#diving through my old folders again

[blindedguilt]

🔁 |[HIT ME. ♥]|

"You're going to get us killed." - Interaction Rewrite Prompts!

For Leonard, the weight of a child's blood upon his weapon was heavier than anything else he had handled before in his lifetime.

He hadn't the honour to have even called it the first, but different from his brothers, who had found their end directly by the blades of the Empire, there was no hope for the blame of responsibility to be lifted off his shoulders now that he had wielded that same blade himself.

Leonard's breathing was panicked and uneven. A cold sweat ran down his back as the sensation of the light body being flung backwards shot once more through his arms - he felt ill. Had he died? Had he done away with his life in that forest and been sentenced to hell? Perhaps it was all a punishment, an eternity spent in war, ending the lives of children just as he had his brothers. The screams had sounded too familiar for comfort.

He couldn't, couldn't bring himself to fight. The stakes didn't come to him. The seal didn't exist to him. The usually tranquil forest had roared with the sounds of the clashing steel, the hurried footsteps, the cries and mockery of the faerie - something like the dragon's voice had called his name in harsh rebuke, and whether it truly was her or Caim, Leonard didn't understand and stumbled blindly back to the garrisons in a piteous attempt to flee.

Too cowardly to die, and too starved to survive.

All that was clear to him against the roar of noise was his own breathing, the feeling of his heart pounding in its chest, and the crushing weight of the guilt from that thought repeating itself in his head like a mantra. Leonard struggled to break out of it - do or say something that could stop this madness. Anything. A sickened cry sounded at the sound of the mercenary's own cold reproach, and the hermit struggled to respond.

"Caim, please...!"

He had tried to utter words, either protest or a plea, but his throat had grown tight and left only a quiet whimper. Was that all he could do? Beg...? Leonard's weapon trembled in his hands. He was truly weak... He could have done more than beg. Just like his brothers, there was a thought that told him that he could have saved them. But, it was all the same. His family murdered for the sake of shameful pleasure. The blood of children spilled only for his own protection - his own cowardice to even die correctly. All for himself, a pathetic existence unable to even lift a finger against the slaughter of children.

Some wretched noise, a ragged fight for strained breath against the pounding heart in his chest, could be heard against the armoured thumps of bodies against the ground. Even from a distance, Leonard's frozen body could be seen trembling uncontrollably. The polearm dangled limply from his hands.

"They are only mere children...!"

The last uttered words before the hermit collapsed to his knees were a heart-wrenching sob.

Not a voice of disgust, but a cry in horror.

[vikkrest]

Dos Vaqueros|Late bloomer| Alerudy

Unlike Alejandro, Rodolfo took a little longer to "blossom"… In every sense.

"Honestly, I miss your round face, brother."

"Ugh, you're too sweet sometimes, Alejandro."

Alejandro grins, stretched out on a hard chair that should have been replaced by now, but all hands do not reach. Rodolfo rustles the folders in his desk, looking for something. A monotonous street hum pours out of the window

"I'll say my thanks to Auntie Parra, she turned out to have a pretty son."

Rodolfo freezes for a second, straightens up, rests his palms on the table and turns his head towards his colleague

"What was that about?" Rodolfo grumbles, arching his eyebrows expressively. Alejandro snorts at this and gets up from his chair, stepping closer to the sergeant major, puts one palm on the table in front of them, and puts the other on Rodolfo's lower back, diving under the dark fabric of a loose tee, tracing circles on the skin with his fingers. Rodolfo feels goosebumps running down his arms and squints at the grinning Alejandro, who has buried his forehead in his shoulder.

"I was fat, boring and afraid of everyone and everything." Rodolfo mutters, trying not to move at all, Alejandro hums low at his words, pushing his forearm with his forehead.

"You were kind, helpful and honest with yourself and with others. Our childhood memories are a bit different"

Rodolfo snorts softly with a light, warm half-smile on his lips, turning in the hands of his colonel, the hand on his coccyx naturally slides to the side, tickling the skin with the pads of his fingers.

"And then, two years later than the others, your voice changed, your cheeks retracted and thar cute baby chubbyness disappeared. If you and I hadn't lived so close, I definitely wouldn't have recognized you." —Alejandro continues to wander through the labyrinths of his own memories. "Only your gaze stayed the same, but it has been with you since you were ten years old."

Rodolfo nods slightly and reaches closer, Alejandro does not interfere, only bends his neck to the side so that Rodolfo has somewhere to hide his slowly blushing face.

"Tell me something I don't know about." Rodolfo grinned at the proffered shoulder.

"Well, I'm sure you haven't been able to learn how to kiss properly since I dragged you to that brothel."

Rodolfo pulls away from his neck and looks at the slyly narrowed face.

"Do you want to check it out?" Rodolfo laughs, ruffling Alejandro's curles, as he rested his head on Rudy's shoulder.

"Do you have something to surprise me with?" Alejandro looked up at him, there are sparks of some very cunning plan in them. Rodolfo shakes his head, leans closer and presses his forehead to Alejandro's, squinting once again.

"Don't take me lightly, it never ended well."

"You're thinking it over, Sergeant," Alejandro retorts. "I didn't say anything like that."

Rodolfo sighs heavily as Alejandro moves a little, now pressing his temples and cheeks together. Rodolfo's hand snakes up onto the back of colonel's neck, a moment before they hear the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway. They bounce off each other as if scalded, Rodolfo jumps to the window and freezes in this position, his red cheeks will not be visible from the entrance. Alejandro hisses, stumbles, swears, bangs his knee on the table but takes his place on the chair. Corporal Ramirez rushes into the room.

"Diego, what the fuck, why don't you knock?" Alejandro hisses at him, Rodolfo suppresses laughter, slightly twitching his shoulders.

