#and the fact hes been very specific in saying so any time anyone mentions him working out and going to the gym is so like......

[tenacquity]

Well, he found he was at least comforted by one thing: even someone of van Zieks’s nobility wasn’t entirely positive of the reason behind an ownership of lavish but nevertheless abandoned estates. (So, then . . . the inquiry on Ryunosuke’s part wasn’t completely uncalled for; though, he silently mused he’d likely get a few upturned noses and scoffs from most anyone else, had he presented the same thing.) While van Zieks made an attempt to “justify” it, Ryunosuke listened, rapt despite everything, and he felt his head slowly cant sideways with the occasional lilt of the carriage. It wasn’t until the man confessed his own negligence to sell them—clearly pained by the thought—that Ryunosuke straightened again.

If he could glean one thing from this, it was that those aforementioned places held memories. And, far more importantly, Ryunosuke could therefore understand. He didn’t need to press further. No, he didn’t want to—at the very least not when van Zieks seemed content setting it aside. By the end of it, all he could do was hum a wordless acceptance. (If he just so happened to make a silent promise to both himself and van Zieks about creating new memories for the both of them . . . ? That was neither here nor there.)

What caught his attention next might not have been fully intentional on his company’s side, but as van Zieks spoke of Surrey, Ryunosuke tracked the real sentiment threaded beneath his words: You would enjoy . . . He expressed this all no less casually than anything else—as if he hadn’t just made it wholly obvious how attuned he’d become to Ryunosuke’s tastes, how he could so easily infer what would bring him joy. And while it could be argued that perhaps such an understanding came from Ryunosuke being an open book in that regard, some part of himself was much happier seeing it under a more intimate light. By the time an invitation was extended—first to him personally, and then to his friends, as well—Ryunosuke finally realized he’d been smiling the entire time.

“I would love that.” But you’re already aware. He was tempted to say more, even poke a little fun by mentioning he’d have to bring along their favorite detective, but already—and surprising himself—Ryunosuke was passively scheming. After all, everyone was exceptionally busy these days (except Sholmes, of course, who specifically chose when to be busy and when not to be for the sake of his own agenda). “Good company” might not always be available at a time when Ryunosuke would want to visit, and so . . . 

Tucked away for the future—

He let out a soft laugh, then, van Zieks’s playful remark (delivered as matter-of-fact as ever) plucking at just the right strings. With a shake of his head, Ryunosuke momentarily pondered the man’s curiosities. He supposed, until now, he hadn’t fully realized just how secretive he had been about his own past—inadvertently, of course. Really, he ought to be ashamed after the amount of digging he’d done to unravel even a portion of van Zieks’s. . . . Fair enough.

“Could be that mine doesn’t present much to talk about,” Ryunosuke admitted, flippant at that fact: after all, he’d had enough drama simply being involved with this good company van Zieks mentioned. “Believe it or not, I never had any intention of becoming a lawyer; that all happened because of Kazuma. He’s always been particularly skilled at sweeping me up with him, no matter what or where.” His lips twitched somewhat, the makings of a smile again. “Before all of this, I was just an English student, and . . . not even really a good one, at that. I don’t really . . . Well, I didn’t have any family to speak of, at least until coming to London. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’ve chosen to stay.”

... the use of them? barok's brow knit deeply as he pondered the enquiry. ❛ I'm — not sure. As I said, I inherited them. As did Klint, from our father... he had always said that financial wealth was of little use to a man unless invested and diversified. Property was among one of his areas of expertise... and the expertise of any other man with the means of affording it, too. ❜

But the attempt at logic did not answer Naruhodo's question in the least.

❛ They were of use to us in the past, when on occasion we went holidaying. ❜ ... and sat empty the rest of the decade. Though he spoke truthfully, he nearly regretted saying it aloud; he could not have crafted a lamer excuse had he tried.

❛ ... I suppose there is little value in a home unoccupied. ❜ What else should a home be built for, after all?  ( To house a history already lived and left behind? To keep tender and close the memories of men long gone, just to mend the emptiness of a gaping heart? Memories woven from threads of a ghost who had, as Barok knows now, been so terribly misremembered...? Did such false memories warrant keeping? )  ❛ I did consider selling them, several times throughout the years. I never could get to doing it. Too much else to do then, and — perhaps letting go is more difficult than one can admit. ❜

And what a painful admittance it is: that a man could cling so desperately to memories of his youthful naïvete. But he must. Cherished memories of being carried atop Klint's shoulders through the pebble beaches at Osborne, swinging his legs as he commandeered his loyal brother down the shore and into shallow waters until they had waded so deep that Klint swayed and nearly pitched Barok straight off of his shoulders; and of picking his way through their vineyards in Dorset with Klint at his side, turning the fruit in his palm and explaining with measured excitement to Barok the ripeness and sweetness that he might expect from a grape, or how he might gauge the health of a vineyard by the evenness of shoot growth and the number of leaves in a cluster... those had been among few things that had only just managed to keep Barok adrift throughout the years of tidal sorrow.

But there was no time for sorrow when he had company. He could not allow himself to tip back into misery, no matter how forgiving Naruhodo had been thus far.

❛ At the very least, you might give thought to exploring the countryside beyond the city. I can speak to the beauty of Surrey — from which my title ❜  Marquess of Surrey  ❛ was created — our home is not far from the village of Cranleigh. You would enjoy some of the shops. It won't be a simple task for you to come and go on your own, as there is no way from London by rail. But you would be welcome as a guest at my estate... along with good company, if you wish. ❜

It was only proper to extend the invitation to Naruhodo's friends and to trust the judgement of the defence... as he had in the darkest of times. Surely Sholmes' potential company could not be worse than those nights spent in a cramped cell. ( But he would welcome Miss Mikotoba and Sholmes' daughter, of course, with open arms. And if Sholmes must accompany his ward, then so be it. )

❛ I take it you have never pondered selling off your excess of homes, then. ❜ Humour executed drily as ever. But Naruhodo understood him well enough — exceptionally in fact — thus far. ❛ ... information about you is not forthcoming, Mr Naruhodo. You have done your share of investigating my past, with the considerable advantage of the wealth of information that my homeland has kept of me. Perhaps you would now consider evening the odds — ? ❜

[faunandfloraas]

"Seungmin would be SO hot if he got muscle like, can you imagine?" You would be hotter if you shut your mouth but we can't always get what we want so <3

[elusivedew]

💌 | Cubitum eamus ?

✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.

✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k

Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?

Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really. 

Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days. 

He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June. 

The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up. 

Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking. 

It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work. 

And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain. 

By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.

That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.

Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call. 

Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad. 

“Agent Reid.”

Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.

“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.” 

“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?” 

He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.” 

You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it. 

The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other. 

To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends. 

But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now. 

“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.

“Yeah, thank god.” 

“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.” 

Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice. 

“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other. 

“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?” 

The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.” 

He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.” 

“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?” 

Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you. 

“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on. 

“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?” 

The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that. 

“I could never lie to you.” 

“You literally just did.” 

You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first. 

“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.” 

The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back. 

Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.

“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?” 

It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.

It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far. 

And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different. 

But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you. 

“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.” 

You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.

The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life. 

But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.

And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding. 

You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night. 

Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.

He is so fucked.

Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent. 

She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does

But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork? 

It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly. 

It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.

When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either. 

They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee. 

Spencer Reid is in love.

There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.

You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it. 

Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it. 

You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy. 

It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it. 

It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.

When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.

The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.

Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.

“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”

God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful. 

He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.” 

Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned. 

“Oh shut up, never do that again.” 

“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.” 

His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time. 

“God, you're so mean to me.” 

Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile. 

You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.” 

You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.” 

Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.

‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick. 

You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting. 

Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.” 

He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably. 

“What do you think of this?” 

You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response. 

“My mom loved that one.” 

He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student. 

Something he’s never been before.

Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you. 

And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?” 

That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.” 

You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?” 

Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?

“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.

You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer. 

“Oh my god.” 

You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.

Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad. 

And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.

“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?” 

You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder. 

“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.

She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.” 

That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you. 

“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?” 

You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself. 

“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.” 

Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you. 

She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave. 

“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying. 

“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again. 

“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.” 

“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.

You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date. 

“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?” 

You nod in understanding, you do know. 

And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.

“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself. 

Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?” 

“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you. 

You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship. 

“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.

Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.” 

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.” 

Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest. 

A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.

“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.

You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…” 

He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.” 

You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand. 

“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?” 

You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.” 

Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.

Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love. 

“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.” 

The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.

The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.

Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you. 

And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home. 

When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed. 

When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.

“Is everything okay?” 

You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night. 

“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it. 

You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.” 

Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing. 

“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you. 

“Yes?” 

Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?” 

Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him. 

“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter. 

“I think you know what you want.” 

You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about. 

“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car. 

True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you. 

You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps. 

The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.

“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.

If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.

“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.

You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”  

He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.” 

You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?” 

That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.

“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?” 

He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned. 

Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it. 

It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years. 

He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?

You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture. 

“Spencer.”

It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.

“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.” 

You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching. 

“You know what I want to say, don't you?” 

He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.” 

He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.

Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.

You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity. 

He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.

You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door. 

The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway. 

“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling. 

“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.” 

“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?” 

He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.” 

You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation. 

And you're scared. 

You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate. 

Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.

But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him. 

Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom. 

You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing. 

You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back. 

“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.” 

Slow and stead. 

“I'm listening.” 

You lick your lips. 

“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?” 

He nods.

“Well, I lied.” 

He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?” 

You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.” 

You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.

You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.” 

He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss. 

You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.

But that reality is different now. 

He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body. 

You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him. 

He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.

But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.

“God, you're so… ridiculous.” 

The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?” 

His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.” 

You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could. 

“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing. 

“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.” 

Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.

You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.

You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look. 

“Hey, you never said you liked me back.” 

He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?” 

You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.

He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.” 

You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else. 

Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore. 

“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close. 

“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…” 

He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.

“You can't do this.” 

You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either. 

“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?” 

If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise. 

“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.” 

“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.” 

“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.” 

He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.” 

“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working. 

Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on. 

“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?” 

“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.” 

“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.” 

You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.” 

He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.” 

You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.” 

At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs. 

“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey. 

You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?” 

His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.” 

Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could. 

When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.

[angstflavoured]

A little fiddauthor analysis...

Making this post mostly just to get all of my thoughts out about it regarding how I think it is inherently very toxic on both ends, despite people treating it as more wholesome near the beginning when they were both younger… and the fact that I think it’s very incredibly one-sided. I’m strictly going to be talking about CANON events, not headcanons or speculations or AU’s. If you wanna draw Fiddleford and Ford being cute and hugging and dating, I don’t care, I like a lot of the content for them myself. It isn’t canon to the show and doesn’t affect or harm anybody. That’s what a fandom is and I’m not trying to police anyone, I just think a lot of people misinterpret their relationship and thought it would be fun to talk about it because I find their dynamic really interesting. I’m going to be using a lot of direct quotes and scenes from Ford’s journal, TBOB, and the show, so buckle in baby ! This was supposed to be a quicker and smaller one while I work on my Billford essay, but I had a lot more to say than I thought…

First off, it’s interesting to see how Ford thinks their interaction after so long is going to go. In Journal 3 he says he has “no choice” but to call Fiddleford up to work on the portal because Ford just doesn’t have the smarts to do what he wants to do himself, and he thinks he’s going to have to literally beg Fiddleford to join him. But as we see in the journal and in the show, it hardly takes ANY convincing at all for Fiddleford to drop everything he was doing and leave his wife and kid for months on end to work on a project he knows nothing about. All the info he has he got over a short phone call. It seems like Ford, at this point being so close with Bill and thinking he’s the only one who cares about him, just assumed that most people he used to talk with don’t think about him anymore. He’s had Bill whispering in his ear that he’s the only one who understands him, so it makes sense he doesn’t think Fiddleford will want to do this with him. But from what it looks like, Fiddleford either has been waiting every second for Ford specifically to get back to him, or just has been waiting for any excuse to get the hell away from his family which is… yeesh. Either way, not very healthy regarding his wife and kid. He doesn’t seem to really care all that much about either of them, but more on that later.

Obviously Ford cares about Fiddleford, as soon as he comes down to live with him, Ford hasn’t been so happy in a good while. He missed human connection, despite how good things were going with Bill. Having another person there to talk with was nice. Despite Fiddleford having strange quirks that did irk Ford, he found them endearing and genuinely felt better in his company.

But I think the biggest thing here a lot of people overlook is that Ford only ever refers to Fiddleford as his college buddy in the show, and in the journals as “my assistant.” I’ve seen so many people have Ford call him his partner, but he actually only calls him this like once in the show i think. It’s always my assistant, my research, my theory. Which is funny because Ford didn’t come up with any of this stuff with the portal on his own. Bill was the one that gave him the blueprints. Fiddleford even questions Ford at one point, asking if he had help coming up with them because of how complex they are, and Ford decidedly DOESN’T mention Bill and instead tells him “with hard work, anything is possible.” (Btw he does refer to Bill as his partner multiple times… just sayin.)

The way he talks to and about Fiddleford, Ford is always talking down. He does think that Fiddleford is smart and does think he has a brilliant mind, but he still thinks that he’s below him.

Because Ford has Bill.

And oh my lord, do I not see anyone talk about this. Soooo many comics always depict Fiddleford knowing about Bill existence, but I think the biggest roadblock with their ship and a huge point of contention is that Fiddleford never canonically knows about Ford’s relationship with Bill until after he’s already lost his mind when he’s old. He doesn’t even KNOW that he exists until he’s half sucked through the portal. People ignore this, but it’s so important to their dynamic. Ford doesn’t think that Fiddleford could handle it, and he doesn’t think he necessarily deserves to know. Because Bill is Fords thing. Their relationship is special. Ford is special.

Ford claims he doesn’t tell Fiddleford about Bill because he would throw him in a looney bin, despite their research being so whimsical and ridiculous already. They’re literally building a portal to a different dimension, Fiddleford would’ve believed him. And the way Ford talks about it, you can tell it’s less about Fiddleford thinking he’s crazy and more about something else.

Could F ever truly appreciate the complex fates that brought me and my Muse together?

He doesn’t think Fiddleford could APPRECIATE it. The language he uses, you can tell that Ford knows that Fiddleford would see right through Bill’s facade. And Ford doesn’t want that because he wants to be friends with Bill and he wants to be special, and he’d rather hide Bill and stay in denial than tell his dearest friend, just so he can feel special a little longer.

This is why I think as much as Fiddleford’s romantic feelings for Ford were there, it never ended up going anywhere. Ford would always choose Bill over him. When Fiddleford got him the axolotl pet, Ford quickly threw it out and lied about it to Fiddleford just because Bill told him to. And there’s multiple cases of interactions like this, where Bill will talk down about Fiddleford and Ford will just be like damn… yeah. Here’s a journal excerpt from TBOB around Christmas time. For context, Ford got into a huge fight with a monster and tried to contact Bill to help him, but he didn’t come. And then Bill randomly shows up later when Ford’s at home decorating.

I was almost roasted by Krampus, and where was he? Off inspiring some other scientist? Posing for some tapestry? Were we even partners? He threw the accusation back in my face. “Hey, I’m not the one skipping portal work to carouse with a third-wheel hillbilly with second thoughts about our project!” I started to argue--but he had a point. F has seemed less and less committed to work lately.

Which is INSANE !!! when we see that only a fucking page ago, Fiddleford was explaining how he got in a fight with his wife because he didn’t get her a present for Christmas. After spending multiple weeks and making multiple prototypes for a pair of 6 fingered gloves for Ford.

And if we hop back to Journal 3, there’s a particular interaction with them which is crazy to me. While hiking up a mountain to go to Crash Site Omega, they get into a fight with the Gremloblin, which fucking swoops up Fiddleford into the sky. In Ford’s attempt to get him down, they both end up falling down through the roof of a barn, where Fiddleford gets stuck full of quills and breaks his arm.

