes was a tad rattled by it.

A few days later another attempt was made on Hughes. This time a gigantic white rabbit leaped at Hughes's plane as he attempted a test flight. Hughes managed to veer away and miss the beast, but not before noting that the monstrous animal had an equally gigantic watch secured around its neck by a chain.

Curiousier and curiousier, I hear you say.

Indeed I said the same thing many times myself, as I began my investigation. When I would witness a gun battle between Mickey Cohen and a Mad Hatter, and I would protect Ava Gardner from two psychopathic twin brothers…

★★★★★★

"Why the long face, Mr. Black?"

It was Spencer Kilne who said this, as I passed him on that winter's morn. We were on Dart Street, a narrow alley that would be brazen and bold to dare even call itself an avenue. Yet at some point in the past, perhaps a drunken Christmas party in the city planner's office, some clever fellow had decided Dart Street was a street. And there you are. There I was, anyway. It was 1941.

"Long face? I wasn't sure I had one," I replied, with a flutter of fingertips around my chin. "At least in terms of my expression. If you're referring to the shape of my face, well, I have little control over such matters."

I smiled then, though I didn't care a great deal for Kilne. His breath had an odor. An odd odor is the only way I can describe it. Like no food I can think of. Indeed, like no aroma I have ever encountered. This smell was nonetheless unpleasant to be near to. Especially on narrow little Dart Street. Especially before my morning coffee in the Parisian lanes that were my destination. But like a cuckold or someone with bad barbering, those with odorous breath are usually the last to know it. Spencer had me and he had no intention that this should be a glancing exchange.

"You look troubled was all I meant," Spencer said, unfortunately drawing closer as he spoke.

"I'm not long back to the city. I'm intent on making friends with it again. My thoughts were deep ones." I had him there, for Spencer Kilne and deep thoughts were strangers.

"But you have money." He said this as if having money somehow absolved people from thinking — though that had certainly been the case for Kilne, whose family fortune made him one of the names foremost on Opal City's social register.

His family and I had a few ongoing business dealings, which had of late been turned over to young Mr. Kilne as an attempt by his parents to give the idiot something with which to bide his time. Up until this day his finest achievement had been the "nudge plunge" with Mimzi Gadston — she, the idiot seed from another of Opal's finest folds.

The pair of them had leapt into the waters of Seven Colors at the annual regatta ball hosted by the Chumleys (another wealthy Opal family). And wearing nothing but a single champagne bottle between them, which the dauntless duo intended to open and drink when in the water, they did indeed strike a bold statement for fashion. The onlookers had cheered, despite the pasty ashen pallor and droop of both Spencer's belly and Mimzi's buttocks.

"Oh, how madcap are they," the spectators had cried. "What sports." "Crazy kids." "It has to be in all the papers, haha."

Indeed it was, though not just within the fawning society pages. For the dauntless ones had failed to take into account a number of factors. Firstly, that it was autumn, and Seven Colors's nighttime waters were close to freezing. Secondly, that the area where the regatta was held was known for its riptides. Thirdly, that Mimzi could possibly have done a passable doggy-paddle at the municipal baths, but she was certainly far from giving Esther Williams cause for concern. And lastly, that a champagne bottle is a heavy weight which a flailing Spencer managed to knock himself silly with, as he tried to keep Mimzi above the waves.

The river police were called, and all seemed to sort itself out — apart from Mimzi's dalliance with one of the constables, this coming to light weeks later and prompting the much enamored Oatsie Van Kleete, yet another rich young thing, to climb to the top of the Chandler Building, with a revolver and some brandy, and attempt to blow his brains out. He missed, of course. But the poor dear did complain of a ringing sound in his right ear for weeks afterward.

Anyway, Spencer stood before me now, intent on passing the time, even though with my shifting feet and offhandedness, I tried to make it clear I had no such aspiration.

"I know a way to cheer you up," he said, apparently not having heard, or having already forgotten, that I said I wasn't in the least unhappy. "Cards."

"Cards?" I replied.

"A little rummy."

"No, not this early. I have a coffee house I visit at this time. By now my special blend is no doubt simmering away and the store's owner is wondering where I am."

Have you ever had those times when you wish words were cheap beads on a broken bracelet, so as they fell, you had at least a slim chance of snatching them back to you? With words, once spoken they're said, and the only thing left was the sinking feeling in my stomach as Spencer's eyes lit up. Apparently I had said a word he understood.

"Coffee?"

"Yes."

"Coffee, coffee, coffee." Spencer said this over and over as if memorizing it to repeat at a later date. "We shall coffee together, you and I, Mr. Black. It is a cold time of year and we two shall coffee until our cheeks and our hearts are rosy."

It was greed at that moment that saved Spencer's life, for as I said I did business through him, with his family's financial establishment. Spencer's idiocy in this arena meant that I made far more now from the proceedings than I had ever done when his father, a far more serious-minded chap, had been my jousting partner in commerce; otherwise, I fear to imagine what might have occurred. Murder is murder, I agree. But damn it, coffee is coffee, and in my court, ruining a good cup of it with idle chatter should be punishable by death. Am I wrong? Am I overly hard? Perhaps.

But today, Spencer would be spared, despite the fact that Dart Street was deserted. I sighed and began to move with him towards the poor unsuspecting François and his glorious beans when…

...I heard the voice of the man I would learn to call Sam Mild.

"We've been looking for you, Black. You're coming with us."

Spencer and I turned toward Mild's voice and were confronted by the sight of five men. All were smartly suited, yet none were handsome...except perhaps Mild himself, who had the rugged quality some women find appealing. They all had shined shoes. They all wore fedoras, in shades ranging from dark gray to dark brown. And they all had revolvers. Shiny ones. New ones.

I arched an eyebrow as I beheld them. Spencer made a noise like a small child being told he's going to be locked in a dark cellar.

"And who might you be?" I asked calmly.

"Never mind that. Get in the car," Mild said, jerking his head to the street behind him, where indeed a sixth man stood at the end of Dart by the open door of a polished black Ford.

It was then that Spencer fell to his knees, his face now having the long expression. "Don't hurt us! Kidnappers! Murderers! I have money! Don't kill us!"

I'd be lying if I didn't admit to finding Kilne's overt cowardice somewhat disgusting. Mild, too, looked down at one of Opal's finest sons with a sneer.

"We don't want you. Shut your yap."

Another of Mild's men stepped forward, dragging Kilne to his feet, gave him a savage blow. How low was the blow, you might ask? As low a blow as you can get.

I wanted to laugh. Kilne's face went from red to blue to green in so short a space of time. His lips were pursed like he had a belch so savory, he was attempting to retain it. His eyes watered immediately. Finally, he murmured a strained, high-pitched buzz. I have encountered men of all races. I have encountered demons. I have encountered mythical beasts that mankind no longer thinks exists, but never have I heard anything make the noise that Spencer did, on that winter's morn in Dart Street. He sank to the ground and the same fellow who punched him then coshed Spencer once, knocking him senseless.

The five suits then advanced on me. I smiled as I sometimes do at times like this. And the shadow things came.

Two of the men were lifted aloft by my dark helpers. One was torn apart and the other beheaded.

Mild, lithe and quick, eluded one wraith, diving low and rolling to the side.

"Don't waste bullets. Shooting them's useless," he yelled while dodging a second wraith, but in the process hitting his arm hard on a wall. I heard a snap.

I then heard a louder snap as another of Mild's men, hoisted high, had his back broken before being thrown aside.

Mild had finally been snared, by this point, and was being carried high. Despite this, his voice remained calm. "We're not out to hurt you, Black. We need your help. My employer needs your help."

With a flick of my hand, the wraiths vanished. Mild fell to the ground. The last of the five suits, whom a shadow thing had been throttling, collapsed too, holding his throat as he gulped down air.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" I said, advancing to Mild and helping him to his feet.

He told me his name, wincing slightly, as he nursed a broken left forearm.

"Well, Mr. Mild, I fear you have yet to learn that a little civility can go a long way," I responded. "Now, what is this about? Who is your employer? Why does he need me? And for that matter, how do you know so much about me that you knew your bullets would be useless against my shadow wraiths?"

"I'm paid a lot by my boss. I get them by doing my homework." Mild walked over to the man whom my wraiths had broken the back of. Crouching slightly, Mild placed the gun to the man's temple. The man groaned and closed his eyes.

"Sorry, Eddie," Mild whispered as he pulled back his gun's hammer. "You know how we do things."

"Yeah, I know," the wounded fellow whispered back. "See you, Sam."

Mild shot him.

He then turned away, with a coolness that impressed even me. It was as if he'd just gotten the mail, or swept a cobweb from the corners of his kitchen.

"Rules. The boss likes things done just so. Anyway, what were you asking? Oh yeah, there was this guy in St. Paul. Hubert Mason. A nutbox character. He had the crazy notion about you and the new breed of super-heroes and villains that's beginning to appear around the country. Flash and Human Bomb and Mr. Terrific. You know? Mason thought you were all a sign that the devil is taking hold of America. He thought you were all Satan's agents."

"Mr. Mason could be right," I said with a smile.

"Yeah, from the look of what you just did, he might indeed. But that's none of my business. My business was the information Mason had compiled on you. All of you. He intended to travel from state to state killing the lot of you. He'd killed a hero called the Clock already, when I caught up with him. His next target was to have been the Whip."

I smiled again. Mild did too. We broke out laughing together. "Yeah," Mild continued, "I guess he believed in starting small and working his way up to the big guys. Anyway, his true talent was information gathering. Don't ask me how he found out everything he did about you, but he knew a lot. That was how I learned bullets would be useless against your shadow demons. That was how I knew nothing can beat them."

"And where's this Mason chap now?"

"He fell asleep with a lit cigarette. Burned to death." Mild smiled again, wincing as he did, from the broken arm. "'Course he didn't smoke until I made him."

"And your employer?"

"He's a big cheese in Hollywood. His life's in danger. Attacks. Supernatural creatures. Bizarre craziness. He needs you to sort it out. He'll pay well."

"Pay? Mild, do you realize that had you taken the trouble of a few words of explanation like this, I might have spared your men's lives."

Mild shrugged. "My boss is Howard Hughes."

"Howard Hughes, indeed. Hmmm. Well, I've never been to Hollywood, and I've always wanted to."

Mild nodded to his one surviving aide. "Dan, get the boys' wallets. We don't want them identified."

"What about the stuffed shirt?" Dan asked this, walking over to Spencer and nudging him with his toe.

Mild looked at me. His expression was sheepish. "Mr. Hughes doesn't want any witnesses."

Now it was my turn to shrug. "And I assume Mr. Hughes usually gets what he wants," I said, trying to look upset by this development.

Mild and I walked away, leaving Dan to kneel, gun drawn, by the fallen Spencer Kilne. We were already in the Ford as Dan's gunshot sounded. He came running out of Dart Street, a moment later, some of Spencer's blood wet on his pants leg, and hopped into the car.

"Is it warm in Los Angeles at this time of year?" I asked.

"Warmer than here," Mild replied.

"Good," I said, settling back. "Then I shall enjoy the weather if nothing else."

TO BE CONTINUED...

(These are the images I used if you're interested)

[kpopmakesmeweep]

badboy!yeonjun x innocent!reader 

word count: 21k

angst, fluff, smut

when your teacher asked you to tutor in the beginning of the school year, you were hesitant even then. 

you knew that it meant your lunch period and one study hall for the day were gonna be completely booked, helping younger kids grasp the basic idea that the mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cell.

but then you met one young girl desperate to pass her first test in october and knew your teacher had gotten you, sending a small, defeated smile her way as you gave her the okay to put your name on the list. 

you didn’t expect to come back from winter break with the news that the next student you’d be tutoring wasn’t a sweet 7th grade girl but none other than choi yeonjun. 

the overwhelmingly attractive but horribly intimidating boy who was a year older than you and had, quite possibly, one of the worst reputations the school has ever seen.

if he wasn’t getting suspended for fighting or smoking on school grounds, you’d attempt to block out the mindless gossip about him and all the college girls he’d frequently fraternize with. 

he was in your lunch period when you were a sophomore and he was a junior and you couldn’t help but be fascinated by how handsome he was. how he carried himself and how everyone else seemed to be fascinated by him too.

he was always wearing some variation of black, like his closet was just an empty void of black leather, dark cotton and chains. if he didn’t have on a beanie or hat, his then blue hair was a mess of waves that always made you look a few seconds too long.

you’ll never forget the day that he caught you, your nose in a textbook as you studied for a midterm before a loud shout of his name caught your attention. 

you looked up and watched one of his friends playfully punch him in the arm, something about him hooking up with the older girl he had his eye on first and yeonjun only smirking at him devilishly. 

he didn’t look apologetic or regretful in the slightest, more so like he’d do again just because he could and just because he knew the girl would be eager to have another go with him. 

your breath caught in your throat when his deep brown eyes met yours, his head cocked as he held your gaze with all the confidence and smugness you could never have. 

it took his lips quirking into a cocky smile for you to snap out of it, cheeks warming and stomach churning at getting caught before you dropped your gaze right back down to your book.

it was a quick and thorough reminder that this is where you feel comfortable and this is where you belong - with your nose in a book and your mind on your studies. 

you’ve always intended to just get through high school with good grades and minimal distractions, a small (almost non-existent) friend group that left you able to make straight a’s and work a small, part-time job.

you’d done a pretty good job of that thus far, no bad boys covered in all black and sliver chains to show you that, maybe, getting out of your comfort zone isn’t such a bad thing after all.  

you met yeonjun during your 7th period study hall a week later than intended, him not showing up to either of the periods your teacher informed you both last week. 

you weren’t surprised in the slightest but also wouldn’t dare tattle on him, simply dodging the questions from your teacher or giving her a polite smile and cryptic answer. 

but you couldn’t even stop the way your eyes widened when the library door opened and he was making his way toward you, black beanie placed on his head along with a dark shirt tight across his chest paired with gray sweatpants that made you bite down on your lip.

his hair was pink now, long with a slight wave to it that looked all too soft and inviting to touch; the color probably shouldn’t work on anyone but, of course, it works on him. 

devastatingly attractive in a way that doesn’t seem fair nor human. 

he hasn’t said a word to you, he wasn’t even within six feet of you yet, but you were already scared shitless. you already didn’t trust yourself to be around him and not make a bumbling fool of yourself. 

a pretty smirk crossed his face when he stood in front of you, looking down at you with a playful look in his eye that was far too mocking and sinister. 

“hey. y/n, right?”

you never would’ve pictured this man saying (or even knowing) your name, nor him looking at you so willingly and intensely, but you have to quickly snap yourself out of it. 

this was as professional a relationship could be between two students and you really had to get it together. 

“hi, yes... that’s me,” you say softly. 

so softly that you’re not even sure he can hear it but you can, unfortunately, hear the tremor in your own voice and it’s nothing but absolute embarrassment. 

he happens to like it though, if the way his eyes light up and his smirk widens tells you anything. 

“i’m yeonjun.”

“i know.”

you say the statement far too quickly and it causes your face to warm, your mouth hanging open as the amusement continues to build behind his eyes; you can see with your own that the boy is too handsome for his own good but something tells you he’s probably far too charming as well. 

“i mean... we were supposed to meet last week,” you attempt to clarify.

it seems like a good save, something to make, both, your embarrassment lessen slightly and for him to know you’re aware that he missed the two sessions last week. 

but it doesn’t seem to work, the boy sitting down across from you with all the confidence and smoothness in the world. he leans in closer and you hold your breath, horribly lonely and touch-starved heart fluttering in your chest. 

“i know, sorry about that,” he says, a genuineness in his voice that you can’t help but question. “i was busy with some things.”

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, not even wanting to think about what kind of things keeps a man like him busy.

your teeth sinks into your bottom lip nervously and you can just feel his eyes burning into you, moving across your pink face and down to your soft white sweater; it makes you look every bit as innocent as he’s presumed you to be and he can’t say it doesn’t make him smile. 

“and yet, the teacher didn’t say anything to me about missing.”

you meet his eyes at his questioning tone, so scrutinizing and intense that you feel very grateful about your decision not to blow up his spot; you don’t even wanna know what he looks like when he’s angry. 

or maybe you do, some darker and suppressed part of yourself thinks. 

“that’s because i didn’t tell her,” you say quietly, a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying desperately to push down. “i didn’t wanna....” 

you almost say tattle and you think your face wold turn an unnatural shade of red if that silly word left your mouth in front of him.

so you meekly and sweetly decide on, “i didn’t wanna get you in trouble,” a smile gracing his face that almost makes you feel like you’d done a good job or something. 

and how ridiculous does that sound? you did a good job for the older, delinquent boy - you don’t know what’s gotten into you. 

maybe his smile and his eyes and just the way he’s looking at you is making you feel as if you’re actually something to look at - you’ve never really been observed the way he’s observing you. 

a deep, melodic chuckle leaving his mouth causes you to swallow nervously, watching him with a blank expression because you’re not sure if he’s laughing at you or with you.

your heart stutters when he leans back to stretch, his arm squeezing at the back of his neck; it takes everything in you not to watch his arm flex.

“how’d i know you were a good girl, hm?”

your eyes widen at his words, stomach swooping in a way that’s only ever happened when you watch couples on tv or read about a romance in books. 

because it’s not only his words, it’s the way he carries himself. the way he’s looking at you and speaking to you, the way you never thought anyone would - let alone him. 

he must mistake your utter...shock and fascination for confusion, eyes wide and cheeks flushed and he suddenly wants to place his hand on your cheek. 

see if it’s as warm and soft as it appears to be in this very moment.

“you were in my lunch last year, no?” he hums, looking directly at you with zero ounce of fear and ever bit of confidence. “always with a textbook or writing something.”

he doesn’t remember all the girls that gawk at him but he remembered you immediately. 

caught your gaze early last year and saw something flicker in your eyes, a soft and innocent fascination he wasn’t used to seeing but immediately made him wanna ruin you - he wanted to ruin you and he didn’t even know you. 

he just knew that he’d watch you sometimes, discreetly and quickly, but enough to get his fix.

when he entered the cafeteria and made sure you were sitting there with your your face buried in a book. 

when you’d get up to buy lunch or a bottle of water, pull down your skirt or adjust your hair in a way that made him wanna touch you in a similar fashion.

when you’d leave five minutes early (in what he fantasized was so you wouldn’t be late) and send him one last glance. feel your soft, hesitant gaze on his face and meet it carelessly at the very last second.

just enough to watch you get shy and see the blush so similar to now cross your cheeks. 

he didn’t know your name and he, truthfully, never intended on learning it. because as much as he wanted to truly ruin you, he knew that’s all it was - a dark, twisted fantasy that someone like him shouldn’t act on. 

but then when he walked in and saw you here, the tutor he was dreading to meet in such a familiar position, he knew immediately that you were her. 

the cute girl from his lunch he wasn’t sure was an angel he wanted to protect or someone he wanted to fuck the shit out of. 

you weren’t sure what to think right now, not wanting to get your hopes up or think too much into his question - you were in my lunch last year, no?

think that you were special and he remembers you for reasons far too fantastical so you only nod, figuring he could be taking a guess; there’s only three lunch periods after all. 

“yeah. your hair was blue.”

a smirk crosses his face, chest warming at the fact you remembered him (even though the cocky, confident part inside of him knew you would). 

“yes it was,” he confirms, smiling down at you in a way that makes your heart jump and pound even more. ”i was hoping you’d remember. because i knew i recognized you from somewhere.”

you don’t know how you’re gonna do this. you can barely look at him, how are you supposed to talk to him and teach him twice a week and actually-

“i do wanna ask you something else though.”

your eyebrows pull together at the slight change in his voice, cocking your head to the side as you look at him.

he’s leaning in a little closer now, tiny pink strands hanging from his beanie as his brown eyes bore into yours. there’s still some amusement twinged in his eyes but it all looks very deceptive, unnerving a part of you that your stupid little heart is ignoring. 

he doesn’t allow you to ask him what before he starts talking again. 

“how about we keep these sessions the way they’ve been?” 

your eyebrow raises as confusion continues to plague you; your sessions haven’t even started? 

you haven’t even taught him anything, what could he possibly- but it’s the moment he opens his mouth to speak again, you realize that’s exactly the point. 

“you tell the teacher i’m coming to these and i’ll tell her what a good job you’re doing. how much i’m learning from you and shit.”

a smirk crosses his face when he peers into your eyes, catching the nervous, unsure look in them that only makes his smirk widen - you really are too cute. 

you, on the other hand, don’t know how you feel about his suggestion; you just know how you feel about lying. 

it doesn’t sit well with you and you don’t wanna get in trouble. 

the teacher has a class during this period so it’s not like she’d come down and check but it still makes you incredibly queasy. 

and if he needed tutoring in the first place, he obviously needs help. he’s a senior and needs to keep his grades up so he can graduate. it’d be your fault if he didn’t pass and you’d hate to be the reason he gets-

movement in front of you causes your thoughts to immediately stop, body freezing as you watch him lift his arm and bring his hand to your head. 

he moves a strand of hair from your face before smoothing out the slight crease in your forehead, biting down on his lip when he feels your skin is just as soft and smooth as he suspected. 

“what are you thinking so hard about?”

the deep, low tone of his voice and inquisitive look on his face is dangerous, almost as dangerous as the frantic beating of your heart and the way it’s about to pound out of your chest. 

it’s like he has electric sparks shooting from his hand, making you feel extremely exposed and vulnerable even though his touch is quite gentle and innocent.

“i.... it’s just....” you stutter out, taking a deep breath because you know you need to get it together fast. “you’ve been having trouble, right? that’s... why you needed tutoring in the first place.”

his eyebrow quirks up at your comment and for a split second, you think you’ve offended him. 

“i don’t want you to fail, yeonjun.”

he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on your words, realize that no one has so openly and sweetly said that to him before. or even cared enough to tell him that they don’t want him to fail.

he knows the teachers and counselors get him help because it’s their job. 

he knows his parents bitch and complain about it because they don’t want him repeating high school or wasting their money. 

he knows anyone who says anything to him about it is just doing it to make themselves look like a good person or friend. 

but you just so openly and sweetly said it, a deep concern in your eyes that he knows he can’t dwell on or his similar feelings are gonna arise from last year’s lunch.

where he’s about to throw caution to the wind and do anything and everything he wants to someone as innocent and sweet as you; but he can’t do that and he knows it, he knows that’s why these session can’t happen - on top of the fact that it’s not only you. 

he smokes during lunch and into this period. 

and there’s just no fucking way he’s spending that time suppressing his predatory attraction to you while learning about shit he doesn’t understand and being high as a kite. 

“you don’t gotta worry about me, angel,” he hums lowly, the name falling so naturally and smoothly from his mouth, he doesn’t even realize. “just do that for me, yeah? then you’ll have 7th free.”

you don’t hear much after he calls you angel, just that he’s asking you to do something for him and you’re blindly and dumbly nodding because he just called you that.

and it’s not until he smiles and thanks you deeply, looking over your face once more before saying that he’ll see you around that you realize you’re alone. 

sitting there as you watch yeonjun walk out the door without a glance back and come to terms with the fact you just agreed to lie to your teacher for him.

for almost a month, you were able to keep it up.

it was terrifying and debilitating and it almost sent you into a full blown identity crisis, but you’d somehow managed to do it.

that was until this afternoon, when your teacher cut through the cafeteria during lunch with a cup of coffee in hand and suspicion in the pit of her stomach. 

she saw you sitting there alone, your own books sprawled out around you as you wrote down notes before her short call of your name had your head snapping up. 

her eyes watching you quizzically made your own widen, stomach sinking and heart starting to pound as he she made her way over to you. 

“hi, y/n. where’s yeonjun today? it’s wednesday.”

the period only began ten minutes ago so it wouldn’t be weird for you to say that he wasn’t here yet. that he got held up after class and would be on his way shortly.

but you were just nervous and so bad at lying that you blurted out that he left to go to the bathroom, her eyes roaming the table in what you could only assume was for his books. 

“he took his backpack with him,” you tell her quietly, smiling softly in an effort to hide your guilt and distress. she only hums softly before nodding her head, taking your word for it because why wouldn’t she?

you’re good and studious and wouldn’t ever lie to a teacher.

but then when she comes down to the library next week during 7th period with her class, catching you at the table by yourself, you do it again. 

look her in the face and panic, make a scene of collecting your books as you tell her you forgot you guys were meeting in the cafeteria today - placing the blame on yourself.

you spent the rest of the period in the bathroom, collecting your thoughts and attempting to calm yourself down because you can’t keep lying. 

you haven’t even talked to yeonjun since the first time you met in the library, only seeing him in passing in the hallway or after school. 

he’ll send you a nod paired with his signature smirk and you’ll send him a small smile back, dipping your head before your cheeks flush at the mere sight of his eyes. 

you wish you hadn’t agree to this. 

you wish he didn’t effect you so much and you wish you could tell him you either need to actually help him or tell the teacher he doesn’t want to, because you’re losing your mind. 

you’re anxious and upset and not feeling good about yourself, barely able to look your teacher in the face these days. 

it’s on a friday before lunch, the bell ringing ready to dismiss you from her class, that it all comes crashing down.

she asked you to stay behind for a moment, everything about her face calm and neutral as you made your way over to her desk. 

you were anything but calm as you stood before her, that familiar feeling of dread and guilt rushing in your stomach as you smiled softly at her and asked if everything was okay. 