[ranposbabe]

Infidel | Johan liebert x Reader

Chapter 2

A/n : I literally forgot to post this last night so here it it’s 😭

"Apologies for my late arrival, sir." You sigh, hurriedly rushing to your seat near the window. "No need for apologies. The professor states, raising his hands in defence. "I understand your father struggling to get cases over and done with so they're practically getting anyone these days to achieve that." He laughs, taking a swig from the old and bitter cup of coffee.

Old and bitter...sounds quite familiar.

You slyly raise a brow at his remark yet nonetheless sat down, placing your folder out on the dainty small coffee table in front of you.

"So down to business. I understand someone you were in contact with recently passed due to suspicious circumstances, correct ?" You ask, flipping through the folder. "Well yes I-

The man suddenly stops, his breath hitched as he stares down at the photographs before him. You slowly raise your head, not understanding what caused his sudden distraction.

There laid a photograph of a man being victim to a acid attack. Fragments of the skull exposed with parts of the flesh starting to rot along with somehow the eye still being intake despite the eye socket lolling to the side of the blood covered skin.

"This isn't too much for you is it ?"

"I've been doing this for a few months now, sir. I'm wise now to know not to have porridge before examining evidence photographs." You shrug, flipping through the photographs.

"Ah ! Here." You stop, pointing to a photograph of the victim associated with this particular case.

"Do you see the little marks here around the eyes ?" You ask, pointing to around the eyes "Those are clearly marks left from finger nails digging into the skin." You sigh, taking an exhausted breath.

"Seeing how deep they are and how short and curved they seem, I would suggest it being someone who looks after themselves well, meaning manicures regularly, assuming it's a woman maybe."

You suggest, staring out the photograph carefully. Despite acknowledging the quiet man sat across from you, you couldn't notice the man sat in shock at just how quickly you could come up with an answer to the questions other detective would struggle to answer. But then again...he didn't even have a chance to ask you about the man as you had already dived in . The man couldn't help but to wonder was it due to your intelligence or rather your interest in finishing the case and leaving as soon as possible.

"It's definitely not his of course." You continue.

"So to that I say he probably attacked said woman and in self defence she tried to scratch his eyes out and failed but she isn't responsible for his death." You state, shaking your head.

"If you look closely you see around the lower collar the skin has marks left of a rope-

"So he was strangled to death ?" The man inquires.

"Ha ! No !" You suddenly exclaim.

Oh how you love the sudden look of confusion on a persons face.

"Do you really believe a young girl with dainty fingernails could take out a man with a fat neck like him ?"

.

When you found yourself returning to your disdained and somewhat falling apart apartment you couldn't help but feel slightly gutted. You understood rather early on in this unwanted job that men long in or out of the career would rather slice a finger off than to admit a woman was right.

Despite having all the evidence to suggest the cause of the cause. You were shot down like a rabid dog and left with "interesting inquiry, y/n. Now let the rightful people deal with this."

Men.

"Ah !" You groan, reaching up to rub your temple. You manage to throw your belongings down onto the lonesome couch before practically climbing over rubbish that laid on the carpet. Clean it later.

You can't help but sigh as you crouch down to the height of the small kitchen fridge. Peeling off the sticky note from the fridge that states "CALL ME ! - FATHER"

Yeah right. Do your dismay and disgust the fridge was almost empty besides the-

"Holy shit that's gone off !" You cry, pinching your nose in horror as you practically run to the sink to throw out the expired milk. "I need a bath." You moan, stretching your tight arms as you head down the minor corridor.

.

They say that baths are suppose to be a calming experience to not only relax the body but also the mind. What bullshit.

Your brows furrow as you stare up at the ceiling. The dull light keeps flickering every few minutes and making a buzzing noise.

Ah the noise. Your tongue clicks in irritation as your head lols to the side, your eyes catching a glimpse of a opened folder. A case.

You couldn't really recall every making a decision so fast. You step out the tub, feet touching the awfully cold tiles, grabbing a towel before heading down to your bedroom. But not before grabbing the file along with you. Your wet fingertips smudging the papers.

.

"Usual ?" The bartender asks as he cleans off a glass. "Yeah." You state, sparing him a quick glance. You don't recognise the man, however you lack care as you already start to flick through the folder.

Your hand reaches up to place your hair behind your ear. You could feel that your hair was slightly damp.

You rub your temples in hope of soothing the aching headache. Yet to no avail.

The lights, aw the lights gleamed as bright full as always. The sound of chitter chatter filled the wholesome pub as those gathered together in harmony.

However that dreadful heavy buzz and the ringing in your ear never went.

But then it stopped. As soon as your ears picked up the daunting sound of the stool beside scratching against the floor as someone sat down. Slowly but surely, raising your tired eyes they momentarily widen at the intimate sight. Unsmiling blue eyes met your bewildered eyes and suddenly you feel the strong urge to look away yet your curious eyes betray you.

[fiftymilehighclub]

Hey guys I wanna post a little update now that things are a little more in motion

I'm sorry I haven't been as prolific with the recolors as I used to be. I honestly burnt myself completely out on the sims when I realized all I was doing was downloading cc that just bloated my drive and I just... never use it. I'm going through a folder refresh at the moment getting rid of a lot of the bloat but it's a Process and I get tired of it easily.

In other news I went back to playing WoW with some friends and I've been really enjoying that lately, plus I'm still playing Fallout 76, so I just don't really find the time to dive into sims, photoshop, s4s blender etc.

That said, I do still have plans of things I'm working on, lots of wips I need to wrap up and push out, including some hair conversions I'd been working on before burnout but i'm not forcing myself to finish them quickly. Mostly because:

The biggest piece of news is that I started training in a new job this week. It's going to ultimately be a remote support position for a tech company, but until the end of December I'm getting up at 6am to go in for training and if you know me... *internal screaming*

Again I wanna apologize for being so... not here. I'm just spinning a lot of plates.