Despite our fortune, I have become worried about my assistant. I was able to treat his physical wounds, but I fear there are mental wounds not as easily remedied. For the past several nights, he has been unable to sleep, apparently still haunted by the Gremloblin’s gaze. More alarming is his Cubic’s Cube. It has sat scrambled, unfixed, on his desk for days. I myself have survived many monster attacks without trauma, but perhaps F is more sensitive than I realized…

OH. MY. GOD. The way that Ford talks so condescendingly is enough to make any person's blood boil. It’s the same way when Fiddleford gets sucked through the portal, and when Fiddleford gets pulled back, Ford’s first words out of his mouth are “WHAT DID YOU SEE!”

As much as he cared for Fiddleford… he has no regard at all for Fiddlefords VERY VALID feelings about events that would traumatize literally anyone. But he just pats Fiddlefords back and tells him to get used to it because this is just part of the job and he shouldn’t be whining so much. He does nothing to properly comfort him and scoffs it off like “apparently he’s ‘TRAMATIZED’ or something. I’ve been through so much worse and never had a problem, I don’t get what his issue is.” And then ford is SURPRISED AND APPALLED when Fiddleford creates the memory gun.

Which oohhhhh lord, the memory gun. jesus christ. Such a big example of the distrust between them on both sides. Fiddleford literally canonically lied about destroying the gun and then erased Fords memory about it so that he could erase his own memories in secret without him knowing. And also probably fords sometimes! Not completely canon, but like…. Fiddleford did it once, I wouldn’t put it past the guy. And then when they go to the carnival, Fiddleford hands out his fucking card to Ivan (the leader of the society of the blind eye, who was a teen/early 20s at the time) so that he can erase memories for him that he didn’t like.

Biggest thing we can take away from everything regarding Fiddleford’s character, is that he always takes the easy way out. He ran away from his family he obviously didn’t really care for as much as he should’ve because that was easier than talking it out or divorcing. He pushed it aside for later. Bro was literally looking for a fucken Brokeback Mountain situation, but Ford wasn’t giving anything back to him. So instead Fiddleford constantly made a fool of himself doing things for Ford and tripping over himself to show his gratitude when all the while Ford was entirely focused on Bill. and then he just goes around and starts erasing memories, because it’s easier than having to actually deal with things. Which is why I don’t foresee a reality in which Fiddauthor makes sense, in the way they actually end up doing anything together. Because Fiddleford’s too much of a coward to admit his feelings first, and Ford obviously has his sights on someone else.

And here’s the BIGGEST damning thing, like oh my god.

In Journal 3, Ford goes to a fortune teller (which don’t get me fucking started on how judgy he is to her and how much he talks down about her, DESPITE HER BEING LEGIT AND ACTUALLY WARNING HIM). Long story short, she gives Ford a spiel about how someone close to him is deceiving him. She then gives him a mood ring and says “when this is blue, you may pull through. When this is black, you can’t turn back.”

And LO AND BEHOLD!! OH MY FUCKING GOD, when they’re at the carnival and Fiddleford is talking to Ivan and whispering--

Ford. Looks down. To check if the ring is black.

I took one last look down at my hand and was strangely relieved to find that the palm reader’s ring was still blue. I shoved it in my pocket, collected F, and tried to put the whole experience out of my mind.

FORD LITERALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THE IDEA OF FIDDLEFORD BETRAYING HIM BEFORE BILL. IN FACT, HE LITERALLY NEVER MENTIONS THINKING IT WAS BILL ONCE.

He talks about how they got into a fight at dinner the night before the portal test because Fiddleford was having second thoughts about it being dangerous, and Ford told him to be there or he would get left behind. He’d do it without him.

And when Fiddleford gets pulled through the portal and quits the project, Ford says gooooddd fucking riddance, I never even needed you bro.

F, you weak-willed hayseed! Go back to your doting family and a life of fear and compromise! I weep now not for our failed partnership, but for the golden opportunity thrown away. To think I considered him a friend! I know my true friend. It is my Muse.

One of the few times he ever refers to it as partnership btw. Literally only when they break everything off.

And Ford only starts fighting with Bill about everything after it starts directly hurting him. It literally just seems like Ford is less upset about Bill’s plan being evil, and more upset at the fact that he lied to Ford LMAOOOOO he didn’t like the fact that he was disposable and lesser to Bill, despite Ford treating Fiddleford the exact same way.

At the end of all of this… it may seem like I’m really fighting against this ship, but not in the slightest. I LOVEEEE them so much, but in a way where it would be really toxic and not actually end up with anything happening.

Such a biggg theme when it comes to Ford’s character specifically is yearning. He yearns for success and attention and love and acceptance, but he’s constantly never giving other people those things. Which ends in him not receiving any in return. That is obviously until he gets back from dimension hopping and works on being a better person. When he starts towards healing, that’s when he starts receiving what he always wanted.

There’s so much tension between Ford and Fiddleford it's like disgusting, they were so incredibly gay… but, I hate to say it, it was very one-sided. They did have some fun times together and Ford enjoyed his company for quite a bit, but it was nothing like how Fiddleford felt for him. Fiddleford was always thinking about how Ford was feeling and what he was doing, and Ford never really did that for Fiddleford unless he was prompted to. But he was alwayasyayayss thinking about how Bill felt. And he always chose Bill in the end.

I just see so much of all of this get swept under the rug and never addressed, when it's kind of sad because it’s all so interesting and really adds a lot to both of their characters. They were both so morally gray back in their day, and honestly even more so now that they’re older, and its kinda sad to see that all go ignored. I JUST LOVE TOXIC GAYS SM AND THEY WERE SO TOXIC AND I’D LOVE TO SEE PEOPLE EXPLORE THAT MORE. Hopefully maybe this will prompt some people to think about it like this…….. It’s all so very tragic and their relationship was doomed from the start and i loveeeee shit like that. only misery to be had...

[marvellous1917]

Icarus Falling Far.

(Part 3)

Pairing: mob!bucky x tattoo artist!female!reader

Summary: it’s the day after giving the dangerous mobster his first tattoo, and he hasn’t contacted you yet. What a dick.

Warnings: cursing, crime, mentions of guns, stalking/harassment (brief), think that’s it.

Word count: 3.6k ish

A/N: i had no plan to make this story into a mini-series, so if this seems a little unplanned… it is. Anyway, hope you like it my loves 😘

(This is not beta’s so any mistakes are my own)

Part 2 ⬇️:

———————

Bold is readers thoughts

Italics is Bucky's thoughts

This starts in Bucky’s POV.

———————

His home office was always the place he went to feel at peace. Ironic really, considering the dealings done within the room. The walls had seen him order his men to assassinate his rivals, to eliminate anybody that got in their way. The desk had felt the tip of the pen write extortionate contracts, sent silently to some of the cities most powerful people, the non-explicit threat sent with photos of their family’s, to reminds them what they were risking if they refused to comply. The window that felt the full strength of his prosthetic too many times to count. The hole in the floor after one of his employees managed to literally shoot himself in the foot. {guess who}

But his peace was teetering on a cliffs edge. His hands were woven into his hair, pulling to try and alleviate the headache forming. Elbows resting on his desk as his eyes stayed staring at one specific groove in the wood.

A knock at the door broke his trance and he sighed. It was a rule in the Compound that if the boss was in his office and the door was closed, you do not interrupt or enter unless there was an emergency. Only one man was brave enough to completely disregard Bucky’s rule, which had led to some… interesting situations when Bucky had girls in there with him.

“Come in,” he called, knowing the longer he waited to respond, the louder and more incessant the knocking would become.

The door opened and there was Bucky’s very own personal dumbass: Steve Rogers. The man had been a part of Bucky’s life since as long as he could remember, if-fact some of his earliest memories were with Steve; young boys playing cops and robbers together, attempting to protect Steve when he picked a fight he had no business being in- which had led to Bucky getting his ass beat as well, and scheming together about how to make sure that Simon Justin never played baseball again after pulling his sisters hair on the playground.

“Fuck me Buck, I’m not sure if today could have been anymore fucked,” Steve stated as he collapsed on to the couch, flinging his legs over one arm and resting his head in the other.

Today was a stressful fucking day.

It was the day that Bucky was making all necessary moves. Why all the problems had to pop up now, he wasn’t sure. And the kicker to this awful day? He had no time to talk to you, the girl he could not get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. You’d managed to flood his mind, memories of the kiss you shared playing over and over again.

“Did you close the door?” Bucky asked, not moving an inch.

“Yeah.”

“Good because I do not need anyone else talking to me right now,” Bucky said, his voice low and quiet, an air of danger ever-present in his tone.

“C’mon Buck, y’know you love them,” Steve responds with a dopey little smirk on his face, and he tilts his head to make eye contact with the man he calls his brother.

I hate that fuckin smile.

He softly hums his agreement and returns to inspecting the groove on his desk.

“We just gotta talk it out, figure out what the fuck is going on, then plan our next moves accordingly,” Steve says, swinging his legs back to the floor, hands clasped together, his arms leaning on his knees.

“Yeah thanks man, I didn’t think about figuring everything out, maybe I’ll give that a go now” Bucky retorts with weak sarcasm, mind too busy, replaying the events of the day.

“I can leave you alone to get lost in your head, or we can figure this shit out together. It’s your call jerk.” Steve says, tilting his head down to catch Bucky’s eye.

“Alright.”

“Stop pulling your hair jackass.” He adds.

I hate it when you do that.

Bucky drops his hands to the desk and says, “Ok let’s start this debrief with Walker.”

“Nat’s got his ass tied up in the basement for ya, he’s ready when you are.”

“Anybody looking for him?”

“One frustratingly loyal friend, but he has no idea that Johnny-boy is with us. The rest of his little fan club have no idea he’s even missing.”

“Ok, one problem down. Rumlow?” It’s the question he doesn’t want the answer to. He’d much rather spend his time thinking about you. His history with Brock Rumlow was bloody and painful, for both of them. There was only one person from his past that Bucky hadn’t dealt with, and here he was, coming back to ruin the name Bucky had made for himself.

Rumlow knew things about Bucky’s past that made him a a high security threat, but after he failed to blow himself up in an attempt to kill Bucky, he had disappeared. Bucky thought it was finally over, but the asshole popped back up about a year ago, with more power than before, making himself seemingly untouchable by Bucky’s hand.

“Currently moving like he has been, not causing too much trouble for us, though his crew are getting closer and closer to our dealings at the port.” Steve said, a slight look of digits on his face.

“Put extra hands down there for the next couple weeks, see if we can’t scare them off a little.”

“Yes boss. I’ll let them know after this.”

“The commissioner’s dealt with?” Buck asks, remembering the deviation the man had decided to make.

“Yep, send him that gift basket. He called Sam this morning and agreed to our terms.”

“Good. How’s Barton?” He asks, moving into what they class as ‘personal business’.

“Pissed, man. He wants blood for what happened, we all do.” Steve answers, the memory of seeing Clint covered in blood and bruised made his blood simmer.

“We sure it wasn’t Rumlows’ lot, or fuck even Walker?

“Walkers’ fanclub do not have the brain cells, the power, or the information to organise an attack like that, and Parker tracked Rumlow and his men, all are accounted for and have alibis. This is someone new.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Isn’t two power hungry assholes enough.

“We haven’t found anything? No security cameras, no cell tower pings?” Bucky asks, leaning back in his chair, resting his head on the back.

“Actually, I sent Scott there this morning to check out if there was anything left there and he found something.” Steve responds, some apprehension creeping into his voice.

That got Bucky’s attention. His head snapped back up and locked eyes with Steve who now stood in-front of his desk, pacing back and forth slightly.

“Care to share with the class Rogers?” His voice was hard now, his extreme dislike of not knowing all the information shining through.

Steve exhales sharply, biting his tongue to not retort and piss Bucky off more.

“He found a package tucked behind a dumpster addressed to ‘Bucky Barnes’ that had a memory stick-“

“Like a USB?” Bucky interrupted.

“- Yeah a USB-“ he gets cut off again.

“Then just say USB, calling it a ‘memory stick’ makes you sound 100 years old.”

“-oh dear god, you gonna let me finish?” Steve responds.

Bucky waved his hand at him, a sign for him to continue.

“Scott found a package addressed to you with a USB inside, we gave it to Stark ‘cos Parker was busy tracking down Rumlows crew, and he checked it out and told us it was completely normal, no virus or anything bad in it.”

“Was there anything on it?” Bucky asks, his brow furrowed.

“It..uh..has two pictures on it.” Steve said lowly.

“…of?”

“It’s probably better if I just show you.” Steve said, his tone of voice made Bucky a little nervous.

Steve took out his phone, tapped a couple of time before turning it around to give to Bucky. As soon as the latter had ahold of the phone, Steve took a full step back, which caused Bucky to raise his eyebrows in question.

“Just look.” He says in response to Bucky’s unasked question.

He looked down at the screen and almost immediately removed his left hand as to not break the phone.

Fuck. Shit.

The first picture was of the night he met you. It was taken through the window for you apartment, and clearly showed both you and Bucky, stood side by side, looking through your flash book.

“What the fuck is this?” He pushes out through gritted teeth.

“I assuming that’s the tattoo artist you told me about, the one you got a thing for?” Steve says.

The one I’m obsessed with.

When Bucky gives him a sharp nod, Steve just drops his head, suddenly fascinated with his shoes.

“Shit.” He says under his breath.

“What?” Bucky’s voice was louder now.

“Look at the next picture.” Steve says while avoiding eye contact.

Bucky looks down, his finger swiping to the next picture before he can think about it.

No. No no fuck. Not her.

The next photo was taken from inside the apartment. Inside your bedroom. It’s of you. Asleep. Completely unaware of the danger stood at the foot of your bed.

Bucky couldn’t look away, he was frozen staring at the picture. Your shorts and oversized tee had both ridden up slightly, showing how truly vulnerable you are. The clock on your table showed the time as 3:54 and showed the date.

“…this was taken this morning.”

“..yeah.”

fuck.

———————

Fuck Bucky Barnes.

The bastard hadn’t contacted you since the shop.

Bitch ass told me to keep my phone on so I wouldn’t miss his message, kept me glued to my phone like a weirdo waiting for him to call… and he didn’t. Dick.

Despite the annoyance at the very very attractive mobster, you couldn’t help wonder how he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking about you too.

You’re overthinking about Bucky was interrupted by a knock at your door.

“One sec!” You shout to whoever’s there, getting up and walking to the door. The second you undo the lock, the door is being pushed into your face with a chorus of greetings.

“Come in I guess,” you say to the three who just walked in.

“Well thanks darlin, you got food?” Billy responds, already making his way to the fridge.

“Don’t fucking eat my pizza Bill, I swear I’ll kill you,” you answer, giving both Frank and Curtis a hug, letting the door close behind them.

He laughs off your threat as the others take a seat on your couch.

“Not that I don’t love you guys, but why the fuck are you here?” You ask, moving back to the arm chair in the corner and taking a seat, your phone pinging in the back ground.

“What, we can’t pop in on you whenever we want?” Frank says, leaning back in the arm of the couch, moving to put his feet in the coffee table.

“Frankie if you put your feet on my table, I’m gonna beat you with a spoon.” You call at him.

He freezes and slowly lowers his feet back to the floor.

“We just wanted to come see how you were…Frank told us about Barnes.” Curtis says, cutting into the conversation and completely dampening the mood.

God-fucking-dammit Frank.

Oh fuck do I tell them that he’s not an issue and I actually quite like him.

“Yeah are you ok sweetheart?” Billy asks and he collapses on the couch in the middle of the other boys.