“yes, i just wanted to say what a great job you’re doing with yeonjun.”

you don’t even know what your face looks like but you know it’s probably the face of someone incredibly guilty, being praised for something you haven’t been doing and taking credit for it even though you know it’s wrong.

the feeling in your stomach confirms all of those feelings, tight and fluttery and buzzing with upset.

“o-oh?” 

“yeah,” she smiles tightly, looking over your face before speaking again. “we just took our third test and he did great. in the low 90s.”

a part of you desperately hopes that to be true, that maybe he started applying himself and somehow started to grasp the material all on his own. you smile at the thought that that’s the case, nodding your head as you, against your better judgment, keep up the facade. 

“i’m happy for him. he’s been working very hard. w-we studied at our last session for it, actually, and he really seemed to be understanding it.”

the contemplative look she gave you should’ve been the first sign that she knew you were full of shit, a quiet hum leaving her mouth. she holds your gaze until the moment you drop it, looking down at your white sneakers until she calls your name softly. 

“y/n... why have you been lying to me?” 

your lips press together as tears prick your eyes, all of the guilt and shame rushing through you at once. 

“he failed his test and i know you guys haven’t been meeting.”

she knows that because you can’t lie. she knows that because yeonjun still doesn’t know anything and all of the students she’s recommended to you have passed with flying colors. 

she knows because when you look up at her, your lip is trembling and it looks like you’re about to burst into tears.

“i... i’m so sorry.”

but even then, even after this moment right here, you’re still not gonna tell on yeonjun. because you don’t want him getting in trouble and you’re not gonna try to excuse your own behavior by admitting you agreed to it. 

you’re just as at fault as the older boy and you’re not gonna pretend you’re not. 

“why have you been lying? you could’ve just told me if you didn’t feel comfortable tutoring him or it wasn’t working out.”

because she knows yeonjun’s reputation. she knows he’s a year older and that you’re one of the shyer students in her class. she was hesitant at first to even put you two together but thought you’d be able to get through to him. 

and because you don’t know what to say, how to make up an excuse that puts neither of you at fault, you don’t say anything. just continue to apologize with teary eyes and a shaky voice before she eventually lets out a sigh. 

“take the next few days to figure it out. try to work on it with him or come to me and be honest that it’s not gonna work. but you didn’t have to lie to me, y/n. i’m a little disappointed in you.”

those words hit you harder than you care to admit, more tears building as you nod your head and quickly leave the room.

you knew from the beginning that it was wrong.

you never felt good about it and you knew it was bad but you still took part in it. she has every right to be disappointed in you and it feels like everything you worked so hard for has been ruined. 

now you look like a liar who can’t be trusted. 

now any time you tell her about another fellow student you’re working with, like the 7th grader you got through to or the 9th grader you helped get an a on their test, she’s gonna wonder if you really did that.

if you really helped them or if you’re just lying about that, too. telling them the answers to their homework or lazily explaining the concepts to them like you don’t work hard with each and every one of them. 

you’re surprised to see yeonjun when you make it to lunch a few moments later, your stomach still in knots and left over tears in your eyes. 

you don’t even realize you’re standing in front of his table until you hear one of his friend’s deep voices, a brash “who are you?” not even filling you with fear. 

you’re only looking at yeonjun pathetically, wide teary eyes and pouty lips in an effort to hold back more tears.

yeonjun’s dressed in his usual attire but you can’t even focus on that, his pink hair flawless against his black shirt and chain hanging around his neck as he adjusts it carelessly. 

soobin’s words catch his attention before your appearance does, looking at the front of the table and taking in the sight of wide, teary eyes and pouty lips; it pulls at something in his chest more than he cares to admit.

“yeonjun, can i talk to you for a second?” 

your voice is wobbly and timid and everything about it so incredibly embarrassing, the tears in your eyes obvious to all the young men around the table. 

you probably look like some girl he slept with and then left on read, begging him for another chance because your heart can’t take not being with him. because you got attached and now it feels like you need him. 

but, really, you just need him to let you tutor him. 

you can’t disappoint the teacher anymore and you had a job to do with him; you should’ve never told him that lying would be okay. 

“who’s this?” his friend asks with a smirk, his hair a bright shade of purple that looks striking next to yeonjun’s. 

“no one,” yeonjun’s quick to snap, looking at you before quickly getting up and guiding you out of the cafeteria by the small of your back. 

he walks down a secluded hallway and out to the garden of the school, looking at the tears in your eyes and feeling himself frown. 

“what happened?”

“i... she found out we haven’t been meeting,” you mumble, feeling silly and childish for crying in front of him about something like this; but you can’t help how you feel, you can’t help feeling sad and guilty about all of this. 

your heart drops when he actually smirks at you, looking over your face with a gaze that’s just as soft as it is amused.

you’re almost positive he’s about to laugh at you, call you a loser for crying over something as juvenile as getting caught in a silly lie and hurt your feelings even more. 

but then you’re quickly stiffening when his hand reaches up, gently brushing at your tears and marveling in just how soft your skin is. 

“that’s why you’re crying?” 

you’re embarrassed to say the least, any words you’d use to justify your reaction caught in your throat - and the smirk on his face isn’t helping either.

“you’re too pretty to cry over stupid shit like that, y/n.”

“it’s not stupid,” you respond, voice shaky and demeanor meek but still able to talk back. 

because it’s not stupid to you. wanting to be nice and studious and a good person isn’t stupid. not wanting to be a liar or someone who goes back on their word isn’t stupid. 

“she trusted me to help you and i lied to her.”

“we lied to her,” he says, voice and eyes teasing as he bends down to be on your level. you think he’s trying to make you feel better, a soft playfulness on his face that does anything but.

because you aren’t like him. 

you aren’t cool and feared and you can’t not care about how you effect other people. 

“why didn’t you just tell her it was my idea?” he asks suddenly, his eyes roaming your face in such a gentle but curious way. “she probably already knows that.”

“i... i didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

he rises to his full height as a small smile crosses his face, your soft voice and sweet words again effecting him far too much. he shouldn’t feel this way toward you and he shouldn’t want to be tutored now.

he shouldn’t be reaching out to touch the smooth skin of your cheek, a few stray tears making his lips fall into the smallest of frowns as you hear his voice the softest it’s ever been. 

“i wouldn’t get in trouble, angel.”

and there’s that word again. making your wet eyes widen and stomach to flutter, wondering how and why that simple word sounds so nice leaving his mouth. 

maybe because you’ve never been called that before. 

could only imagine being called that by someone, let alone him, in such a way. or maybe it’s because it is him, the boy you watched for months on end, forever fascinated by the way he carried himself. 

or maybe it’s because-

“but even if i did, how’s that your problem? why would you care?”

it’s a fair question you suppose but it doesn’t stop you from licking at your lips nervously, an all too familiar (and embarrassing) blush warming your cheeks. 

“i mean... it’s not,” you mutter shyly, not sure if you’re more intimidated by him calling you out or the look on his face. 

but even with those feelings, you’re still able to meet his gaze. 

take in the deep, dark intensity staring back at you in his brown eyes. they’re softer than one would expect, almost soft enough to make you forget what you were wanting to say. 

“but it’s just as much my fault as it is yours. so it didn’t seem fair.”

he smirks so he doesn’t say anything too brash, looking over the blush on your cheeks. his hand itches to move your hair behind your ear, a move he’d always do because he knew it was charming. 

knew it’d get him laid and get a girl’s heart fluttering.

but now he wants to do it just to touch you, feel your hair and skin and watch the blush on your cheeks deepen; but before he can do anything, he’s surprised to hear you speak anything.

“but it’s also not fair to keep lying,” you say softly, a broken little smile crossing your face as you look at him. “i actually really hated the lying... so if you don’t wanna do the sessions, i’m gonna tell her it’s not gonna work for us. but if you change your mind, i’m still free during those periods.”

at that moment, he had every intention of telling you no. 

he didn’t wanna give up his free time and energy to learn about things he’s absolutely sure he’s never gonna need to know after this. 

he didn’t wanna sit through the sessions high or not get high at all, the only way he’s able to cope with the last period of the school day knowing that he could roll a joint in his car with soobin. 

he didn’t wanna resist his obvious attraction and borderline fascination with you, act on it in a way he knows you’re not ready for and in a way he shouldn’t.

but when he walked in the library on monday, the time he told you he’d get back to you, you looked up and smiled at him. it was such a small, quick smile but everything about it called to him.

the twinge in your eyes and the way your hair fell, how even though your smile was small, it lit up your face and made you the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his life.

at that moment, you were positive he was about to tell you no.

that thanks but no thanks, he’s absolutely not gonna spend his free period being tutored by a younger student who only stutters and blushes in his presence. 

but when he sat down in front of you, a smirk on his face and eyebrow quirked, you couldn’t even hold back your look of surprise. 

a deep chuckle left his mouth when he caught your expression, the sound one of the best noises you’ve ever heard.  

“what? did you think i wasn’t coming back, angel?”

it took you a month to see yeonjun was just as confident and just as much trouble as you’d expected. 

he was far too charming and attractive and funny, a sarcasm and wit in him that made you muffle your giggles like a middle school girl. 

you weren’t used to talking playfully with the people you tutored, always so focused on getting the work done and making sure you were doing a good job explaining the material for them.

but yeonjun always made sure to delay it, attempt to get to know you before you could even discuss his homework or review sheet; and even though it hasn’t been easy, he’s been persistent in breaking down that wall you put up.

“did the flashcards help or do you think you’re more of a-”

“why don’t you ever go out?”

you suppress the urge to let out a sigh as you turn to look at him, his expressive eyes looking over your face.

you’ve gotten used to the feel of his gaze on you, almost like it was burning into your skin and leaving you exposed to the bone, but it didn’t help when you made eye contact.

looked into his eyes and saw him looking back at you so confidently and so easily, you couldn’t help but feel flustered.

“what do you mean?”

you know exactly what he means but it’s the only thing you could think to say.  

you know more than anyone how much time you spend alone in your room, watching tv series and reading books and reorganizing until you don’t even recognize your own space.

but it’s not that you’re bothered by it, that’s what you like going. not going out isn’t something you find bad or upsetting.

“i mean i see people from your grade at our parties a lot,” he hums lowly, his eyes leaving yours only to look at the soft, pastel pink material of your sweater.

“but you’re never there,” he continues, looking at you and cocking his head to the side questioningly. “why’s that?”

“well, i’m not...invited, i guess,” you mumble out, ignoring the way your cheeks warm even more. “i like sticking to myself. and staying home.”

the words and your tone bring a pout to his face, your eyebrow raising at the sight. why is looking at you like that?

“well now you have an invite,” he says, a teasing smile crossing his face. “come to my friend’s party tonight. soobin, do you know him? he has the purple hair?”

his voice is far too sweet and soft compared to the look in his eye, teasing and flirty and reminding you of just how dangerous he is. how he’s capable of having so many different sides, he nearly gives you whiplash. 

he’s the bad boy everyone thinks of him to be, skipping class and getting high and ditching tutoring lessons by smiling too kindly at a mousy little tutor. 

he’s the play boy you see come out when he looks at you a second too long, bringing a blush to your cheeks and stirring something very unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach. 

but then he has a softer side you see sometimes, like when he decided to do these lessons in the first place because you cried to him and made yourself look even more pathetic. 

“i’m happy you decided to do these,” you say to him quietly. 

it was only your second session but you wanted him to know you were supportive of his decision. that, even if your word meant nothing (because, really, who are you to him?), you were proud of him.

it’s not easy for a senior to give up a period or two to learn about things they don’t understand; you probably wouldn’t wanna do it either, if school and learning didn’t come naturally to you. 

but for whatever reason, he agreed to do it.

“oh?” he hums, the trademark smirk on his face causing your cheeks to warm.

“yeah,” you smile softly, nodding your head before looking down at your clasped fingers. “i just... wanted you to know that. i understand why you didn’t want to but i think it’ll be good for-”

“why do you think i didn’t want to?” 

you look at him and for a split second you’re scared that you offended him. you suppose you don’t really know him well enough to make an assumption about him but you just assumed he-

“or, you know what, no,” he says, shaking his head as he pushes his chair closer to yours. 

he leans over the desk the same way he did during your first meeting last month, bringing your faces closer until you can smell cologne and the faint stench of cigarettes. 

“i wanna hear why you think i changed my mind?”

you quirk an eyebrow as you look at him, staring blankly until you realize he just plans on doing the same. 

“well... i guess it’s because you wanted to do good, right?” you ask meekly, unsure why he changed his mind but knowing that you were happy he did. “and maybe you didn’t wanna disappoint the teacher.”

a deep chuckle leaves his mouth that has butterflies erupting in your stomach, watching as he shakes his head and meets your gaze again. 

“is that no it?” you ask bravely, your wide eyes and confused look causing his own stomach to do flips. “what’s so funny?”

but he’s quick to push it down, reach over to ruffle your hair in a way that makes your eyebrows pull together. 

“nothing, angel,” he mumbles, his eyes roaming yours. you see the exact moment there’s s witch behind them, a flirty and darker front he puts up melting into a soft, vulnerable look.

“but thank you for telling me that. because i’m happy i’m doing them, too.”

he has yet to tell you the reason all these weeks later, probably because you wouldn’t dare ask again, but whatever it was, must’ve greatly inspired him.

because over these weeks, he’s really been putting in the work. writing notes and listening to you and asking questions when he’s not making you blush or inviting you out just for you to decline. 

“so...?” he asks, a charismatic smile stretching across his face as he looks at you awaitingly. “what do you say? you wanna come?”

“no, thank you,” you smile politely, feeling bad for downright denying it but the offer feeling far too similiar to cliche movies you’ve watched. where the popular boy invites the nerd to a party and everyone laughs at her, questions why the hell she’s here and pulls some stupid, immature prank on her.

but this isn’t a movie and you don’t think you even have the capacity to show your face there, nor would anyone care that much to target you. 

dismissing him is easier than really considering you hanging out with him outside of this library. seeing him in a different setting and allowing him to see a different side of you.

not you looking at him pleadingly, your eyes moving to the paper in front of him as you ask him to do the next question.

“i’ll do it if you come tomorrow night,” he says, a sigh leaving your mouth as you look at him in frustration.

“yeonjun...”

because if there’s another thing you’ve learned about yeonjun, it’s that he knows you have trouble saying no to him. it could because he sees the naivety in you, seeing something good in him at times and thinking you’ll really be able to help him.

but maybe he hopes you can help him, too. be a person he can lean on and know 100% is gonna be there for him. 

“c’mon, y/n, don’t you wanna have a little fun?”

“i don’t think i’d find it fun,” you mutter honestly, a pout forming on your lips that has him swearing he’s never wanted to kiss someone as much as he wants to kiss you in this moment.

just brush his lips gently against yours, hear the little sounds and see your reactions that he knows will be the best thing he’s ever had. hold your waist and feel your skin against his that while it’s juvenile to him would be so much to you. 

“you don’t know until you try, y/n,” he mutters lowly, looking up at him and seeing his gaze is, as usual, unrelenting. “have you ever been to a party before?”

of course you’ve been to parties before; birthday parties, graduation parties, wedding parties - but you’ve never been to a high school house party. 

and are you about to tell him that? absolutely not. 

“of course i have,” you mumble, a smirk on his lips because he can tell by the way you avert eye contact that you’re lying. “but it’s just... especially with kids from school who i don’t know? i don’t think it’d be fun, yeonjun.”

“but i’d be there?” he whines, something very uncharacteristic of someone who is known to be a bad boy. “isn’t that fun enough?”

you let out a groan as you frown again, tapping the notebook in front of you lightly as you meet his close gaze. 

“your test is next week, yeonjun. can you please focus on that right now?” 

it’s not until the next session that he thinks to use that to his advantage, supposing he can stand one more party without your presence as he smiles over at you. 

“let’s make a deal, angel.”

you know when he calls you that that you’re not about to talk about school or his test, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“if i get 100 on my test next week, you come to one of soobin’s party.”

you have to suppress a groan at the way he’s not letting up on this damn party, biting down on your lip as you do your best to give him a serious look.

“you should get the 100 because you want to, not because you’re trying to-”

his finger on your lips is the next thing you’re only able to focus on.

not the pounding of your heart or increasing anxiety at the thought of a party or  the fact that there’s more people in the library than usual today. 

you’re only aware of him touching you, a quiet “sh,” leaving his mouth that has your stomach fluttering far more than you care to admit. 

he meets your wide-eyed gaze and smirks at the look on your face. his finger presses down on your bottom lip gently, dragging it slowly and watching as it pops back up. 

there’s an almost pained look in his eyes that you can’t make out, his eyes never moving from your lips before meeting your gaze again. 

“i want a lot of things, y/n,” he says, his voice deep and gruff and making your heart pound even more as he looks to your mouth again. 

you feel your lower stomach swoop at the way he bites down on his bottom lip, his other hand ghosting over to rest of your knee. 

your uniform skirt comes just above your knees, becoming higher when you sit and perfectly exposing your tight covered legs. his large hand rests on your knee like it completely belongs there, like he’s gonna dare anyone to tell him it doesn’t belong there and to take his hands off you.  

“things i probably shouldn’t tell you yet so your pretty little face doesn’t become beat red,” he mumbles in your ear, his warm breath fanning onto your skin and making a shaky, embarrassing sigh leave your mouth.  

but just him realizing that makes your cheeks flush. everything about his closeness and his words and the way he’s just saying these things to you right in the middle of the library. 

the way his hand is slipping inside of your knee, fingers resting on the inside of your thigh that has some dirty, repressed part of you desperate to spread your legs just a little bit more for him.

feel more of his skin on you and heighten the feeling building in your lower half. 

“but i can assure you, none of them are an on my test. but if that means getting you to spend time with me outside of this fucking hellhole, i’m gonna do it.”

just as fast as his hand was on your thigh, it’s gone and cupping your face. holding on to your jaw as he makes you look at him and has a look of softness and amusement but also darkness and arousal. 

it probably has every bit to do with the fact you let out a tiny squeal when he did so, your eyes widening and legs now spreading apart ever so slightly. 

“do you understand now?” 

you should have the power here being his tutor but you don’t. you’re the cat and he’s the mouse, you’re the prey and he’s the predator and you’re not about to do anything to stop it. 

“ye-yes yeonjun,” you say, a groan almost leaving his mouth at you how compliant you are already. 

and it’s that reaction right there that has him skipping the party on friday and spending his weekend doing something he never thought he’d do his senior year - making flashcards and studying his ass off. 

you remember being incredibly proud when, two weeks later, yeonjun came to your session with his graded test paper in hand. 

he looked happy and accomplished and ready to take on the world, a warm feeling blooming in your chest at the look on his face.

“how’d you do?” you smiled up at him, your eyes soft and expression excited.

when he flipped the test over to reveal his 100% test, your first instinct was to raise your hand for a high five. it’s what you always did with the younger kids, praising them and sharing their excitement over a test that they worked incredibly hard on.

so when you did the same thing to him, quickly realizing he’s not one of your 7th grade students but an absurdly attractive man, your cheeks flushed and you stuttered out a “sorry.”

but he only chuckled lightly and high-fived you immediately, lacing your fingers from across the table before you could pull away. the action caught you off guard more than your nerdy high-five, eyes looking down to your conjoined hands before you gave him an incredulous look.

“what are you doing?” you squeak out, fearing that your hand’s about to get clammy and your heart may explode.

“don’t tell me you don’t remember our deal?”

you realized before you even entered soobin’s house that you made a grave mistake. 

music was pounding through the open windows of the house and a few people were littered across the lawn. a drunken couple sloppily making out while another one fought about someone dancing with a stranger all before ten p.m.

you truly intended on never coming, telling yeonjun you seriously could not go through with this and had to flake out on your deal. 

but he’d been so proud of his test. not just because it meant you were coming but because it showed him he was actually capable - or at least, that was the story he told you.

and whether you were silly and naive to believe him was on you since now, you’re walking into a party looking like someone’s holding a weapon to your back. 

“so i’ll see you tonight, right?” 

you were still hesitant even during 7th period this afternoon, looking at yeonjun with a pained expression. 

“yeonjun... i really don’t know if i can do it.”

“why not? i’m gonna be there, just for you.”

you swallow down a bold, sassy remark that he’s gonna be there anyway, probably to remind your fluttering heart not to think too much into his comment. 

but is him being there enough to make you go? or is that scaring you more? seeing him outside of school, around his friends, in an environment where he can be even more bold and daring. 

after all, being in the school library didn’t stop him from creeping his hand up your inner thigh.

“i don’t just wanna follow you around all night and bother you like a lost puppy,” you whine quietly, knowing this was part of the deal but seeing just how impossible it is. 

“how could you think you’d bother me?” he asks, his head cocked to the side just as the bell ringing interrupts you. 

you let out a sigh as you stand to gather your books. you can feel his watchful eyes on you, attempting to ignore it as you silently get ready to go to next period. 

he mistakes you walking away from the table to throw out a stray sheet of paper as you leaving, quickly rising from his feet and pulling you back into him. your body collides with his before he presses you against the table, the library nearly empty as the loud chatter of students can be heard from the hallways. 

“were you gonna leave without answering me?”

his voice is deep and has a certain dominating darkness behind it, your eyes raising to his just in time to see him cock an eyebrow up. 

“i... i was gonna throw this out,” you answer dumbly, raising the crumpled up paper behind your back. 

he hums thoughtfully before taking it from your hand, crumbling it up and tossing it in the nearest garbage can. he misses but makes no attempt to pick it up, keeping you pinned between him and the table with no qualms about it. 

“you missed,” you point out obviously. 

a smirk crosses his lips as he lets out a hum, bringing his hand up to smooth out a piece of your hair. 

“i’m gonna ask again,” he mumbles lowly in your ear, his large body and deep voice quickly making your breaths quicken. 

“how could you think you’d bother me when i spent my entire weekend studying for that test?” he asks, his hands snaking down your body before gently resting onto your hips. 

him pulling you closer causes another shaky sigh to leave you, your low, warning mumble of his name only making him smirk. he shouldn’t like this so much, how you sound so sweet and flustered and are allowing him have you like this. 

“that was all for you, angel. not for me or the teacher or my parents or anyone else. just you. because i wanna hang out with you.”

you swallow the nervous lump in your throat as you raise your eyes to meet his, the playfulness that was in them turning the slightest bit dark. something in them making you lick over your lips as you try to calm your racing heart.

“you won’t even know when i’m there. how am i gonna find you?”

it’s the worst excuse you could have ever thought of but you’re not surprised since yeonjun was pressed against your body and breathing down your neck the way he was. 

he chuckled lowly like he also knew it was the worst excuse you could’ve thought of, taking your phone from the table. he slides it open and looks to you, his eyebrow raised when you just continue to stare at him blankly. 

then you remember, like every other teenager in the world, you have a lock on your phone.

“0319.”

he smirks at how easily you give it up, tapping a few buttons on the screen before handing it back to you.

“i put my number in there. text me when you’re there, 

so even with a pit in your stomach and anxiety coursing through your veins, you go to his new contact name and type out “i’m here.”

you’re faintly aware of the fighting couple’s voices growing louder, his deep groans mixed with her higher pitched whines causing you to look over. 

“i saw you touch her waist!” the girl yelps, her hands on her hips with a very obvious look of distaste. “so obviously you didn’t mind! maybe you should dance with her the rest of the night!”

“maybe i will, since you’re so god damn annoying,” he yells back, your lips falling into a frown. 

the girl meets your gaze and it’s then you recognize her as a girl in your grade. she’s from the popular group but is one of the nicer ones, always smiling politely at other students and listening to teachers during their lessons. 

she almost looks embarrassed to be caught in this scenario, a broken smile crossing her face before her boyfriend notices your gaze; you don’t recognize him, so you think he must be in yeonjun’s grade. 