Oh I also took in an elderly (17 year old) cat named Tiffany who is the neediest creature in existence lmao kay bye

[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 11

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Eleven

SWEETS

There’s an open invitation from Steve to run every morning with him around the compound. The most athletic employees, typically ex-military, SHIELD-type individuals joined him a few days a week but never more than an hour per day. The only person who could keep up with Steve’s pace and grueling exercise schedule was Bucky, but even he refused to run everyday. He wouldn’t tell Steve why either. 

You knew better than to bug him - it’s his time after all.

Still, when you wanted to know if Bucky was in the compound, you’d keep an eye on the intersection of Grids 2 and 3, wait for a golden flash to zoom through the path in the morning, and see if that’s followed by dark hair waving wildly in the wind.

And that’s exactly what you did the morning after getting pizza with Bucky. 

You stood by the window next to his old work desk. Coffee in one hand and banana in the other, mentally going through what happened - or because of your overthinking, what did not happen - last night.

You regretted not trying harder to promote your apartment facilities to Bucky last night. You had a functioning coffee maker. A clean shower. A drawer dedicated to KitKats. And if all those things failed, you could have appealed to the gentleman in him and brought up the wobbly shelf - would he be so kind and take a look at it please?

Not that you expected him to make the first move.

And it’s not like you subscribed to a timeline of when you would be ready to try again with him.

You didn’t even need a grand gesture from him.

You just wanted Bucky Barnes in your life.

How could something that was so clear also seem so confusing at the same time?

Sam caught your attention as he sprinted across the field leading to the back of the compound, his shadow crossing with the lines formed by posts that lined the path. If the security manual was to be believed, a 360-degree camera mounted on each post monitored all visitors - official and unwelcome - from the moment they stepped into Grid Five.

Seconds later, Steve, probably finishing his third lap, caught up with Sam. You stood with your back straight, breathing temporarily halted, finger impatiently tapping the cup and willed a third runner to whiz by.

A full minute passed without any sign of Bucky. 

He wasn’t at the hangar either, and the grounds-keeping crew told you it’s unlikely that he’s whacking weeds into submission today because he accomplished all that last week.

“Have you tried texting him?” someone asked pointedly, to which you replied, “No, it’s not urgent,” with what you hoped was a carefree wave. 

As you walked back to your building, you tried to shake off the embarrassment. Of course you could’ve told him you’ve been up all night thinking, and ask him to drop by your floor. Today, if he had time. No big deal.

That text remained in the drafts folder in your head.

Over lunch, you contemplated marching over to the Avenger residence grid and just keep walking until one of Tony’s tiny drones shot you down. You were a little hazy on the security features of the compound’s private area. It’s not like you had a lot of reasons to trespass before.

Your phone dinged and Claire snorted when you practically dived to check who sent you a message.

“Sam says you’ve been stalking me.”

You huffed because Bucky would be correct about that.

“Busy? Need to ask you something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He forwarded a meeting invitation titled “Hangar” - no punctuation, no explanation in the email body.

You huffed again. Were you supposed to guess which hangar in this acre upon acre of a compound he was referring to?

It’s not like you didn’t know what he meant. And you weren’t going to pretend having that knowledge didn’t make you smile ear-to-ear. But if it’s a last-minute invite to a session with R&D or aircraft maintenance, couldn’t he at least add a salutation or something?

Sometimes these 30-minute meetings turned out to be two-hour operational reviews so you wanted to come prepared. Armed with a bag of mini-chocolate bars, you trooped to the hangar section, looking forward to a new project and a Bucky-sighting.  

But it was Steve you found pacing in the room. His sleeves were pushed - not rolled - pushed up his arms, which probably meant he’d been in meetings today. Judging by the starched shirt and tired smile he flashed upon seeing you, it wasn’t just some meeting with four-star generals or state officials who had Nick Fury’s number on speed dial.

“Come in,” he waved you to the only seat with a cushioned back.

“Uh, hi.” You glanced around the empty room. It felt smaller somehow. “How are you?”

He thought about the question. “Old.”

“Mentally or like the arthritis flares up-”

“Bucky and Sam are planning something for my birthday.” His eyes lit up. “Help me find out what they’re up to.”  

“Oh uh-”

“Surely you have strings you can pull around here.” His brows furrowed. “Seriously. They refuse to acknowledge that no fuss means no fuss.”

Before you could reply, the door burst open, revealing Bucky. His eyes met yours for a fleeting second before moving on to Steve. “Good. We can start.” 

The men grabbed the remaining wooden chairs. On your right, Bucky offered a tight smile, which turned into a wince upon taking a seat. That’s when you also noticed the pink cheeks and messy bun.

“Thanks for joining us pal,” Steve drily said, though he eyed Bucky with mild curiosity too.

Bucky shifted his weight slowly. He gestured to the bag of chocolate in the middle of the table. “It’s not an R&D meeting,” he said as if that helped clarify why you’ve been summoned to a tiny windowless room with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. “May I?”

You nodded idly and watched as Bucky fished a bar for himself before tossing one to his best friend.

Steve caught the foil-wrapped candy before it hit him between the forehead. “I take it Natasha took the news well.” 

Bucky grunted as he stretched his neck.

Steve chuckled. “As well as we can hope for at least.”

“Do you know how high the voltage on those things go?” Bucky flicked a mini-bar, hitting Steve’s chin.

The chocolate missile was ignored. “Everybody knows the bracelets have been upgraded.”

Bucky replied in rapid-fire Russian and his frustration, the narrowed eyes, and stubborn tendril on his jaw, it was all sorts of hot but you weren’t sure if it was ok to laugh about Natasha Romanoff setting electroshock charges on Bucky’s plums. 

Your failed attempt at muffling a snicker shifted the focus back to the meeting agenda.

With a rather authoritative sigh, Steve flipped his laptop to show you a blurry image. “You’re familiar?”

It was a rhetorical question. You didn’t even have to lean for a closer look at the 640px by 400px image.

It’s a crime scene photo from a 2017 assassination in Tbilisi, Georgia - the case Natasha asked you to look into. Off the books because the US government didn’t believe it was relevant to its interests in the region. Natasha saved the case files in an air-gapped computer off-base. You didn’t even dare keep back-up copies with you.