“I’m fine guys, I swear, like I told Frank he’s actually not bad,” you answer, shifting uncomfortable lay in your seat due to the indecision of how much to tell them, “He was nice, polite and kind of…charming, I guess-”

“Is that why you kissed him?” Frank interrupts.

Shit, how does he know?

“-what?”

“You kissed him. Or rather he kissed you but you seemed to enjoy it.” Billy says with an annoying smirk on his face.

“How do you know that?” You ask, shock still written all over your face.

“..the security cameras, kid. You forget about those?”

Ahh fuck.

“Ahh fuck,” you say out loud.

“What the hell are you doing making out with a mobster, Y/N?” Curtis responds, looking at you with those eyes of his that show he’s not judging, just trying to understand.

“I..uh..I wasn’t-really-thinking.” You put you hands on your head, even though Curtis wasn’t judging you, the other two definitely were.

“Obviously you weren’t, he’s a goddam mobster Y/N-” Billy starts, anger in his voice, but you cut him off.

“I know that Bill, ok, I do,” you say, shifting to place your feet on the floor, “but he’s not the animal you think he is, he’s kind and considerate and he makes me feel…” happy. you cut off before the last word, wanting to keep that realisation to yourself for a little longer.

“Plus you bastards can’t be judging me for meeting the guy twice, only yourselves and the devil knows what fucked shit you three have been up to.” You almost shout.

“The fuck does that mean?” Frank answers.

“C’mon Frank I’m not stupid, you three have some shady shit in your pasts. I mean you were goddam military for fucks sake, and don’t think I don’t see the fake payments on the books at the shop-“

“Stop Y/N.” Billy cuts you off. “Stop it now.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving yours.

You were about to respond to his demand, when a knock sounded at the door.

“Told you to keep you phone on.” A dark voice calls through the door.

Oh shit. No no no not now please not now.

“Who the fuck is that?” Frank asks, suddenly sitting up straight, eyes pinned on the door. Both Billy and Curtis stand, facing the door as if waiting for it to bust off it’s hinges.

“Please all of you, shut the fuck up and don’t do anything dumb,” you answer, moving towards the door.

“Is that him?” Curtis asks.

“Didn’t I just say shut the fuck up,” you retort a little snappier, opening the door slightly.

He cut his hair, it’s looks good on him.

Bucky lowers his arm from his thwarted attempt at a second knock and says, “Is your phone broken or are you ignoring me?” The smirk on his face made your heart beat a little faster.

“Neither, I just missed your text because I have some friends over right now,” you say.

“Is that why you’re not opening the door properly? I can barley see you,” he says with a grin.

“…kinda? Ok wait..” you exit your apartment, pulling the door closed fully behind you, “long story short, they know about the k.. uh about what happened at the shop, and they know who you are and they are not happy about it.”

His eyes darken and his smirk grows wider at the almost mention of the kiss. He shifts until he’s leaning his shoulder on the wall by your door.

“Oh yeah? Doesn’t really matter what they think though, does it doll? Both you and I know how much you enjoyed it.” He says, mouth forming a cheeky grin.

Oh my god.

“Me? You’re the one who started it Bucky, seemed you enjoyed it more,” you respond, having no idea where the confidence came from.

He hums at your statement and says “Well I can admit that I did enjoy our kiss sweetheart, but I may need a little reminder of how it went, it’s been a long day you see.”

“Bucky-” you’re cut of by him stepping closer until your chests are barley touching, the new position making you tilt your head back to see him better.

“What darlin? You ok with this?” He asks slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking into your eyes for any sign of discomfort.

Why does he have to be so sweet.

You nod in answer to his question and he smiles. Not the terrifying grin or the cheeky smirk, but a genuine smile - one that makes him even more beautiful. Bucky raises his right arm, dragging his thumb over your lips and cupping your cheek while you stare up at him, his other hand sneaks around your back, pulling you flush to him.

“You have no idea what to do to me, do ya?” He mumbles, probably not intending for you to respond as he’s closing the gap between you. The kiss is harsh and a little messy, shocking you slightly with his apparent desperation, hands holding you tightly. He takes advantage of your shock, tracing your lips with his tongue and pushing past to deepen the kiss.

His hand drops from you face to your waist, gripping so tightly, you’re sure he’ll have left a bruise. That thought got you’re heart pumping faster, the idea that an imprint of his hands, his fingers would be left on your skin. It felt right. Bucky pushes you until your back hits the wall, hips fitting against yours almost perfectly, one leg sneaking between yours as you let a light whimper escape.

You break the kiss to get some air, leaning your forehead against his, both of you catching your breath.

“Bucky, I mis-”, you didn’t get to finish the sentence before your door opens and you’re suddenly faced with three pissed off ex-marines.

-(Bucky’s P.O.V)

Bucky immediately steps back, releasing you, and straightens his posture. He looks at the men, quietly analysing them. He can tell that they either are or were military, and definitely care immensely about you, probably to the point of beating the crap out of anyone that hurt you.

The one in the middle is a frightening creature , he thinks, but the wedding band means he has something to loose, he should be less quick to anger, in theory.

The one on the right with the short buzz cut and the tense muscles reminds him of Clint, he’s ready to fight at the drop of a hat, and by the look on his face, I’m gonna be his next target.

The man on the left intrigued Bucky the most. His face is blank, showing nothing. He’s favouring one of his legs, and the other shows a bulky piece of metal at the bottom. Wonder if that’s an old military injury.

“Guys, what are you doing?” You ask, apprehension in your voice. Bucky wonders if you’re scared for them or for him.

“Oh we are gonna head out, let you have some time to really think about what we talked about.” The man in the middle says, putting emphasis on the word really.

“Frank please-”

“No it’s ok sweetheart,” Bucky bristles at the pet name the Clint wannabe says, “we’ll see you later.”

“Billy-”

“Shit, I left my phone on your table, could you get it for me?” The other says to you, cutting off your words, smiling at you to calm the stressed look on your face.

“Of course Cutis, one sec,” you respond, Turing to Bucky at the end of your sentence with a look at says please don’t make this worse.

You pass by the men and let the door fall closed behind you.

The silence is tense as the men all stare at each-other.

“So…how’s your man doing? Y’know the one that got jumped,” Billy says, smirking at Bucky.

“How do you know that?” Bucky asks as his muscles tense.

“…Y/N told us, obviously,” Billy says.

The pause was intentional, she didn’t tell them that.

“He’s fine, thanks.” Bucky responds shortly, all to aware of the lie he was just told.

The door opens just before Billy can respond, all four men going silent again.

“Here it is Curtis, guess I’ll see you guys later then,” you say, before hugging each man.

The three shoulder past Bucky as if he was just a man on the street, no care in the world that he could have them killed for that disrespect. But he lets this one slide, for her, as they’re her friends.

“Did you tell them about Clint?” He knows it was a lie but he needs to make sure his cynical brain isn’t marking it up.

“No? Why?” You answer, unaware of the turmoil occurring in Bucky’s head.

Then how the fuck do they know.

“Give me one minute doll, I forgot something at the car,” he says, “go on inside I’ll be back soon.”

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, walking back into the apartment.

He watches the door and as soon as it closes he is moving back down the stairs, hoping to catch and ask the men how they knew about Clint. Bucky normally has an reasonable explanation for everything, but this time he was stumped. He catches them outside the front door to the building, the three of them stood leaning against their car, watching the door, waiting for him to come out.

“How do you know?” He repeats his question from before, voice lower and more dangerous now.

“Y’know…that bastard has a solid right hook.” Billy says. The sentence sends red hot anger through Bucky’s blood.

It was them. But that means…

“Did you get our package?” The big one in the middle asks, Frank, she called him.

Fuck. The anger that has been burning in his veins since the second he saw those photos of you pours out of him and he immediately pulls a gun on Frank.

“Hey now that’s not smart, is it?” Curtis asks in a placating tone.

“Don’t forget about our girl up there. What’s she gonna think if you shoot me for no reason?” Frank says, unflinching staring down the barrel of Bucky’s gun.

Fuck. Fuck. These bastard are the ones threatening everything, they jumped Clint and are using you to get to him. They’re your friends and you? You have absolutely no idea.

————

Yo this took so long to do!! Hope you like my lil twisty turn at the end there 😈.

Lemme know what u think 😘

Tagged :

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @1-800-bxrnes @fandomsfallnomore @bushtail @ghostofwinter @missdarlingsb @amiets2 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp

[v-anrouge]

Verryyy long ranting under this about vil and how this fandom treats him for absolutely no reason pls excuse any mistakes and feel free to correct me with any accidental misinfo i passed <3

Mentions of racism, fatphobia, eating disorders, elitism & ableism and also SPOILERS for Vil's character story (eng only)

Ever since this game started getting super famous in tiktok and twitter it seems that people just love to butcher literally every character in Twst and sometimes it's genuinely baffling how wrong some of the takes are, it really does make me wonder if some people just don't read the story and just skip every character who isn't their fave, and if they really do that, what makes them think they know enough about the rest of the cast to post in the character's main tag the most rancid read on a character, often accompanied by some accusations of literal crimes of bigotry that really should be taken more seriously instead of being terms thrown around.

I'm gonna be talking about Vil specifically but characters like Leona, Jamil, Sebek and a few others have it exceptionally bad as well (especially Leo and Jamil who's haters can even be quite racist)

I've been playing for a very long time (in eng) i remember being there to watch the Heartslabyul final release and the release of Savanaclaw's chapter and through these years ive seen the most horrific takes on Vil's characters, ranging from the accusations of racism (which have been debunked again and again especially by JP players) to accusations of supporting eds, fatphobia, elitism and ableism. The funny thing is that even with a very quick read of any of Vil's story you'll find out there is no support for any of such claims. They like to use the incident with Epel's accent when for years JP players have pointed out how this was strictly an error of localization since they couldn't find a situation similar to the one that is portrayed in the original game to put in eng twst, they went with the one we have where Vil asks Epel to "hide his accent" (he really doesn't he was talking about the way Epel is rude and disrespectful which would definitely end with him being beat up and then expelled bringing a bad fame to Pomefiore and also making Vil look bad for not properly guiding his dorm students) which is a terrible choice but alas it seems people prefer to ignore facts to stick with their claim that Vil is some sort of monster when this man is literally a teen. He's 18 years old and has to constantly look out for his image in and out of school since he grew up in front of the cameras.

Vil's character is all about beauty and self care and self acceptance yet for some people this seems to translate to "starve yourself if you don't want to be a disgusting fat pig" which is very weird to say the least considering all mentions Vil makes about diets he is talking about keeping a balanced diet to nurture your body and even has a voice line pointing out the importance of eating. Vil himself may be coded to have an ED in his overblot and Lab vignette but he has never and would never encourage one, he literally goes out of his way to annoy students to take care of themselves what makes anyone think he'd encourage them anyways? It's such a weird thing to assume of a character.

A lot of people seem to think that Vil is also the "beauty standart" king which doesn't even make sense considering vil is a gnc man, he already doesn't follow beauty standards and would definitely be against it, Vil's vision of beauty for himself may be twisted due to his traumas and troubles yet his vision of beauty for others is always exclusively on the person being their best version, this includes dressing how they want to and feel comfortable in, using whatever makeup they want (or just not using it at all) etc.

The way Vil speaks is often misunderstood as he tends to be strict and can be read as mean (I've already shared my theory on what may have caused this behavior here before so i won't be getting into too many details) but Vil is a famous and respected housewarden because if you actually stop and think about his advice the end result is always an effort to make the person's desires come true. (a good example is how Vil made Epel clean the windows and although Epel was displeased with the hard labor in the end he notices how the task may help with muscle growth and gets happy)

Vil's way of caring for others is often misunderstood and obviously that's understandable, not everybody may get his "rougher" way of handling advice, but also it's a bit weird how people react to it when in game all of the characters seem to be okay with it, Pomefiore has a lot of students and if they considered Vil to be a bad leader he would've been voted out a long time ago, no? And if i remember correctly wasn't it said in game they had very few transfers? (as in characters moving out of Pomefiore and into other dorms) That wouldn't make sense if Vil was really the cruel leader some people make him out to be. The truth is Vil is a nice caring person and his students recognize that which is why he is respected all across the school and not simply on his dorm (because ive seen people say Vil has brainwashed the Pomefiore students into thinking he is a good housewarden 💀)

Vil surely has issues he needs to work through, after all this game is literally about that, dealing with troubled teenagers and their internal struggles and the importance of asking for help (omg friendship is magic...) but Vil is also a teenager, and he is one of the characters that show the most desire to get better, immediately showing regret and apologizing to Yuu and his classmates for the danger he put them in, that is because Vil genuinely does care for them.

Another accusation people make is ableism, i remember seeing many posts saying Vil wouldn't respect disabled people and/or mentally ill people which is 1- extremely fucking rude to say? 2- absolutely wrong. Again just a quick read on Vil's character will tell you everything you need to know about how he'd feel about disabled people, he'd treat them like everyone else, and would adjust his handling accordingly to their needs, i really don't get where this claim comes from but it's quite ironic because a lot of Vil haters tend to be ableist themselves by claiming that Vil is a bad person mentioning traits that are often caused by mental illness and the effect of traumas, failing to analyze how their treatment of a character that displays common mental illness symptoms may affect people in real life who displays the same symptoms, and often being ableist themselves by judging these actions irredeemable and inherently evil/heartless, once again dehumanizing people with mental illness in real life who deal with the same symptoms.

Another common thing is the constant invalidation of Vil's trauma. A lot of people seem to read book 5 with their eyes closed and take away from the story that the reason Vil "got pissy and almost killed a guy" (wording of a terrible post i saw a few days ago<333) is because he's a "spoiled brat who couldn't handle getting the paper he wanted in a movie boo hoo" which is kind of funny with how terribly wrong it is, i really don't know what your thought process has to be to get his backstory this wrong but sure, let's start; The start of Vil's problems with being cast as a villain starts from when he was very very young, he was just a child when after being cast as a villain for a movie he was almost beat up by a group of boys for being an "evil guy" and by his reaction it wouldn't be impossible that this wasn't his first time dealing with that kind of thing. Vil also tells jack (who scared away the group) that he had trained so he would be able to deal with them on his own which again, could be a hint that this wasn't that uncommon in his life. In Vil's overblot dialogue is all we really need to know to debunk this claim.

What Vil wanted wasn't just to be a hero in a movie, he wanted to be seen, to be heard and cherished, he wanted to be more than a pretty prop they could put on the front to get attention only to be taken out of stage when he was no longer necessary in the next scene, do you get it? He wanted to be able to see his hard work pay off, to see his efforts of years being rewarded, to for once not be exchangeable for someone more favorable. Vil wanted to feel like all his pain was worth it in the end because finally he could shine in the stage, being himself instead of just another persona to attract people. In his overblot it's shown clearer than ever that Vil does not have a stable view of his own image unlike what he has trained himself to show, even calling himself ugly and begging them to not look at him. I don't think Vil is used to be being vulnerable, which would explain why he was so freaked out when the overblot happened, and why he cried when his beauty (the one thing about himself that was always recognized by others and therefore the thing he'd always been the most desperate to nurture) was taken away by aging in book 6 (note; the fact Vil sacrificed it for his classmates also just debunks the people saying he only cares for himself, if he did he wouldn't be who he is.)