“what the fuck are you looking at?”

your cheeks flush as you immediately snap your head away, quickly becoming scared and uncomfortable. you can hear her chastising him but just want to be away as soon as possible, the prospect of this drunk man cursing at you somehow worse than a house full of strangers.

yeonjun hasn’t answered your text but you still take a deep breath as you walk toward the front door, immediately hit with the scent of alcohol, b.o. and weed. there’s loud music blaring from the speakers and making the house vibrate, bodies littered throughout the house as they all talk loudly and dance.

your eyes scan the room for his pink hair, stomach sinking when you see no sign of him. 

is he even here yet? he told you he was coming at nine but could he be running late? or did he forget entirely, ignore your text as a joke and now you have to-

“hey. how do i know you?” 

the first thing you see is purple hair and you’re immediately thrown back into the crowded cafeteria all those months ago. when you so boldly went up to yeonjun with tears in your eyes and he was quick to pull you away. 

you remember the boy in front of you asking who you were, the same curiosity in his eyes now as you stand in his house looking extremely uncomfortable and out of place. 

“i... my name’s y/n,” you begin quietly, the boy barely able to hear you over the music and loud chatter. “i had to talk to yeonjun during lunch once so i went up to your table and-”

“well shit, so you’re her.”

there’s a smirk on his face and gleam in his eye, like he knows something you don’t. you cock your head to the side in confusion, watching as his smirk widens and he nods his head approvingly. 

“his tutor, right? he told me about you.”

“oh... yeah,” you say quietly, because yeah, that would make sense - his friends probably wonder where he goes during his free period now; there’s a few beats of awkward silence before he speaks up again.

“so what are you doing here?”

your cheeks flush and you wish you could blame the stuffiness of his house, looking to him as you stutter out that yeonjun invited you. 

“did he now,” he hums, his eyes roaming your face and stopping on your cheeks. he doesn’t know what exactly yeonjun wants from a girl like you but he has to be honest in saying he sees the appeal. 

“follow me then, sweetheart. you want a drink?”

you shake your head before following behind him, making eye contact with one too many intimidating boys and girls before landing on your feet. everyone’s in pretty heeled boots and crop tops, dancing and singing and grinding like they don’t have any cares in the world. 

like they’re not terrified and dreading being here, even with the knowledge that the attractive boy they may or may not have developed a crush on is lingering  around.

“oh, yeonjunnie,” you hear soonbin whine sarcastically, your eyes shooting up just in time to see his familiar black attire. his pink hair is poking out of his black beanie, the chain around his neck hanging low as he turns to look at his friend. 

“i found someone for you,” the boy says before yeonjun can respond, bringing you around to the front. 

you’re in the middle of both boys who tower over you and you’re not sure if you’ve ever felt more threatened; especially because when yeonjun looks at you, you’d think he didn’t know your name. 

because he doesn’t give you a hi or a smile or even a flicker of recognition in his gaze.

he looks at you and simply says, “well, shit, i didn’t think you’d actually come,” with such a handsomely conniving smirk, you’re not sure what to think in that moment. 

because it seems as if all your silly, irrational fears are coming true in this moment. very much like the movies you’ve seen and scenarios you’ve pictured where you’re humiliated at a party or by the popular boy. 

but his smile and his words seemed so genuine. he’s seemed so genuine getting to know you these past few months, how could he have faked it so well? 

the way your face drops and cheeks warm cause his heart to break a little, still all too aware of the questioning eyes and lingering looks thrown your way. 

“didn’t you invite her?” soobin questions, looking between you and him and noting how embarrassed you look.

“i did,” is all yeonjun responds. no rhyme or reason or answer as to why he did. just that he did. so it could very well be a joke. 

“well then, welcome, y/n,” soobin responds, reaching his hand out to you. “i’m soobin, in case we weren’t formally introduced.”

you give him a tight smile, yeonjun’s piercing gaze on yours as you take soobin’s large hand in yours. 

“nice to meet you.”

your voice is soft and shaky and brings more heat to your cheeks, wanting to die when soobin rips up one of his friends for you to sit on the couch.

“i don’t mind standing,” you insist, shaking your head and offering a small smile to the other boy.

“no, no, pretty girls shouldn’t stand,” soobin says with a smirk, catching the way yeonjun’s eyes roll and jaw clenches; it all goes unnoticed to you, though, too busy sitting down and looking at your hands nervously folded into one another.

“so y/n,” soobin says, sitting down across from you and leaning forward the same way yeonjun does during his tutoring sessions. “what’s it like to tutor this idiot?”

his words are laced with affection, as are his actions as he ruffles yeonjun’s beanie playfully, but they still make you frown. still make you wanna defend him in front of others and ensure that he’s not an idiot. 

“he’s great actually,” you say softly, lips pulled up in a soft smile. “very smart and learns fast. definitely not an idiot.”

you look to the boy to see him staring blankly at you, heart sinking in your chest; you’re becoming increasingly uncomfortable in this environment and a big part of it as to do with his attitude. 

you weren’t expecting him to be overly excited, kiss your feet upon seeing you arrive or proclaim an irrational excitement. but it kind of seems as if, right now, he could care less that you’re here.

“ahh, that’s cool then,” soobin smiles. “you’re a year younger than us, right?” 

you can only hum a small “mhm,” yeonjun’s gaze burning into your face causing you to look at him. 

it’s the same soft, wide-eyed look you give him during your sessions but right now, it’s making him feel far too unsettled. like people seeing him with you are gonna show them a different side to him he has yet to acknowledge. 

“why’d you decide to come?” he asks, not being able to stop the words; he already knows the answer, he basically begged you too. 

and because you’ve been nothing but sweet and soft to him, he’s not surprised when you don’t throw it in his face that he’s the one who enforced this. that he studied for nights to pass that test so you’d feel inclined to come. 

“i thought it’d be fun,” you say sweetly, i thought we’d be able to have fun outside of school like you claimed to have wanted. “i don’t really come to parties a lot.”

“i can’t imagine why, you seem really sweet and funny,” soobin says, a flirty smile on his face that makes a blush creep up on your cheeks; he’s so bold and confident, you don’t know both of them do it. “you should come to more.”

seeing that shade of pink on your cheeks from someone else angers yeonjun more than he cares to admit, throwing his friend a dirty look before growling at him to shut up. 

“why? she’s sweet, isn’t she? maybe i need to be tutored too,” soobin says, throwing a smile your way as he plops down in the spot next to you. “what periods are you free? maybe we can go out for lunch and have a session.”

“i... i’m not allowed to leave for lunch.”

that’s a school rule - only seniors are allowed to leave for lunch. but with the way soobin laughs and yeonjun hold back a smirk, the other people littered around also letting out soft chuckles, it appears that’s something not many people follow. 

“you can with me,” soobin assures, patting your knee softly as he sends another charming smile your way. “i’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble.”

you smile in an effort to downplay your embarrassment and discomfort, an annoyed sigh leaving yeonjun as he rises from his seat. he looks even more big and broad surrounded by these people for some reason, in his element where he fits in like a glove.

it’s even more evident that you don’t fit in here - at least in the library, that’s a place you belong. the quiet, the smell of books, the solidarity, a keen sense of-

“i’m getting another drink.”

yeonjun’s words are short and deep as he quickly gets up, hauling ass to the kitchen before anyone can even respond to him. his friend must see the look on your face too, a small pout on your lips that has the boy frowning next to you.

“don’t worry about him, he’s grouchy tonight,” soonbin says reassuringly, wrapping his arm around you affectionately. “some girl stood him up.”

the first thing you feel is a blow to your chest, an unfamiliar pain right in the center as you register soobin’s words; he begged you to come tonight but was waiting for another girl.

probably one of the many college girls, who are prettier and funnier and more charismatic than you.

so, really, you can’t be surprised. you were silly to think he liked you in the way you thought, in the way you’ve come to discover you like him because he makes you smile and laugh and feel warm inside.

but even so, you’re hurt.

you’re hurt and embarrassed and feel humiliated even though no one knows the real reason you came here and stepped way out of your comfort zone. thank god for that, you think, because it’d be even more horrible if people knew you came for yeonjun, all while he was waiting for someone else.

“oh,” you manage to squeak out, a soft look on your face despite the pain and embarrassment inside of you. “that’s too bad.”

“yeah,” soobin says, looking at you with sympathetic eyes you know you can’t trust. “he’ll be good, though.”

you bet he will, you think, because that’s just who choi yeonjun is. he doesn’t care who he strings along or makes believe is special - he’s gonna do what he wants when he wants it with no regard for how it effects other.

even a sweet little meek tutor he was able to get under his thumb the first day he met her.

when yeonjun returns, he can tell immediately that something is wrong with you. your hands are clasped together and you’re biting the inside of your cheek, fiddling nervously as you listen in on the conversation around you.

you meet his gaze and he���s quick to look away, one because he got caught and two because he doesn’t know if he can handle the look in your eye right now.

you’re always almost about to make him crack, break down into being someone worthy of you, and he doesn’t wanna do that tonight. doesn’t wanna show everyone here that, if he wants to, he can be a worthy person.

you’re a second away from breaking before soobin asks if you wanna dance, a tight smile on your face as you shake your head.

“i... i’m actually gonna go outside for a sec,” you say, knowing full well you’re gonna book it to your car and never return. “it’s hot in here. i need some air.”

“there’s plenty of air in here, angel,” soobin remarks, your eyes widening at the term.

it sounds different coming from his mouth, not as deep and melodic and it doesn’t let off a bunch of butterflies in your stomach. you’re too busy giggling softly as you shake your head that you don’t hear the deep, low noise of distaste leave yeonjun’s mouth.

you only see him grab soobin’s arm when he tries to get up to follow you, a lowly growled “let her go,” that makes your eyebrows pull together; you don’t know if he’s trying to hurt your feelings on purpose but he’s certainly doing it a lot tonight.

it feels like you can finally take a deep breath when you get outside, no one around except the chilly air and starry sky. it makes you feel a bit better, sinking down on the stairs and humming contently when your hands meet the cold concrete.

you passed by the dancing people and laughing, smiley couples inside and felt silly for coming here. silly for thinking yeonjun wanted you in his life without him getting something out of it.

what would he want from you anyway? what could you possibly give him when he’s already had so much better?

tears prick your eyes and you bury your face in your hands, taking deep calming breaths so the harsh winter air doesn’t feel like it’s burning you.

you avoided boys and feelings like this for so long and with good reason; you’re too sensitive and naive and always try to see the good in people.

you’ll put your feelings aside in order to spare someone else - you saw it in the beginning, pushing down your qualms about lying to the teacher to further appease a boy you found cute.

and when you put it like that, it sounds really fucking stupid. it sounds like, maybe, you’re just-

“didn’t i tell you you’re too pretty to cry over stupid things?”

your first instinct is to turn around when you hear his voice, his tall, dark figure looming behind you. 

you should probably smile shyly or say that you’re not crying but you can only stay silent, turning back around to avoid his intense gaze and your own humiliation. 

the same way he should probably go inside and carry on with his night the way he usually would. drinking and flirting and dancing before he probably brought someone home or into the bathroom. 

when he moves behind you, that’s what you think he’s about to do. 

but then he’s walking around your sitting frame and bending down to you, looking up at you from his crouched position. his hand reaches out to touch your face, forcing it up so you can only stare at him with teary eyes and flushed cheeks.

there’s a frown on his face as he runs his thumb across your cold cheek, his gentle touch a shocking contrast to his harsher appearance. 

“what happened?”

what happened? you think, not used to feeling so snarky and hurt. what happened was that he got your hopes up, was nice to you and invited you and kept making you feel special, just for them to come crashing down.

but then the more you think about it, the silence between you getting longer and longer, the guiltier you feel - because your feelings aren’t his fault.

you taking his looks and kindness and lingering touches for something deeper was a mistake. you know the kind of boy he is and have still been foolish enough to fall for him.

“nothing,” you grumble, a wet, humorless laugh leaving you as you shake your head. “i’m just being silly.”

but you can’t look up from your feet, your eyes roaming the cracks in the concrete, and that’s how he knows you’re lying; that, and because he knows he was being a fucking dick. 

but seeing you in this environment was weird for him. seeing people look at you and look at him, specifically soobin who got it out of him that he might like you, was unfamiliar for him.

the same way this was unfamiliar for you - which is why he wants you to talk to him. 

“what happened, y/n?” he asks, voice a tad bit harsher and deeper as he cranes his neck down. he hears your harsh, nervous intake of breath and resists the urge to reach out and touch you. 

you need to answer him before he can touch you. 

but you never do. not after ten seconds and not after a minute, prompting him to let out a sigh and pop his neck to the side. your face pulls into a grimace at the crack that sounds through the air. 

his cold hand touching your face causes you to jump, your eyes meeting and a lump forming in your throat; his eyes fool you too much and that’s exactly the problem here.

“talk to me, angel, c’mon.”

your eyes start to burn when a harsh wind passes, tears stinging your eyes and coldness rushing over your face. why does he have to keep calling you that? why does his voice have to sound so sincere and why does he have to look at you the way he is right now?

like he cares so much and hopes those tears aren’t because you’re sad.

“there’s nothing to talk about, yeonjun,” you blurt out, anger and humiliation seep into your tone before you can stop it. you let out a sigh as you try to get it together, taking a few calming breaths before shaking your head. 

“just go back inside, okay? i’m going home. t-thank you for inviting me but i-”

“i don’t want you to go.”

he blurts the words so loud and fast, it even sounds a little awkward to your ears. but he sounds and looks almost desperate, your eyebrows pulling together and heart sinking as you take a deep breath.

because you know you can’t stop the next words from tumbling out of your mouth.

“well, it doesn’t seem like you want me here.”

your words are soft and quiet but they still physically pain his chest, his eyes roaming your face as he brings them to your cold cheeks. he wipes under your eye when wetness forms, the cold biting wind rushing around you both. 

“i want you,” he reassures quietly, his voice just as low and gravely as he speaks hushly to you; he thinks it’s the most honest and true thing he’s ever said to someone. “i want you more than you know.”

“then why are you acting like that?” you question sweetly, the pout on your lips nearly making him groan and cover them with his. “you were being... mean. i felt like... you didn’t want me here at all. or didn’t want people to know you invited me.”

your words break his heart but he also knows they’re true, his fingers caressing your face gently. he notices then how freezing and red it is, looking you over and rising from his feet.

you look disappointed that he’s gonna leave, your face falling and eyebrows furrowing before he reaches his hand down to you. 

“let’s talk in my car,” he clarifies, nodding his head toward his vehicle. “it’s freezing out here.”

you bite down on your lip, contemplating it for a few seconds before another harsh gust of wind passes. you let out a sigh as you take his hand, grateful to enter his car the moment you sit down. 

he turns it on and the engine roars to life, his fingers reaching out to turn on your heated seat. 

the next few moments only consist of the car’s engine warming up as you wait for the heat to kick on, you and yeonjun stealing glances back and forth at each other; you both miss the others gaze by a few seconds and if anyone were to be watching, it’d be obvious you both were nervous right now. 

dancing along the line you’re both nervous to cross for entirely different reasons - you because you somehow don’t think he reciprocates those feelings and him because he knows you deserve more. 

but in this moment, he decides he has to be selfish. watching you with a flush in your cheeks and your lip drawn into your mouth.

“i like you, y/n. that’s why i wanted you here,” his voice says, breaking the silence in a way that almost seems more terrifying. “but that’s also why i didn’t... want people knowing.”

your eyebrows pull together and immediately your mind goes to him being embarrassed. embarrassed that you’re younger and quiet and that no one really knows who the hell you are.

he’s infamous and cool and a senior, obviously he should be with someone similiar. like a popular girl in his grade or a college girl or maybe even a the girl who stood him up.

“not because of you, angel, but because of...”

“you?” you interrupt, a snark in your tone neither of you except; but you’ve heard this line one too many times, not expecting to ever ever hear it real life, let alone toward you. 

“it’s not you, it’s me?” you ask, a gentle, faux smile on your face as you shake your head at him. “is that what you’re about to say?”

he clenches his jaw so he doesn’t smirk, resisting the urge to laugh as he looks you over carefully. it’s obvious your smile’s fake because it doesn’t meet your eyes, the teary glint in them every bit sad as they are frustrated. 

but of course, you’re too sweet to treat him as he deserves. 

his hand reaches out to grab your chin, his thumb and pointer finger on either side as he forces your gaze to his. his smirk comes through when he hears your sharp intake of breath, tongue peeking out to lick at his lips. 

“if you let me talk, angel, you’d know what i was about to say,” he hums quietly, his breath fanning into your face at his closeness. it smells of mint and beer, it should probably be gross but surprisingly isn’t.

his words successfully stir you into silence, partially from fear and partially because the look in his eye has caused you to grow warm all over; and once he sees that, he begins to speak again.

“i didn’t want people knowing because i didn’t want anyone fucking with you, y/n. because if they did, i’d have to ruin them and then everyone would see it.”

“see what?” you ask quietly, the air between you thick and buzzing as you hold his gaze. 

hold it so adamantly and intensely, you’re barely able to register him leaning closer. inch by inch by inch, until his lips are pressed against yours and you’re kissing choi yeonjun in the front seat of his car. 

you’re stiff and awkward and don’t really know what to do but it’s fine because he laces his fingers in your hair and pulls you closer. parts your lips with his tongue which causes you to kiss him back with a slow, unsure pace.

but it only causes him to smile, retracting his tongue and keeping it sweet before he pulls back and rests his head on your forehead. 

“why i decided to spend my free period during senior year getting fucking tutored, angel,” he chuckles lowly, his hand running through your hair gently. 

the soft look in his eye causes you to swallow nervously, words caught in your throat as you stare at him wide-eyed.

“i... i thought you... you said it was...” you let out a shaky breath as you try to get your thoughts together, completely unable to remember your conversation from weeks ago. when he cryptically asked you your thoughts about just why he agreed to stop lying to the teacher and do the sessions; 

so instead, your cheeks warm and you’re hit with the reminder that you just had your first kiss with him. and that you were probably absolutely terrible at it. 

“that was my first kiss. i... i’m sorry if it was bad.”

a small smile crosses yeonjun’s face as he shakes his head at you, thumb dragging down your cheek gently to feel the warm, smooth skin of your cheek. 

“it was perfect, angel, you’re perfect.” he mumbles, your eyes widening and heart stuttering as a ball forms in your throat. “so perfect that i thought you stood me up and weren’t coming. so let’s go on date. a real date, this time.”

in the beginning of the school year, you would’ve never imagined your study sessions with yeonjun would be turning into dinner dates; but as you sit in your room and get ready, your heart pounding and palms sweaty, that’s exactly what’s happened. 

it’s the fourth date you guys are going on and you can officially say that you really, really have feelings for yeonjun. you’re still shy and nervous around him but it’s only because he’s more comfortable with you too.

he takes your hand with ease and laces your fingers together that he was meant to do that.

he’ll shamelessly peck a kiss to your lips and deepen it at any given time, your cheeks burning and embarrassed voice telling him to stop when he did it in the middle of the bowling alley last week. 

he’ll watch you and smile at you and just touch you with the softest of intentions, you almost can’t believe this is the bad boy everyone claims is so mean and heartless. 

you say almost because you still don’t do it in school. it’s still a somewhat... secret fondness you have for one another. he’ll play with your fingers under the table during sessions and wink at you in the hallway but that’s about it. 

he’d probably never kiss you in the hallway or cafeteria but you also wouldn’t want that. it would draw way too much attention and probably leave your face with a permanent, embarrassing flush. 

“are you going out?” you hear your mom ask, her head peeking in before a smile brightens her face. “aw, you look beautiful, y/n. yeonjun must be coming soon.”

the topic of dating had been undeniably embarrassing with your parents, mostly because they couldn’t believe you were showing an interest. but they welcomed yeonjun with open arms, insisting to meet him at the front door to ensure he was a nice boy.

and oh had he really showed you just how charming he could be. 

“mom,” you whine in embarrassment, her laugh echoing in your room as he throws her arms up defensively. 

“you guys be careful. it’s supposed to rain soon.”

you nod your head as you finish getting ready, smoothing over your hair once more before your phone vibrates against your desk. he texted you that he was on his way with a smiley face and heart, sending one back before looking at yourself in the mirror. 

you don’t know what the hell he sees you or why he likes you but you know if you dwell on it, you’ll talk yourself out of everything. convince yourself that this is all a joke and he’s gonna turn around and say he pities you. 

even though, when you brought this up to him, he was quick to calm those worries. 

“c-can i ask you something, yeonjun?”

you were walking home from the movies with your hands intertwined.

the cold, harsh winter had blossomed into spring, the night air growing less frigid; there was a still a bit of a chill but it was nothing a jacket and yeonjun’s warm body couldn’t fix.

“of course, angel,” he mumbles lowly, a small smile on his face as you stop in your tracks. he’s quick to follow, eyebrow raising and body turning so he can look down at you. 

he cocks his head to the side when you don’t speak for a few seconds, his lips falling into a pout as his hand tightens in yours.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, thumb tracing small circles into your skin. 

you lick over your lips nervously, feeling silly for the need to ask this question but it’s one you can’t help. it wracks your mind over and over again and it feels like you’re about to-

“why do you like me?” you blurt out, unaware you even said the words until you notice yeonjun’s face morph into one of surprise. 

his mouth opens and closes for a moment, brows pulled together as he tries to make sense of your words.

“i mean, what’s not to like?” he asks softly, taking you by the hips and pulling you closer to him. 

you’re in the middle of the sidewalk but there’s no one around, the sky dark and streets desolate as you both meet each others gazes - yours full of doubt and his full of confusion. 

“i... i don’t know,” you mumble sheepishly, looking down at your intertwined hands. “i just... it doesn’t really make sense.”

“why? because i’m older? because you’re smart and i’m not?” he teases, your panicked eyes immediately meeting his.

“no! more like the exact opposite,” you clarify as you shake your head. “because you’re popular and attractive and charming and i’m just.... not.”

his eyes roam your face and his heart sinks when he sees the doubt and nerves continue to grow. how you really feel this way about yourself and are pondering the idea that someone like him would want someone like you, when really, it should be the opposite. 

“y/n, i’m lucky that you’re settling for me,” the pink-haired boy laughs out, squeezing your hips reassuringly. “you’re good and sweet and so fucking beautiful. i wanted you the second i saw you, you know, but knew i shouldn’t.”

your eyes widen at his words, shock behind them that has a laugh bubbling from his chest. 

“in lunch. i noticed you the first day and thought you were an angel,” he says, the nickname he always calls you particularly getting the butterflies going tonight. 

“i could tell that you were good. you just have this.. aura, y/n, and i knew that i would taint it. i knew you deserved someone way better. because i’m not good like you.”

"yes you are,” you respond immediately, a frown appearing on your face as you shake your head. “you pretend not to be, but you are, yeonjun. i can see it.”

“you can see it because i wanna be good around you, baby. i wanna be someone good for you.”

tears prick your eyes as a lump forms in your throat, overwhelmed and unsure of how to respond to that. he smiles softly as he takes in your face, leaning forward to press his lips against your forehead. 

he inhales your sweet, vanilla smell while you take in his cologne and faint scent of cigarettes, swallowing down the lump and praying you don’t burst into tears on the spot. 

“don’t doubt yourself, angel,” yeonjun mumbles against your head, puling you closer until your flush against his warm, broad body. “i’m the one who got lucky here.” 

even though it meant wasting away in the fucking library. 

“the library isn’t that bad, yeonjun,” you whine ten minutes later in his car, heat blasting and music low as he drives to the restaurant. one hand’s on the steering wheel while the other’s laced with yours, your body turned in his black leather seat to look over and chastise him. 

he confessed to you that your sessions were the first time he’d ever stepped foot in that library; he hadn’t even been positive that school had a library until he walked through the door that day. 

“it smells like dust and the librarian’s a bitch.”

“she is not!” you squeal, smacking his arm lightly as you throw him a chastising look. “she’s just a little... misunderstood. people don’t respect her space.”

even you can admit sometimes she does go a little overboard; you saw her once lecture a younger student for a half hour because they mistakenly put a book on the wrong shelf. 

“you’re too nice, baby. maybe even a little biased, since you’re the only one she seems to tolerate.”

“probably because i’m there every day,” you tease lightly, your eyes widening playfully before a loud crack of thunder causes you to jump in your seat.

your mom hadn’t been kidding when she said there was gonna be a storm tonight. you’d ran to yeonjun’s car shielding the top of your head, rain pelting down and wind howling as your mom’s “be careful!” got drowned out.

and right now, it only seemed to be getting worse. 

“you scared of thunder?” 

you hear the smirk in yeonjun’s voice and resist the urge to stick your tongue out, not about to admit that, yes, you’re nearly an adult but still terrified of rain and thunder. 

“no, of-of course not,” you grumble, snatching your hand away from his. “it just surprised me.”

yeonjun looks over at you and sees the nervousness all your face, not commenting as he silently snatches your hand back. he intertwines your fingers as he raises your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against it while he drives through the rain.

it’s getting considerably heavier by every second, his foot pressing off the gas every time he drives past a puddle. 