It was nearly impossible not to start blabbing when the two looked at you with kind eyes, respecting your loyalty to Natasha.

Steve tilted his head. “We already know you and Nat were looking into these four attacks.” 

“Three,” you muttered without thinking.

“New confirmed attack. Two days ago, we believe,” he showed you another graphic photo.

The hairs on your arm rose but you didn’t look away from the image. “US soil?” You’d bet that’s enough to scare the government into asking Steve Rogers for yet another favor. 

No one spoke. Nobody moved. One could say both men pretended in unison you weren’t asking for classified information.

“Who’s ‘we’?” You tried again, turning toward the string you could pull.

The sound of metal gears humming gave Bucky away. His crossed arms didn’t do much to mask his distress. His signature “anywhere but here” expression appeared. Like he’d rather be at a black tie event shaking hands with strangers who stared at his arm a little too long than be having this conversation with you right now.

Steve began circling the room. “You were on the right track, you know. About looking at the victims’ profiles instead of the cause of death. If we had you on the field-” 

“Steve.”

The soldiers glared at each other. Their twin telepathy always amazed you, although today there were more pressing matters to focus on.

“What does this have to do with Bucky getting the special treatment from Nat?” 

Five more seconds of staring determined who would finally take your question.

“This became an official mission yesterday. Locate and detain. Ideally.” Bucky spoke calmly, as if the alternative involved sending a person to a spa in the alps.

It felt like you were still missing something. “But she supercharged the shockers. For you.”

“Doesn’t matter-“

“Buck’s taking the case from Nat,” Steve clarified, clicking on another icon to show you the mission report.

“Why?” Did that come off a little pitchy? Nat has been working the case on her own time for at least two years before she brought you in months ago. “No offense,” you added with an apologetic shrug. 

Bucky sat up, placing his palms on the table to balance himself. “For the record, I didn’t take anything. The government, who was glad to remind me about being pardoned, assigned the case to me,” he added pointedly.

With broad, squared shoulders, he addressed you the way a tired school principal reasons with a first-time delinquent. “You’ve been working this with Romanoff for months and I completely understand if you prefer to be assigned to her missions.” He maintained a steady tone but it’s always the mechanical twitch - subtle, but you caught the squeak - that gave him away. 

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kicking me out too.” The realization sent your heart pounding, and the disbelief that followed did nothing to calm you down.

Before either man had a chance to reply, you looked at the ceiling and tried to take a deep breath. “Why? Did I miss something in the intel - which isn’t that great to begin with, just wanted to point it out. Did I set off any alarms?”

You were careful. Natasha drilled that into your unconscious.

“No,” Bucky frowned. “What sort of alarms would you even be setting off anyway?” He asked after a beat, the concern saturating the blue in his eyes, thereby weakening your indignation.

“None.” It’s an oversimplification, but you were trying to keep your spot in the project. “So your first decision after taking over was to take me off the op?” You turned to his friend as if to say “Can you believe this BS?”

Steve completed another slow lap around the table. “For the record, I wanted you to stay.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Four professional hits in a span of five years. More violent. Higher up the food chain. Closer to home. You drafted the brief. You know how sticky this is going to get.”

You sat up. “Then don’t put me on a different assignment.”

Steve gave you a helpless shrug. It wasn’t his call. 

Bucky remained quiet. 

You glanced at the door. You could take the candy and walk out. It’s not like staying in the room to glower at Bucky would change his mind. 

Something clicked as you fumed in silence. Was this why he took you out to dinner? Was this why he didn’t want to step inside your apartment?

“Sweets.” His voice remained steady, compared to your escalating mood. “You know why,” Bucky insisted. He craned his neck, imploring eyes trained on you. 

Avoiding his eyes in this small room - which was really more of a large supply closet - was next to impossible. 

You frowned. You may not be able to ignore that look but that didn’t mean you had to say everything was peachy.

He waited for a few more seconds. “I’m politely kicking you out of the room Steve.” Bucky spoke without taking his eyes off you. 

With only three feet separating you, the intensity transmitted clearly. 

Steve was about to protest but Bucky added a “Thank you!” and that was that. He waited for the telltale metallic click of the door shutting before speaking again. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice dropped, even if you already had privacy. He placed an open hand next to your fist. “Are you mad at me?”

Pretending to be late for another meeting would be the easy way out of this. 

Or you could stay and talk to him. Stay - you wondered if it was possible to choke on your own feelings - and just be in the moment. Weren’t you looking forward to one-on-one time with Bucky the entire day?

Bucky seemed worried but also relieved you hadn’t stormed off yet or confiscated all the candy.

“I don’t like this,” you clarified. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying sorry.” You knew he meant it, but letting you work on the case was an entirely different issue.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “I understand.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced at those round blue-gray eyes again. 

Bucky took that as a sign to proceed. “You just turned down an asshole dangling a cushy senior role in D.C. over your head yesterday. Today some better-looking asshole got you reassigned-”

“Hmmm - ‘kicked out’ is more accurate.”

“Reassigned to another op.” He bit his lip to hide a grin because you were letting him get away with the compliment about his looks. 

Being able to make him smile like that was probably the closest thing you’ll have that could count as an enhanced ability. The idea made you giddy as fuck.

Bucky waited for your counter. When you remained silent, he gently prodded your foot with his. “Thought I’m supposed to be the quiet and mysterious one.”

“You think I’m mysterious?”

He laughed. “Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he confessed with a shake of his head. A lock of hair landed on the high point of his cheek. Bucky finished three pieces of chocolate before you spoke again. 

“I’m not used to this. And I don’t want to be difficult Bucky. But part of me doesn’t want to let go. Part of me wants to fake having another meeting to go to so I can run away.”

You hoped honesty would change his mind. With a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. “I’d like to stay in this. See this through for Nat.”