I said i wouldn't give my thoughts again but i will, just briefly, i believe an easy explanation to Vil's behavior (the tough love he gives and his strictness) might be because of the industries he grew up in, we can't know for sure how similar twst's version of the movie and modeling industry is when compared to the real life one but considering the way Vil is, my guess it's that it's pretty similar, especially in the regard of their treatment towards children, in Vil's overblot he hears two staff members talking about how he'd never be able to pull off a relatable role because he is too perfect, and sure those may not look like insults, but to Vil who's only dream his entire life was to be seen in good light, those words stuck to him so deeply they'd come back to him during his overblot. (note; i have not seen a jp translation of the overblot scenes so i don't know if they also suffered from localization issues, if anyone has a link to one i could see id really like to see what the staff said to Vil)

The general point of Vil's overblot was how his efforts and hard work were always overlooked and ignored in favor of someone else, this happens with quite a lot of characters and happens as well with another overblot (Leona, who happens to be quite similar to Vil in many ways) and although i don't expect anyone to read it and think of analysing it more deeply even with a shallow vision of his overblot it's still incredibly insensitive to call it a "non-problem" especially considering the fact this is Vil's ENTIRE life, he's been working hard and failing for years again and again and that does get to you. I remember when i posted my first rant on Vil quite a lot of people who reported to be skilled at something (say for example music or dancing) as a child that any failures absolutely destroyed you inside, and that people who haven't passed through the same tend to call them dramatic and say they're overreacting to situations that can be classified as trauma depending on how much it mentally impacted said child. (and in Vil's case it's clear it had a massive one, after all he wouldn't have overblotted if he didn't have issues that had been bottled up until they finally exploded)

Mentioning Leona again, he and Vil share the same sentiment of anguish for being discarded and having their hard work be thrown away, the difference in them is the way they reacted to it, while Leona ended up not seeing any value in attempting to do anything because he assumes the outcome is always going to be the same, Vil overworks himself and forces himself to do things he might hate clinging to the hope that this time it'll work out.

Since we're talking about trauma ill already answer some things that may or may not come with this post (because in my first one i got this response a lot) "Vil's a fictional character it doesn't matter" and sure if you think like that cool, personally, when im talking about a fictional character that tackles real life traumas and issues, i talk about it as if referring to a real person because the character has been written with one (or multiple) in mind.

Twst may have issues but the character writing is undeniably about real life traumas and experiences, and the characters are quite accurate and good representation of the issues they tackle, so when you invalidate them, you are by result invalidating real life issues. Of course this won't stop anyone and i know that a few people will probably scoff at this and brush it off as being too sensitive but personally if you wouldn't dare invalidate say for example Riddle's traumas because you know it's a representation of mommy issues, which is a very real problem, to not go against your own morals you should also respect the issues of all the other characters, even if you personally think some are more "serious" than the other.

[riizegasm]

Cherry Waves || H. DM (Taesan)

❀ pairing: boynextdoor taesan x fem!reader (mentions of riize anton)

❀ genre: college!au, fluff, minor crack

❀ word count: ~5.1k

❀ warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, taesan is a little bit of a loser here (endearingly), slightly ooc!taesan

❀ summary: You don't like Deftones. You like Han Taesan. Han Taesan likes you and Deftones. All it takes is some rock music, a bad college party, and a few broken vinyls for you to reconcile the differences. With stuttered words and an embarrassing amount of blushing, you learn to make it work.

❀ a/n: My first piece with absolutely zero angst! Are you guys proud of me? I absolutely adore this piece, so I hope you guys do as well. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged!

masterlist

“Dude, just go talk to her!”

Taesan immediately flushes at the comment, smacking a hand over Jaehyun’s mouth. It doesn’t matter if the music in the party is loud enough to drown out every conversation. He can’t risk anyone else hearing, especially you. 

“Shut up,” he hisses, finally releasing his hold on his best friend’s mouth. “What if she hears you?”

Jaehyun cocks an eyebrow. “Do you want her to hear me? HEY Y/N!”

Taesan scrambles to cover Jaehyun’s mouth again, but it’s too late. The damage has already been done. 

Your eyes light up when you spot the duo in the kitchen, waving animatedly. Taesan struggles to contain the stampede running through his stomach and the blush overtaking his cheeks. You always look stunning, but there’s something about your baggy jeans and cropped graphic tee that has Taesan swooning. It should be embarrassing, how good he thinks you look, but nothing can overcome the feeling of sheer panic as you begin to approach. 

“Myungjae! It’s been forever,” you say, reaching over to pull your friend into a hug. 

“I know! It’s weird not having classes together anymore,” Jaehyun responds with a dramatic fake sob. 

Your slight giggle is barely audible above the music, but it’s almost as if Taesan’s ears are specifically in tune to you and every sound you make. He silently curses when you turn your eyes to him, a soft smile gracing your face. He knows his face must be fire engine red at this point, simply unable to cope with you being so close. 

“Hi Taesan. Long time no see.”

It hasn’t been that long since he’s seen you, but he’s not quite sure how to articulate that without sounding like a total creep. That’s not to say he’s a stalker or anything, but the two of you seem to cross paths quite frequently on campus. You wouldn’t know, of course, since Taesan always ducks for cover any time he spots you coming. Instead of saying that very fact, he opts for a simple smile. 

“Yeah, it has. How have you been?” He mentally cheers at his ability to get his sentence out without stuttering. “Jaehyun told me you’ve been pretty busy.”

Your smile grows even brighter, eyes taking on a teasing glint. “You asked about me?”

Even the overly loud bass line can’t vibrate a single cell in Taesan’s body, the man having grown rigid at your question. The short answer is yes. How could he not when even the tiniest glimpse of you has his heart racing in his chest. He knows he can’t say that, though, mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he flounders for an answer. 

“I’m just kidding!” You giggle. “But Myungjae is right. I’ve been so busy this semester. My research project is taking up all of my time.”

When Taesan looks to his left, he notices the aforementioned man is nowhere in sight, clearly having abandoned you two. Taesan makes a mental note to beat him up a little bit later. But for now, he just has to focus on not weirding you out. 

“Oh! Um, what’s your research project on?”

With the way your eyes brighten underneath the dim purple glow of the party, Taesan wishes he had his camera. He wishes he could simply capture something that showed just how happy you were. For once, he understands why artists spend hours capturing their subjects on canvas. He could fill an entire gallery with paintings dedicated to the light in your eyes and the brightness of your smile. 

“It’s on how urbanization and lack of green spaces affect mental health,” you beam. “And I’ve lowkey gotten so much pushback from my professors because they feel like it’s been done before but—oh shit.”

Taesan barely registers the fact that you stopped talking, too engrossed in the delighted expression on your face. But when that drops in favor of a panicked look, he finally snaps out of his reverie. Despite the dim lighting, it’s clear that you’re looking at something, or rather someone. When Taesan turns to figure out exactly what it is, you’re quick to place a hand on his cheek, turning him back to face you instead. 

“Don’t look!” You exclaim in a whisper. “It’s my ex. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The words take a second for Taesan to digest, still focusing on where your warm palm lays on his cheek. 

“Your ex?”

Taesan was vaguely aware of the fact that you were in a relationship about a year or so ago, having heard from Jaehyun about the hardship of your breakup. He didn’t know you back then, but he imagined that it would have made him sick, to see you stupefied in love. He never considered himself the jealous type, but when it came to you, he imagined that even another person looking at you too long would set him off. 

“Yeah, shit. He’s coming. I’m about to do something and please just go along with it.”

Taesan flushes when you make eye contact again, your hand making a slow trail from his cheek down to wrap around the back of his neck. He struggles not to moan when your nails begin to play with the small hairs at the nape of his neck. It makes it even worse that he can’t help but track the movement of your mouth as you lick your glossy lips, cheeks pulling upward into a sultry smile. When your other hand places itself gently on his chest, Taesan doesn’t know whether to curse or cheer. A fuzzy feeling is slowly clouding his head, all of the blood in his body having rushed south. 

He knows he has to make this believable, though, so he snakes a hand around your waist, thumbing at the bare skin between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your shirt. It takes all of his resolve not to explode right then and there. How the fuck are you so soft?

“Y/N?”

Your eyes sharpen as they make contact with the tall man rounding the corner. Your hands still stay glued to Taesan, though, not willing to part from the close contact. Your ex seems to notice, judging by the way his eyes scan the points where the two of you are connected. 

“Oh, Anton! Didn’t know you’d be here.” Your voice carries a tinge of annoyance as you regard the man. “What’s up?”

Anton stutters out an answer, voice coming out too soft to compete with the noise of the party. You cock your head at his words, not fully able to hear what he’s saying. It’s not like you’d want to, anyways, not with the calloused fingers splayed across the exposed skin of your waist and the soft locks peeking through your fingers. You don’t seem to be the only one who doesn’t want to part, though. This close, it’s easy to feel the heart thundering underneath your palms and the goosebumps rising where your nails tease the skin of a neck. Interesting. 

“What was that?” You question, cocking your head cutely. 

Anton’s blush is clear despite the colored lighting of the party. “Um, never mind. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

You nod, watching as his overly tall form retreats. Once he’s lost in the throng of people crowding the party, you let out a sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. Taesan remains frozen where you hold him, eyes widened in shock. It’s only when you take in his expression that you realize that the two of you are still connected, rushing to take a step back. Taesan takes a breath when his own hands fall to his sides, chest shaking as he exhales. 

“I’m so sorry!” You wince. “But thank you for doing that. He’s, uh, persistent, I’ll say.”

“N-no problem,” Taesan stutters.

Silence lingers between the two of you, except the sultry music of the party makes it not all that silent. Distantly, you hear a call of your name, just barely audible above the smooth melody of the R&B track that blasts from the speakers. You turn to give your friend a quick wave before facing Taesan once again, not surprised to see his gaze trained on the floor. 

“I’ll, um, see you around,” you mutter, smoothing a hand down the expanse of his bare arm before leaving to meet your friend. 

Taesan remains rooted in place, unmoving for a long few moments. The phantom warmth of your hands against his skin has him shivering, unable to think of anything else. After a moment, he sighs, silently willing his erection away. 

.         .         .

“And then her nails were playing with the hair on the back of my neck, and I swear to god, I was about to cream my pants!”

“Ew,” Woonhak gags as he fiddles with the game controller. 

“No talking about how Y/N gave you a boner in front of the baby,” Sungho nags. “Save it for your studio and put it in a song.”

Taesan sticks his tongue out at the older man, always having hated when he puts his motherly persona on. Normally, Taesan isn’t the one to take up all the air in the room discussing his newest infatuation. But after last night, it’s all he can seem to talk about. 

He would admit that Sungho has a point if he hadn’t already written three songs in less than twenty four hours just about the feeling of your hands on his skin alone. It’s as if you’re consuming him, quite literally engulfing him in the memory of you. You exist so vividly in his mind, the curl of your smile, the color of your eyes, the sweet scent of your perfume. Just the memory of it all has him wondering if he needs to compose a fourth song right now. 

“Where did Jaehyun go?” Donghyun asks after he loses the game, pointedly ignoring Woonhak’s celebratory dance. “I feel like he’s been gone for an hour.”

Sanghyuk barely looks up from his phone, speaking through a mouthful of potato chips. “He went to meet up with Y/N for ice cream. Apparently she was having an emergency or something.”

A complete sense of dread overtakes Taesan’s body, fully frozen in the beanbag he had chosen to sit on. What if your ex had come back? What if he was able to see right through your little act and had come back to try to win you over? What if the two of you were getting back together? Or even worse, what if you were telling Jaehyun about the moment you had yesterday, complaining that Taesan was a creep for liking your touch so much? What if you felt uncomfortable around him?

Worst of all, what if you saw his boner?

He isn’t afforded much longer to stew in his hypotheticals, as Jaehyun chooses that exact moment to come through the door. Instantly, he locks eyes with Taesan, expression curling into an annoying smirk. The younger tries his best to seem nonchalant, but he knows his friend can likely see right through him. He’s never been the most subtle.

“Han Taesan,” Jaehyun practically yells as he approaches the living room, ignoring everyone else in the room. “You son of a bitch!”

Taesan’s eyes widen into saucers, staring down the man as he approaches with the force of a bull. “What?”

Jaehyun continues to smirk, plopping down into the beanbag next to him. “I can’t believe you’ve actually done it. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Didn’t know I had what in me?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” the man responds, miming zipping his lips shut. “But just know that I’m proud of you, son.”

“I thought I was your son,” Woonhak whines from in front of the tv.

Jaehyun immediately grins, not missing the opportunity to smother the youngest. He moves to go crowd him against the couch, pressing obnoxiously loud kisses all over his face. Donghyun laughs at the antics, happy that it finally gives him a chance to beat Woonhak at the video game. Unfortunately, Taesan isn’t able to laugh, still left reeling over Jaehyun’s earlier comments.

What the hell did he do?

.         .         .

You take a deep breath, smoothing out your clothes and checking your makeup in your compact mirror. It’s not like you have much to worry about. You know that you look good, having spent an extra twenty minutes getting ready for this exact moment. Thankfully the ten minute walk to get to your destination wasn’t enough to ruin your appearance. 

A little bell above the door jingles when you enter the tiny record shop, instantly greeted with the loud riffs of a Deftones song. It’s somewhat jarring and not exactly to your taste, unexpected from a quaint shop near a college campus. But when you remember exactly who works here, it all makes sense. 

“Welcome in!” A voice calls from somewhere in the depths of the store. 

With all of the stacks of CDs, records, and magazines, it’s impossible to see the majority of the store. But you don’t need to see to know exactly who the voice belongs to. The fact that he’s here brings warmth to your cheeks, forcing you to take a deep breath to keep your composure. You remind yourself that he can’t see you with everything in the way. First thing���s first, you have to fix that. 

Inky black hair is the only thing visible when you approach the counter, the worker crouching underneath to unpack some boxes. You try not to laugh when you hear a muffled curse, the cashier clearly displeased. 

“Hey Taesan,” you say softly, trying your hardest not to sound as flustered as you feel. 

Your response comes in the form of a loud thump, followed by a curse. Before you can react, Taesan is standing to his full height, hand rubbing a spot on the back of his head. His eyes are rounded in surprise, mouth hanging open in half a groan of pain. 

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” You question. 

“Y/N,” he breathes. “Yeah, I’m, um, fine. It doesn’t even hurt!”

You bite back a giggle as the man stutters over his words. “Are you sure? It sounded pretty gnarly.”

“No, not at all. I’m good, I swear.” Taesan’s hand finally leaves the back of his head, moving instead to awkwardly scratch the base of his neck. “What are you doing here?”

In reality, you should have known that he was going to ask. It’s a good question, really, because you don’t know. All you know is that Jaehyun mentioned that Taesan worked here and you’ve been working up the courage to drop by ever since. In the week that you’ve been preparing to come, it never crossed your mind to come ready with an excuse. 

“Oh! Well…” your eyes scan the area, looking for anything that could be your saving grace. “I was looking for some retro rock albums! I was telling Myungjae and he said I should come here because you work here. He also said you have really good taste, so…”

It’s not completely untrue, which you feel like is better than flat out lying. And seeing the excited smile bloom on Taesan’s face proves just how much it was worth it. 

“You’re into rock?” He asks, eyes lit up like a child on Christmas. “Who’s your favorite band?”

Fuck. “Deftones!”

You guess they are your favorite, since they seem to be the only band you recognize as Taesan rambles on about his love of 90s bands. It makes it easier to zone out, tracing the shape of his lips as they form excited syllables and getting lost in the glimmer in his eyes. You were always so attuned to how attractive Taesan is, but seeing him so excited is undoubtedly different. You try your hardest to ignore the continuous fluttering in your chest. 

“So?” Taesan asks, drumming his fingers against the wooden counter. “Are you looking for vinyl, cassette, or CD?”

You’re quick to snap out of your reverie, smiling sheepishly. “Vinyl.”

.         .         .

Taesan swears he must have been a hero in his last life or something. He must have saved kids from a burning orphanage or stopped a war from happening. He must have saved one million trees or stopped robbers from ransacking grandmas’ houses. How else can he explain why he’s been blessed with so much of your presence over the last few weeks?