“i used to be scared of the rain, you know.” 

you look over at him and see him looking peacefully at the road, pink strands of hair hanging in his face. 

“oh, yeah? when you were like five?”

“twelve,” he corrects with a smile, doing his best to distract you from the chaos outside. “i used to wake up crying, sometimes. i know that’s hard to believe now. because i’m so cool and what not.”

“oh please,” you giggle out, the sweet sound filling the car also distracting him from the pounding of rain and crackling of thunder; he’s outgrown his fear of storms but even he can admit this one is a little bit scary right now. 

“what, you don’t think? i’ll have you know-”

the skidding of his tires mixed with your frightened screams is the next thing he hears, a strangled “yeonjun!” in the background as he attempts to take control of his car.

there’s the boom of thunder and lightning and loud blares of horns before everything goes still, his body acting on auto pilot as he safely pulls off on the side of the highway.

his first concern isn’t damage to his car or the heightening storm outside - it’s you in his passenger seat, eyes closed tight and tears on your face. 

“are you okay?” yeonjun’s voice frantically asks, barely able to feel the sensation of his his warm hands on your face. your heart’s pounding and your hands are shaking and for a moment, you thought you were about to die. 

your eyes pop open to meet his and the concern in them only makes your eyes water more, bottom lip trembling as you nod your head. 

but even though you’re nodding he sees you’re not. he sees you trying to catch your breath and your eyes looking back and forth nervously outside.

“hey, hey, angel. it’s okay. i’m here,” he hums lowly, his thumbs running over your face soothingly. “i’m here and you’re okay.”

you attempt to catch and slow your breaths as your eyes never leave his, his only leaving you to quickly assess you for injuries.

“i know that was scary. i’m sorry. i should’ve been more careful.”

“it wasn’t your fault,” you squeak out, swallowing the knot in your throat as you shake your head. your eyes roam his and you pout when there’s guilt and sorrow in his eyes, your own hand snaking down to hold his hand. 

“are you okay?”

his eyes soften as he cups your face and brings you to closer to him, a quiet “yes, baby,” leaving his mouth before he places his lips on your forehead.

you breathe in his scent and he breathes in yours, not allowing himself to pull away until he feels you relax under him.

“i’m gonna drive us to my house, okay?” he says, his eyes back on you looking cautious. “we can order food. i just don’t want us driving in this if it’s gonna get worse.”

you nod your head before reaching down to grasp one of his hands tightly, his small smile meeting you before he carefully pulls back onto the highway. 

the storm gets substantially worse as he makes his way to his house, hand grasping yours tightly as he drives slow and steady. 

he’s flooded with relief when he finally pulls in his driveway, running around the passenger side door to help you out. his hand doesn’t leave the small of your back until you’re in his room, a big space with white walls and black furniture that doesn’t surprise you in the slightest.

contrary to most teenage boy’s rooms, his smells really good. like a mix of his cologne, laundry detergent and a distinct smell you’ve just deemed as his natural scent.

it’s comforting and makes you feel at ease, licking over your lips nervously as you realize this is the first time you’ve been in a boy’s room.

“you want anything to drink?”

“i...i’m good,” you say, sitting on his bed as you look around.

there’s no decor on the walls except for a large flat screen tv across from his bed and above his dresser, a pile of clothes off to the side. 

“sorry, i didn’t expect to have anyone over so it’s a little messy.”

you look over at him sitting beside you, a sheepish smile on his face. you think it’s the first time he’s ever sounded somewhat... nervous and out of his comfort zone. 

maybe because he knows you’ve never been in this situation before. 

“it’s okay, i like your room,” you smile, spreading your fingers out across his soft, dark comforter. “it’s very fitting.”

“oh yeah?” he smirks, inching closer to you and making your heart speed up. “and why’s that?”

there’s that dark playfulness you’re so used to seeing swarming behind his eyes, just as teasing as it is intense that makes you hold back a squeak. he quirks his eyebrow as he moves closer, pink tongue peeking out to roll over his lips.

you can’t help when your eyes fall to them, missing the feel of them on yours. 

you two haven’t gone past making out, a clash of tongues and teeth that have you quietly moaning into his mouth. but when your body acts on its own accord, pushing yourself closer to him or grasping at the bottom of his shirt, he always stops you.

“what are you doin’ baby?”

you were in his car after a tutoring session, the parking lot of the school completely deserted. your cheeks flush and you immediately draw your hands back, lowering your head slightly as embarrassment took over. 

“i...i thought that was...don’t you wanna...”

because clothes come off, that’s how it starts - you know that much.

and you can feel how much he wants to go further, the hardness under you that scared you at first now the thing begging you to go further.

you feel wanted and desired and even though you’re scared, you want to go further.

“we don’t have to do anything, baby. this is fine,” he says softly, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. 

“but i want to,” you mumble, not even sure if he can hear your words because of how quiet you are. 

you know he must though because he draws his fingers under your chin to lift your face, eyes heavy of fondness and arousal making your stomach flutter more. 

your first instinct is to assume he doesn’t want you - why else would he stop you? but you can see in his eyes that he does...right? because it really does look like that.

what other reason would he have to stop you though? maybe he just doesn’t-

“whatever you’re thinking is probably wrong,” yeonjun mutters, tightening his hold on you and bringing you closer to him. “i don’t wanna go further with you while we’re in the car, angel. you deserve more than that.”

“hm?” you hear him hum, ripping you from your memories. 

you look from his lips to his eyes watching you with lust, the beginnings of your nonsense words cut off when he kisses you. 

your heart flutters and stomach swoops immediately, kissing back with an embarrassing amount of fervor. he smirks against your lips as he pulls you on his lap, your arms circling around his shoulders.

his tongue traces your bottom lip before you feel it in your mouth, daringly meeting his back in a way you’d never done before. it causes him to bring his hands to your hips, squeezing and massaging them with his large hands. 

“look at you,” he mutters almost condescendingly, falling back onto his bed and causing you to squeal. you’re holding yourself above him and his eyebrow is quirked, red lips puffy and pink hair messy causing your heart to flutter mercilessly.

“if i didn’t know any better, baby, i’d think you’re real eager tonight.”

you bite down on your lip as you adjust yourself on him, your hips straddling his and brushing over him. your building heat is right under him and it takes everything in you not to moan at just the thought, his hands strong and firm.

and just as you’re about to answer, tell him that, yes, even though you’re not familiar with.... any of this, you’re eager and ready, your stomach growls and ruins the moment.

it causes a smile to light up his face, a deep chuckle leaving him before he flips you over. he’s hovering above you now, no parts of your bodies touching except for his hand a few inches away from your head. 

“or you’re hunger, my mistake, angel,” he says with a smirk, pressing a peck to your nose sweetly. “what do you want?”

you spend the next hour laying in his bed waiting for the pizza, the storm just as wild outside as it was when you were in the car. you bit down on a squeal threatening to leave your mouth every time there was a terrifying boom, your body shimming closer to yeonjun’s.

he smiled against your head and welcomed your body closer, bringing your head to his chest.

“you’re cute,” you hear him mumble, the swooping in your stomach causing you to feel warm.

you look up at him and smile shyly, tucking your head closer into his chest. you have to hide your growing smile when you feel his lips brush your head, deep content hums leaving his chest.

the doorbell ringing rips you two apart, his mumbled “i’ll be right back,’ causing you to sit up. you brush your fingers through your hair as you sit up, looking around his dark room and feeling something brewing in your stomach.

you feel every bit as nervous as you do excited and eager in his room with him right now. 

it’s still scary because you’re new to this. because you’ve never done anything like this before and you know you don’t know what you’re doing. 

but a part of you wants to kiss him on his bed. go further than he’s allowed you to because if he only didn’t want to be with you in the car, this should solve that problem, right?

you’ve never felt as desired and warm as you have with him these past months. no one’s ever looked at you the way he does or have made you feel the way he does. 

you’re usually too scared or uneasy to talk to people or form a connection; but from the moment you met him, you were able to do that. a part of you just felt inclined to help him, be a person that he knows would be there for him even if it meant in the form of helping him study or motivate him.

you never would’ve expected for him to reciprocate your feelings. nor would you have expected to be in this current situation, want and need bubbling in your stomach at the thought of yeonjun doing-

“pizza’s here,” yeonjun says, popping his head through the door holding a box of pizza. 

you smile upon seeing it, your stomach growling at the smell; if he hears it, he doesn’t say anything. just walks over and places the box on his bed, offering you a slice that you take immediately.

“thank you,” you squeak, bringing the food to your mouth.

he watches you for a few seconds, suddenly all too aware of him looking at you. you raise an eyebrow as you chew, a shy look coming over your face that causes him to smile. 

“what?”

“nothing,” he says, shaking his head as he takes out his own slice. “my mom called me and said they can’t come home tonight because of the storm.”

you take the time to chew your food as you take in his words, the fluttering in your stomach a mix of nerves and excitement. 

“oh.”

“yeah...” he hums, his eyes roaming your face; he doesn’t want his next suggestion to make you uncomfortable but he also thinks it would be best. for both of you. 

“and i don’t know if i should drive you home, angel. it’s supposed to get really bad. do you... wanna stay over?”

there’s a lump in your throat for all the reasons there shouldn’t be. 

not because this is your first time sleeping over a boy’s house or the fact that his parents aren’t home. or because you’re gonna have to call your mom and say you’re sleeping over a friend’s house.

or even because you don’t know what to expect tonight.

it’s only there because you know, in a new form of acting on your deeper desires and not suppressing yourself to just being some innocent girl, you wanna get railed.

“i... i guess i can do that,” you say, some nervousness still behind your voice because when it comes down to it, you’re unfamiliar with this situation. 

“well yeah, but do you want to, baby?” he asks with a small smirk, his hand reaching up to toy with your hair. 

his long fingers run through the strands before tucking them behind your ear, his hand slinking down to rest on your neck.

“if you don’t feel comfortable, i’ll take you home later,” he says, thumb running across your skin slowly. breath catches in your throat when he leans closer to you, his lingering scent and broadness causing you to bite down on your lip.

“i just thought it’d be nice to lay with you tonight. or wake up with you.”

“or let us go further since we’re not in the car.” 

you don’t know who’s more shocked by your words but you know you’re definitely more embarrassed, a rampant blush crossing your cheeks as you attempt to hide in his shoulder.

he’s quick to pull you away with a small “tsk,” the smirk on his lips quickly widening despite the soft look in his eyes. 

you bite back the noise threatening to leave your mouth when he wraps his hand around you hair, the slightest of stings ripping through your scalp when he pulls you forward.

“go further?” he asks lowly, his eyes peering down at you only making you feel more warm and flustered. 

words are caught in your mouth and you can’t find it in you to say anything. not only because you’re too embarrassed but you don’t even know what to say.

you know you want more than kissing and that there’s always a building pressure between your legs when he pulls you on his lap. 

you know on more than one occasion, you’ve wanted his hands that’d rest on your hips to go just a little further down. slip in the waistband of your pants and meet the wetness and heat through your underwear.

you’ve wanted to see his pink hair between your legs as you experience getting eaten out of the first time, holding back moans in the crease of your elbow as his tongue explores every inch of you. 

you know you want to look up at him with tears in your eyes and a heaving chest, ask if you can please suck him off because you’ve also never done that before. 

he can see the arousal and lust clouding your eyes the more the silence elapses, his cock quickly hardening as he takes in the sight of you on his bed ready for him to take you. 

it’s just a matter of how and when he’s gonna. how and when you tell him like the good girl he knows you are. 

“how much further are you thinking, angel?” his deep voice finally asks, successfully breaking the silence and building the thick tension. 

you let out a breathy exhale when he pushes you on your back, the knot in your stomach tightening as he looks down at your body. 

“what do you want me to do, huh?” he asks, the smirk and feeling in his chest growing when he sees you start to breathe heavily on his bed. your legs are nearly shaking from the build up in pressure, your tongue licking over your dry lips. 

“i... yeonjun...”

he bites back the groan threatening to leave his mouth at you moaning his name, holding himself above your body as he hand spays out against your stomach. 

“why are you moaning my name baby? i haven’t even done anything.”

“but... but i want you to. so bad.”

your voice is whiny and pathetic but it’s all it takes for him to snap, his hand moving from your stomach to between your legs. 

he can feel the heat and pulse of your pussy and has to suppress his own groan again, completely getting off on the feeling that you, the innocent little tutor he’s been wanting to ruin since he saw you last year, is laid out on his bed and dripping just for him. 

“please, yeonjun,” you whine again, completely out of your mind with lust when you feel his hand on you. 

he bites down on his lip before he starts gently running his hand over you, barely putting any pressure on you. he’s just relishing in the how only that makes you spread your legs immediately, hips bucking up closer to his hand. 

he pulls his hand away and pins your hips to the bed, his face hovering above yours before you can even whine again. 

“be patient, angel. or this isn’t gonna work,” he growls lowly, his thumbs running over your pants gently. 

“i- i’m sorry,” you gasp out, tears pricking your eyes because this feeling is so new and foreign and overwhelming. “i just... i’m so...”

“you’re so what?”

“i want you,” you say immediately, thinking back to your conversation with him outside of soobin’s house. when the words you’re telling him now are the same ones he told you. “i want you more than you know.”

a scoff leaves his mouth when you say that, remembering those words leaving his own mouth that night.

but the difference here is, he thinks, is that you really didn’t know that.

you didn’t know how just sitting there and smiling at him and talking to him so sweetly was making him want you. your soft smiles and vanilla scent and the wide-eyed look you’d always innocently give him.

but he’s aware of how much you want him, in this moment. he can feel it, smell it, see it. he knows just how much you want him because he wants you the same way. 

your pants and underwear are off in one shot, a gasp leaving your mouth when you realize you’re completely bare in front of him. 

he’s quick to look at your face to see if you’re okay, that teary wide-eyed look and teeth sinking in your lip greeting him; another whiney and mumbled “touch me,” leaves your mouth before he can ask.

a smile lights up his face that makes your heart jump even through this all, a teasing look in his eye even through the arousal and painful hardness in his pants.

“say please, angel.”

“please touch me, yeonjun. please.”

his fingers are on your clit right after the words leave you, your mouth hanging open and legs spreading when you’re immediately filed with a sense of some relief. 

“you’re so wet for me, angel. how long have you wanted this, huh?”

you babble out something you can’t even hear through your pounding ears but it must be something good and polite enough because you feel a finger enter you a few seconds later.

he hisses at the tightness around his finger and has to remember to be gentle with you, fingering you slowly and sweetly as he toys at your clit. 

“you’re doing so good, baby. so good for me.”

you cry out a moan that has his fingers moving quicker, curling them just right before you scream out his name; you’ve never ever felt anything like this before.

“yeonjun, oh, my god.”

“i know, baby, it’s okay,” he says, allowing his fingers to work over you and in you for a few seconds before he forces himself to remove them. your head shoots up and the sight almost makes him smile, a frustrated look in your teary eyes that has him cocking his head.

“why did you-”

the fingers just inside you are below your chin, the slickness of his fingers on your skin making you widen your eyes. is that... is he about to make you...

you hold back another moan when you watch him raise his fingers to his own mouth, his eyes rolling back when he tastes you. you don’t know if you’re a little grossed out or even more turned on but you think it must be the latter if the way your legs start to shake again and your lower stomach tightens. 

“you taste so fucking sweet, angel. can i eat your pussy?”

he could tell how scared you were when you first got here, not seeing a hint of that fear now but still needing to check before he pulls you on his face and has his way with you.

“y-yes, please, yeonjun, oh my-”

you can’t even get the words out before his hands are taking off your shirt, removing the straps of your bra and pushing them down until your boobs pop out. 

perky nipples spring into the air and he can’t stop the groan that leaves him, circling his tongue around each of them before he tells you to unhook it. your eyes meet his for just a few seconds before you reach out to take it off, quickly throwing it on the floor before you, without thinking, cover yourself. 

his eyes flash and he immediately snaps out of his trance, placing his hands on your arms but not attempting to move them. 

“what are you doing, angel?”

and it’s at this moment, something as silly as him seeing your chest completely naked, that you’re feeling insecure. 

you know he’s been with girls before this, college girls who definitely have bigger boobs than you and know what they’re doing. girls who are prettier and sexier and don’t blush or whine at the slightest hint of his touch of them. 

“i... i know you’ve been with prettier girls before. an-and i don’t think they’re that nice.”

“angel, i don’t know if i’ve gotten this across enough but you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever met,” he says, the sweetest words to ever leave his mouth not even making him blink.

because he needs you to know in this moment that you are. he can’t stand the insecure, fearful look in your eye that he’s not gonna find you desirable because you’re comparing yourself to other people. 

“that’s a lie,” you weakly mumble out, tears stinging your eyes because this is so stupid. now you’re ruining the moment and he’s not gonna wanna do this with you. you’re proving just how inexperienced and unfamiliar you are with-

“i don’t lie.”

your eyebrow raises and he can’t help but smirk, the realization that your whole relationship started off lying to your teacher making him let out a deep chuckle. 

“i mean i don’t lie to you, angel, i would never lie to you,” he says, reaching down to press a long kiss on your lips. it’s the most intimate kiss you’ve ever had with him, mouths parting on one another like you’re trying to get all your worries and reassurances out on one another.

him that you’re just as desirable as he knows you are and you that you really don’t know what you’re doing but you wanna do this with him. 

“you’re beautiful, baby, and if anyone’s not worthy of the other, it’s me.”

his words make your eyebrows pull together, the look in his eye one you’ve never seen before. probably the most vulnerable and honest you’ve seen him look at you. 

“but i’m gonna do my best to be, angel, so please... don’t think that,” he says, pulling your arms away from your chest. 

he feels relief flood through him when you allow him to do say, his head dipping again to place small pecks on your chest before taking another nipple in his mouth. 

he moans around you at the same time you do, throwing your head back against his pillow. your fingers lace through the back of his pink hair and you feel your pussy clenching around nothing, moaning out his name when his tongue carefully and slowly licks around the other neglected one. 

“you also have the sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted,” he mumbles around your nipple, swirling his tongue around it one more time before grabbing your hips and throwing himself on his back. 

“so sit on my face, angel. now.”

you have no time to feel hesitant or insecure because, one, he pulls you up before you can do anything else and two, you’re far too eager to feel this for the first time. 

his tongue latching onto your clit causes you to moan out his name, trying your best to not buck your hips against his face. but his tongue feels like it’s everywhere, flicking at it your clit and up inside you and quickly making your legs shake around him. 

your hazy eyes look down and you see his own looking up at you, a hot arousal in them as you cover the rest of his face with your body. pink strands stick to his forehead and you bite down on your lip so you don’t scream, your eyes rolling back when he eats you out like a man starved.

he’s moaning against you and pulling you closer to his face, your hips bucking into his mouth as you whine out his name over and over. 

you’re so out of it and dazed with arousal and need that you don’t even think twice when an idea pops into your head. 

you buck your hips a tad harder than usual that he disconnects his mouth from you, about to ask if he hurt you somehow before you flip over on his face. your body leans over his stomach until your mouth is by the tight groin of his sweatpants, clumsily slipping down his boxers until his cock springs free.

it’s hard and red and looks completely neglected, screaming to be relieved by you.

so even though you have no idea what you’re doing, only guided by works of fiction and things you hear in the hallway, you wrap your mouth around the head of his cock.

you hear him growl at your name but only continue to suck him off, your tongue circling around him as your mouth moves up and down. you smile when he moans against your pussy just so moan around his a few seconds later, like he knew you were smiling against him at hearing that noise leave him.

he didn’t think he could get any harder than he already was but you continue to impress him and prove him wrong, his mouth working quicker on you to aid in his growing arousal. 

a loud moan of your name leaves his mouth when you deep throat him, a growled “fuck,” against your wetness that makes you whine against him. 

“i wanna fuck your mouth so badly,” he growls against you, wrapping his tongue around your clit just as you let out a strangled “please.” but he only shakes his head and continues his vigorous assault, sticking two fingers inside you that causes your scream to be muffled around his cock.

“you’re gonna come first, angel. i want you to come on my fucking face.”

and even though he already seemed to know it from the moment he met you, he sees that what he wants from you, he’s always gonna get. 

your lower stomach tightens before a feeling of euphoria consumes you, your legs shaking and hips bucking before an orgasm rips right through you. your head is leant against his head as you try to catch your breath, whining slightly when he pulls you off of him.

he lays you down gently on the bed before placing a kiss to your cheek. 

“you did so good, angel. how do you feel?”

“mmm.. that was the best thing i’ve ever felt.”

a deep laugh leaves him at your sleepy, dazed look, taking his shirt off so he can dab at your wet legs. you wince a little at the sensitivity and he mumbles an apology, laying on his back and opening his arms to you.

“lay with me, baby.”

a small smile crosses your face as you fall into his bare chest, sighing contently with your head resting over his chest. you can hear his heartbeat against your ear and feel his lips against your head, his fingers running over your arm slowly.

you’ve never been more comfortable and at ease than you are in this moment. even with the storm raging outside and the unknown parts of your relationship still coming, you feel happy. 

happy and safe and so stupidly content.  

“angel?”

you look up at him when you hear his voice break the silence, your chin against his chest as you meet his gaze. 

he smiles upon seeing you, his hand coming up to pat down your messy hair. 

“i like you. a lot.”

you bite down on your lip to hide your growing smile, daringly taking the first move to press a sweet peck on his lips.

“i like you, too. a lot, a lot,” you giggle out, the pink on your cheeks making his heart squeeze in his chest. “but i think you already knew that.”

“i was hoping,” he hums lowly, bringing you back into his chest. you smile against him as you inhale his scent, moving your body closer to him until you feel your leg hit a hard, fleshy piece of skin. 

your eyes widen and pulse quickens when you see he’s still hard and aching, the content look on his face completely disregarding it. 

“yeonjun...” you mumble, shamelessly staring at his dick a few inches from your leg. 

he peeks an eye open and sees you staring down at it, a sheepish smile crossing his face; he looks a tad embarrassed and you shouldn’t find it as endearing as you do. 

“sorry. it’ll go down eventually.”

eventually being when he gets up to go to the bathroom and jerks himself off. because there’s no way in hell he’s gonna go flaccid with you all naked and cuddled against him.

“you mean you’re not gonna fuck me?”

his eyes widen and cock twitches when those words leave your mouth, his hand falling to your jaw so you can look at him. his eyes roam your face when he sees the heavy desire building in your wide-eyed gaze, the perfect contrast of sweet and lustful that has him holding back a groan. 

“where did you learn to talk like this?” he hums lowly in your ear. 

you smirk against him before you bring your hand up to his mouth, his eyes searching yours. but you’re only staring back just as intensely, rubbing yourself against his leaking cock laying between you. 

“spit on it, please.”

he can’t even stop his groan from leaving him this time, painfully hard and ready to bust. you learned so fast what he likes and that’s when you’re both polite and eager.

“baby girl,” he moans, bringing his face down to place a messy, dominating kiss on yours. he pulls your mouths apart after allowing his tongue to explore your mouth, a string of spit connecting your lips. 

his eyes fall to your mouth before he’s tipping your head back, your hand clutching onto his shoulder and tightening when, suddenly, he spits in your mouth. 

your eyes widen but he smirks before you can say anything, wordlessly bringing your hand to his mouth and spitting on it as you so requested. you let out a shaky sigh, eyeing him warily before he gives you a nod.

it’s only then that you wrap your hand around his cock, watching as his eyes flutter shut and he leans his head back. 

“there u go, angel,” he hums lowly, your hand twisting over the tip before exploring down. 

he can feel your hesitance and unsureness but it only makes it that much more enjoyable for him, knowing this is the first time you’ve done this - although he does wonder how you knew to spit on it first. 

his words spur you on and you wet your hand again, twisting and turning on every ridge of his cock. his moans of your name cause wetness to gather between your legs, your eyes meeting his to see them right on you.

“please fuck me, yeonjun.”

you didn’t have to ask him twice before he pushed you on your back. he fumbled to take his sweatpants off fully, discarding them on the floor before pulling you toward the end of bed.

you look down at him with furrowed eyebrows before a loud gasp leaves you, his mouth back on your pussy before he slides two fingers in. he preps you again until you’re coming around him, his mouth hot around you while his fingers are curled and relentless.

“p-please, yeonjun. i wanna- feel you.”

“and you will, angel, i promise,” he says, pressing one last kiss to your swollen, wet clit before going up to your face. “you’ve never done this before, right?”

he knows it and you know it but he still needs to ask. needs to know he’s gonna be the first person to take you and ruin you. 

“no,” you immediately respond, shaking your head as tears well up in your eyes. 

he responds by smiling, placing one last long kiss on your mouth before cupping your face gently.