He didn’t even blink. “Can’t do that.”

You crossed your arms. “Can’t or won’t?”

When he gave you a measured look, your heart sank. He wasn’t budging. 

“Won’t.” He didn’t look pleased but he wasn’t exactly dripping with remorse either.

Why the hell did Steve think you had a string to pull here again?

“Is it a safety issue or… we share a pizza that I didn’t have to nuke ten times and suddenly we’re not supposed to work together?” Your neck felt warm. “Are you worried about HR policy or - I don’t know. You couldn’t even wait to leave my building last night.”

Realization flashed through his eyes but Bucky didn’t immediately respond. He let you simmer for a few seconds.

“Whoever we are looking for - this asset is a highly-skilled, very unstable maniac. You know this. You wrote the profile.” Bucky retracted his arms when he leaned back on his chair. It squeaked under the weight of the tall super soldier. “I’m not often in a position to make these kinds of calls, but if kicking you out of the op keeps you away from this psychopath, I’m making the same choice every time.”

When a former prisoner of war who was tortured and subjected to mind control for years brings up his ability to choose, there’s no arguing against that. Despite the obvious appeal to your emotion, you couldn’t deny he made a valid point.

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Now I understand why Sam whines when he has to take orders from you.”

He smiled. “Because I make the right calls.”

“But Buck-“

In one fluid motion, Bucky crouched next to you. With his face only inches from yours, you could see the fine lines on an otherwise youthful face, a reminder of all the history Bucky carried on his shoulders. His stubble carved a tense jaw. But his eyes were kind. Even when you were giving him quite the headache right now. 

He took your hand. “I promised you I’ll make things right. I swear to God that’s all I’ve been up to. And if you tell me you don’t know what the fuck I’ve been doing, Sweets, that’s going to end me.”

He stroked your tingling skin with a thumb. “And I need you to let me keep doing that. Because…” He exhaled, his warm hand cradling yours. “I hope one day you’ll believe me when I say you’re all I think about.”

It’s definitely possible to choke on your emotions. 

“And looking out for you is a pretty big part of that,” he added.

Bucky watched you closely and he was generous enough not to gloat when your resolve to be stubborn, to make this difficult as payback for being sidelined, to have the last word, crumbled.

When you reached for his cheek, Bucky leaned into your palm immediately like a man under a spell. “I think-“

“Yeah-“ Your lips grazed his forehead and that caring gesture gave way to the hunger you were both suffering from. 

His eyes bored into yours just as Bucky’s lips pressed into yours firmly, seeking to be as close as possible to you. Bucky pulled you up, backing against the table. His weight pushed the slim desk against the wall, dragging a chair with it as it slammed into concrete. 

Bucky’s eyes dazzled below furrowed brows. “Is this - I mean, I thought-“

You were drunk from his kiss. “I’m ok. Are you ok?”

He nodded frantically. 

You let gravity do the work, leaning into Bucky’s space. He didn’t just meet you halfway - his lips crashed into yours this time. 

When you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails gently down his nape, Bucky responded with a groan and nipped at your collarbone before soothing your skin with his tongue. 

A hand warmed the small of your back. Bucky mumbled feverishly onto your temple. You couldn’t make out any of the words but you understood him.

With his arms wrapped around your body, Bucky held you steady. His kisses lingered, like he needed to keep tasting your lips. You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky’s mouth claimed yours again. 

He brushed the hair off your face as his eyes took you in, mapping your features with care. 

“Is now a good time for an appeal?” You joked before kissing his throat.

Bucky bared his neck with a low moan. “Sweets,” he begged. 

You couldn’t get enough of his scent. It reminded you of riding his bike with your arms curled around him, his steady breathing bringing you so much comfort.

“Maybe?” You teased right before trailing kisses along his jaw. 

He kneaded your skin, hands locking your hips into him. “I think you should ah, you know, keep trying,” Bucky whispered thickly.

“Ok, I think-“ 

He stole the rest of your words, your stream of thought, with another hungry kiss. 

Part Twelve

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

[nullcanary]

songfic tag game!

Thank you @lamortwrites for the tag!

tagging: @fenharael @wraith-caller @no-braincells-inc @nnairdav if you feel like playing! If you want to join in, go ahead and tag me :)

Pick a song to accompany each of your fics or as many as you like. This might be the fic's inspiration or just pure vibes that you'd like to share with readers. Tag as many people as fics you feature (or do as you please!)

took me a moment to get to this, but it's been on my mind since you tagged me! while I've only publically posted one of my fics, I've still got several in my WIPs folder that I'm polishing up to post one of these days. I love finding a new song, listening to it on repeat, and diving into an hours long writing spiral.

The Night House (bg3, gortash/durge, explicit, dominate person/throat fingering/blood pacts, m/m, 4.9k)

title: Paranoic Intervals/Body Dysmorphia by Of Montreal

Counting wolves in your paranoiac intervals

Nobody's leaving, nobody is off the beat

You shouldn't try to unpeel my Pavlovian bells

You should be fucking with no one else

Anyone but me is an antipathy

Anyone but me is just your enemy

Only I see you the way you want to see yourself

You should be fucking with no one else

[bonus song]

title: Up To No Good by The Hoosiers

Don't get too comfortable with the man who has no history

Shadows climbing walls hide cracks we don't want other eyes to see

You tell me to shut my mouth, you love the mystery

So he tells you love you now?

Driving you crazy how

Fingers on lips, allow his hands on your hips

You know you shouldn't do this

But there's no turning back

Doctor's Orders (dos2, loshe/doctor|adramahlihk, explicit, possession/masturbation, m/f, 1.9k)

title: Mx. Sinister by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Oh you never seem to notice

That my heart beats for you

So I'll open you up

And make yours beat for me too

And I'll get you yet

I've got to make you mine

Worst Impressions (elden ring, varré/tarnished, explicit, gore/torture/drugging, m/f, 2.8k)

title: Flip by Glass Animals

Here's to the one with the smoking stare

Running through my head with a bolo knife

Chopping up the threads made up from looms

Of love and blood and hate and some empty tunes

Mechanics of Affection (bg3, dark urge/gortash look-a-like, explicit, vivisection/masturbation/crisis of faith, m/f, 2.5k)

title: Mongrel Heart by Broken Bells

Would it be wrong

To clamp down on your racing heart, Love?