Every Tuesday and Friday, you waltz into the record store like clockwork, looking like nothing short of a dream. You never really buy anything, which doesn’t bother Taesan, because it means you spend extra time talking to him. He constantly swoons when you laugh at his jokes, perpetually fighting a blush near you. The angelic sounds of your giggles are always heard over the harsh guitar riffs of Deftones, which he makes sure to always have on when you walk in.

You’re giggling now, head tipped back and nose scrunched adorably. Taesan swears that one day he’s going to record the sound and put it in a song. It would just add to the list of countless songs he’s produced about you, a plethora of hard hitting raps and softer rock ballads. He wonders if one day he’ll ever get to play them for you.

“I can’t believe you knocked over the entire display,” you giggle. “Did any of them break?”

Taesan smiles sheepishly. “Let’s just say a huge chunk was cut out of my paycheck to repair the damage.”

It’s hard for Taesan to do anything but stare as you chuckle once again. The tips of his fingers itch to reach out and smooth back the stray pieces of your hair that have freed themselves from your neat style, desperate to make any type of physical contact. He’s craved to feel your soft skin again ever since the party two months ago. He wonders if you’re still just as soft, if your nails would scratch his scalp the same way, if you’d bite your glossy lips as you peered into his eyes again. 

“You know, I wish I could work in a place like this. I feel like it would just be perfect since I love music so much,” you gush. “I’ve always wanted to make my own song, but it seems so difficult.”

Taesan lights up at your admission. “I could show you!”

At the cute tilt of your head, he decides to backtrack. 

“I mean, I don’t know if you know, but I make music. It’s actually how I met Jaehyun! So, if you’re curious on how to do it, you can drop by the studio sometime and I could show you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

You don’t even know the beginning of what Taesan would do for you, but instead of telling you so, the boy just nods. “Of course.”

The two of you make arrangements for you to stop by the next day, Taesan fighting a smile as you give him your number so he can send the address. 

He ends up using it for more than that, the two of you chatting via text for the rest of the afternoon. You try your best to dismiss it as him just being friendly, ignoring the heat that rises to your cheeks every time your phone goes off with a new notification. It’s right before you leave for your morning class that you get another one, causing you to snort out a laugh:

See you in the music building on the second floor! Lmk if you get lost. That would suck :(

The music building is one of the oldest buildings on campus, its ivy-covered brick exterior serving as a trademark of your school. But when you push through the grandiose front doors, you realize that the inside is actually much nicer than you had expected. Sleek linoleum floors are polished so well that they practically serve as mirrors, reflecting the light from the opulent overhead fixtures. Even the staircase is nice, its carved wooden railing cold to the touch as you ascend to the second floor. Pretty signs make studio 2N easy enough to find, tucked at the end of a long hallway. 

It’s only as you approach the door that your nerves begin to show themselves. You knock on the studio door with sweaty palms, hating the way that your heart hammers in your chest. The feeling of being so nervous before you see Taesan has become increasingly familiar as you both have spent more and more time together. Despite the number of visits you have paid to the record store, your body has never stopped kicking into overdrive at the thought of seeing him. 

Before you can knock again, the studio door swings open, a tall figure standing in the doorway. He’s bathed in blue light from the LEDs that hang along the walls, creating a halo around his dark locks. A pair of thick black glasses frame his eyes, softening his normally intimidating look. When he breaks into a smile, you find yourself doing the same, mirroring his infatuated expression. 

“You made it,” he says softly, motioning you inside. 

The door is heavy when it falls shut behind you, leaving the both of you in a blue bathed silence. 

“I did,” you reply, looking around at the various recording equipment strewn around the space. “This place is incredible.”

Taesan shoots you a closed lipped smile, sitting down at a desk on the far side of the room. He motions to a comfy looking chair next to him, smiling fully when you sit down next to him. 

“Thanks. Jaehyun and I got special permission to decorate it and make it more of our own. I feel like it makes it easier to get the creative juices flowing, you know?”

You have no idea, no longer having paid attention after the first word. It’s too easy to get lost in the way Taesan’s mouth moves as he speaks, something you have found happening over and over again whenever you see each other. You thank the divine that he hasn’t seemed to notice your habit. 

“Oh!” Taesan interrupts his own ramblings. “We also have a fridge. Do you want anything? Water, juice, beer?”

“You guys can have beer in here?”

Taesan smirks as he approaches the fridge. “Nope. Catch!”

The can is ice cold when it falls into your hands, serving as a cool refuge for the otherwise clammy surface. You wait until Taesan settles back next to you to crack the drink open, smiling when he bumps his can against yours in a silent cheers. 

Being with Taesan in his studio proves to be extremely different from being with him in the record store. He’s clearly in his element here, showing you what each button of his complex equipment does as he stacks sounds on top of each other. He even asks for your input, seeing what you like best before adding it to the track. The beer also seems to help ease his nerves, no longer a stuttering mess whenever he addresses you. 

It makes the time that passes feel like nothing as the two of you work on the song. A couple of hours in, you both have created an entire instrumental track, just waiting for lyrics to complete it. 

“Who knew you were such a good producer?” Taesan asks as he saves and closes out of the track. “You must have been an artist in your past life.”

You roll your eyes at the joke, cracking a smile at the boy’s antics. When you glance back at the screen, however, the smile instantly dissipates from your face. 

“Taesan,” you breathe. “What’s that?”

The man in question follows your gaze where it is trained on his computer screen, clearly stuck on a folder that is simply labeled with your name. He feels his heart rising into his throat, rushing to open up a new window to hide the folder. 

“N-nothing,” he stammers, but judging by your expression, he knows it’s too late. “I promise it’s not anything weird or creepy or anything! Shit, that makes it sound more creepy. But it’s not, I swear.”

“Taesan,” you repeat slowly, “what was that?”

The man buries his face into his hands, groaning loudly before looking at you again. “Fuck, you’re gonna think I’m such a loser.”

You choose not to respond to that, motioning at his computer again. Even in the artificial blue light, you can see the color that begins to rise to his cheeks. In any other situation, you’d consider it cute, but you’re still not sure whether or not to be creeped out. 

Taesan sighs, double clicking the folder to reveal a plethora of untitled files. You try your best to see what they are, or what they could contain, but Taesan opens one before you get a chance. It brings you right back to his producing software, a track beginning to load. 

“Just listen.”

The melody that plays is hard hitting, a little jarring in the small space. There’s a strong drum beat for a moment, only to be slowed down right before a voice starts rapping.

Taesan keeps his eyes firmly trained on the floor as the song plays, trying his hardest not to cringe at his own lyrics. He goes on and on about the way you laugh, the color of your eyes, the swell of your hips. In the chorus, he highlights how much he wants to be yours, how perfect you are. It all repeats until the end, where he confesses how perfect he could be for you. 

When the song ends, neither of you move, letting an oppressive silence linger in the small space. You don’t even notice the way your mouth has hung open until you feel a slight pain in your jaw. Despite it, you can’t seem to keep your mouth closed, continually floundering for words. 

“You wrote that?” You question, voice barely coming out as a whisper. 

Taesan simply nods. 

“About me?”

When the boy nods a second time, you can’t help but stand from the chair, taking the two steps necessary to stand in front of him. He’s clearly startled when you place a hand on his shoulder, eyes tracing your figure as he looks up. The light of the computer screen is reflected in his eyes, making them appear as if they are sparkling. 

“You like me?”

Taesan swallows thickly at your question, nodding again slowly. He goes to look away, but you place a hand under his jaw, preventing him from turning. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Taesan whispers. “You’re you and I’m me. I like you so much, but you’re, like, so out of my league. I didn’t want you to laugh at me.”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes at the boy’s confession. But it immediately dies in your throat when Taesan squeezes his eyes shut, looking on the verge of tears. You instantly scramble to reassure him. 

“No, I promise I’m not laughing because of that,” you coo. “It’s just…why do you think I kept coming by the record store?”

Taesan opens his eyes, glistening with unshed tears. “Because you like Deftones…?”

“Oh my god!” 

You can’t help but fully laugh this time, releasing Taesan’s face in favor of squeezing onto his lap. His mouth drops into a soft “o” as you settle in, hands frozen awkwardly on the arm rests. You take his surprise as an opportunity to snake a hand around the back of his neck, letting your nails scratch at the base of his skull like they did months prior. 

“Taesan,” you whisper. “I don’t like Deftones.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I like you.”

You wish you had a camera to capture Taesan’s expression at the moment when what you’re saying clicks for him. It takes a moment, the words seemingly churning in his head before their meaning becomes apparent. His head cocks to the side, eyes no longer glistening with unshed tears, but rather sparkling with disbelief. 

“You like me?”

The chuckle that escapes you is dripping with fondness, your hands tightening where they rest around Taesan’s shoulders. “Yes. I like you a lot.”

“I also like you a lot.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “You already mentioned that part.”

Taesan still looks nervous, hands clearly fumbling as he decides whether or not it’s okay to touch you. “So…what now?”

You inch forward, slowly minimizing the already small distance between the two of you. It’s close enough that you can feel Taesan’s shaky breath, warm as it fans your face. He goes a little cross eyed as he tries to maintain eye contact, clearly still startled at the newfound close contact.

“Now you kiss me.”

There’s a brief hesitation, the tiniest moment in which Taesan’s eyes flicker down to your lips before meeting your gaze once more. But then, he immediately surges forward to close the distance between you two, his soft lips blanketing yours. It’s a timid, chaste kiss that only lasts a few seconds before he pulls away.

“Taesan,” you whisper, as if not wanting the words to escape the cocoon that you have created with your bodies. “Kiss me again.”

And he does. He kisses you again and again until your hands travel to his cheeks, keeping him in place. It allows you to kiss him deeper, savoring the warm feeling of his mouth on yours.

Despite his shy nature, Taesan seems anything but inexperienced as he finally relaxes into the kiss. His hands slowly migrate from the arm rests to your hips, hands smoothing along the fabric of your jeans. He strikes a comfortable balance between the gentle way he kisses and the firm groping of your body.

Just when you start to lose yourself in the feeling, he pulls away, leaving both of you panting.

“Wait, Y/N…let me play you another song.”

With a little bit of shuffling and clicking, Taesan finds the audio file he's looking for, kiss-swollen lips settling into a satisfied grin. He leans back to observe you as he presses play, letting a melody flow through the speakers. 

You're my girl

And that's alright

If you sting me, I won't mind

'Cause you're my girl

And that's alright

If you sting me, I won't mind. 

.FIN.

[beenbaanbuun]

misunderstandings w/ san

words - some

genre - fluff/angst with a dash of nsfw but not smut

warnings - horny!san, soft!san, sad!reader, misunderstandings, san in grey sweatpants, mentions of sex, no actual sex/sexual acts, reader speaks in riddles and expects san to understand

it’s no surprise to anyone that san likes to be cosy and comfy

we’ve all seen that fuzzy great sweater that he always wears

that thing looks like it would send me to sleep within seconds of putting it on, but i digress…

another item of clothing he keeps close to his heart is sweat pants, more specifically grey ones

he says they’re just comfy, but you know exactly why he wears them

they cling to his thighs so nicely and leave very little to the imagination

sometimes just seeing him in them is enough to drive you insane

it’s even worse if he takes a shower before putting them on, because 9 times out of 10, that man is not putting underwear on with them

a shirt is also optional… apparently san just doesn’t like the way they feel when his skin is damp

personally, you think san just does it because he knows it drives you crazy

in fact, there’s been more than a few times when you’ve texted san throughout your day at work about how much you miss him

and shown up at the end of the day with him on your couch, just like that; half naked with sopping wet hair

and whilst ‘i miss you’ usually is just code for ‘i’m horny’, sometimes it just means you’re having a bad day and want to hold him close for the rest of the day

either way, you don’t mind showing up to your house with a half naked san on your couch

you’re about to get the best dick of your life, or incredibly soft cuddles

it all depends on your response to his obvious advances, although sometimes he isn’t the best at taking hints

“you’re home,” he opens his arms the moment you walk through the door, as if asking for a hug

you’re more than happy to oblige, dumping your bag on the floor and letting your tired body collapse onto his

it had been a frustrating day to say the least

your coworker had been off so her work had been passed to you, despite the fact that no one person would be able to do all of that by themselves

still, the boss expected it whether you complained or not

saying you were drained was an understatement

as your body connects with san’s, he grunts, but catches you effortlessly

“fucking hell, babe,” he squeezes you gently as he holds you to his chest, “careful, yeah?”

you nod half heartedly into the damp skin of his neck

“you’re naked,” you deadpan, snuggling into his warmth a little

you know what it means, but you haven’t quite decided whether that’s what you want or not

maybe sex would take your mind off the day behind you

or maybe it would overstimulate you and send you spiralling… who’s to know!

“hardly,” he replies, “i have my sweatpants on…”

“and what are the chances of there being something underneath,” you wait for his response, but he stays silent which tells you everything you need to know

not that you need any confirmation; you can feel his hardening dick pressing against your thigh

you decide then and there that no, sex definitely would not be the best option

the thought alone of the ache that would follow is enough to make you decide that you certainly could not handle it right now

“it’s covered, is it not?” he finally says through pouted lips

you sit up fully and look at him with a fed-up expression, hoping he gets the message

you’d never been too good at saying no to people

something along the lines of not wanting to disappoint people

usually you just dropped hints and hoped for the best; san usually understood sooner or later

“it’s rock hard against my leg, san,” you scoff, “i don’t think your sweatpants are going to stop me from feeling that…”

he shrugs with a smirk

“that sounds like a you problem,” he says, which is actually factually incorrect, “maybe you should do something to sort it out…”

you can’t help but sigh at his inability to take any sort of hint

“or maybe, you can take yourself up to the bathroom and get rid of the problem yourself!”

it’s more obvious that the glare you gave him previously

still, the smirk remains as though you’re just teasing him

he shakes his head with a grin

“but you’re literally right here,” he whines, “and the bathroom is all the way upstairs…”

“i’m not in the mood to ache right now, sannie,” you once again, drop a hint that he, once again, completely disregards

in fact your statement makes him smile, clearly happy with what your statement implies about how good he fucks you usually

“i’ll be gentle?”

“san!” you scold, frustrated that your rock-headed boyfriend can’t seem to understand that whether or not he was rough was not the issue here

“i’m just saying,” he puts his hands up defensively

you look down at him with tired eyes, frustrated tears forming in the corners as you grow tired of throwing hint after hint at him

as much as you hated saying ‘no’ so bluntly, you settle on the fact that you might have to

“san,” you start, taking a deep sigh to calm your nerves, “i’m trying to tell you that i don’t want to have sex right now.”

you have to force yourself to look at him

even though you know that he’ll be more than fine with that fact, you can’t help but feel a little guilty about it

and when you look up at him, you can’t help not notice that his face falls a little

not that he’s upset at you not wanting sex, he’s just upset that he clearly misread the situation

and maybe he feels a little (a lot) guilty for pushing so hard when, now that he thinks back on it, you actually weren’t that interested

“oh, baby,” he mumbles softly as he moves his hands to rest against your thighs that sit either side of hips, “bad kind of ‘i miss you’, huh?”

you nod

“the bad kind,” you respond with a shrug, as if you’re trying to pass it off as nothing

but of course, gentleman san would never let that happen

because your emotions are never nothing

“you should’ve told me straight away,” he scolds gently, “or maybe i should’ve asked…” he frowns, “either way, if i’d have known i’d never have pushed so hard… you know that, right?”

you nod ever so slightly

of course you should’ve told him straight away, but again, saying no is hard for you and the ever present fear of disappointment hangs over your head like a rain cloud

and while you were positive that nothing you did could ever disappoint san, there was still something in the back of your brain that told you otherwise

“of course i know that, sannie,” you pout, “but you know me…”

“hm, i do know you,” he mutters as he rubs gentle circles into your thighs, “and i know how scary saying no is, but it’s just me.”

just san… it’s just san

you nod, understanding exactly what he means

there’s no external judgement, or any judgement at all for that matter, because it’s just san

and san doesn’t care about these things

san just wants to make you happy and if sex wouldn’t make you happy, then san would happy live with blue balls for the night

you nod again, more enthusiastic this time

“it’s just you,” you give him a small smile, which he returns without even a second passing

“there’s that pretty smile,” he coos before shifting his hands to your waist and tugging you gently until you’re lay flat against his chest once more

and you’re happy to just lie there in silence as san trails his fingers up and down your spine to soothe you

he’s not asked about your day yet, and he probably won’t for a while, content to sit in silence and love you for now

and you’re content too

very content

[temmtamm]

couldddd you POSSIBLY!.!!.!!! do a gravity falls yandere platonic ford which any age with a son!reader? Maybe around the age of 14 or younger. IF NOT THATS COMPLETELY FINE!

or if not that maybe a platonic yandere teen ford and stan with a younger brother?