“it might hurt, okay? i’ll go as slow as you need.”

you nod your head as you relax on your back, looking down to see him positioning himself between your legs. he swirls the tip of his dick around your wet clit and opening, watching as your dripping hole tries to suck him in.

“holy fuck,” he growls out, “you’re so wet, baby. it’s gonna feel so fucking good.”

you whine unintelligible words but he knows to just soothe you. bring his hand to your waist and rub slowly as he promises to be in you soon.

the stretch at first in painful and unfamiliar, your face pulled into a grimace despite the deep groan leaving him.

“oh, angel,” he growls lowly, his dark eyes meeting yours to see your face twisted in pain. “are you okay? does it hurt?”

“y-yes, but it’s okay. just... slow,” you say quietly, nodding your head reassuringly. 

he hovers over your face as he inches himself in further and further, your breaths shaky and body tense as the pain worsens. 

“i’m sorry, baby, you’re doing so good.”

you nod your head and he kisses away the tears, a sigh of relief leaving you when he stops moving. he’s still inside you for a few seconds, allowing your tight walls to adjust around him before he starts moving.

it takes a few thrusts for the burning pain to subside, replaced by a full, warm feeling that had you moaning quietly into the air. 

“does it feel good now, baby?” you hear yeonjun ask, his thrusts speeding up as his body lays over you. “do you like my cock in you?”

“y-yes,” you mumble out, throwing your legs around his waist. 

he growls lowly as he starts fucking into you, keeping his pace steady and just hard enough to make you lose your mind; because he doesn’t wanna hurt you but you also feel so good, he can’t help but chase after his orgasm.

“tell me you’re mine.”

“i-i’m yours, yeonjun,” you whimper out, his hand coming down to your clit making you cry out again. “i’m yours. yours, yours, yours,” you repeat dumbly, having no sense of control over yourself as an immense pleasure builds inside you. 

he thrusts into you hitting a certain spot that has a scream leaving your mouth, a sadistic smirk on his face.

“that’s right, angel. you’re mine. you’ve been mine ever since i saw you last year,” he growls lowly, remembering the first time he saw you and knew you were gonna somehow effect him like this. 

“i wanted to ruin you then, baby, because i knew you’d be mine.”

“yeonjun,” you whine, thrusting your hips into him at his words. remembering all the times he caught you staring at him. all the times you’d watch him and thought about how handsome he was.

how someone like him would never want someone like you. 

but he wants you and you want him and it’s still something you can’t quite believe. you know you’re both different but it seems to be something that works, him bringing you out of your comfort zone and you making him wanna be someone better.

“i’m gonna come, angel,” he grunts out, “i’m gonna fucking come. come with me.”

you feel the knot in your stomach unravel before you’re both moaning each other’s names, chests heaving and his breathing harsh as he holds himself lazily above you. 

he drops his head into the crook of your neck, attempting to catch his breath despite the feeling of your post orgasm spazzing around him.

the pounding takes a few seconds to subside, a final moan leaving him before he pulls out of you. 

he’s quick to collapse onto his back, hanging his arm off the bed lazily as he searches for his shirt. 

he cleans you up a few moments later, watching you with a small smile before he pulls you down onto him again.

“how was that?” he mumbles quietly, his eyes closed and head resting atop yours. 

“really good,” you mumble back, your own eyes closed as you attempt to catch your breath. you still feel a little sticky but it’s not something you mind in this moment, your post orgasm daze leaving you content. 

it could be the post orgasm daze making you say the next words that leave your mouth. on such a high of emotions and endorphins and utter contentment that the warm feeling in your chest if confused.

or maybe it’s the months of getting to know the boy beside you who had such a bad reputation. who you were terrified of at first and thought was mean an scary, thought for sure he was gonna find you weird and nerdy.

but you’ve never felt more wanted or desired by another person. no one’s ever looked at you the way he’s looked at you before or made you feel the way he’s made you feel. 

“i... i think i love you, yeonjun.”

love had always scared yeonjun and especially hearing a confession like that after sex - it had always been his worst nightmare and, truthfully, an embarrassing moment.

but he’s never felt as listened to and comforted by someone else ever in his life before. someone who, from the second he met them, trusted him and thought of him to be good and smart and capable. 

he didn’t know why and he didn’t know what he did for you to think of him that way but he knows he’s never gonna take it for granted. because from the second he saw you, he really did know you were gonna be his.

“i think i might love you, too, angel.”

[viharbinger]

happy 170!!!!!!! for the event, mayhaps some soul mate au with childe and diluc, + "being able to see colors when they meet their soul mate for the first time" as the prompt? thank you!!!!!

Seeing Colours

pairings: childe x reader x diluc

context: soulmates live in a black and white world right up until they meet each other.

a/n: so sorry this is late : (

170 follower soulmate event | genshin m.list

Will not leave any stone unturned to find you because, well, life in black and white isn't really convenient

He can't even fight properly sometimes because he can't tell whether or not certain abyss mages are hydro or pyro or any other element

Not only is it so inconvenient, it's just really really annoying! The man is a hydro user for archon's sake, you can't go fighting against something your own element!

He's taking a lot of jobs and missions from the Tsaritsa just so he can multitask searching for you and also get the Tsaritsa's favour at the same time

Because of all the jobs and missions he's taken, he's finally met you on an expedition! When he finally met you, he was so overjoyed and just wanted to do everything with you

Seeing colours is a whole new experience in itself, but now seeing it all with his soulmate! Oh he's in for it

Although seen as a public enemy to almost every country in teyvat, he still pulls off a giant smile while bringing you everywhere with him

You two would study which colour is which, what colour his or your hair, and just do everything together!

What im saying is, if you've got him as your soulmate, whatever problem you had before him is now insignificant because he's your biggest one yet! Way too clingy and romantic!

Pretends he doesn't care for a soulmate. Truth is, deep down everybody wants to know who their other half is, and so does the darknight hero!

He probably or most definitely liked to read books about soulmates in his childhood with his father and friends

He just doesn't have the time to look for you, though. So i like to imagine that Diluc just wants fate to play out itself. And eventually, you two had your fated meeting in the tavern

Of course, tending to customer's drink requests isn't always easy when the whole world is black and white in his vision to him too

Every dreaded day of black and white that goes by is another day closer to meeting you, is what he likes to remind himself

When you finally met Diluc, he just loves to study your looks, your face, your mannerisms, everything. Seeing colours for the first time and you being the only person around, all he could do is enjoy himself while looking at you

The next thing he would want to do is bring you by the winery and look at the beautiful cecilia garden he owns, the purple grapes and everything else

Oh he's so grateful to have met you, you can tell it by the soft smile on his face.

[emeren]

speed racer- eren jaeger

pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader 

word count: 6k

content warnings: nsfw, smut, 18+, smoking, degradation, overstimulation, breeding (w/o baby talk) 

notes: 100% inspired by the official art, like mmm yes please. also i know absolutely nothing about how car racing works, but that’s not important. this is unedited because my brain turned to mush writing it. enjoy!! <3

SUMMARY: eren’s a semi-professional car racer, who has a tumultuous friendship with the reader. after losing a race, eren sets out to win something else in his life, much to the reader’s surprise. 

“took you long enough!” sasha called out, holding her hand above her eyes in an attempt to block out the bright sun. you dished her a smile, weaving your way through the throngs of people in the stands, attempting not to step on anyone. your eyes briefly flitted to the track, the assistants distantly getting their cars ready. they were hardly visible from here; merely faceless figures idling around. you heaved out a sigh as you reached sasha, the brunette gingerly patting the spot next to her. 

“you couldn’t have gotten better seats, sash?” you asked as you sat down, pushing your sunglasses on top of your head. sasha waved her large bag of popcorn in front of your face, an exasperated expression on her features. 

“the line was long, and what’s a race without popcorn?” she grinned, offering you the bag. you rolled your eyes but took a fistful of the bright yellow snack nonetheless. “plus, if you really wanted that good of seats, you would’ve come early yourself.” 

“i did come here early,” you retorted, your voice muffled by the popcorn. sasha raised a questioning brow, her elbow nudging you in the side. 

“getting here early just so you can poke around the racer’s quarters is not the same thing,” she singsonged, a girlish smirk on her face. you scoffed, turning away from her as you felt heat race to your cheeks. “c’mon, everyone knows you and eren are totally into each other. i don’t understand why you guys don’t just go for it.” 

“i wasn’t poking around, and i am not into eren,” you said, shifting uncomfortably as the words left your mouth. it was true, to some degree. the two of you had been friends in high school, back when eren was just some skinny kid with anger issues. now he was a semi-professional racer, and the rivalry between the two of you was palpable, to say the least.

you’d been in the same friend group and for some reason eren just loved to pick on you whenever he got the chance. you suspected it had something to do with his repressed daddy issues or whatever, and he’d known mikasa and armin far too long to be so catty with them. initially they were just playful taunts, but as you got older, they started to become more personal. with age came your own unchecked need to banter and argue with him. 

somewhere along the way the arguments turned to sexual tension. a sexual tension that for the most part, the two of you were happy to ignore. it allowed room for a more sassy friendship, at least. 

“uh huh, suuure,” sasha responded, seemingly unconvinced. she must’ve sensed your discomfort, deciding to change the topic. “who’s who?” 

your eyes traced the track, analyzing each vehicle. “armin’s in yellow, mikasa’s in red, eren’s in white, and i believe levi is in green.” 

“levi’s racing? isn’t he getting a little old for that?” sasha laughed, squinting. you chuckled. 

“it’s just a small fundraiser race, plus he’s a crowd favorite over here,” you explained. sasha nodded as she processed the information. the sun was hot, beating down on your back. “i’m honestly surprised this many people came out.” 

sasha tossed more popcorn in her mouth, halfway done with the bag despite the race still not having started. she offered it to you again. “mhm, this is the same type of crowd that we’d see in the underground.” 

you thought back to your days of attending the illegal races, late at night and under the cover of darkness. though you were just a junior in college, it felt like those nights freshman year had been decades ago. that was before eren showed real promise in the professional circuit. it was also where levi scouted him out to be his successor. 

as if on cue, you could see the figures of the racers emerging from the port, each headed for their respective cars. you couldn’t help the way your gaze immediately followed the tall, brown haired racer adorned in his white racing jacket, checkers on the side. the crowd erupted into cheers at the sight of the all the racers, one from each color of the rainbow. eren walked with a certain confidence, his adamant determination being one of the only things that followed him from high school. 

though you couldn’t clearly see his face from where you sat, you knew he was smiling. eren had always loved the adrenaline rush before a race. 

“alright ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to the annual shiganshina fundraiser race!” the reporter boomed over the intercom. sasha squealed in her seat, excitedly gripping your arm and pointing towards your friends. you felt a mix of excited nervousness waft over you, giggling along with her. “today we’ve got racers from all over the circuit, and each one has volunteered their precious time for the cause. can we get a round of applause?” 

the crowd erupted in yet another ear deafening round of applause as the announcer read off the names of each of the racers. you and sasha made sure to scream your loudest when armin, mikasa, and eren’s names were read off. 

you hoped they knew it was you, your throat scratchy as you sat back down. there was no need to be loud for levi; the entire crowd went absolutely feral at the mention of his name. 

the announcer read off the conditions of the race, as well as the reasoning for the fundraiser itself. you and sasha chatted quietly about the after party while the racers put their helmets on and got in their cars. before too long, the announcer was gearing up for the start. 

“alright everyone, we’re about to start. get yourselves ready.” 

you and sasha stood, hollering and cheering for your friends as the cars all lined up. you knew you’d be happy if any of them crossed the finish line first, but it was undeniable that it would be eren. it wasn’t armin or mikasa’s passion like it was eren’s; they viewed it more as as fun hobby. nevertheless, you dreaded how smug eren would be once he added another win to his already growing list. he really was a bastard sometimes. 

“racers ready your cars. 3... 2... 1... go!” 

they were off, levi’s green car easily settling into first place, cruising past the other cars as he whipped around the first curve. you held your breath, eyes scanning the other cars placements. eren was in fourth, armin in fifth, and mikasa in second. sasha yelled sporadically, reaching out and squeezing your wrist tightly. 

as they rounded the circuit for the second time, eren passed the third place racer, coming up behind mikasa’s red car. you held your breath. “c’mon eren...” 

“shit! he passed her!” sasha screeched, jumping up and down. you smiled as he whipped the corner, nearly cutting the edge of the median. 

“levi is still so far ahead,” you commented, trying to pry sasha’s death grip from your wrist. your eyes glanced to the clock, realizing that the race was near its finish. levi was cutting the third corner and eren was quickly gaining on him. 

“looks like it’s gonna be clo-” sasha’s voice was cut off as a large man tripped over the bleacher behind you, effectively shoving you into her side. “shit, the popcorn!” 

you regained your balance, giving the man behind you a dirty glare as you turned to sasha. she frowned at the popcorn that’d been spilled all over the ground. “what a waste!” 

looking back up at the track, the crowd broke into screams of excitement. you expected to see eren’s face on the big screen to the side as confetti streamed through the air, but were surprised to see levi’s unimpressed stare. 

eren lost? 

“you’ve gotta be shitting me,” sasha gaped, her face slack in shock. you shrugged, shaking the feeling of disappointment from your shoulders. serves him right. 

people started to vacate the stands, shoving their way past you as you turned to sasha. “let’s go find connie and jean, sash.” 

she nodded, still frowning. the two of you climbed down the steps, going against the flow of the crowd as you weaseled your way down onto the spectators path. you could see all of the racers shaking hands, congratulating each other. your mind briefly considered whether or not eren was going to be upset, but you decided not to dwell on it. 

you watched as the racers disappeared into the tunnel, eren’s tall figure no longer in view. just then, connie and jean came walking out from the service booth, both wearing their maintenance coveralls. 

sasha wildly waved her arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the remaining stragglers towards your friends. 

“hey guys!” she smiled, the boys jogging to meet you halfway. 

“why were you guys in such shit seats?” connie asked, skipping over a greeting. you let out a small laugh at sasha’s expense. she merely shrugged, turning to jean. 

“we going to your place?” you questioned before she had the chance. jean nodded, adjusting the backwards baseball cap on his head. 

“yeah, just gotta wrap some things up, then we can head out,” he replied. you grew happy at the thought of kicking back with your friends, enjoying a nice night of fun. parties at jean and connie’s place were always the best. 

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

“some race that was,” connie groaned, leaning back and bringing the beer bottle to his lips. so far it was just you, sasha, connie, jean, and a bunch of random drunk people who’d come from the track. sasha scoffed from her spot on the worn, brown couch. 

“you could say that again,” she grumbled. “we didn’t even get to see levi cross the finish line ‘cause some guy rammed into us.” 

jean looked at you from where he leaned against the wall, a bottle in his hand and his eyebrows raised. “wait, for real?” 

“yeah,” you sighed, drinking whatever bitter liquid sasha had poured into your red solo cup. “didn’t even say sorry.” 

“how many times do i have to tell you guys, just come work maintenance with jean-boy and i,” connie suggested, wrapping his arm around sasha’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. she rolled her eyes and shoved him off. “you guys would get to watch the race from the track itself.” 

“i don’t know the first thing about cars,” sasha laughed, you nodding along with her. 

“and you think we do? i just said that so we could get the best seats in the house,” connie snorted, taking another swig of his drink. you chuckled at his idiocy, unfazed by yet another one of their stupid stunts. “where’re the big racers anyway?” 

“they should be here soon,” you responded, glancing out the window. jean was unironically blasting the fast and the furious soundtrack, something he’d done after every race for as long as you’d known him. by now the songs were ingrained in your brain. 

“who wants to bet jaeger is in a pissy mood?” jean snorted as he moved to sit down on the arm of the chair you were planted in. 

“when isn’t he?” you sneered. connie and sasha hummed in agreement. both you and jean loved nothing more than to push eren’s buttons. you knew jean’s motives stemmed from some boyish fun, whereas yours felt a little more personal. 

the sound of clapping began to compete with the music, your neck craning to look past jean into the hallway. eren, armin, and mikasa came into view, people cheering them on and patting them on the back. they each wore their racing jackets over their street clothes. 

you felt a familiar sensation burn in your stomach at the sight of eren. his dark hair was pulled back per usual, wispies framing his tan face. The white jacket stood out against his black t-shirt and black jeans; key necklace he always wore glinting against his chest. as your gaze travelled up from his body, you were startled to make contact with his teal eyes. you quickly glanced away in embarrassment. 

“well, well, well,” jean cheered, raising his bottle to the trio. “how’d it feel to lose to a short, old man, eh jaeger?”

eren scowled, obviously peeved. “if i had to lose to anyone, i’m glad it was levi.” 

connie snorted at that. “man, professional circuit has you soft.” 

“whatever you say, baldie,” eren smirked mischievously as he came to sit down on the couch. connie defensively rubbed his head. “at least i’m making money in prof.” 

“i still can’t believe you have people that actually want to sponsor you,” you snipped, a playful expression on your face. eren lazily looked towards you, the familiar irritation laced in his eyes. 

“i’m sorry, what was that? i wasn’t listening to you,” eren retorted, looking as unbothered as ever. you glared at his words, but caught armin’s disapproving eye and decided to stay quiet. 

as the night carried on, you watched your friends relax and reminisce about previous races and the days spent in the illegal ring. it seemed crazy that your life was so centered around car races, when you weren’t even a racer yourself. but you supposed you were just happy to be supporting your friends.

at some point you got up out of your chair to refill your cup. the large hoards of people had started to dance; the house feeling hot and humid as you shoved your way to the kitchen. luckily the room was empty, save for armin who was drinking water out of the kitchen tap. 

“thirsty?” you asked, amused. his head snapped up, surprised by your voice. it took one look to tell he was absolutely trashed, face red and eyes half lidded. he smiled goofily and nodded his head before stumbling back out into the crowd of people. 

you quickly filled your cup, following the direction armin had gone. as you stepped out of the kitchen, a body came out of nowhere and smacked into you. 

eren jumped back, trying to avoid the liquid that sloshed out of your cup. “hey, watch it!” he hissed. 

“you watch it, casanova,” you snapped, irritated by the sticky alcohol that dripped down your hand. eren’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, his arms defensively crossing his chest. 

“i told you not to call me that,” he bit back, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. you rolled your eyes, instinctively bringing your hand to your mouth in an attempt to lick the drink off. eren watched you, his gaze clouded with an indiscernible emotion. you knew what you were doing. 

“hm. too bad,” you quipped, dragging your tongue down the side of your hand, popping your pointer finger in your mouth. eren glowered at you as you let out a giggle. “see ya, loser.” 

“whatever, brat,” he huffed, shaking the tension from his pants as you sauntered off into the crowd. he hated the effect you had on him.

you’d already decided not to get shit faced. while the rest of your friends had chosen otherwise, you danced alongside them, your resolve wearing thin much faster than theirs. jean and sasha bounced happily up and down, screaming the lyrics to whatever song it was blasting from the speakers. connie and mikasa were playing beer pong, and you had no clue where armin and eren had gone.

you heaved in a breath as a sharp pain shot through your side, signaling the end of your dancing career for the night. your two dance partners were too far gone to notice, waving goodbye to you as you stepped out of the sweaty crowd. 

slipping your phone out of your pocket, your eyes nearly popped from your head at the time. two thirty?!

only slightly tipsy, you decided to find jean’s room and call it a night. he’d just have to sleep on the couch. with one hand dragging on the wall, you made your way through the house, past armin who was doing body shots with a couple of strangers, up the stairs and down the dark hall. it was quieter up here, but you could still hear the music and knew it’d be awhile till sleep visited you. 

shoving jean’s door open, you were surprised to see none other than eren laid back on the bed, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth. the strong scent of weed hit your nostrils, nose scrunching up in reflex. he propped himself up on one arm upon your entrance, eyeing you. 

“oh, sorry i’ll just- wait a minute,” you paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “you aren’t supposed to be smoking on your sponsorship.” 

eren let out a loud laugh at that, more smoke spilling from his lungs. “thanks, mom. i know.” 

you stood in the doorway, not really sure what to do. “jean’s gonna be mad if his room smells like weed tomorrow.” 

“yeah, why do you think i chose to do it in here?” he leered, bringing the blunt to his lips and deeply inhaling, sharp cheekbones protruding with the action. you sucked in a breath, not wanting to acknowledge just how gorgeous he was. his jacket was off, black shirt tightly gripping his muscular yet slender arms as he propped himself up. he blew the smoke from his nostrils this time, making your face heat. “wanna hit?”  

you sighed, weighing the options. jean’s bed was a lot more comfortable than connie’s. you could just wait till eren was done, and then pass out. “no, but i’ll wait with you till you’re done.” 

“suit yourself, brat,” eren hummed, flopping back down on the bed as you shut the door behind yourself. you came to sit by him, looking down as he heaved in a sober breath. he really is beautiful, you thought. 

your eyes scanned his face. “you really shouldn’t be smoking, you know. you could lose the sponsorship.” 

eren rolled his teal eyes, giving you a side glance. “i’m aware. i’m also aware that you aren’t going to rat on me.” 

“and what makes you so sure?” you asked playfully, your voice low. eren’s gaze shifted to you, placing the blunt between his lips as he sat up, face inches from yours. 

“because. you can act like you hate me all you want,” smoke blew from his lips as he spoke, slowly inching his face closer to yours. you swallowed, eyes struggling to maintain contact with his dark stare. “but i know how badly you want me.” 

you blinked, heart rate accelerating as he glanced at your lips. “speaking from experience?” 

eren’s mouth quirked up in a smirk at your words. “something like that.”

you watched with desire as he brought the bud of the blunt up to his lips, deeply inhaling the toxic smoke. he lifted his free hand, pointer finger gently tracing your jaw as his thumb came up to caress your chin. he tapped softly against your face, as if asking you to open your mouth. 

you weren’t sure what part of you was wanting to submit to his every move. maybe it was the alcohol. or maybe it was the accumulation of sexual tension. something told you it was a deeper itch that needed to be scratched. an itch only eren could reach. 

you parted your lips, eyes fluttering as eren leaned forward and carefully brushed his own against yours, dumping his lungful of smoke into your mouth. you breathed it in, fighting the urge to cough and whine as he pulled away. 

“good girl,” he breathed, leaning away to snuff the bud out on jean’s bedside table. you heaved out as much as you could, shocked by your own willingness. you were mainly surprised by how much you enjoyed whatever that was. 

you stared at him expectantly as he turned back to you, a serious expression on his face. “eren.” 

“yes?” he asked, leaning heavily on his arm, eyes unashamedly focused on your lips. his other hand came up again, lightly ghosting your jawline. you could feel yourself growing wet between your legs; the way eren was fucking you with his eyes sending an unwelcomed throb to your clit. 

acting on impulse, you lurched forward, latching your lips onto eren’s slightly chapped ones. he wasted no time in kissing you back; hungrily pressing himself closer to your body. his lips were warm and tasted like weed and coca cola, his tongue wiggling its way into your mouth where you happily welcomed it. 

you brought your hand up, wanting to run your fingers through his hair, but were stopped when they got caught in the bun. eren grunted, kissing you harder and bringing his own hand up to yank the tie from his locks, letting his soft hair fall to his shoulders. 

your fingers were quick to glide through the brown strands, scratching his scalp in the process. some throaty sound emitted from his chest, the noise making your cunt ache in need. how is he so hot? 

eren’s hands came to your waist, roughly shoving you down onto the bed, so that he hovered above you. your lips continued to meld together, saliva coated mouths wetly intertwined. you removed your hand from his hair, bringing both hands to run down the expanse of his arms that were on either side of your head. you squeezed his biceps, surprised when he suddenly pulled away. 

“is this okay?” he panted, breaths labored. his pupils were dilated, all seriousness behind his gaze. you nodded your head without hesitation, practically begging him to continue. “words.”

“yes, yes. i want this just as much as you do,” you responded. eren smirked from above you, his dark hair swirling around his face as his key dangled in front of your chin. 

“good, because,” he leaned down to your ear, lightly nibbling the lobe as the cold key rested against your throat. “i’m going to punish you for all these years of torture.” 

your eyes widened, the words sending a desirable chill down your spine. “torture?” 

eren’s hot mouth travelled slowly from your ear down the side of your neck, lightly peppering the skin with lustful kisses. his tongue came out as he reached your collarbone, dragging the wet muscle up the front of your throat, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. a small whimper involuntarily left your mouth as he pulled back, grabbing your chin in his large hand.  