And if they'd known, what sifted down to be found out?

It's not what you deserve

Love is turning you out

Sliding worry round

I try to warn its waiting game

To bring that specter down

Letter to an Old Friend (bg3, gortash/durge, angst/reunions/memory loss, 1.5k)

title: The Opposite of Loneliness by foyer

I can tell you all the ways that it goes wrong

I can fill you in on everything since you've been gone

Hold your shadow next to mine the shape that you outgrew.

Bootlicker (bg3, tav/gortash, explicit, bootlicking/desk sex/dubcon, m/f, 3.6k)

title: Hatefuck by The Bravery

What would they say now if they saw you in this place?

Naked and breathless, could you live with this disgrace?

Could you live? Could you live? Could you live with this?

And there will be no tenderness, no tenderness

When the Coat Drops (bg3, gortash/durge, angst/loss/emotional breakdowns, 2.9k)

title: Through Me (The Flood) by Hozier

The unemployment of the mouth

The waking up, having forgotten

And remembering again the full extent

Of what forever is

With each grave

I think of loss and I can only think of you

I couldn't measure it

The Black Hound (bg3, gortash/durge, explicit, a/b/o, knotting/praise kink, m/m, 3.5k)

[ this song is so goddamn hot and I will apply it to every ship forever until the end of time end tweet]

title: Fever Moon by Kevin Devine

You're quick sand

And every morning say I won't get stuck again

I work and fight but just sink deeper in the end

But by nightfall baby here I always am

I tie myself in knots

You come and shake me loose

I'm bound up in you

We push til you're through

Lit up with the proof

[leaahhh]

two tuesdays ago i traversed uptown to get my left ear cut open. back in october, i had impulsively gotten a new earring while i was pitifully sad during a morning walk. “to feel something,” i’d sighed to friends, who mostly rolled their eyes. 

it never stopped hurting. helix piercings are notorious for taking longer to heal, but mine remained extra stubborn, consistently tender to the touch and annoyingly easily irritated. i winced every time i slept on it (i knew there would always be at the very least a dull ache and willingly went forward with it anyway, even as a side sleeper). on new year’s eve it started showing signs of infection. the back of my ear swelled up to an alarming size, hot and beet red and bulbous. just a handful of hours later – 11:53pm, minutes before the clock struck midnight and the year turned over – i used my phone to take a photo and saw that the skin had completely closed over the jewelry, backing and all.

the pain numbed almost instantly. my body had swallowed this foreign object in defiance, embedding it into my cartilage, threatening to remain in my bones.

i flew back to new york and spent a week mindlessly tugging at it, aware i should probably get it looked at but not bothered enough to feel much of an urgency at all. it wasn’t until my roommate, who i flippantly told the story to one afternoon, shone a flashlight onto the back of my ear and insisted it was genuinely concerning. she said she was coming with me to urgent care that weekend.

at urgent care i was referred to an ENT up at columbus circle for an emergency appointment. as i sat in the waiting room, i scrolled tiktok with the sound off (my new preferred way of interacting with that app, until i delete it entirely). i saw a video about an old song exploder podcast episode featuring phoebe bridgers and marshall vore diving deep on “scott street” from 2017’s ‘stranger in the alps,’ which i’ve long considered a truly Perfect Song. it was my favorite for months after it dropped and has remained highly important to me for the past half decade. i’d listened to that podcast when it came out, but by now had forgotten nearly everything that was said. i reminded myself to give it another listen on my trip home.

minutes later, a plastic surgeon examined my fucked up ear and confirmed that my version of what happened was true. he numbed it up, handed me some odd vibrating device that was supposed to help “distract my brain from the pain.” still, it was excruciating. i heard him make the incision then use a variation of sharp metal tools to dig out the jewelry. grating, like nails on a chalkboard. when it was out, i shyly asked if i could keep it; he handed it back to me in a tiny manila folder.

“you probably shouldn’t get it pierced in that same spot again,” he said.

i turned on the “scott street” podcast as i left the surgeon’s office, hearing marshall and phoebe break down the track. marshall spoke of a previous relationship that inspired the lyrics.

“this person did love me, but they were also working against me," he explained. "i wonder if they’re ashamed of that, and i wonder if they’ve grown up.” 

“it’s so sad and weird to play catch up with someone who was so intimately involved in your life for so long,” phoebe added. 

at the conclusion of the episode, “scott street” played in its entirety as i walked through the passageway from the E to the G at court square. i closed my eyes, hands in my pockets drumming along to the familiar series of bells and train horns, ear bandaged and shot up with lidocaine. i considered friendship, shame, forgiveness, and my penchant for purposely reopening wounds while the outro of the song repeated over and over again: “anyway, don’t be a stranger.”

maybe you've caught onto the fact that this story isn't about an earring.

in an unrelated moment of desperation last fall, i’d posted a zoomed-in selfie on my close friends instagram story with a massive text block overriding it, reading: “CAN SOMEONE CONFIRM IF TIME REALLY HEALS?” several people responded with casual optimism (and probably exasperation towards my visible months-long spiral), but adam’s response stood out:

“it just lives in you differently.”

EDIT: walked past the shop i got my piercing at today; this sign sat outside:

[honourablejester]

Every so often I go through my document folders (which go back years) and basically click on anything I don’t recognise or can’t remember. And then I realise that I have written some weird random stuff over the years.