Hii pookie!!

Friendly reminder once again, I do not do gender specific asks/headcanons!! Check my Gravity Falls ‘Asks Open’ post if anyone has any confusion on what I will/wont do!

As for a parental Ford…let’s see..

Well, at least in my opinion, Ford probably wouldn’t take that care of a child. He can barely take care of himself, let alone a kid.

But, if we are talking after the portal and everything, then I think that might be different.

Once again, Ford doesn’t have much of any parental bones in his body, but he does display more care and affection for the twins than I think he would’ve before the portal. I feel like he had matured and grown a lot through all the dimensions he had been in, and was able to recognize how poorly he was raised.

So, let’s say your home life wasn’t as great either, whether it be something as simple as your father being emotionally constipated, or your family just fights more than ‘normal’ ones, Ford WILL draw parallels to your home and his.

And Ford, after all he has learned, doesn’t want another person to wind up like him; craving validation and praise from others, to the point where he—I mean, you, seek it out from dangerous sources.

So…Ford starts hanging around you more.

He’s very…subtle with it. He knows kids, especially teenagers don’t care for adults getting all up in their business, so he tried to take it slow.

He didn’t expect how closed off you were, however. Your walls were completely up…So, he had to take some extra measures to get some details out of you.

Y’know the fun fact about all the weirdness in Grvaity Falls?? It means that there’s a lot of bugs that can repeat what it hears—So, it wasn’t that hard to sneak one of these copyroaches into your home and listen in on it repeating all that was heard in the home.

All the nasty fights, all the lonesome crying, all the times you’d gush to yourself or your friends on call about your special interests.

Don’t worry, he’s a good dad, he’ll let you keep SOME privacy…Just, a very, very, VERRYY small portion of it.

Slowly, you two start to bond more and more with him becoming more of a father figure to you with how he seems to always know what’s troubling you and the answers you need to hear in that moment…Not to mention, with him not being great with emotions, he tried to win your love with acts of service, such as making you dinner, saving the shoes you like on his DVR, and letting you spend the night at the shack when your parents fight.

Soon, he started to notice you staying at the shack more and more.

And more and more…He couldn’t help but grow discontent with the way your family treats you.

As said before, it doesn’t matter how small the issue is, if Ford had it his way, not a foul word should be spoken in your vicinity. Haven’t they already done enough damage to this child?? Do they want you to grow up in a broken home?!

In fact…He doesn’t think they’re fit to be parents. Not even in the slightest!!

He would be so much better…He’d actually take care of you, and he is smarter than any school they have been putting you in for that matter—All those kids are just so cruel to you, even if you don’t know it yet.

That…actually gives him an idea.

“So…anything happen at school today, champ?” Ford mumbled in his usual low, raspy voice as he scrubbed at the dishes in the sink, his apron still tied around his waist from cooking.

“Uh…Ford?” He didn’t even bat an eye or look up at you as you started to feel queasy, pushing the bowl of soup away from you at the dinner table. “I think the vegetables in this went bad…I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Ford just let out a good, hearty laugh. “Don’t be silly, I made it with all fresh ingredients. Have a look for yourself. Only the best for you.”

You could feel your stomach start to churn and growl, with the sight that greeted you when you looked down at your bowl not making you feel any better.

Was that an…eye?!

…

It’s the same shade as your mother’s.

“O-Oh god..” You bit down on your lip, bile starting to creep up in the back of your throat at the sight…and that’s when the melatonin had started to kick in, making your vision grow spotty. It was hard for Ford to find a dosage of that where it was not only over the required limit for a young teen, but also able to be hidden in food. He did it though. Better that than rat poison for his little baby.

“Aww, oh no? Are you having a stomach bug?? Don’t worry, I’ll make it all better.”

That’s the sick part. He genuinely believes it’s better locked in the shack for you. Why wouldn’t it be?? He’ll spoil you with all the care and love a child deserves, not to mention he will be sure to intellectually stimulate your brain as well.

You’ll see. He’ll be the perfect father for you.

[songmingisthighs]

Pitiful, You're Pitiful

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ch. vi

group : ateez

pairing : aged up!wooyoung × aged up!reader

genre : angst, mature

word count : 2.8 k

warning : argument, mentions of cheating, negative depiction of wooyoung, mentions of loss, calling an adulteress an assortment of names, idk what else tbh lmk if there is anything else I should add

a/n : I FINALLY UPDATED !!!!! this chapter might be slightly shorter compared to the others but trust me when I say it's very much intentional because I just want to focus this chapter on this one specific interaction. some sort of catalyst or like break from the obliteration of pyp!woo's image ig lmaooooo BUT YAY I DIDN'T FORGET TO POST PYP THIS MONTH !!!!

buy me coffee ?

After the fiasco that was your unveiling of a VERY important information about a staff of the academy, Wooyoung was immediately pulled in to get his side of the story. And of course, unfortunately, you. Luckily, you didn't get chastised by anyone because you were CLEARLY the victim in this situation. Heck, the HR team even reached out to apologize to you for the inconvenience you experienced due to their staff's "misconduct" because you're one of the founders's wives. It was an interesting way of saying that their staff is a cheating whore without any redeeming value but you'll take what you can get out of them and the situation. Which also includes his own friend group contacting you every now and then to make sure that you are okay and some (Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho) even going as far as swearing to denounce their familial relations with Wooyoung which was sweet.

Speaking of Wooyoung, he had been shoved into the heap of horseshit that he had piled on himself. You honestly have never seen him so down because he was "suggested" to take an extra two weeks of break to "settle down from the issue" which was really code for HR still having to clean up his mess because Harin decided to not go quietly. From what you heard from a reliable source (Jongho over pastry and coffee after he ditched his vocal classes to gossip), Harin came back the day after she officially got fired and made a ruckus. Literally, she went crazy and made a mess of the lobby; throwing chairs and tables around, scattering pamphlets, breaking vases, and screaming random weird things like how the company is a misogynist for firing a woman for something that was beyond her control. Safe to say, because Harin refused to move to a quieter spot, Hongjoong had to step in and reiterate all the mistakes she had made including but not limited to her having an affair with a married man who was her boss. Hongjoong had even told her that while there was another party involved, another party that acknowledged the mistakes that he had made and agreed to accept whatever disciplinary actions were required, it was also her choice to partake in such behavior. Long story short, a student uploaded the whole thing on YouTube and as of today, there were 15 different TikTok remixes ranging from EDM, screamo, and even a Donald Trump edit. Without Jongho pointing it out, you could imagine that Harin's career in South Korea was over, not because of the cheating, but because of her disorderly conduct.

You found yourself spending time rather peacefully in recent times which was surprising since your house seems to always be in a state of chaos. For once, Wooyoung didn't try to make you talk to him or about him. In fact, he had the decency to be very considerate of you and your feelings, particularly about being in the same room as him. It made you feel slightly bad to be honest because although you both were going through something, he was in the middle of being the butt of the joke and jab by everyone at the company. It was sad and pathetic but also very much deserved. Sure you sometimes found his isolation to be sad, pathetic, and downright pitiful, but then you remember what he did and you remembered how he put himself in that position without even considering the repercussions.

The same could be said about Dayoung. Well, only in the sense of her isolation seemingly from the rest of the world. Your outgoing, extroverted daughter seemed to spend a good chunk of time locking herself inside her room after school. Usually, you would have to turn into a negotiator three times a week just to get your daughter to come home right on her curfew. This time around, you had a worse time trying to get her out, even making her run some errands just so she could get some fresh air. It wasn't until a while later that Wooyoung clued in on why Dayoung was acting like that. The way you went off on Wooyoung for breaking the news in such a manner without you present or even consulting you. You did try to understand that maybe he just... slipped or that he was so emotional that it just slipped out but the point stood that he waited until you were trying to piece things together to finally tell you. Yet another secret he kept from you. Considering the frequency of things he said but hid away from you, you had to think if this was some sort of behavioural pattern that he hadn't exhibited even if you both had been married for quite a long time. Maybe he had became a master a suppressing it and all it took was you forcing the truth out of him to make said behavior to come back to the surface.

On the other hand, Woohyun was turning into a more mature and responsible version of himself. the day you both came home from confronting the slut, Woohyun became so very helpful towards you. The first thing he did was took your bag and brought it over to the kitchen table before he dashed to the bathroom to wash his hands, cleaning himself up before you had to tell him to. Then he made himself very available for you by making sure that he spent almost every single waking or available moments with you. When you;re in the kitchen doing the dishes or cooking, he would be on the counter or the dining table doing his homework. Sometimes he would even try to do chores like one time he tried to help you bringing his sister's laundry basket from the second floor and he ended up scattering everything down the stairs. Woohyun was upset and worried that you would be mad but instead, you laughed it up and helped him clean up before teaching him how to carry items that are heavier than him down. Although you couldn't find it in yourself to bring it up in case you ended up accidentally telling him yourself, you had a feeling that Woohyun was trying to distract you from the reality of what was going on with your husband in his own way. One of the things that solidified your assumption was the fact that Woohyun had limited contact with his dad significantly. The two of them used to spend time together playing games or pulling pranks on one another and even on you or Dayoung but he had suddenly refuse to spend elective time with Wooyoung no matter how much Wooyoung tried to negotiate with him with everything that he got. Despite that, Woohyun dudb't lose respect for his dad.

"Mom?"

You almost dropped the plate you were washing when you heard a voice come up from the doorway. It was surprising to see Dayoung standing there, timid like a deer because she was always happy, lively, and rambunctious, even straight-up disrespectful to you, your space, and your boundaries. But never this. She had been so... quiet for a week and it would've made you freak out had it not been for Wooyoung letting you know that Dayoung knew. That was all he said, she knew. You did not know what had gotten over you to not deck Wooyoung right then and there but he should absolutely consider himself a lucky bastard.

The sight of your own daughter standing there made you feel... anxious. You probably (most likely) should not be afraid of a bitty teenager, but how can you not? It's not like you thought that she was going to attack you or worse, ask you to give Wooyoung a sponge bath. But you just never saw your daughter this... Muted. It was as if she had stepped into an old TV where there was nothing but black and white. You silently wished that Woohyun had not gone to the zoo with his playdate friends because he would be a great buffer. Or witness for whatever that was bound to happen.

"D-do you need help with the dishes?" She asked, stepping closer to you slowly. At first, you were surprised, not exactly expecting that the first thing she would say was an offer to help you with a chore. But, you welcomed her with a smile and nodded, stepping to the side so she could come next to you and start wiping down the washed dishes.

There were no words exhchanged between the two of you for the first five minutes or so but it wasn't awkward. It was the first time that the silence was peaceful when it was just the two of you. Usually, the silence would always only come from Dayoung and it was because she was mad at you for something. Not at you and Wooyoung, just you. You were always the receiver of her animosity even when she was mad at her dad for whatever insignificant reason there could be, but this time was different.

"Mom..." she called you suddenly but what came next surprised you instead, "I'm sorry," she started, not looking at you which was unfortunate because you were staring at her with a very priceless dumbfounded expression. "I- I- what?" "I'm sorry for... This, my part in... Whatever's going on with you and dad. I'm really sorry for making you take care of him. Had I known, I wouldn't have made you take him in," she confessed and you could see that she was starting to tear up. Your heart broke and you really wanted to pull her in and give her the biggest hug that you could muster just to show your support for her but you knew that it would just make yourself feel better for accomplishing something and not actually help her feel better. So you took a step closer to her and breathed out a sigh of relief when she didn't push you away. "I'm really, really, REALLY sorry mom. He's the worst husband ever," she sniffed which made you chuckle as you blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall, "Well, I would say that Emperor Peter, Catherine the Great's husband is a far worse husband than your father."

Your attempt at making light of the situation was met with Dayoung squinting her eyes at you. "Mom, I'm serious. I've heard about my friend's dad cheating but not like this. Not in your situation, and not with someone dumb enough to think she can substitute a hand wrap for martial arts with boob tapes," she scoffed, annoyed. You sighed and shrugged, "Well, people are complicated, sweetie. I... I'm not mad, annoyed, or angry that you wanted me to take care of your dad because, in retrospect, it WAS the absolute right thing to do. I mean, your dad was injured and he's facing such a hard time at work. It would be absolutely wrong to just toss him to someone else. Who would we even toss him to? His friend? His parents?" "His whore, mom. We could've tossed him out and have his whore handle him."

The very second the words left Dayoung's mouth, your eyes widened and your neck snapped in her direction to see her frowning, staring up at you. "He's a cheating bastard and we have the right to not even be in contact with him anymore," she curtly stated. "Jung Dayoung," you started shakily. Dayoung simply shook her head to cut you off, "No, mom, oh my God, you need to stop being a doormat." "Dayoung!" you exclaimed, surprised that she was able to say such a thing and perhaps slightly offended. "It's true! God, mom, how long have you known that he has a side piece who's as dumb as a bag of rocks? How long have you held everything in and just let him walk all over you? He fucking CHEATED on you mom! When you were so down in the dumps to the point that you couldn't even take care of yourself properly! You used Woohyun and I as a distraction, shoving all the attention and care to what, fill in the void over the loss of my would've-been sibling? And where was he? He was with some other woman because he is the worst of the worst and I will never forgive him for what he did to our family!"

Maybe it was the volume of her voice or the massive weight of her words but you felt your blood boiling and before you even realized it, you had shoved a plate into the sink and you were huffing, "Jung Dayoung that's enough, you should not talk about your father that way." "Why? Why shouldn't I, mom? My God, this is the first time in like, maybe ever that I'm standing up for you, this is me protecting you and yet you're still trying to make excuses for that pathetic son of a bitch who betrayed his family!?" "He did not betray our family, okay? He betrayed me, Dayoung!"

Just like it was the first time Dayoung defended you, you had experienced your first time screaming at her and to say that she was scared was an understatement. Dayoung shut her mouth and stared at you with sadness in her eyes because she had yet to comprehend why you were still trying to stand up for your cheating husband.

"Your dad did nothing to our family, sweetie. He did this to me," you sighed, closing your eyes and exhaling shakily as you used both of your hands to hold onto the counter to stabilize yourself. "Sure, he might have altered the dynamic and whatever else in our family but he... What he did was nothing against our family but it was just against me. At least, that's what I think. I don't think I have it in me to find out exactly why he did what he did because I'm weak, Dayoung. I'm a coward like that." you turned to her and shed a tear, breaking Dayoung's heart as she realized just how strong you were all this time.

"Then why, mom? Why are you still letting him off?" Dayoung asked, her voice cracking. You tearily chuckled and shrugged, "Who said that I am? I'm doing this, ALL of this, not because I want to. I did it, because for the longest time, that was what we have agreed on in our marriage. He deal with the monetary stuff and I deal with the family stuff. As much as it hurts, no matter if I like it or not, he is still my family because his behavior be damned, he... He gave me you and your brother and that is something I would never regret. For that, I will always be thankful to him and that is also why you should still respect your father. You can be mad at him, you can be hurt by what he did, but your respect should be non-negotiable not because he deserved it, but because your dad an I taught you better than that. He truly loves you, Dayoung. He might not love me anymore but you and Woohyun are the apples of his eyes, you are his stars in the dark night sky, and you are the best thing he had and would ever achieve. Do you understand me?"