“all of the nicknames,” he pressed a kiss to your lips. “the quips,” and another, your chest tightening. “the stunt you pulled earlier with your hand. oh god. it’s like you were practically begging me to bend you over and teach you a lesson.” 

he pulled back, dark eyes boring into yours. the desire was palpable, your breathing shallow as he stared at you. it was like he was waiting for some silent agreement. 

you held eye contact, tilting your chin back ever so slightly in his grip. “good thing i learn fast.” 

your words flew straight to his cock, throbbing uncomfortably behind his jeans. eren let go of your chin, his lips hungrily reconnecting with yours as his hands pinned your wrists to either side of your head. his tongue was quick to invite itself into your mouth, warm and erotic. 

you wanted to tug on his hair again; wanted to hear his primal groans and feel him vibrate against your mouth, but you were pinned to the bed. desperate to hear eren moan, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, the action making him yank his head back. 

“tsk tsk, none of that,” he growled, wet lips glinting in the low light of the room. “this is your punishment. guess we’re going to have to do something else.” 

you frowned as he let go of your wrists, lifting himself from the bed and standing. you propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes laced with desire as eren swiftly pulled the black shirt over his head, key pendant resting on his newly exposed chest. he was dangerously attractive like this; dark hair disheveled on his shoulders, only adding to the feral stare he was giving you. 

he leaned forward, grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the end of the bed, legs dangling from the side. you watched in awe as he dropped to his knees, fingers coming up to toy with the button of your jean shorts. 

“these little shorts make your ass look so good,” he grumbled, tapping the button. “be good and take them off for me.” 

you wasted no time in lifting your ass off the bed, struggling to yank the denim down your legs without hitting eren in the face. he watched your every movement, licking his lips as you wiggled them off. 

without thinking, your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to reveal a black bra. eren’s pupils dilated further at the unexpected sight of your breasts. 

he helped pull the shorts from your ankles, tossing them aside as you sat back down, just in your panties and bra. you paused for a moment, unsure of what he was planning to do. 

“watch me,” he demanded, staring at you through his brows. you nodded your head, breath hitching as he placed an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, tongue swiping against the smooth skin. 

his eyelashes fluttered as he licked up your leg; just the way he looked at you being enough to have you creaming in your lace panties. your teeth tugged at your bottom lip, the burning in your face mirroring the way your clit throbbed along with your heart beat. 

eren’s tongue trailed until he reached the edge of your underwear, eyes never failing to stay connected with yours. you swallowed as he lifted his head, placing his tongue flatly against your clothed clit. 

it was a warm, muted feeling, your body all too aware of the beautiful man between your legs. eren brought his fingers up, hooking under the fabric and pushing it to the side. 

“so wet for me already,” he hummed, a smile on his face. you blushed in embarrassment, the feeling of his breath on your glistening pool of moisture making you shiver. “’m gonna eat you so good, little bitch.” 

you gasped as eren rapidly brought his face down, burying his head between your legs. the sensation was like no other; a swirling feeling in your stomach as his tongue hungrily swiped against your clit. your hands flew down to his hair, tugging as his lips wrapped around the bud, suckling softly. 

a moan escaped your lips, the sound causing eren to groan out in reply. the vibration of his vocal cords against your center amplifying the pleasure. 

a distinct feeling began to burn in your chest, the sloppiness of eren’s tongue licking up your slick causing your legs to squirm, tightening around his head. “fuck.”

eren pulled back at the pressure against his skull, a smack sounding through the air as he released his suction on your wet cunt. 

“i told you to be good,” he hissed, lips coated in your sheen. you knew the image of eren’s face between your legs, hair disheveled and mouth swollen, eyes dark and lustrous, would be burned into the back of your brain. 

flustered, you nodded your head, spreading your legs so they weren’t pressing against his face. he nodded in content, arms coming up to wrap around your thighs to keep you steady. 

and he was back; eating your pussy like he hadn’t been fed in years, a primal desperation. he pressed his tongue down harder, the cry ripping from your throat at the sensation only egging him on. you struggled against his grip as he abused your clit with his mouth, sucking and tracing his teeth over it so good. 

his tongue slid down to your entrance, shoving itself in without invitation. the fullness wasn’t like having sex; it was a heated, swirling feeling. the wet muscle circled around your spongey walls, your face beginning to burn and hands growing clammy in eren’s hair. 

you threw your head back as his ministrations sped up, your hips attempting to grind into his face. the warmth in the pit of your stomach building like a loaded gun, ready to release itself. 

all it took was the added pressure of his hand wrapping around your thigh so that his thumb could press against your clit, feverishly rubbing. you came crashing down, your eyes screwing shut as the wave of dopamine stretched to every part of your body, legs jerking against his hold. 

eren pulled his head back again, a smile on his wet face as he licked your release from his lips. “tasted so good, so good for me.” 

you breathed out in reply as he came back up above you, gently taking your chin and bringing his mouth down to yours. 

the kiss was small and simple, your eye lids growing heavy. you could taste your bitter release on him, the unfamiliar flavor not completely unpleasant. 

“sleepy?” eren mumbled against your lips, coming back to look at you. you nodded your head, eyes catching on the key that dangled from his neck. “too bad. we aren’t done with your punishment yet.” 

you frowned, your body suddenly more awake than it was before. “huh?” you asked, sitting up as eren shifted to pull his jeans off. 

you weren’t sure what you expected when he yanked both his jeans and boxers down; you guessed you’d always thought his anger issues were compensation for something. the realization dawned on you that eren had nothing to compensate for as his cock sprung from his pants, the sheer size making your mouth water. 

a smirk crossed his face as he stepped from his jeans. “enjoying the view?” 

“what? no,” you scoffed, averting your gaze. eren crawled back over you, his bare length pressing into your stomach as his hands came up to unclasp your bra. 

“don’t be shy, this is your punishment after all,” he whispered, pulling the cups from your chest. his eyes unashamedly scanned your breasts, a smile tugging his lips as he gave them a generous squeeze. 

you tried to ignore the imprint of him on your stomach; but it was nearly impossible. you could feel the spot between your legs grow wet again, arousal already weaseling its way back into your system.

eren brought his lips to yours once again, the kisses much sloppier and desperate than before. he grunted as you shifted to lay back down, his exposed dick rubbing against your stomach. “can’t wait to be inside of you,” he mumbled against your lips. 

you whimpered at his words, his lips melding with your own while he simultaneously tugged your panties down your legs. he propped himself up with one arm, the other positioning the tip of his cock at the entrance of your already throbbing cunt. 

you took a deep breath as he slowly eased himself into you; the sheer stretch making your eyes lull back in your head. eren moved his hips slowly at first, loosening you up. he was watching your expressions; his eyelids heavy and mouth slightly agape. 

“shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, hips starting to move faster as he gazed down at you. you swallowed, closing your eyes as he sent one particularly hard thrust, cock nearly ramming your cervix. “you good?” 

“mhm,” you responded, bringing your hands up to grab his hair. “just so big.” 

eren let out a breathy chuckle at that, eyes traveling down to your pelvis where his dick was visibly creating a bump with every thrust. he placed his hand on your stomach, pressing down as he bucked his hips violently forwards. he was so deep. 

you cried out at the feeling of his length sliding in and out of your cunt, your walls clenching around him as your hands clawed at his muscular back. 

he was filling you up so good, a moan leaving his lips as your enhanced arousal unexpectedly brought your second orgasm down, tears pricking your eyes. eren kept abusing your pussy, his thrusts growing senseless before he buried himself deep within you, releasing his load inside of your exhausted center. 

both of your breathing was labored, eren looking up at the ceiling. his face was flushed as he recovered, you laying limply beneath him trying to regain your composure yourself. 

“that felt so good,” you admitted, bringing your hand up from his back to caress his angular face. eren frowned at your words, large hand grabbing your wrist and removing it from his jawline. 

“m’not tired yet,” he said seriously, your eyes widening as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips. your fucked out face beneath him had his dick already hardening again. “m’not gonna be tired till i win.” 

he suddenly pulled up, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing your legs up by your head. the action strained your muscles, the feeling of eren’s cum dripping down your ass filling your head as he readied himself to fuck you senseless. 

he stared at your cunt; at the way his cum was oozing out of it, the abused pussy ready to take him in again. he used his fingers to catch the drip, forcing it back inside of you. the thought of filling you up all nice and pretty sent him over the edge, his hand shamelessly guiding his cock back inside of you.

eren was meaner this time; each thrust was deep and deliberate, hitting your cervix and making you cry out in pleasure. the burning sensation in your clit was overwhelming, your mouth hanging open as eren slowly fucked you stupid. 

“good, pretty girl” eren breathed out, ramming his hips into yours. “took her punishment like such a good girl.” 

you tried to nod your head, but you couldn’t move. the feeling of hot, sticky tears rolled down your face, eren’s cock deep within you almost too much to bear. he grabbed your chin, tongue swiping up your cheek as he savored the salty flavor on his tastebuds. this man and his licking. 

“tell me, did you learn your lesson?” eren grunted in your ear, hand still gripping your chin. you tried to form a sentence, fucked beyond words. “hm, use your words and i’ll let you cum.” 

one more deep thrust and his dick stopped its strokes, pausing within you. “yes... yes.” 

“yes what?” 

your tongue was heavy in your mouth, pussy all too aware of eren’s length within it. “i learned my lesson, you won.” 

he smirked, aggressively bucking his hips into your weak cunt, the action making you cry out as he rammed your cervix. the tears continued to roll down your cheeks as eren’s dick twitched, spurting the his seed into you. your third release followed his, your clit spasming from the overstimulation. 

eren heaved himself out of you, collapsing deftly onto the bed. the two of you sat in a heated silence, your face sticky from the tears. eren glanced to you, eyes trailing down your body. 

“i’ll get a rag,” he mumbled, shoving off the bed and walking into jean’s bathroom. you were beyond exhausted and knew that you’d be sore tomorrow. eren reemerged, quickly cleaning you up and handing you your shirt. 

your eyes lazily watched him as he walked over and locked the door; brain too tired to form a sentence. 

he must’ve noticed your concern. “we can sleep in here tonight; i don’t think you’re in any shape to move.” 

you carefully crawled into the sheets, not even bothering to put your shirt back on. eren followed suit, climbing in behind you. 

“night,” he whispered as he shut the bedside light off. your lids were growing heavy, a smile on your lips as you began to fall asleep. 

“night, casanova.” 

<3 <3 <3 

[unholyplumpprincess]

Eternal Honeymoon Phase

For @itsthesinbin bc we were yelling about Morticia and Gomez and it’s spooky season so the Addams Family works perfectly. I HOPE U LIKE IT!!!!

Summary: You’re the newest addition to the Addams Family couple and you’re a little shier when it comes to their sexual appetites. You’re, well, a virgin, and when you finally ask to do more, Morticia has a better idea on how and when to take your virginity. Under the moon of Halloween, you shall be their sacrifice.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU LIKE! Minors and ageless blogs DNI or you will be blocked.

Fandom: Addams Family

Relationship: Morticia/Gomez/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Reader is gn and has a vulva, also reader wears a dress but it’s a costume for an angel costume!, implications of virginity kinks for Gomez and Morticia, uhhhh ya get eaten out and ur face fucked, overstimulation.

Words: 3.3k

_______________

Morticia and Gomez had never been against adding a third to their little ‘eternal honey moon’ romance.

It’s just that no one had ever quite...fit into their world of them as a couple. They could come off a little strong, a little, ah, overbearing and well. Downright indulging in intimacy like rabbits tended to not be something people enjoyed, much to Gomez’s and Morticia’s surprise. Whatever did people mean that they lost a ‘spark’? They just didn’t see it.

They had met you at a family gathering. You’re a friend to one of the many, many, many family members there, exuding such a sweet and kind energy amongst all the dread and vulgarity. You’d seemed a little overwhelmed among everyone else yet still was just as polite with everyone. Your state of dress had been borrowed, Morticia had noticed, from cousin Lilith. The dress you had on spilled off your shoulders and you kept adjusting it with a little shy bow of your head and flashing a small smile.

Poor thing.

~Rest under the cut~

You’d caught Morticia’s eye first, who had hummed her interest as Gomez dipped her upon the dancefloor. Her head had been tipped back, showing the long, pale expanse of her neck that he ached to kiss as her hair spilled behind her. But, he’d seen her eyes lingering on you, trailing up and over to you from where she was looking and a grin spreading across his face. “Cara mia?” He questions in a teasing tone, kissing over her shoulder and up to her neck before pulling her to a standing position. “The one Lilith brought has your attention?”

“Yes...Don’t you think they look rather sweet standing there?” Morticia hums in reply once she returns to his embrace, swaying their bodies together and making sure to twist so they both could glance over at you. You’re talking to another cousin, tucking hair behind your ear and smiling kindly at something someone else says. A laugh graces your features, and even Gomez is humming now.

“Out of place,” He agrees, taking her hand and letting her spin from his grasp only to bring her back in time with the waltz, resting his head upon her breast with a sigh from his lips. “You have always been fond of the smaller ones, haven’t you, Tish?” A playful tease that earns him that charming little laugh from his wife’s lips.

That night they had both approached you, each offering a dance. Morticia quite liked the way your cheeks warmed a healthy shade of pink and you’d been honest about how your dress kept falling. To which Gomez, ever the gentleman had offered his assistance there. Brandishing a pin from seemingly nowhere and getting behind you to help pin the dress closed better. You’d smiled so bright then, thanking him with a hearty laugh. “I thought I was going to pop out of it any second now! Thank you- Would you both like to dance? I’m sure we can come up with something together!”  

And how odd you had been. Breaking traditions of just two in an intimate dance. Showing them how Gomez could hold your waist from behind and you could hold Morticia’s from the front and all sway together. Over your shoulders you hadn’t seen the way the two looked at you. A bright spray of sunshine in their gloomy, dark worlds.

They quite liked their rainy days full of thunder and harsh winds, and at first, they thought that wouldn’t be your speed.

You’re invited privately to come into their home for dinner. You’re such a vibrant ray of sunshine in the otherwise dark room, lighting it up with the glow of your presence. There are quiet tests here and there as they get to know you. Such as inviting you on terribly stormy days only for you to excuse yourself with the children to go out and play. Only to come back in soaking wet and smiling just as bright as Gomez wraps you in a towel with a laugh as you exclaim how beautiful their home always is.

And how much you loved that it was always storming or cloudy.

Another time, Mama offers you something and exclaims it to be a sort of poison. Morticia had watched as you smiled, only questioning if it at least tasted good before you’d put it into your mouth. It had been laced, of course, Mama was always good at such things. Thankfully it only made you terribly drowsy. Such a sweet thing you had been with your head in Morticia’s lap that day. Gomez having helped you out of your shoes and let you lay your legs across his lap, stroking over your calf. You’d smiled so lazily up at them, your voice happy as could be. “It did taste good. She wasn’t lying on both accounts, huh?”

Nothing frightened you. Nothing turned you away. Somehow you took doom and gloom and made it into something bright and beautiful without modifying what it looked like. Even the children took kindly to your presence. The house just came to life with you inside it, everyone seemed more active. Even Gomez had taken to leaning over the railing with wistful sighs as he watched you, and Morticia knew it was up to her to do something about it.

You’d been asked to accompany them both to dinner privately. Neither Gomez or Morticia had been into the dating scene- as is they married practically a month after they had met and proposed the day of meeting. Yet, you seemed a little old fashioned to just be proposed to in such short notice. Much to Gomez’s dismay who already had a ring picked out for you and had pouted when Morticia gently closed the box to tell him as such.  

You’d agreed joyously to dinner, and not long after had your relationship begun. Gomez had been the one to ask if you would be moving in with them, both of them delighting in the flush on your face and stuttering out about how you weren’t particularly attached to your apartment. He’d insisted with a big smile, and you’d agreed. The children were just as excited, even if Wednesday had showed her own happiness in her own little way of offering to hide weapons in your room ‘just in case’.

Prompting you to ask, of course, “Just in case? What, an attacker?”

“No,” Wednesday had spoken as if it was the most obvious answer on Earth. “Just in case I want to test your reflexes.”

Morticia and Gomez had the delight of watching you spare a grin to her, pretending to pout and telling her. “Aw, man, that’s too bad because maybe I waaaant tooo test,” Only to quickly scoop her up, resulting in their daughter letting out a shriek of terror and joy. “YOUR reflexes!”

The look they had shared was full of love, Gomez’s smile lighting up the room and Morticia having to resist the urge to steal your moment and whisk you away to the bedroom.

To present day, you three have been a couple for nearly half a year. Your first kisses with both of them had been shared, as well as some more intense heavy petting. Normally resulting in you in between them with scarlet red lipstick marks curling up your neck and bite marks on the other side. No one went further than just making you a blushing mess, always one of them murmuring to you that you just need say the word and they would ravish you.

A week before Halloween you shyly tell them that you’re ready to go further.

Morticia has to rest a hand on Gomez’s leg to keep him still when he sits up eagerly in their bed like a dog hearing the word ’treat’, but Morticia only cups your cheek fondly. Smoothing her thumb over the apple of your cheek and drawing you into an oh-so-soft kiss. “In a week, my dear, we shall have a ritual on Halloween night. You are a virgin, correct?”  

Her bluntness had made your face burn, a huff going from your nose but you’d nodded. Gomez had hummed next to her, reaching over to replace her hand with his own rougher one and letting you lean into his palm with a pout. “Now, now, none of that, sweetheart! We’ll have plenty of time to plan for you and get questions out of the way. Like condoms! Shall we need condoms? Tish- we don’t have condoms, do we?”  

“No, my love, we have never desired them before.” Morticia had responded with a sly smile on her lips, sharing a look with you. It seemed you would burn up before they even got to play, but you’d shaken your head, your voice seemingly caught in your throat.

“Good,” Morticia near about purred. “We shall inquire further- would you like to join us in bed tonight to make preparations?”

You had joined them that night. Talking of consent and what you thought you might want to try or be comfortable with. Ending up curled up in Gomez’s arms with your face buried in his warm, hairy chest and Morticia’s freezing cold arms around you from behind. Embraced and safe within their bodies.

--

When Halloween approaches, the children are so excited to drag you and Fester outside to come up with games. Pugsley had dressed as a pirate fit with an eyepatch and a sword in hand, whilst Wednesday had merely taken dressing brightly for once. When questioned, she’d merely said in a stoic tone of voice, “A majority of the animal kingdom has brightly colored flesh in order to identify who is poisonous.” You’d thought it was rather clever.

Yourself, you had dressed as a cliché angel. With a white dress that reached the floor with a slit up each leg for more freedom. The top was a plunge neck with criss crossing strings over your chest, and flaring sleeves down to your fingertips. You’d even gotten a little halo headband and little wings to match. Though your halo was quickly given to Fester who had quite the fascination with it, smiling as you told him you two matched.

Perhaps you had dressed as an angel as a tease. Morticia had admitted that she was quite attracted to the fact that you hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, spoken exactly like that. And Gomez had agreed, not as bluntly but definitely implying that it was very much a ‘thing’ for them both. And maybe you were trying to get a little payback for in the middle of the week. When you had been so comfortable resting with them only to find yourself teased with hot and heavy kisses from Gomez and little nips on your neck from Morticia as they both told you how good of a sacrifice you were going to make on Halloween night.

When you’d arrived, you’d certainly felt their hungry stares. You’d call this righteous payback, thank you very much.

The entire day goes rather well, you’d thought. The children had a day full of fun and were being put to bed by Lurch, slung over both his shoulders as they both wave to you before vanishing around the corner of upstairs. Immediately you feel arms wrap around your waist from behind, a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder and Gomez’s voice sighing out. “As much as I appreciate the time you spend with the children, I am glad it is our turn now.”  

“And what if I’m too tired, hm?” You tease out, only to fall into giggles from your lips when his arms squeeze tighter around your waist and a low growl comes from his throat. You hear the click of heels approaching before Morticia is in front of you, her long fingers tipping your chin up with two fingers. You can practically hear both yours and Gomez’s breaths leave your body at her beauty. She always looked so regal, especially tonight in a more spider web designed dress that had a slit up the leg.

“If you are too tired, we shall simply put off until next Halloween. I am patient.” She speaks coolly, a quirk to a corner of her mouth when you whine aloud and lean back into Gomez’s arms who makes the same sound as you. Clearly the most patient one in the room was Morticia, but even then, her eyes are flicking down the front of your low plunge dress and you have a feeling that wouldn’t last long.

After a few teasing ‘double checks’ from the both of them, you are brought to a room that you don’t recognize. It’s wide open with windows covering one side, and in the center of the room is soft looking cushions and blankets. In a star formation on either side of the center where the comfortable spot looked were lit up candles, all black with roaring red flames. You should have realized Morticia wasn’t joking when she said sacrifice, but in your heart, you knew nothing bad was going to happen. Nothing you didn’t want would happen.

Gomez is the one who strips you from behind, warm kisses placed on everywhere he exposes behind you. Trailing kisses down your back until he can’t reach whilst standing anymore and letting your dress pool to the floor. Morticia watches, patient as ever with her hands folded at her waist, though her head does tilt, this hungry gaze in her eyes as they fall to your hips. You weren’t wearing underwear, you thought it would give your dress undesirable lines. You flush when you hear the appreciative sound behind you, a firm hand tracing down your side and squeezing your ass.

“You were just as eager to get here as we were all day.” Gomez growls in your ear, both his hands grabbing your hips now and yanking you back against him. You whimper faintly, tipping your head to the side when guided to feel the searing hot kisses up your neck. You’re already dizzy with arousal, faintly hearing Morticia say something only to be released and guided to the cushions instead by her hands.

You’re lain on your back, watching Gomez strip from his suit jacket and loosening his tie to work on the buttons. Morticia slips out of her dress, revealing a black lacy get up with matching bra and panties, a garter belt holding spider web thigh highs on her long legs. You swallow thickly when she crawls up to you, nudging your legs apart that tremble as they fall open. Cold kisses leave scarlet prints up your inner thigh beginning at your knee, her lips coming up and over your hip to your lower abdomen and kissing her way back down, down, down.

Her fingers part your lower lips and you throw your head back in embarrassment when she smiles up at you under her lashes. “Already so wet, little one? How sweet.” You can’t even help the way your hips jump when her cold mouth presses an open-mouthed kiss over the hood of your clit, her tongue pressing downwards against you before sealing her lips lightly over you.

A low whine leaves your throat, your fingers quickly twisting into the sheets beneath you as your hips start to hump against her mouth without thinking. You feel a pressure by your head before your eyes flutter open halfway, looking up at Gomez who pushes your hair out of your face adoringly. “Open your mouth, sweetheart, stick out your tongue for me.” Murmured gently from his lips, and you do as told, a shudder racing through your body when Morticia’s tongue dips lower.

His cock is in his hand, thick enough to the point not even his fingers touch when holding it. It looked shorter, maybe at about five inches with the foreskin pulled back with a tug of his hand across his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight of the flushed head, fluttering your eyes closed when he glides the head of it across your tongue. “Ah, there you go, darling, just get used to the taste for now.” Spoken lowly in his throat, as if he’s holding back from just grabbing you and slipping into your throat.

You get to experiment with little laps of your tongue after a moment, keeping your lips parted to allow him to slide the shaft over your lips so you could get used to the weight. A moan spills from you when you feel Morticia’s tongue back on your clit, applying pleasant pressure and moaning against you in turn. You whimper sharply, your hand reaching down to try and find her. She takes the hint, her fingers lacing with yours at your hip to hold your hand there.

It isn’t long before Gomez is pressing the head at your lips, talking you through it ever so softly. “Breathe through your nose, relax your jaw- there you go, that’s my sweet pet.” Crooning as he presses carefully into your mouth. It stretches your jaw, your head tipped backwards and your breath stuttered. He only dips halfway, his hand coming down to rest on your jaw, helping you keep tilted and supported.  

By the time he finally slips all the way into your mouth, his balls against your nose and your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head, you’re cumming. You squeeze tight to Morticia’s hand, automatically swallowing around the weight in your mouth with moans blossoming from your chest. Your body trembles, hips stuttering up against her mouth where she licks you through each wave and even afterwards. Until your tremors are too much and you’re making soft whimpers around Gomez’s cock and trying to shake your head, but his hand holds you still.

“Mmh. That was one. Just four more.” Morticia practically croons, pressing a kiss to your engorged clit that’s surely circled by a ring of lipstick right now. Your hips jerk upwards, moving your free hand up to Gomez’s thigh and clinging to him when his hips start to move lightly.

Four?! Four more?! You try to sob out, but only the tail end of it gets out when Gomez pulls his hips back until the head rests heavy on your lips. You try to speak, but Morticia’s nails tracing up your thighs as she sits up catches your attention more. “My love, the toys?”

“Behind you in the bag, dearest.” He hums out fondly, the hand gripping your jaw smoothing his thumb over your wet lips until your lips part again, taking his cock once more with a low growl in his voice. “I think you were made to be a toy for us, little one. How well you take me.”  