Exhibit 347, some Event Horizon type fragment of a thing:

Excerpt: The Lora Ellis

Metal. Warmth. Fat, silver ripples of light across the ceiling. The soft sounds of her own breathing and the rush of her own blood in her ears. Liquid warmth buoying her up, cushioning her, cradling her, coiling her safe with itself. A cosmic egg. Her own private universe, warm and shadowed and full of the scent of metal and stale water.

There were more than a few, she knew, who considered the meditation tank an almost unforgivable luxury out here. Water tanks in deep space. A private chamber on an already cramped vessel, useless for anything but its intended purpose. The worst sort of excess, and all the more incongruous for the blunt functionality of the rest of the ship around it. Oh yes. There had been quite a few clients who'd sneered openly at her indulgence here.

Fuck them all sideways, then. On this point before all others, Lena would never be moved.

There was no way her soul or sanity would survive this endless hell of a job without it.

"Contact with salvage vessel in fourteen minutes, Lena," Cora murmured from the comms, her voice a cool, placid ripple through the warmth of the tank, leeching heat and safety as it went. Lena closed her eyes, thin fingers of ice spreading through her chest, and nodded grimly in the dimness. Not that Cora could see that, of course, but it hardly made a difference. She would expect it. All of them would. They all knew the routine by now.

None of them would falter in the face of it. Not anymore.

She breathed out, a long, ragged exhale, and turned over in the water to get her feet beneath her. The floor of the tank was as warm as it always was, the feel of metal under her bare soles a comfort. She stood there for a minute to soak it in, her hair plastered to her skull, water dripping gently past her ears. Then she firmed her jaw, widened her stance, and reached up to grip the access bars at the top of the tank. The DNA lock released automatically at the touch of her palms, and a rush of cool air flooded into the tank from the hatchway.

Jason was waiting outside as she climbed out, a towel over one arm and a datapad in the other hand. His soft brown eyes skimmed across her as she emerged, judging the set of her jaw and readiness in her eyes. Lena arched an eyebrow at him, a weary, bitter sneer curling her lip. He shrugged easily and handed the towel her way.

"Preliminary reports from the salvagers are coming through," he murmured, looking away from her again as she scrubbed down and started pulling on her undersuit. "Target hulk is a deep space exploration vessel. Emeline Class, thirty to forty years old, equipped with the double fusion plants. There's a strong likelihood that she's either the Lora Ellis or the Wayfarer III. Profile, era, and general location are broadly correct for either of them. Salvage captain favours the Lora Ellis. He's something of an amateur expert when it comes to that period, apparently. He puts the odds pretty strongly in her favour."

Lena grunted, wrestling with her boots and ignoring the sinking in her stomach. She didn't particularly care what odds the captain put where. Or which particular Emeline it was, either.

The only thing that mattered was that it was an Emeline.

She'd known, of course. She'd known the moment the salvage team had called for them specifically. It seemed they were the Emeline experts these days. People rarely called them for anything else anymore.

"Let me guess," she growled, fingers locking down tabs with sharp, angry movements. "No preliminary evidence of ship-to-ship combat. No evidence of external impact. No evidence of internal rupture. No signs of life. No power anywhere on the ship. Intermittent sensor ghosts, focused on the fusion plants, the bridge and the crew quarters. Scans for biological matter subject to interference and unable to return results. Attempts to board failed, primarily due to unexplained panic or hysteria on the part of the boarding team and/or sudden equipment failures." She glanced up, expression tight. "How'd I do?"

The corner of Jason's mouth curled into a dark little smirk. "Bang on," he said lightly. "Though, credit to them, they didn't try more than once. Like I said, the captain is something of an amateur expert when it comes to the Emeline Programme. I think he tried the once to be sure it really was one of them. Took a fair few precautions as well, enough that he didn't actually lose anyone in the attempt. As soon as he knew for sure what he was dealing with, he backed the hell off and called for us. Not a stupid man, this one. For a change."

Lena grunted some more, but didn't actually disagree. They'd never been called to one of the Emeline hulks without someone already in a body bag. Maybe it was a refreshing change.

"Don't suppose he knows more about the Lora Ellis than the name, then?" she asked idly. Standing up, arching her back to test the give of the undersuit. She didn't anticipate much of an answer. Emeline's files had vanished thirty odd years ago, along with most of the ships. There were a few fragments knocking around, culled from god-knew-where by various enterprising and ill-advised souls, but nothing substantial. Generally speaking, the first anyone knew of a particular Emeline's horrors was on boarding her and bumping into them face to face.

There'd only been six of the original seventeen ships found so far, with this one the seventh. Lena'd been present for four of them. There'd been no preparing for it. Not a single time.

"Not much," Jason confirmed, leaning thoughtfully on the door as he watched her. "Just that she was the third they launched. First wave. If it is her, she's the earliest we've found so far. Not sure if that matters or not."

Lena paused in her stretch, her arms falling gently and absently back to her sides. Third launched. The six they'd found so far had been mostly from the latter end of the Programme, with one from the second wave. She'd been there for that one. She couldn't ... she couldn't quite remember whether or not it had been worse. They were all worse. She didn't know how much of that was her own fatigue. But that one ...

"Run triple checks on everything," she said, somewhat vacantly as she cast her mind back, ignoring his stir of motion at her side. "Everything. Especially Cora's links, and the remote grounding. Full hermit seals on the suits. Make sure there's nothing they can access."

"... I take it it does make a difference, then," he murmured, almost wryly, and Lena blinked back to stare at him a little bit. There was an odd look in his eyes. Not Cora's patient calm or Lena's own bitter acceptance. They hadn't been together that long, but she'd already noticed that Jason tended more towards a dark sort of humour instead. Amusement, in a black, fatalistic sort of way. She wasn't sure yet how much she liked it. She wasn't sure how much she trusted it to hold steady.

Though he hadn't let them down yet. Not once, and he'd been there for an Emeline before, and the Lorca V as well. Whatever sort of humour he ran on, he hadn't faltered yet.