Dayoung groaned and dropped her head on your shoulder as she wrapped her arms around your waist. "Damn it mom, why do you have to make it hard for me to unleash my wrath on him?" You couldn't help but chuckle and return her hug, "Sorry sweetie, part of my job is to make sure you grow up to be a decent human being and sometimes I have to make or say things you don't like," you chuckled, making Dayoung roll her eyes but nudge her hips with yours.

As you spend a heartwarming moment with your daughter, you can't help but let your mind slip and travel somewhere else. You couldn't help but think about how you and Dayoung would probably not have experienced such a changing moment in your life. So as much as you hate it, there was a silver lining in this whole shenanigan.

Beyond the heartwarming scene in the kitchen, alone in the dark and cold emptiness of the living room, Wooyoung stood with his back to the wall. Having come down when he heard the commotion, Wooyoung initially thought he might have to step in to get Dayoung off your back. But when he heard you yell back at Dayoung, he stopped in his tracks and debated If he should stay or leave until his interest was piqued and he ended up listening in on the conversation which left him feeling broken down. Despite the gnawing pain that made him feel like he couldn't breathe, he knew he deserved that and more. He should not complain and instead, he should just accept the harsh truth. Not just the facts that you laid out to Dayoung, but also the truth that your action further proved that he was truly the devil in this equation. And perhaps he doesn't deserve to be forgiven.

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[theeoriginals]

Something with Klaus based on this quote from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

“… You listened.”

“To you? Always.”

I NEED the tension PLS

what a feeling | klaus mikaelson

klaus mikaelson x psychic!female!reader (no y/n)

author's note; this + the oneshot I did with the ozark quote are so fun to do, if y'all have any more tv/movie quotes you want me to do fics with send them in <333

warnings; umm vague mentions of violence but ultimately nothing besides fluff, reader is kind of an anxious mess but it's short and sweet

Her powers had always been somewhat of a burden. They were unreliable at best, dangerous and deadly at worst. She'd been on both ends of the spectrum, and even though the power that ran through her bloodline hadn't skipped her, it might as well have compared to everyone else in her family.

It'd made her somewhat of a black sheep amongst wolves. Her dreams, visions, couldn't be trusted. She couldn't be trusted.

Her family never really let her forget that, so the first time two Originals walked into her family's innocuous shop, she figured they wanted her mom or dad, or someone else– anyone but her.

But Klaus had set his eyes on her and said her name like it meant something. Like it wasn't basically a curse in and of itself.

The Mikaelsons were kind to her, despite all of the trouble she came with. Rebekah was sweet and mostly understanding, though she could sometimes be a bit hurtful without realizing it. Elijah was ultimately the same, and his interest in witchcraft always made her remember how much she really did love it, even if she was considered cursed by most witches in New Orleans.

Elijah had told her all about how their mother was the Original witch, and that if they hadn't been turned into vampires, they'd all have a bit of magic in them still. Their sister Freya, and Kol, were both lucky to have that part of their heritage still, apparently.

In the months of working with the Originals, helping them to the best of her ability, though, it was Klaus that she'd come to enjoy most.

She'd heard stories of the infamous hybrid her entire life, stories of bloodshed and needless violence, painting a picture of an unforgiving, ruthless man. Admittedly, when he'd first sought her out, she thought he'd come to kill her. For what reason, she didn't know, but there was no other reason he'd want to speak to her unless she'd unknowingly passed on a piece of her cursed magic to him.

But that hadn't been the case, and he'd just been in need of her specific powers, needed her help to keep an eye out for certain people and any future threats that would bring harm to him and his family. She'd quickly learned that above everything, Klaus just wanted to keep his family safe, and she was more than happy to help in any way she could.

Even though most of her visions were unreliable, he still urged her to share them just in case. Even though not a single one of her visions about the Mikaelsons had come true so far, he still made her tell him and his siblings. He never let her doubt herself.

She supposes that's why she's trying not to be upset right now, listening to them talk over her like she's not sitting right in front of them.

"We can't just sit back and let this happen, Niklaus," Rebekah says, her face twisted frustratedly. "Her visions aren't fact, they're mere possibilities. And very low possibilities at that."

She flinched, ducking her head down to hide the hurt Rebekah's words inflict on her, because she can't really be upset when the blonde is right. Sometimes it's just a feeling, not even a vision. She can't blame them for not trusting a vision of a future that is constantly changing.

Elijah, ever the mediator, gives his sister a slightly scolding look before looking at his brother with something apologetic in his eyes. "Rebekah's being... harsh, but brother, she's not wrong. There's no way to prove that it will come true, and because of that, we have no real reason to not fight back. We have to do something, otherwise every vampire in the Quarter will be in danger."

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose, his face twitching in a glare. His eyes drift to the quiet witch sitting down, twisting her fingers together anxiously in her lap. He catches her gaze and softens at the sadness in her eyes, feeling it pang in his chest.

"I know," He says finally, an apology swimming in his glacial eyes as he looks at the witch. Her sadness deepens with hurt at his words and he tears his eyes away from her, looking to his siblings. "We have to go."

She stands up abruptly, looking at him in disbelief. "But Klaus, they have white oak stakes, and they're going to use them on all of you. They kill you all, and they don't stop until you're all gone, even Freya! I saw it happen, I swear! You have to believe me, please,"

Elijah says her name with pity in every syllable and she swipes a hand out, turning to look at him with pleading eyes.

"You have to believe me, you're going to be killed if you go. They have laid a trap perfectly made to capture you, and you're walking directly into it!"

"We have to," Klaus shakes his head, already walking towards the doors, Rebekah and Elijah following. He looks over his shoulder, giving her a firm look. "Stay here until we return. It's not safe for you anywhere else."

He walks out before she can say anything else, pretending that he can't feel the heartbroken look on her face burning into his back as he leaves.

──────

She hasn't moved from her seat on the couch in the entirety of their absence. With every minute that shows no sign of their return, her heart beats faster, guilt beginning to seep into her pores.

Stuck in this spiral of horrible, self-deprecating thoughts, she's startled when the doors slam open and the three Originals come marching into the compound.

She stands up, eyes wide as she takes in the drying blood staining their skin and their clothes, but can't stop the wave of relief that washes over her at the sight of them all alive.

Rebekah has a slight limp to her step and Elijah seems to be favoring his left side more than usual, and there's blood on Klaus's face that she knows is his, but they're alive.

She lets out a shaky breath as Klaus walks towards her, Elijah and Rebekah heading for the stairs to likely clean themselves up and find a blood source to suck dry and finish healing.

"I was wrong," She sighs, eyes closing in abatement. "I'm so glad I was–"

She's cut off by Klaus's palms cupping her cheeks, and her eyes snap open when she feels the press of his plush lips against hers. She makes a noise of utter surprise that quickly dissipates into a noise of pleasure, and her eyes flutter shut as she lets him deepen the kiss, stealing the breath right out of her lungs.

She chases him as he pulls away, but he stops her, dragging his thumbs gently along her cheekbones as he looks at her with a look she'd dare call adoring.

It takes her breath all over again and she squirms beneath it, feeling like she's teetering on the edge of something big.

"What," She breathes out, licking her lips like she can still feel the weight of his on them. "What was that for?"

"You were right," He says, his voice rough. "You were right. They had white oak stakes and they tried to kill us. The only reason we survived is because of what you told us,"

Her eyes widen and she looks up at him in disbelief. "But... I'm never right. I'm cursed,"

He shakes his head, lips pulling up into a smile, creasing the dried blood on his cheek. "No, you're not, darling. You saved my life. You saved my family,"

Her throat tightens, thick with emotion, and she isn't entirely proud of the way her voice shakes when she speaks. "You listened?"

Klaus's gaze warms with fondness and he gives her a smile that makes her heart race for entirely new reasons. "To you? Always."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What are your theories about Skully? I have seen many say that he is dead, others say that he has been trapped by the book for a long time. And recently I saw that they said he is the narrator of the book. Personally I think he's trapped but I can't say for how long yet, but it's strange that Grim found the book in the middle of the street.

I’ll be straight with ya, chief 😶 I haven’t been thinking about Skully theories beyond the ones I’ve seen while scrolling socials. I’d like to wait a little more to see how the story plays out and see if we can glean any more suspicious details from him… Or maybe my brain’s still too scrambled from the high of pulling L*ona on my first 10-pull and it isn’t working properly, who knows—

I think Grim finding the book in the middle of the street is just a convenient plot point to get the story rolling? Sort of like how for the Stitch event everyone was conveniently gathered in the library to look for books. The students for this event were looking around at a used book sale (and Skully even reports being present at the same used book sale prior to being sucked into the book himself), so it was probably part of that. They might explain it later, but I don’t know if anyone intentionally planted it there. Again, it was probably a narrative shortcut.

Since I wouldn’t want to just reply to this ask with that half-baked and boring answer, here is a summary of the prominent theories mentioned in the ask and the points from part 1 that support it. After the key pieces of evidence are introduced, I will give my thoughts and point out some questions I feel still need to be answered in later parts of the event. As they are now, I don’t think any of these theories stand strongly on their own without that missing information being filled in to complete the narrative.

“Skully has been trapped in the book for a long time” theory:

This theory posits that Skully has been trapped in the book for far longer than the NRC boys have. In fact, he’s from the very distant past.

This theory assumes he entered the book intentionally or by accident but stayed because he’s such a Halloween otaku.

We see the NRC students getting sucked into the book from modern day Twisted Wonderland… but we have no guarantee of when Skully was sucked in.

Skully speaks in a very formal way, sometimes even moreso than Jade (I won’t get into the specifics here, but an example would be that he uses honorifics for everyone, even those his own age). He also uses the suspiciously archaic form of I (wagahai), which you rarely see in modern Japan.

Weirdly enough, Skully knows who Jack Skellington is (and Jack is known in the village where he claims to come from), but no one else in Twisted Wonderland does. This could imply that Skully is SO old that Jack Skellington was completely forgotten by history.

Skully comes off as a loner and isn’t comfortable talking about his school life. Under this theory, such behavior could be read as concealing secrets about his past and true origins.

I think the most damning evidence people point to for this theory is that even though Skully knows what magic is, he doesn’t seem to know what a magical pen is, and he doesn’t own one either. From Lilia’s School Uniform vignette, we know that magical pens had different forms over the years based on changing trends, so maybe Skully is used to magestones being different in design or not using magestones at all.

He doesn’t know who THE Malleus Draconia is, which is an oddity.

Variants of this theory sometimes place Skully as an old NRC or RSA student; if Skully is placed in NRC, a further subvariant of the theory assumes he was sorted into Ramshackle before it fell in disrepair.

“Skully is dead” theory:

Similar to the first theory (key carryover being that Skully is from the past), but assumes Skully is dead, either from being killed by something in the book or his spirit lingering in the book somehow after death in the real world due to extreme fanboying over Halloween.

His spirit may feel unfulfilled or have regrets (which is how a ghost forms i Twisted Wonderland), and so remains as a ghost that becomes most tangible on Halloween die to heightened magical energy. The latter piece of lore first stated the first Halloween event, but Malleus suspiciously reminds the audience that Halloween is “the one day a year when ghosts from the other side visit the world of the living” this event.

Some phrases he uses are… odd. For example, he uses “moshi” as a greeting instead of “moshimoshi” (which is much more common). The use of the former is connected to a superstition about ghosts who may spirit you away if you respond to someone calling out a single “moshi”.

He gets excited when the NRC students mention they know Halloween. This detail could be attributed to Skully being a Halloween otaku, but some have suggested that maybe he got excited because he’s from an era in which Halloween has yet to exist, hence his surprise when others already claim to know it.

“Skully is the book’s narrator” theory:

Exactly what the title of the theory says.

I think this one largely comes in part from the opening scene where Skully is in a black void and seems to be speaking to someone as if beginning a story about Halloween.

Him generally being a fan boy about Halloween and the founder of it can also ready like a creator that’s WAY too much into his own creations. He also has kind of the chunibyo energy for this.

If Skully is the narrator, then it makes sense why his promotional artwork shows him by default in the sketchy storybook style + Nightmare Suit (provided by the book). He IS the book, so this would be his “default” look.

A variant of this theory incorporates the previous two. Basically, it assumes Skully became the narrator after being sucked in a long time ago and/or dying and his spirit being infused into the book.

I think these theories make the most sense if like… “stacked” or combined with one another. However, they still leave a lot of questions unanswered, especially if we only consider the first (and what I believe to be the most popular) theory. If Skully has apparently been trapped in the book for much, muuuuuch longer than the NRC students have (again, assuming him being dead is not true), it raises various issues. For example:

… What was he doing this whole time while trapped in the book??? Did he just wander the woods?? It sounds like he never visited Halloween Town and potentially meet his lifelong idols UNTIL the NRC students arrived. He never opened any of the holiday doors even though they’re the one “different” thing in the woods? So Skully was literally being the forest boogeyman for generations and generations???

How does time and aging work in the book versus irl? Because like… why is Skully still so young looking even though he’s supposedly trapped in the book for hundreds of years or even longer than that?

If he were from that long ago, his vocabulary and attitudes would be way more different than what we see right now. For example, there was definitely prejudice towards magic in the past, as well as the usage of derogatory terms like “witch” and “wizard”, yet Skully doesn’t speak like this or express any behaviors to indicate he is used to being scorned for his magic.

Almost 700-year old Lilia clearly remembers magical pen designs over the years as well as the discrimination mages faced. This implies Skully would not only have to be 700+ years old, but even significantly OLDER than that, old enough to the point where literally no one recalls any information from that era. This is hard to imagine given Twisted Wonderland’s modern capabilities (for research), its reverence for historical figures, and… oh yeah, the race that lives for literally hundreds of years at a time that can probably recall those Jack Skellington stories. The only reason I can think of for why Jack was censored and forgotten is… simply not passing down the story through history, similar to how Briar Valley never passed down the stories of what happened to Maleanor, even in history books. This still means a few generations of ALL fae agreeing to not share what is ultimately a harmless story about the founding of Halloween. Why though?? It’s nowhere near as serious as what happened to a prominent political leader.

If Skully was trapped in the book for so long, how does he know about Foothill Town? He specifically mentions it as well as the used book fair going on there (which is how the NRC boys got sucked into the book in the first place). Foothill Town and the concept of used book fairs couldn’t have existed the thousands of years ago as the timing of the theory seems to suggest. Unless he somehow knew about what’s going on outside of the book from within it? But nothing indicates that.

RSA students don’t use magical pens for combat, they are shown to use swords. Likeswise, we see other mages using non-magical pens to attack, like staves. Maybe Skully is just from a country or school that doesn’t use magical pens to channel magic and instead uses another conduit.

I don’t think we should necessarily default to NRC or RSA for Skully’s school. There are many smaller arcane academies out there, such as the unnamed one Vargas went to. It’s possible that Skully attends one of those other schools.

There are also obvious points against the other theories. For the “he’s dead” theories: ghosts supposedly cannot handle physical objects, so how did Skully handle the book, especially outside of Halloween and magic school grounds? Idia also uses archaic terms (something the characters also point out), so it could be an otaku thing rather than indicating Skully’s age. For “he’s the book’s narrator” theory: while the Nightmare film has a narrator, book narrators have not yet been established as “a thing” in this type of event. Furthermore, how is Skully, a resident of the book, able to know what’s going on in the outside world?? The Halloween Town residents are able to glimpse into the human world using a pool of water in the center of their community, but it sounds like Skully has never been to Halloween Town before.