You can’t help your own whimper when he slides all the way back into your mouth. Your eyes fluttering just as you feel Morticia return with the light pressure between your legs. She lifts one of your thighs, angling you better for the rounded head of a smaller toy that you assume is a dildo, already wet with lubrication. “I would ask Gomez to prepare you as my nails are too long,” Morticia explains, her hand lying flat on the mound of your sex, her thumb circling your clit to not overstimulate you just yet. “But, it seems he is preoccupied at the moment. I cannot say I am not jealous.”

“In d-due time, my dear,” He huffs out, his hips speeding up slightly when you prove you can take the smaller thrusts. Your toes curl, feeling the toy slowly slide into you with a delicious, slight stretch to it. It isn’t long before Morticia’s moving it in sync with Gomez’s hips, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and feeling just like the toy Gomez claimed you were.

You know by the end of the night you’ll end up well taken care of and tired out. But for now, you’re happy to be caught in between them, drooling around Gomez’s cock and feeling Morticia’s cold tongue lapping at your slick.

You think Heaven is a lot darker and gloomier than thought to be.

[honeytae]

No cream, no sugar.

hey bubs! i’m back with some ultra fluff :) honestly i don’t even know what this is, but i just really want a nice little coffee date with min yoongi....and that’s all. soft and shy college!yoon makes the reader swoon over him (obviously) and they just have a nice little first meeting here. i hope you all enjoy! tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy genre: fluff (college! au) word count: 2.2k

The warm air of the cafe embraced you when you stepped inside, bell chiming over your head as your shoulders loosened at the familiar scent of frosted pastries and hot coffee. Scanning the empty tables, you breathed a sigh of relief, knowing you’d be able to get your work done in peace without any loud acquaintances bugging you. 

You’d already tried the library, and that had been enough of a disaster for the few minutes you stayed. 

Quickly shuffling over to the counter, you readjusted the strap of your bag, guiding it back up your sore shoulder as you quickly rambled off your coffee order. 

Ugh, these books are heavy. 

You graciously smiled once the barista set your cup down on the counter, thanking her with a nod before making your way to a vacant table across the room. 

You weren’t one to typically do your schoolwork anywhere but the desk placed beside your bed. However, with the way your roommates had been bickering lately, you hadn’t been able to get a thing done there. And since the library was always full of guys obnoxiously trying to pounce on every living breathing female, that wasn’t exactly an option either. 

Pulling out your textbook, you set it on the table with a huff, dread filling you at the dizzying words and numbers on the page. Taking a breath, you rolled your shoulders back in an attempt to calm yourself before tugging your notebook out of your bag and heading a title for your notes. 

You were four pages in before you heard the bell chime to indicate another customer entering, a slight feeling of disappointment filling you at the thought of anybody coming in to disturb the peace you’d built before the feeling seemed to vanish at once, instead replaced with a slight giddiness at the man who’d just stepped into the building. 

Min Yoongi.

You knew of him, but not much. You knew that he stayed away from parties, he lived off-campus and seemed to just stick to his own thing. 

Most importantly, you knew there was no need to worry about him since he was so quiet himself. In fact, he seemed to dodge any kind of unnecessary social interaction, so he’d probably be taking off with his coffee in a matter of minutes. 

Logistically, that’s all you knew about him. But you also knew he was super cute, and you had a definite budding crush on him. 

Deep brown eyes peeked out from underneath his beanie, dark hair swept over his forehead occasionally shifting to cover his irises, to which his nimble fingers almost immediately brushed the strands aside. 

The apples of his cheeks moved along with his mouth as he mumbled an order you couldn’t quite hear, causing you to lean a bit further onto your elbow in order to hopefully hear the next thing he said.

He had pale skin, a stark contrast to the dark hair color he was sporting, but his cheeks were a soft glow of pink, lips pouted slightly as he patiently waited for the barista to make his coffee. 

You knew it was rude to stare, but christ, you swore he was the prettiest human you’d ever seen. He had effortlessly put you in a trance.

Seeming to sense your eyes on him, the man turned to you, briefly catching your eyes before you diverted them back to your work on the table. 

Way to go, idiot.

You swore you could feel your heart beating out of your chest with the knowledge that you’d been caught red handed, cheeks burning as you clutched onto your pencil.

Scribbling down a few random loops, you tried your hardest to act occupied, only halting your actions when you heard footsteps approaching your table. 

Peeking to the side, you confirmed that there were a pair of roughed-up sneakers beside the legs of your table, eyes trailing up the torn pair of jeans and oversized hoodie adorning the figure to meet his dreamy chocolate orbs.

“Hi,” Yoongi smiled, holding up a little white pastry bag, “I saw you eyeing the display case so I just, picked up a few things since you look kind of busy.” He said shyly, offering it out to you with a slanted grin. 

Your eyes quickly shifted to the display case behind him, realizing that when you were staring at him, you could in fact pass it off as looking at the display case. Whether he genuinely thought that or not, you had no idea. 

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled back, hand brushing his for a moment as he transferred the bag to you. His fingers were warm, touch electrifying, causing your chest to erupt in butterflies as you now clutched the bag. 

His other hand held a lidded coffee cup, steam rising from the small mouth hole at the top. 

Peeking into the bag, you noticed multiple pastries stacked inside, grinning at the variety he had chosen. 

“Uh, Yoongi,” you spoke up, watching his eyebrows raise in surprise. Did he not know you knew his name? Did he even know your name?

“Do you want some? I mean, I can’t eat all this myself so,” You found yourself stumbling for an explanation, immediately relaxing when he easily nodded with a smile of his own. 

“Sure. I skipped breakfast anyway, so,” he shrugged, you nodding in encouragement as he lowered himself down into the chair across the high top table from you. 

Pushing your notebook aside, you opened the bag of pastries, spreading them out atop the paper material with a raise of your brows. 

“These look really fucking good.” You said without thinking, covering your mouth with a muffled noise as you realized you’d sworn. 

Yoongi, to your surprise, broke out into a full-on grin, shoulders shaking in a quiet chuckle as he switched his gaze to the pastries you’d laid out. 

“They do.” He agreed, smile fading as he slid back into his cool demeanor. 

You were instantly captivated by the man, the way his face melted into a smile, the way the apples of his cheeks pushed up and made his eyes wrinkle slightly, the sparkle in his orbs. 

Clearing your throat, you drew his attention again, properly introducing yourself with a murmur of your name. You nearly passed out in your chair as the man chuckled again, eyes glittering at you as he nodded in response. 

“I know you.” He smiled, taking you by surprise as your shoulders eased slightly. It was nice to know he wasn’t laughing at you, at least not in a mean way. 

“We had some classes together last semester, right?” He asked, raising his eyebrows for you to confirm as he held a glazed danish in his left hand. 

“Yeah, that’s right.” You nodded, surprised he remembered as you watched him munch on the treat. 

You watched as his eyes pointed out the window, studying his beautiful side profile as his cheek filled adorably with the danish in his hand. 

His eyelashes fanned out in front of him, blinking every few moments as his orbs flitted over the street outside. The slope of his nose was perfect, a round end meeting his pout that seemed to lift a bit at whatever he was looking at outside. 

Realizing you were being completely rude with all your staring, you shifted your attention to the notes on the edge of the table, scanning them with only the sound of clinking of dishes from the kitchen in the background. 

The man didn’t seem to be one for conversation, which was not entirely a shock to you. The silence was surprisingly comfortable though, which was a shock to you. Both of you nonchalantly munched on pastries, your gaze fixated on your work as you tried to take in all the information you’d read up on over the past hour. 

“You taking Stats this year?”

His soft voice interrupted the silence, causing you to glance up to see his own eyes pointed at your notebook, squinting at the figures to make them out from his upside-down angle.

“Yeah,” you nodded, then sighed, “sadly.”

Yoongi’s lips quirked a bit at that, smile lasting a bit longer than the last one as he leaned over further to check out your notes. The action caused a wave of his cologne to hit your nostrils, a sweet herbal smell mixed with the cotton scent of his detergent. 

It fit the man so well, his shy yet soft demeanor being as comforting as the spray he’d put on his neck this morning. 

“God, I remember that.” He seemed to say to himself before leaning back in his chair, hands holding his coffee secure on the tabletop. 

“It’s horrible. Not that Doctor O. is any help.” You mumbled, face lighting up slightly at the sound of Yoongi’s chuckle again. 

“Yeah, he sucks.” He agreed, taking a sip of his coffee as he seemed to internally debate his next words. 

“If you ever, uh,” He stumbled, frowning before he tried again, “if you ever need any help, I’ve taken that course before, so,” He offered with a shrug of his shoulders, so casually shy about the extension for help that you nearly pouted at the endearing man. 

“Thank you.” You smiled, the man nodding politely as he watched you tap the eraser end of your pencil against the table, your actions pausing as you realized he was tuned into it.

“Sorry.” You chuckled, the man shaking his head to dismiss your apology with a small grin. 

Reaching for your iced latte, you sipped the cold liquid from the straw, frowning slightly at the cup when you realized it was nearly gone.

“You’re fine.” His teeth shone at you, eyes filled with something mirroring endearment as they traced over your features. You felt flustered under his gaze, diverting your eyes to the coffee cup in his hand and gesturing to it. 

“What’d you get?” You asked, the man’s own eyes shifting to the cup before he raised it in front of his face. 

“Just coffee.” He responded, causing you to tip your head at him in confusion. 

“No cream, no sugar.” He elaborated, causing your face to twist in disgust, Yoongi’s face lighting up at your reaction. 

“What’s that for?” He raised his eyebrows in amusement, another smile greeting you as you chuckled in response, raising your eyebrows back at him. 

“I think I’d rather take ten more years of Doctor O’s class than drink a single sip of plain black coffee.” You grimaced, Yoongi’s laugh causing your face to crinkle into another smile as you bit into one of the doughnuts he’d brought for you. 

The conversation flowed with ease after that. 

You discussed all the biggest campus scandals, rolled your eyes about all the same teachers, laughed about the one time Yoongi had gone to a party and ended up having to carry his two abliterated best friends home. 

“That scene isn’t really for me.” He followed the story up with, making you nod in understanding as you waited for him to talk more. 

You talked about your hobbies, finding out that you actually did have a lot in common. You both wrote in your free time, loved sleep, and were just trying to make it. 

You were both broke college students, working multiple jobs to keep up with the cost of your educations. He picked up any hours he could get at a bookstore just down the road, which made you feel warm and fuzzy while imagining him in that position. 

It was another thing that fit perfectly, the vision of him in a calm and quiet bookstore surrounded by endless shelves of novels. 

He liked to read, he said, but he didn’t have much free time nowadays to read anything other than his textbooks. You sighed in agreement then, feeling a reprieve from trying to act as if you weren’t buried shoulders high in work to get your degree. 

You felt a peculiar sense of comfort with Yoongi despite this being your first conversation, his voice gentle and thoughts genuinely intriguing as you’d not heard him speak much before today. 

Suddenly, the man seemed to remember something as he moved to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket, squinting at the screen under the table. 

“Oh shit, I have to go. 5 o’clock lecture.” He muttered as he looked at the time on his phone, tone sounding slightly disappointed as he shoved the device back in his pocket. 

You watched as he took your pencil between his fingers, clutching it to scribble a small set of numbers at the top of your notes. 

“If you ever need help, or, just want to talk shit about Doctor O.” He explained with another shrug, placing the pencil down in its previous spot on your notebook as you smiled in response.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You said, the man picking his almost empty coffee cup off the table with a slanted smile, your eyes remaining on him as he stood from his seat.

“I look forward to our next coffee shop shit-talking.” You leaned on the heels of your palms to look up at him, the man humming with a small grin. 

“Me too. Same time next week?” He smirked, erupting into a smile when you agreed. 

“See you then.” 

Hiding your smile behind your hand, you watched as he waddled cutely toward the exit, pushing his shoulder against the door and sending a final smile and wave your way as he exited the cafe. 

Perhaps you had some fond feelings for Min Yoongi.

[simplysimpingsimp]

hello, how are you ? plz zenitsu and tanjiro with a kind and shy, very beautiful russian s/o who has long soft light blond hair(almost like platinum), a very pale skin and purple eyes, she's a human but with the blood of a royal founding demon(she's working with them), thank you ! 🛐

Hi hi anon!! Aww thank you for asking, I’m doing okay! I hope you are as well :D First of all I’m super sorry for taking a while to get to your request TT Ahh what a interesting request !! I like it :D as always, I’m super sorry for any mistakes — especially this one, my smooth brain couldn’t exactly interpret if you meant working with the demon slayer corps or the demon TT so please let me know through another ask/dm if I got it wrong and if you’d like me to rewrite it !! I will gladly do so <3 I wrote this one as her working with the demon slayers so please let me know if you meant the latter TT

🌼—————————————————————🌼

🌼 𝟸/𝟹 𝙺𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚔𝚘 𝚂𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚁𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚂/𝙾

🌼 𝙺𝙽𝚈 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

🌼 𝙵𝚝. 𝚃𝚊𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚛𝚘, 𝚉𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚞

🌼 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: 𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛

🌼 𝚃𝚆/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

🌼—————————————————————🌼

🌿—————————————————————🌿

𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒋𝒊𝒓𝒐

definitely fell in love with pretty light amethyst like eye color she had

He would frequently find himself getting lost in them, and the warmth of her gaze was enough to make his blush

Tanjiro would often play with her long hair, complimenting its beauty and how it looked magical as it looked almost white in sunlight

Y/n would love whenever he’d try to braid her hair and when he tried practicing any type of hairstyle though she did dread the knots

Don’t worry Tanjiro would work really hard untangling every little knot while profusely apologizing

Tanjiro would definitely be surprised to hear of their connection to a Royal founding demon though he didn’t understand how she was human and lacked any traces of demon blood in her scent

“Mm…my family got its wealth off the blood of the innocent,” her voice quiet and soft, “So now…I must repent and atone for their killing by sacrificing my life slaying demons…”

Tanjiro would pat her head with a gentle smile on his lips, the warmth of his smile speaking for him

He would constantly hug her when he could and would definitely be fascinated by her soft Russian accent

He frequently complimented her voice and just casually asking her to say certain things just to hear how she speaks

Tanjiro would love to kiss her forehead frequently as he always enjoyed when she would do it to him too TT

🌿—————————————————————🌿

🌻—————————————————————🌻

𝒁𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒖

would just be a blushing and stuttering mess around her

She would giggle quietly at his antics which would make him fangirl and scream out of pure bliss

Mans would definitely think she was some sort of goddess from the lightness of her hair and how regal her air was

Would probably nickname her ‘princess’ or something simp-y

Zenitsu would make them flower crowns when he could calling them a beautiful ethereal goddess

He would also always style and play with her hair when he could — I feel like he would sniff her hair both intentionally and unintentionally,, man’s really just loved the floral scent TT

He would probably cry finding out they have the blood and association of a demon mostly out of initial fear

Would probably forget and go back to his scheduled routine of being in love with her

Zenitsu was a definite fan of her softly accented voice, there was nothing like hearing the way she would say his name

He would have a whole fangirl moment doing literal flips hearing her say his name “WAAAAAAH N/N SAID MY NAAAAME”

He would also ask her to say the randomest things just to hear how she would pronounce them

He would constantly cling to her or hold her hand, Zenitsu trusted her entirely with his life

ᴇɴᴅ

🌻—————————————————————🌻

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛɪɴɢ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ

ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!! ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇɴᴅ ɪɴ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs/

ᴀsᴋs/ɪᴅᴇᴀs/ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs/ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs/ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ!! sᴇᴇ

ʏᴀʟʟ sᴏᴏɴ <3

ᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs: 19

[calif0rnia-lovers]

sweet as pie.

a/n: please join me in welcoming sam wilson to the page. first story dedicated to this classic man, surely not the last.

pairing: sam wilson x black!reader

rating: 💙

main masterlist | taglist | divider © @whimsicalrogers

sum: sam is home. although times have changed, his sister’s intentions for him have not. sarah would love for her brother to settle down, and she knows the perfect person to make him do it. but when sam gets caught up with work, he misses the date sarah has set up for him.

words: 2.3K

It’s funny how the human mind works.

How easily certain moments can slip through its cracks. Names, dates, songs, conversations, faces lost to the wind, never to be remembered again. In the same turn, how those same things can be retained, recited down to the last detail in perfection.

Sam Wilson has seen enough in his lifetime--more than most men. No one could condemn him for forgetting the smallest of details from time to time. Sometimes he does. He is human. But, strangely, he can never forget a single detail when it comes to you.

Sam can still remember the first time he saw you.

The coffee-colored, cardboard box you carried in your arms--'living room' written across the front panel in your mother’s flawless penmanship. The dark curls pineappled to rest atop the crown of your head--a last-ditch attempt of fighting the Louisiana heat. The oversized Purple Rain t-shirt faded from too many runs through the wash. The round, black sunglasses sliding down the brim of your nose as you paused to take note of the boy watching you from his front window. Down to the scuffed, worn high tops that could barely pass for white.

He even remembers the soft smile you gave him once he froze--too embarrassed to move from the window after being caught watching you for the third time--before turning to lug the box up the steps of your front porch.

It was the summer of ‘94, and Sam Wilson was running late. He was expected to be at the docks assisting his father. Instead, he was peeping around his mother’s powder blue curtains, attempting to score glimpses of his new neighbors. Primarily their teenage daughter.

It’s not every day that Delacroix welcomes a new resident--let alone an entire family. Later that night, over dinner, his mother shared that you were entering your senior year--same as him.

He still remembers the knotting of his stomach. The strange and unusual experience of being tongue-tied when he’d tripped over his name--his name for god’s sake--that morning, you opened your front door to find him and Sarah on the other side. The kindness of your dark brown eyes as they met his, the soft giggle you released as you ignored his sputtering to accept the chocolate chip cookies his mother sent her children to deliver.

He also remembers the vision of you in your wedding dress. The smile he had to keep plastered on his face the night he learned his skepticism, surrounding death by broken heart, faded. You’ve never felt pain until you’ve seen the woman you love marry another man.

Sam must admit. When he returned, he expected--hoped--that those feelings would have disappeared. That they would have been erased from his life. Only, the moment he returned home, Sam discovered those feelings remained--were stronger even.

Five years later, he found you in the same house. Your parents no lived there. After their return from the blip, they packed up their things. Suddenly, tackling their bucket list was their main priority. You still had your husband’s last name but no husband. He was gone, lost to a younger woman.

Five years later, and Sam Wilson finds himself still frozen by the sight of you.

The long-sleeved maroon shirt he’s tugged on is not his number one choice. It’s all he had in his bag. The time on his watch had forced him into an ultimatum. Either run home, shower, and change into the outfit Sarah helped him pick out and risk being five hours late. Or head straight to your house, and risk being four hours and forty-five minutes late.

Sam opted for the latter.

Flowers in hand, he stands in the gateway of your backyard. His eyes admire the glow of the string lights against your skin. The yard has been transformed. Several tables and chairs, enough to host the entire neighborhood, squeezed into its space. Filled with music and laughter a few hours before the backyard is now quiet. Only the sounds of crickets, and the rustle of the trash bag in your hand, can be heard over the racing of Sam’s heart.

“Hey.” Sam takes a step forward, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Late is an understatement.” You don’t bother looking up from the plates stacked in your hands. Dumping them into the black trash bag, you move towards the next table. “You missed the entire party.”

After dumping the trash, you realize that Sam is no longer in the backyard. You find him in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, coming to a stop in the doorway.

Sam glances up from the soap-covered glass in his hands. “Helping you clean up.”

You glance around the kitchen, only to find that he’s managed to wash nearly the entire stack of dishes you’ve been dreading the entire night.

“I didn’t realize you still did stuff like this,” you tease. “What with you running off to save the world. Figured you’d just hire someone to do it for you.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I got you to keep me humble,” he winks.

Sam dries his hands with the bumblebee printed hand towel, a satisfied grin on his lips as he takes in the spotless kitchen. He’s too busy admiring his handiwork to realize you’re standing alongside him.

He turns, the snarky comment he’s prepared lost in his throat as he takes you in.

You can’t deny him a smile as you watch his eyes widen, a boyish grin brightening his face as he takes in the plate you’re holding. On it rests a single slice of homemade apple pie, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and perfectly drizzled caramel.

“I think you’ve earned this.”

“You saved me a piece?”

“No,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll. “I actually saved it for me. But if I have to look at your pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes one more second--”

“You were hoping I’d show up.” The grin on Sam’s face has morphed into a trademark smirk, the sight pulling a giggle from your lips. “You and I both know you don’t save, or share your pie with just anyone.”

Sam’s observation is spot on.

You don’t share your pie--or food, for that matter--with just anyone. In the chaos of hosting the neighborhood, you didn’t have a moment to stop and enjoy your own party. Let alone a slice of the apple pies you’d spent the previous night preparing.

Apple pies--specifically yours--were Sam Wilson’s true weakness.

The moment he sees you lugging home a bag full of granny smith and macintosh apples, he’s on full helicopter mode. You’re not sure how he knows, but he’s got a radar. One that somehow allows him to prophesize the exact moment the pies are out of the oven and set aside to cool.

He’ll show up, stopping by to say hi, or to see if you still need the drainpipe your ex-husband never got around to working on fixed, or to “pass along a message” from Sarah--as though your best friend couldn’t pick up the phone and call. Whatever the excuse Sam Wilson always manages to be the one to get the first slice of your apple pie. He’s smart enough to know that once the children of the neighborhood catch a whiff, they’ll show up on your doorstep. And as much as he loves the kids--Sam isn’t letting them steal his pie.

Sam’s words come out muffled through a mouthful of apples and crust. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Y/N. You should sell these. You'd make a killing.”

“And I’ve already told you, it’s just for fun,” you dismiss his advice, taking another spoonful of ice cream. “Besides, what do you expect me to do? Quit my good paying--although painstakingly boring--job in the hopes that enough people will like my baking to keep me afloat?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sam nods, a smile growing as he watches your eyes roll.

It’s a conversation the two of you have had for years. Here is the rundown of how it plays out--every single time.

Sam: suggests that you finally open up the bakery you’ve been talking about since your teenage years.

You: dismiss his words of advice, reminding Sam that most teenage dreams are foolish.

Sam: ends the conversation with, “I’d show up every day for a piece.”

You: spend the rest of the night wondering if he’s right, about taking the chance, only to psych yourself out before going to bed.

“I’m just saying,” Sam sighs, sliding the plate to the side. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned. Life is going to pass you by, regardless, no matter what you do. If you give it a shot, and it fails--which is never going to happen--your life isn’t going to end.”

You glance up from the table, a tiny smile on your lips as you take in his soft smile.

“Maybe you’re right,” you shrug. “If all else fails, I’ll just tell everyone it’s the Falcon’s favorite pie--”

“You’ll have people flooding in from across the country.”

“It’s settled,” you giggle. “I’m using you in my business model.”

“Hey,” Sam chuckles. “As long as I get a cut, I’m not complaining.”

A silence falls over the tiny kitchen as your gaze drops from his.

Sam lightly raps his knuckles against the table before pushing his chair back.

“Uh—I should probably head out. You’re probably tired. I just wanted to come by and apologize...again.”

“Wow,” the light laugh you release halts Sam’s act of standing up. “The second you get what you came for you hit the ground running?”

The response is automatic. The chance to tease him is one you never pass up.

Sam’s brow raises as he takes in your smile.

“That’s not what I came for,” he admits.

“What did you come for then?”

“To ask you over to my place for breakfast tomorrow.”

The proposition hangs in the air, Sam nearly squirming in his seat as you take your time studying his gaze. You let out a sigh, your shoulders shrugging lightly, once you finally speak.

“I don’t know, Sam” You shake your head. Picking up the plate, you stand and cross the kitchen to the sink. “You just have so many responsibilities, nowadays, running around trying to save the world--”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he’s quick with the reassurance. “Or any day, until we get through that date you promised me.”

You turn to face him, arms crossing over your chest as he comes to a stop before you.

“Say I show up. You have to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want.”

He knows that promise can end up being a slippery slope, depending on how hard you’re willing to make him work for it.

“If something comes up, in the future, you call me. And you tell me exactly why you can’t be here. Nobody gets to stand me up. Not the Falcon. And sure as hell, not Sam Wilson. Understood?”