So really 😅 I don’t buy the current theories unless all those points get clarified or resolved first. There’s still too little to go off of, I think…

dbjsbaibqkakw I probably talked for longer than I should have on the topic, but 💦 I hope you found this useful as a summary + my thoughts on those popular theories :DD

[melanieph321]

Kenan Yildiz x Reader - Claim Me Part 2/3

+18

Part 1

Summary - Reader is Dusan Vlahovic sister and is dating Kenan. However, Reader has yet told her brother of the relationship as he is very protective of her.

Enjoy!

For lunch with the team and their families, you chose to wear pants. Levi's jeans, to be specific. Somehow, Kenan had managed to arrange the seating at the restaurant so that the two of you would be seated right before each other. You were thankful that he had been eager to tell you about his achievements before your arrival at the restaurant. It allowed you to prepare for the worst, like your boyfriend attempting to play footsie while you tried to enjoy your food.

It was pretty funny. His reaction as his foot went up your legs, expecting to feel your bare thighs, only to be met with the rough fabric of your jeans.

"Whatta..."

You had to look away not to burst out in laughter.

"Behave."

Your behavior earned you an elbow from Dusan, who, God forbid, despised laughter around the table. Or laughter in general.

"Are you twelve, or what?" He hissed, to which you were quite offended by. Kenan must have noticed this because his face went from playful to leathal in just a matter of seconds.

"It's okay." You nodded assuringly. However, he was not happy with Dusan and had to excuse himself to go use the restroom.

"Hey?"

There wasn't much you could say to cheer him up. However, he seemed to appreciate the fact that you came looking for him after he had been gone for a while.

"Hey?" He said, meeting your reflection through the mirror. "You know this is the men's restroom, right?"

"Really, then why are you in here?"

He chuckled.

You came up behind him and rested your chin on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. "It's getting kind of boring out there. What if we ditched this thing and went somewhere else?"

"Won't your brother notice?"

"Nina can cover for me. She always does."

Kenan turned around, forcing you to shift your arms to wrap around his neck, your forheads pressed together.

"I love you." He said.

"Love you too."

"I mean it Y/N. I've never felt this way about another person."

"Felt what?" You raised your head, your nose caressing his, only then did you notice that Kenan's eyes were closed.

"I guess I just don't want to lose you." He sighed.

"Baby." You shrugged his shoulders. His eyelids opened. "What makes you think you're gonna lose me? I'm not going anywhere."

Kenan shied away, the two of you letting go of each other. You kept an eye on the bathroom door as anyone could burst in at any moment.

"I know that." Kenan nodded. It was difficult for him to express his feelings at times. "Like I said before, I want to be able to hold your hand without looking over my shoulder for Dusan. I think it would be better if we just told him the truth. Rip off the bandaid, I mean."

"Kenan I don't..."

"I get it." He nodded. "It's not as easy as I believe. But what if it is?"

You felt for him. You really did. But more than anything, you admired Kenan for wanting to tell Dusan that the two of you were seeing each other. He wanted to do so despite the fact that it could jeopardize the teams dynamic. Not to mention the ridicule and cold shoulders he could face from his other teammates. Still, Kenan thought that you were worth the risk.

"Have I ever told you how good you look in a suit?"

Kenan looked up from where he had been standing by the sink. He saw you scowling him up and down, a devious smile on your lips. "No, but try me." He grinned.

"You look hot." You said, approaching him were he stood. "So fucking hot."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. You can only imagine what it's doing to me right now, seeing you all dressed up."

Kenan's raised a curious brow. His hand went to wrap around your waist as you stood before him again. "Tell me." He whispered. "What exactly is it doing to you?"

Your lip was caught between your teeth. You bit down hard. Even more so, feeling Kenan's hand slip down the length of your back to the curve of your ass. He squeezed it, pressing you against his growing erection.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now."

"In here?" He frowned, questionably looking around the Men's restroom.

You nodded. "In here."

You grabbed his tie, pulling him towards one of the bathroom stalls. As the door trapped the two of you inside, the explicit kissing began.

It was filthy and primitive beyond measure. You had managed to cover up your last hickey with make up, but as Kenan got busy nipping at your cleavage, licking and sucking your breast, you feared that you had no way to cover up those future bruises.

"Fuck Y/N, you're unreal." He groand and slipped a hand down your jeans, feeling the heat from your damped panties. "I want to fuck you until you scream my name."

You smiled. "Then what are you waiting for?"

Kenan paused to look at you,  not sure if this was you giving him his full consent to fuck your brians out. Nevertheless he went for a more tender approach, wanting to please you all the way, without rushing.

You moaned as his fingertips slipped under the fabric of your panties, brushing the bed of you pubic hair, searching for your opening. Once he found it, he slipped two fingers inside, sensing that you were more than ready for it.

The back of your head hit the stall, with a hand covering your mouth to smother your gasping moan.

"Yes baby,  you like that?"

"Mhm." You nodded, fighting back tears in your eyes. He kept a steady paste, thrusting his fingers in and out of you in angles that hit every right spot.

"Don't be shy, baby." He talk you through it, the erruption of your orgasm. "You can come for me. Please, baby, come all over my fingers."

You stood on your tippy toes, climbing the steep hill of your rising orgasm. "Kenan,  I'm gonna..."

"Yes baby, let it go."

It was unbearable, your panties pushed to the side, Kenan's braud fingers deep inside of you, lubricated by the liquid that help spark the flame of the craziest orgasm that you ever experienced.

"Fuck."

You crumbled against the bathroom walls. With Kenan slipping out of you to reach for your jaw, pulling your face towards his, rewarding his good girl with a gentle kiss.

"You did good baby. So fucking good."

You smiled weakly and allowed his helping hand to get you back up on your feet.

"I want you to feel good to."

He smiled. "You already do."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Looking down the bulge in Kenan's pants gave him away. It was your turn to pleasure him.

"Y/N, you don't have to..." He protested, seeing you lower yourself to your knees. "The floor is dirty, baby. I don't want you to..."

"But Kenan..." You whimpered, your eyes big as you looked up at him. "I want to."

"Yes?"

You nodded, "Yes."

His hand went to the back of your head, gripping your hair. You were eager, licking your lips as you reached for his zipper, the bulge in his pants more than ready to be set free.

"Y/N, is that you?"

You froze.

Outside of the stall, the door to the restroom flung open, followed by heavy footsteps.

You looked up to see that Kenan shared the same look of panic in his eyes.

"Y/N!" Dusan hissed, your body trembling with the anger in his voice. "I can see your heels. I know you're in there. Who's in there with you?"

Your heart sank. Not like this, you thought. He will kill him. Your brother is gonna kill your boyfriend.

Part 1

[inbarfink]

Okay, so here is my Thought…

It’s already being established that the majority of worlds in the AT Multiverse are born from wishes granted by Prismo. I mean, we know there are other types of alternative universes (Like Flapjack’s universe) - but Prismo’s exposition implies they are the exceptions and not the rule. And we already know the Wish that birthed Farmworld, and we even got a Word of God about Babyworld (a Wish made by BMO) but… 

Was Winterworld also born from someone’s wish?

While first watching the episode, I was wondering if that was a universe born from Ice King’s wish to, like, make Princess Bubblegum madly in love with him or something. But after all of the reveals at the end of the episode and thinking about it a bit more - I feel like this is unlikely. 

I mean for once, there is the question of how the ‘One Wish Per Person' rule works with the existence of a multiverse. Because we know our Simon also tried using his Prismo Wish

(And from their interactions in Episode 4 it seems like Prismo considers Ice King and Simon to be the same person, So a Wish made by Ice King would also count as the one Wish for Simon)

So like… if Ice King made a Wish with Prismo and then got teleported into Winterworld where his wish was granted and then like… a duplicate of him keeps going in Mainworld Ooo and that one’s actually the Simon we follow… would that Simon get his own Wish from Prismo? Or would the Winter King count as the separate Simon who didn’t waste his Wish yet? Finn has already used up his own Wish but his situation is kinda unique cause he, like, came back from being Farmworld Finn. I’m not sure about the rules here but I’m feeling like it shouldn’t work, Simon used up his one Wish failing to bring Betty back so that means he probably didn’t wish up Winterworld.

I don’t feel super-confident about that, but I feel a bit more sure of this next observation; Prismo says that the Wishes he grants, whatever he wants them to or not, always have some sort of a Monkey’s Paw or ironic twist thing going on. They never go quite right for the Wisher. And the Winter King was doing extremely well until our Free Radicals came along.

I mean… maybe the fact that Pre-Curse Simon would’ve been disgusted with the Winter King’s actions counts. Or maybe the implication is that with the Candy Queen’s recent ‘escalation’ he would’ve been killed sooner or later even without the Multiverse Trio’s intervention.

But… compared to how throughly and how quickly Farmworld went badly for Finn specifically- that honestly feels like a stretch. I think that if Winterworld was born from the Wish of any character - it was most likely Marceline.

She has all the motivation to Wish for Simon to have his memories and/or sanity back - and had it for the longest time out of all of his acquaintances. And if it was her Wish - then it sure as hell has gone extremely wrong for her. 

The woman that she loves has been doomed to the same torturous existence Simon has been trapped in alongside her entire kingdom. And Simon might have his sanity and identity again, but this vile man who willingly and knowingly condemned PB to a life of suffering in his stead is so much farther away from the kindly father figure Marceline remembers than Ice King the crazy old Wizard ever was.

And then he also stole Marceline's most beloved personal possessions and like… probably killed her and definitely replaced her with an icy duplicate who is forever the child he wants her to be. If this Wish is some sort of Ironic Monkey's Paw to anyone, I think Marceline makes the most sense. 

(I will give an honorable mention to Betty, because she also very much has the motivation and it is kinda weird we haven’t seen her try and save Simon with a Prismo wish. But I think that while, like, dying in the Mushroom War unmourned and unremembered by the man you did all of this for is a pretty miserable fate.... I still think that Marceline’s narrative fits the idea of cruel irony a lot better)

[bruciemilf]

So I've been thinking more and more abt the fact that the fandom credits Bruce's incompetence in adulthood to being rich, and sure, it definitely plays a part, but I don't really get...Where it stems from specifically?

First of all, I don't think I've ever even seen a Mention of cleaning, cooking, gardening, driving etc staff; Alfred's our multi purposed, tired king, but he doesn't seem to have any colleagues to speak of?

Second of all; The Waynes truly don't seem like the " having people waiting on them hand and foot" brand of rich people? Like, wasn't their simplicity and relatively down to earth-ness the main reason why Gotham loved them so much??

So! Bruce's isolation and general lack of self-care knowledge can't be all blamed on his money, but the fact that he truly...Didn't have anyone to look at to learn?

Alfred did his best of course, but this is a heavily traumatised 8 year old who refused to look at anyone as family in fear of losing them too for the longest time.

I'm just crying at the thought of Bruce having no one to teach him how to pay bills, or make an appointment at the dentist, or go grocery shopping by himself, to order for himself at restaurants, or cook himself dinner, or keep his place tidy.

Those are all very mundane but precious and valuable activities that parents teach and share with their kids, and Bruce didn't fully get that. So what he did do was make sure his kids knew how to do it all.

Tim doesn't understand why Bruce wants them to try cooking every night. Jason doesn't get why he has to join Bruce, to watch him withdraw money or open an account at the bank

Damian doesn't get why they practice appointments with the vet. Cass doesn't necessarily think a 2 hour tutorial on how to power up the washing machine is crucial to her education.

" Because I don't want you to be like me. And when I'm gone, I want to make sure you can take care of yourself."

That may be the wrong thing to say because the thought of Bruce dying like a normal person makes them sob

[spookberry]

i know this pic is pretty old and canon may have changed since then but do you have a more hd version of the lineup of the color guardian generations over the years? its from 2022 on your deviantart but dA compressed it! id love to hear about the older teams, like anita's first squad

You mean this thing??

Honestly the other teams aren't super relevant outside of a few characters and I like the idea of leaving it vague enough that there could've been even more guardians embetween the ones here.

But yeah I can tell you a little about everyone!

-Anita was one of if not the first Color Guardians. She was actually very close to her Green specifically. They were Best Friends even before becoming Color Guardians(this leads to conflicts with Rin later because Anita tends to compare the two). Their group wasn't around for very long, no one knew the stakes or how serious everything was back then... That is until one colorless attack that ended with Robin dead and Anita having disappeared with a spark of light. Robin was cheerful and kind. Seeing him die left a bad mark on his teammates that they haven't let go of to this day.

-because of her disappearance Anita was assumed dead too. Both by Layla, the police and even her own family. Octavia showed up on the scene shortly afterwards. She never knew Robin or Anita, but Layla's trauma and the fact that it was just them two for the longest time left a deep impact on Octavia.

-Even after Octavia outgrew her role as Blue, she still worried for the next generation. She made a point to track down the next Blue to as soon as she could in order to teach him everything she knew. She's an adult now and teaches self defense classes to the general public, but also special classes for Guardians specifically. All the Blues have met her, and Chiyo even introduced her to Kimi so Kimi could get better at fighting. Layla wants nothing to do with the newer guardians, so Octavia avoids bringing them up, but the two do check in with one another still.

-The teams are generally organized by which Blue is active, because theres always an active Blue. I labeled him Remi up there but I eventually renamed him Russell, he's the second Blue. Much like Octavia, he spent most his time as part of a Duo, up until she was killed in the line of action. It was only near the end of his career as Blue that Nia and Charun became Colors. Nia met Sue a couple of times and can remember her fondly, but Charun never met her.

-Dimitri is also an interesting character. The only other Pink that anyones aware of, he was an active antagonist for most of his time. He often got in the way on purpose and would sometimes help colorless out just to see what would happen. With the power of friendship and gay tension he eventually turned a new leaf. Though not before Russell hit him with a car(they're married now).

-Marcy and Nia are the most relevant past Guardians to the modern group. Marcy has a tough start as Blue. Everyone on the team had been a Guardian longer than she had and already expected her to fill the leadership role that Russell had. Not to mention the youngest and littlest Guardian Veronica appeared right after Marcy. It was a lot of pressure to say the least. But the four of them developed a pretty intense bond cuz of it. Unfortunately much like the others, Marcy's time as Blue did not end without tragedy. There was a really hard fight once that they almost lost. Charun and Nia got hurt really bad to the point where Charun outright rejected being Green(a painful process) and now hardly speaks to any of them outside of the occasional pesters from Nia. Nia herself was already disabled, but the fight has made it harder to manage. She always knew the physical stress of being Red would have negative impacts on her but she doesnt regret her time as Red nor does she regret any of the choices she made during that time. Marcy broke a leg as well during this which permanently ended her dance career.

-More on Nia actually, she was always the heart of her group, encouraging everyone to keep face no matter what. Even after it all she still continues to push her friends forward and check in with all of them. Her younger sibling, Benny, looks up to her a lot, his Guardian form mimicking hers in many ways.

-The only one who came out unscathed physically was Veronica, though having watched the emotional fall out made her wary of teaming up with any of the Guardians outside of Benny for a while. Benny's a simp too so he follows her lead on everything.

-Marcy's only 20 when she meets Chiyo but immediately takes it upon herself to support and take care of the new team in a mentor-y role. The way Russell did for her and Octavia for Russell. This usually turns into more of an emotional support role than being active on the field. (She's had to talk Chiyo through her crush drama SO many times). Marcy isn't that much older, but when you're 15 but 20 seems pretty mature in comparison. Due to her own angst about what happened to her last group too Marcy tends to put a lot of the pressure of being The Adult for them onto herself. (no anita you dont count as an adult)

-Anita was gone for approximately 15 years mind you, so the teams are pretty spread out with the occasional overlapping member. She hasn't gone to see Layla yet since coming back to the right time. She's scared of all thats changed during her time trapped in the timestream tbh.