Sam’s eyes drop to your interlaced fingers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Standing on your toes, you place a kiss against his cheek. “Now, go get some sleep. You’re making me breakfast in the morning. I’m expecting waffles, bacon, freshly squeezed O.J.--the works.”

if at any point you would like to be removed from the taglist, just message me

sam wilson tags: @missroro @fangirl-swagg

main tags: @crowngold @cant-decide-at-this-moment @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @leahnicole1219 @starrynite7114 @awkwardtayler @toni9 @queenbeered @kaystacks17 @thesandbeneathmytoes @richonne4life @cocotheclown @oscars-wifeyyy @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @myakai13 @linziland13 @sadeyesgf @brattyfics @sincerelykas @ladyofsoa @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @rosieposie0624 @appropriate-writers-name @demonquartz @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @beiroviski @chaneajoyyy @frostingguru @seize-the-droid @cutiebubbleboo @siempremamita @awkwardtayler @relaxing-najee @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies

[7-wonders]

Hardships Unnumbered

Summary: The quest to save Julia begins, but not everything is as it seems in this mystical land.

Word Count: 1969

A/N: Hi friends! This is the second chapter of my Labyrinth King!Michael AU fic, "It's Only Forever." I'll link the first chapter down below. I hope that you enjoy and, as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

(also there's a couple of little easter eggs/one big one and I'm really excited to see who figures them out)

Chapter One

Though you put your hands out in front of you to brace yourself, it doesn’t help you to discern which way is up and which way is down until you finally stop rolling. With a groan, you shove yourself up to your feet. Your palms are scraped and slightly bleeding, your jeans are torn at the knees, and leaves and twigs now adorn your hair. All in all, this is not the way you had hoped to start this mission to get Julia back.

Now that you’re already at the bottom of the hill, it’s easier to decide how to start this jaunt through the Labyrinth. After all, you certainly can’t go back up, and the solid ground beneath your feet only leads one way. The shining spires of Michael's castle at the center of the maze, closer than you had thought, rise high above you and act as a compass. All factors considered, you can definitely run this in a couple of hours. Then, once you’re both safely out of here, your first order of business is to call the cops.

Your confidence begins to fade the longer that you walk along with the wall separating you from the inside of the maze. There’s no door, or arch, or opening anywhere to be seen. Turning around, you look back to see if you’ve missed the entrance. Instead of finding one, movement catches your eye. A man, tall and willowy, cries out victoriously at something trapped under his foot. He seems to be your best bet, and you decide to approach him.

“Excuse me?” you say.

The man startles, obviously not expecting to see anybody here. “Oh!” he cries in surprise, looking at you as if you’re the first person to ever cross his path. His hair is bleached to look almost white, and he has a pair of oddly-shaped sunglasses with purple lenses covering his eyes. The checkered jumpsuit, complete with ruffles on the shoulders, both does and doesn’t go with the sunglasses. You’re not quite sure why the people that live here dress so funny, but it’s making you feel underdressed.

“Which way do I go to get into the Labyrinth?”

“Now, why would I tell you that?”

“Because you must have come from there,��� you pause, looking down at the man’s foot when you hear a squeaking, “oh! Is that a fairy?”

“Mhm.” Your childlike wonder is abruptly swept out from under you when he kicks the small, blue creature into the forest.

“Why did you do that? That wasn’t very nice!”

“Go ahead and pick one up,” the man says, “you’ll see how nice they are when you’re missing a finger.” As if to prove his point, a fairy flies up to you and hisses in your face, showing off two rows of razor sharp teeth. “What is it that you wanted, again?”

You huff. “To know which way to go to get into the Labyrinth.”

“Did you try asking it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” You roll your eyes in disbelief before mocking him. “‘Labyrinth, please let me in!’ Is that what I should say?”

He doesn’t have to respond, for a sudden rumbling has you turning around. To your shock, there’s suddenly an open space in the wall that hadn’t been there just a second ago.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m Gallant.” You want to tell him that you weren’t guessing his name, you don’t even want to know his name, but he continues. “Who are you?”

“(Y/N).”

“Ah, that’s right.” So this is one of Michael’s ‘subjects?’ After all, if your dreams have been right (and you’re still half-convinced this is just the elaborate scheme of some unhinged weirdo and not magic, despite what you just saw), then that means that Michael is also the ruler of the Underworld. With that logic, Gallant must be some sort of a demon. If that’s the case, you certainly don’t want anything to do with him.

“Well,” you say awkwardly, “I’m going to go now. Running on limited time, and all that.”

“You’re just going to go in there? Alone?”

“Yep.”

“But--but the Labyrinth leads to the Labyrinth King!”

“That’s kind of the whole reason why I’m here.”

“You’re going to get hurt in there.” Gallant gasps. “You could even die in there!”

You set your shoulders, walking to the hole in the wall and glancing back. “I won’t, but thanks for the concern.”

“Wait!” Even if you did want to listen to what he had to say, you couldn’t, for the wall closes back up on itself the moment you step through it. Mildly jarred though you may be, there’s not much you can do to change this, so you turn around and try to figure out whether to go right or left. Both directions look exactly the same, so with the flip of a mental coin, you go right.

After both walking and jogging for what must have been over a mile, you’re no closer to any sort of landmark that would tell you where you are or how close you are to the castle. There haven’t even been any corners to turn past, just one long, unending aisle. You’re starting to feel a little claustrophobic as you finally come to a stop, needing to take a break for a minute. Sinking down against the wall into a sitting position, you find yourself looking back and forth down the path. Both directions look exactly the same, for as far as you can see. You groan dejectedly and put your head in your hands, allowing yourself a moment of pity before getting up and trying again.

“Hey there!”

You jump at the sudden Southern-sounding voice. “Who’s there?”

“Me, of course!”

Looking around, you see a small door just to your left, and a small woman, probably less than a foot tall, standing next to you. Her curly blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail, showing off her pointy ears. “And you’re...talking to me?”

“There’s nobody else around, is there?” The woman glances inside the open door. “‘Cept the missus, of course.”

Another woman, also blonde, pokes her head outside and smiles up at you. “Hello!”

“Why don’t ya come inside for a while? ‘Delia makes a killer gumbo.”

“Uh...no thanks. I’m just taking a break for a moment before I find a way to the castle.”

The woman’s face turns severe, and she holds her shawl tighter around herself. “You must be awfully brave if you’re so determined to go up there.”

Brave? You wouldn’t call yourself brave. Stupid, maybe, for bowing to the whims of the guy who’s kidnapped your charge, but not brave.

“But anyways, just go through the wall across from us and you’ll be on your way.”

You look in front of you to see the solid wall. “Through there?”

She nods.

Logic is telling you that this is obviously false, but, considering the same thing happened with Gallant, it can’t hurt to try. Standing up, you cautiously put your hand up to the wall, expecting to meet, well, a wall. Instead, you almost fall through a doorway that leads to another passage in the Labyrinth. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You will be if you keep going.”

You choose to ignore this, at this point knowing that everybody who lives here is terrified of their ruler. “Thanks for the help.”

The elf stares at your back as you walk through the new corridor, figure becoming smaller and smaller. “If she would have stuck around, I would have been able to get her on the right track back home, not towards that horrible man.”

From inside the house, a timer beeps. “Misty, supper’s ready!”

///

In the stone chamber of the King of the Underworld’s throne room, a three year old girl is currently winning a staring contest against a demon. Michael watches as the demon’s eyes begin to water (with blood, of course), before he eventually gives in and blinks. The little girl cheers before looking at Michael.

“My daddy’s gonna kick your butt, you know. He saved mama from aliens once.”

“Silence, child,” Michael commands, but he can’t help the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It’s difficult to hide his amusement when this child is the most lively thing to grace his castle since...well, he can’t quite remember since when.

Being surrounded by demons of all shapes and sizes, with a variety of horns or extra eyes or tails, gets old after a while. Demons, quite frankly, are a bore. All they want to do is scare people and cause mayhem, yet continue to use the same methods that have been in place for thousands of years. If Michael’s being honest with himself, everything’s a bore to him here. In the early years, this job had been quite fun. Lots of naive humans to terrify and endless souls to torture.

Michael himself had been prone to naivety, then. It was easy to deal with the buffoons that called themselves demons when it seemed that, soon enough, he would find somebody to share this burden with him. After all, it was the guy upstairs who believed that emotions were for the humans. Michael, however, found it to be one of the most carnal pleasures. To love, and to be loved, seemed like the greatest sin. As the years passed, and the whole routine of ruling the Underworld became stale, Michael began to embrace the feelings of dejection, while simultaneously dreading the thought of an eternity alone.

That’s why, no matter the outcome of tonight, Michael would at least have something to add a little color to his black-and-white world. At the very least, the child would provide much-needed entertainment in the Underworld. She seems quite creative, which could potentially lend itself to some new and innovative torture methods. But, that would almost be a non-starter, considering the whole reason that she’s here, the whole reason Michael implemented this plan in the first place, is to get to you.

You, who managed to somehow win over demons disguised as beggars that loitered outside of the bookstore you worked for. You, who was constantly coming up with your own ideas for stories, creating and erasing entire worlds within your mind (a power far more powerful than any regular magic, Michael believes). You, who had somehow managed to vex and enchant him, without ever having spoken a word to him. He had seen you on one of his visits up Above, talking to a beggar demon as if they were your equal, offering food and shelter to their grotesque form. From then on, he knew that he had to have you, and from that, a plan was born. The Labyrinth, which he had subtly placed in every single one of your dreams for months now, was impossible to run through. You would inevitably lose. And when that happens, he’s prepared to accept your frantic offer where you exchange yourself for the child. He is, after all, a benevolent ruler.

“Mr. Michael?” Julia questions, breaking Michael out of his pondering.

Michael hums, deciding that he won’t lecture her on the importance of referring to rulers by their titles. “Yes, little one?”

“Do you have juice here? ‘M thirsty.”

“Abaddon!” Michael calls, the demon appearing in a puff of smoke. “Get our guest some refreshments.”

The demon turns to do Michael’s bidding, shocked when Julia grabs their clawed hand and skips along with them. “I really like your spiky horns,” she says.

Michael looks up at the clock on the wall, noting that only nine hours remain for you to reach the center of the Labyrinth and rescue the child. Perfect. He’s not one to get too cocky (yes he is), but these are odds he’s willing to take.

//

Tag List (send me a message if you want to be on this!): @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @blakescoven @xavierplympton @michaellangdon @trelaney @ajokeformur-ray @babyloutattoo89 @bloodcoatedeclipse @threeminutesoflife @annikathebananana @wth-trippy @thatonehumanbeing05 @dumybitch

[random-of-random]

The Secret

Chapter 2 - Just One Day

Authors Note: Thanks for reading and favoriting, and for commenting. You guys are great!

Y/N Y/L/N and Percival Graves had met four years earlier, in 1921. She was new to MACUSA and he was already a top Auror. It was a tradition in the department that new employees learn from close observation of people who had been there longer. Y/N had been assigned to shadow Percival and she was given several words of condolence from her new co-workers.

“Don't let him push you out of here.” Arnold had warned her as he gave her a cheeky grin. He was being shadowed by Lovell. From the little she had gathered Percival Graves was a good guy, however he was also shrewd and some described him as single-minded.

When she went to his office and knocked on the door, she could feel her nerves building. His office was smaller then, and this one he shared with Arnold.

"Come in." His voice called and she hesitantly opened the door. Two desks were crammed into the tiny space, filing cabinets seemed to overflow. There were files covering the desks and piled on the floor. It was easy to see that it was a time-consuming job. Behind the desk to her right sat Percival. He didn't even glance up at her, at first, and he continued writing on a piece of parchment, the quill scratching on the paper reminded her of school.

"Mr. Graves?"

"Yes. You must be Miss. Y/L/N." She moved toward him slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"Graduated from Ilvermorny?" His hair was slicked back and black. She couldn't see the color of his eyes.

"Yes sir."

"One of the top students in your year." He still hadn't looked at her.

"Yes sir."

"What house?"

"Horned Serpent, sir."

"Did you always want to work in magical law enforcement, Miss. Y/L/N?"

"Frankly sir, no." That seemed to get his attention. The quill stopped and he turned to slowly look up at her. His eyes were a chestnut brown and seemed to be looking through her.

"What did you want to be?"

"A stage actress." She admitted and it garnered a small smile.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, why are you here?" It wasn't a rude question, nor intense. Just inquisitive.

"If I was going to be on the stage then I would want to be somewhere big. Considering the Rappapport Law, I wouldn't be able to achieve that properly. So, I turned to the next best thing."

"From being an actress to catching criminals?"

"Yes, sir."

"And they sent you to me." He stood and placed the paper he was working on in an already full filing cabinet. "I suppose you've heard the stories." She could have lied, kissed a little ass, but that wasn't her style.

"Yes, sir, I have."

"And? How am I living up to them so far?" When he turned to look at her again she couldn't help but catch the smile he was trying to hide. Percival was handsome and she had a feeling he could be very charming if the mood struck him.

"A little lacking, sir." He chuckled.

"Welcome to the department, Miss Y/L/N. Now, if you wouldn't mind, we had a big bust if illegal imports yesterday and most of that needs sorted."

"Fine. Not a problem." She said putting on a smile. As soon as she left his office, she knew she was in trouble. Girls talked about plenty of other men in MACUSA, but Percival Graves was something special.

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

Y/N shadowed him continuously. Yeah, he was tough. Yes, he could be distant and cold. However, he was the best Auror she had ever seen. He was quick with a wand, his spells were powerful, and he had even mastered a few spells without the use of a wand. Every morning she would arrive at the Woolworth building by 7 AM. Every night she wouldn't leave until 8 PM. He stayed the same hours.

People constantly asked her when she was at lunch, "don't you hate this?" Her answer was always the same.

"Of course not! Are you crazy?" And she wasn't lying. She wasn't being insincere. Working as hard as she was had already improved her skills. There was so much Y/N thought she knew that was now being challenged. In her mind, she was working for the best.

The hardest part was Percival himself. She was enjoying being around him entirely too much. The way his eyes followed her suddenly didn't feel uncomfortable. It was welcome. The way he was studying her, she almost dared him to figure out her secrets.

Within three months she had stopped eating with the rest of her co-workers and started eating in Percival's office. Sometimes they would go over files, talk about the goings on in the magical and non-maj governments, and on rare occasions they would talk about personal things.

The personal conversations became more frequent over her year of shadowing him. He talked about the long line of Aurors in his family, and how he felt obligated to follow in their footsteps. However, it turned out that it was a field he was good in and enjoyed. He asked her about her family and seemed to want to know anything she was willing to share. She found out when he attended Ilvermorny he was in the Wampus house. Three had turned for him, the other two being Horned Serpent and Thunderbirds, but he went with the house based with warriors. It suited him.

"When I was in school Wampus beat Horned Serpent every time they played." He joked with her one day.

"That is not true." She said with an accusatory tone, though her eyes were alight. It was almost closing time, but they were still sitting in his office - the same place they had been talking for the last hour.

"It is." He insisted.

"If I waste my time going back through the records to prove you wrong..." he laughed then and the sound was beautiful. The door opened quickly and all signs of the levity were gone in that instant. Arnold walked in carrying yet another file.

"What's that?" Y/N asked.

"Dark wizard from Germany has landed in the US. He's a bad one. Already responsible for seven deaths. We have to catch him." Percival was on his feet in a second.

"Where?" He asked pulling on his coat.

"He was spotted in Central Park." Arnold answered.

"Let me come." Y/N suggested.

"No." Percival answered quickly.

"Why not?" She asked and he seemed to ignore her. "You were the one who said I was doing really well."

"I did say that." He admitted as he walked out of his office. Y/N was in tow.

"Then I should be able to go and prove myself."

Percival let out a tense sigh. “Y/N..."

"Come on, Percival. You know I can do this."

"No!" His shout made her take a step back in shock. The department was suddenly quiet as they all looked on at their head Auror. Granted, most of them were surprised this was the first time they heard him yelling at her. He took a few steps closer to her and lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Not this one. Just, trust me on this?" She merely nodded before she watched him walk toward the elevators. Turning on her heel she headed straight back to his office and shut the door after her. She was so mad it was hard to think of anything else. So, she did what she had been wanting to do for ages. She organized. Everything. Three hours later she was still putting papers into the last cabinet. She modified everything magically so it could fit five times the space is previously had. Any loose papers were sorted and put in their proper files which were then put in alphabetical order in one of the filing cabinets. A work of beauty. She allowed herself a moments rest as she looked over the office. It looked as if there was twice as much room as there had been. When the door opened she stood to smugly see his face, but it was Arnold who walked through the door. His normally styled hair was hanging loose, his tie was completely off, and she saw what looked like blood covering the arm of his white button down.

"Arnold, are you-" She moved toward him, but he put his hand up.

"It's not my blood." Her stomach turned and her breath hitched in her chest.

"I-is Mr. Graves... alright?" She dreaded the answer.

"I think so. He's with the healers now." Arnold took a seat at his desk and leaned back.

"What was he hit with?"

"A spell we had never seen before." Arnold answered her, his voice slightly shaking. "He just started bleeding." Y/N looked at him in shock. "It stopped when we got him subdued, but Percival lost a lot of blood."

"Are you alright though, sir?" She asked.

"I'm going to be fine, Y/N." She nodded and stood awkwardly. "He's in the healers room down on 20. In case you were interested."

"Thank you, sir." She took off, trying her best to look calm and inconspicuous. A few people had started to suspect something was going on between Percival and Y/N. How wrong they were despite how much she wanted them to be right. The rumors seemed to die down quickly. Something about Percival not being the type to settle down, let alone with someone like her. Y/N liked to joke, she was a little more lax about rules, and she didn't mind a little dancing every now and again. People in the building just decided that the two were never possible. Arnold, however, seemed to know how she felt about Percival. He would catch her looking at Graves as he scribbled a sentence on parchment or read quietly. As soon as Y/N would realize he was looking, Arnold would give her a kind smile or a wink. Though, he never told another soul about what he saw.

When the elevator stopped on 20 she stepped out and into a whole different world. She had been to a healing floor before, but not like this. It was bustling with healers running all over the place.

"Can I help you?" A young woman behind a desk asked.

"Yes. My boss was brought in: Percival Graves. I wanted to check and make sure he's alright."

"Your name?"

"Y/N Y/L/N."

"Alright, thank you. Have a seat in our waiting area and someone will be right with you." The woman indicated a small alcove filled with chairs. She hesitantly sat, but within a minute felt that she may stand up and demand an update. It was an excruciating hour before someone came out.

"Miss. Y/L/N?"

"That's me." The man who was now standing in front of her was older, maybe late 50's, with a kind smile.

"I am Mr. Graves healer."

"Is he okay?" She asked.

"Yes. He is going to be alright." She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and she allowed herself a small smile. "He lost a lot of blood, so we're producing potions for him to take every four hours for the next three days." The doctor explained. "He'll be groggy, but I believe he will do just fine. He will however need care because I want him to get bedrest. I can keep him here, if he would prefer."

"Thank you, and I'll run the options by him." Y/N said as she shook his hand.

"Would you like to see him?"

"Can I?" She asked. He put his hand softly on her upper back and led her back and deeper into the hallway. They walked for less then a minute when they stopped outside a room.

"Go a head in." He encouraged.

The room was very plain and ordinary. Sitting up on the bed was Percival. Already looking like he wanted to go another round. However, his skin was pale and it was easy to see he would be unsteady on his feet. His own clothes must have been discarded as he was wearing a hospital gown. She could faintly make out former cut marks on his arms that were an angry red. His brown eyes connected with hers and for a moment, she saw it. Relief. She couldn't stop herself. Taking several quick steps forward she pulled Percival Graves into a hug. Her arms wrapped around his upper back and shoulders and, to her great surprise, she felt his arms wrap around her waist.

"I'm glad you're back." She whispered before pulling away.

"You didn't have to come down here."

"I know." She answered. "So the docs said you have a potion you have to take every four hours for three days."

"Alright."

"And you have to rest - no working for those three days." He looked almost angry. "That way when you do come back you'll be at 100%."

"If I have to."

"And you're suppose to stay on bedrest. So, I'm going to come take care of you."

"What? No."

"It's your choice, Percival." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Let me take care of you for a few days..."

"Or..."

"Or you to stay here and be a special patient of the healers." It was as if he was at war with himself for a moment.

"When can we leave?"

[the-thot-clown]

May I ask that you talk about the character designs you love, please? 👀

(inhales)

‘aight, this is going to be long so

ok the first one and my favorite one is Bubba.

Among all the slashers Bubba is the one with the lightest colors, including his main mask which is a faded yellow that fits very well with the pale pink of his shirt and bright yellow apron. Even his tie complements well by cutting out warm colors with a three-tone blue. Along with his dark blue jeans and black cowboy boots. They are soft colors and shapes and he himself is very neat (my boy is really there working with a shirt and tie, what a gentleman) which is a reflection of his personality in general. He is very distinctive and appealing to the eye, even in dark scenes you can fully distinguish him.

I don't talk much about his clothing when he uses the old woman's mask since, apart from the change of face, only another apron is added. But with the pretty woman mask it is something else. I can't express how much I love that they decided to put him in a dark suit, other than that it's because Bubba wanted to look good for dinner, it's also a nice change of tones that goes with how the dinner scene is the darkest part of the movie thematically speaking. Also that the mask with makeup serves as a focal point following the neckline, and of course using the blue tie to add color to the whole outfit but still being a cool color making the red and pink makeup of the mask stand out more. I love it 10/10

Another one is Jason from part 3, 4 and 6. I love the shirt in that shade of green along with the light pants, it is thematically coherent, simple, the colors go well with the place where the film takes place, it helps the mask stand out more and is recognizable to the naked eye. While Jason from part 2 is also one of my favorites with all the blue tones and the white bag on his head he isn’t as iconic (since he looks a lot like the murderer of The Town That Dreaded Sundown). 9/10 for mama’s boy.

Michael and Ghostface are in the same place for me, both outfits are minimalist, dark and with a white mask as a focal point, Ghostface has one more point for me because it adds texture to his suit since the fabric is shiny and it shows that it is rough. Both masks despite having the same intention of being the focal point, both are in the two opposites if we talk about expressions, one being exaggerated and the other that does not express anything. 9/10

And now that I’m talking about them, something that bothers me a bit about the remake/reboot and secuels versions of the 2000 movies is how they decided to remove all the colors from the clothes of some slashers, I love Thomas and FvJ Jason as well as RZ Michael but it is very sad how they decided to go for outfits that are practically unrecognizable on screen, adding that the movies themselves are very dark and you can hardly tell anything from what is happening. Even the masks, the’ve become more dirty and almost irreconocible.

Everything looks washed out, brown and dirty.

Ok back to the favorites.

Another one, Babyface (The Hills Run Red) Good neutral colors, gray shirt and beige pants but cut by the red color that helps to connect everything in general, it also makes the attention focus on him and the decorations on his neck, great mask design, it's scary, It is grotesque but without becoming deformed, you can differentiate the parts of the mask and more than once they make closeups to show it even in the light. Very good work 8/10.

Ok at first I wasn't a big fan of Brahms clothes (mostly because you can barely see it) but it's a nice outfit, the gray-blue cardigan really complements the brown pants, the white shirt also helps to be a point focal and separate it from the dark in conjunction with the mask (the mask being surrounded by dark hair and the beard also helps it stand out more) it is simple, just a doll face but it is a nice addition. It is comfortable and it is in character and according to the situation. I love the suspenders, you classy fucker. 6/10

One of my favorite of all time, Tiffany, MAN I LOVE THIS the puffy hair, the eye color, the makeup, the leather jacket over the wedding dress oh my god i love her. Is simple yet iconic 10/10

Is sad what they did to her hair later tho.

Now the bitch himself, The shape and colors are instantly recognizable, the brown hat goes well with the colors of the sweater, this being the focal point of the whole outfit, I like the idea of the glove and since its entire face is burned separates it from the others slashers who always wear masks. bitch/10

The cenobites, over all iconic, love the goth bitches 10/10

Vincent Sinclair (since it is the one that stands out the most in the wardrobe part of the three brothers) I can’t see shit. Man that movie sure doesn’t want us to see him but for I can see he’s nice, love the sweater, I like the idea of his mask being made of wax, love the hair. 6/10

The two Pennywises: Both are good. Stop making these queens fight eachother. While 2017 Pennywise has his face as the focal point and his hair the other IS the focal point, both suits are useful for attracting or hunting prey in their own way, both are good and both have things of the Pennywise from the book. 8/10

Candyman. The man, the legend.The presence, the coat, the color palette, the pants, the tie, the fluffy details. Everything, I absolutely love everything about the design. 10/10

Honorable mentions:

Lucille Sharpe: I love the red dress but this dress holy shit 

Chop Top: Yeah I’ve said it. Man has style and I love that you can say a lot just by looking at him. That’s nice. 

Billy Lenz: I know we can only see little things about his clothes, just his light blue oxford pants and his black turtleneck shirt (yeah it’s black but i like the green sweater too) but I just can imagine him with the 70′s clothes and I just loose my shit.

so that’s it, I have some more but this is already too long.