"... I don't know," she told him. Honestly. "It might do. I'm not sure. I was there for the Oberon Grey, but a lot of it's gone now. The impact fades over time, at least for me. Probably good. I wouldn't have lasted this long if it didn't.”

End Excerpt

[barnesafterglow]

she's so cold

summary: on a mission with steve, you're desperate for warmth

pairing: steve x agent!reader

word count: 720

warnings: explicit language, me hating the cold, canada <3

a/n: this is day 12 of my valentine's blurb challenge with the prompt character a insisting they don't need a coat and then freezing until character b eventually has to give them theirs. this is definitely inspired by cold, cold water by @wkemeup which is one of my all time favorite fics. i love a good stakeout <3

challenge masterlist

You had made up your mind, you were never doing a stakeout again. As a matter of fact, you were never going on a mission with Steve Rogers again. This was a nightmare.

When Maria dropped a folder on your desk two days ago, you jumped at the chance to work with Captain Rogers without even looking over the material. She just raised her eyebrow at you, before texting Fury to confirm, and somehow even then you knew you had fucked up.

Because if you had taken a second to even open the first page, you would have seen that the mission included two things that scared you to your core: being alone with Steve Rogers, and the cold.

Which is how you ended up shaking in the front seat of an old beat up car, surveilling a dive bar in the outskirts of Ottawa that was supposed to be a front for a major drug ring. It didn’t help that Steve kept offering you his jacket even though you were already bundled in about five layers, because all you wanted to do was say yes, but then you would have to see his huge biceps only inches from you, and you really didn’t have the mental power to handle that when everything else was focuses on not freezing to death.

It had only been two days, and you were already having a hard time making sure your massive crush wasn’t obvious, especially when you woke up from a nap and you had managed to lay your head on his shoulder. To make matters worse, he didn’t say a word about it when you woke up and practically threw yourself to the side of the seat; he just gave you a knowing smile, then went back to looking over the file in his lap.

Finally, on day five, after an argument about how you could definitely leave the post for a few minutes, Steve, I’m dying here you agreed to take his jacket, leaving him in a thin t-shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

You glared at him as he tucked it around your front, bundling you in, and you were so exhausted from your constant shivering that your brain lacked its usual filter, and you took a deep inhale, smelling the woodsy scent of his cologne, mixed with a musk that was uniquely Steve.

You looked up in horror, realizing what you had done and just how fucking weird it was, but he just shook his head fondly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

As he settled back in the seat again, you finally got the courage to speak up.

“Thanks, Stevie. Still don’t know how you’re not freezing, though.”

“It’s the serum, keeps my body temperature up.” He gave you a sidelong glance, as if debating his next words. “‘D still do it anyway, for you.”

Your freezing heart melted then, and you timidly wiggled your hand out from under the layers of fabric, taking his in yours. He flinched for a moment at the chill, but then laced his fingers with yours, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“You know, I asked Maria to give you that file, specifically. I wanted you on this mission with me.” The words sent a shock through you, not expecting them at all.

Keeping your composure, you settled on making a joke instead of crawling into his lap like you desperately wanted to. “So you’re the reason I’ve been freezing my ass off for the last few days?”

“To be fair, you could have said no.”

“Nobody says no to Maria, Steven.” He laughed at that, and it was truly a beautiful sight. “You really wanted to be stuck in a car with me for an undetermined amount of time, in the freezing cold?”

“Seemed like the easiest way to get close to you, I guess.” You snorted, ready to make another sarcastic comment, when he continued. “Now I think I could have just asked you to dinner, but I was nervous.”

“Well, Rogers, you can take me out when we get out of this freezing icescape. For now, let me suck up your body heat.”

His smile widened, scooting closer to you and wrapping his arms around your frame, and you swore you had never been warmer.

if you enjoyed this please consider donating to my ko-fi! 🤍

taglist (under the cut) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[impishtubist]

Ok so prompt idea: Sirius cries every time Harry and Ginny announce they’re going to have a baby

Sorry I just had to do it, I’m obsessed with them but feel free to do whatever you want!!😉

lmao well played, sending me my own prompt to write! You're lucky I had something in my abandoned drafts folder that actually sort of fits this prompt...but if anyone else in the future wants to write this, PLEASE DO, I will never get tired of this idea.

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

“We, um. We have something for you. A couple of presents.”

Sirius arches an eyebrow at him. “Harry, it’s April. Why are you getting us presents in April?”

“Erm...you’ll see. Hold on.”

Harry pulls two tiny packages out of his pocket, then enlarges them with a tap of his wand to normal size. He pushes them across the table to Sirius and Remus, who exchange confused looks.

“They’re not going to explode,” Harry says. “It’s--it’s good, I promise.”

Sirius reaches for the gift in front of him, and after a moment, Remus does the same. They’re both wrapped in red and gold paper, which Sirius tears off to reveal a box. He lifts the lid and pulls out a truly garish mug, the colors bright and clashing, and turns it to read the words stamped on it in gold.

“World’s Best Grandpa,” he reads aloud, and then his brain immediately whites out. What.

“Oh my god,” Remus whispers, staring wide-eyed at his own mug. His hand fastens on Sirius’s forearm, his grip bordering on painful. “Oh my god. Are you two--”

“Ginny’s pregnant,” Harry blurts.

“You’re having a baby?” Sirius says blankly.

And then Ginny holds up two fingers.

“Oh my god,” Remus says again, at the same moment that Sirius squeaks, “Twins?”

“Erm, surprise,” Harry says sheepishly.

Sirius gets up so quickly that his chair tips over, dives across the distance between them to wrap Ginny in a tight hug. And then he’s got Harry in his arms, Harry laughing wetly in his ear as Sirius threatens to crack his ribs.

“Harry Potter,” he says, pulling back, attempting to look stern even though he knows it’s completely ineffective through his tears, “I told you you weren’t allowed to make me a grandfather before fifty!”

Harry wipes his eyes and grins. “Sorry, Pads.”

Sirius takes Harry’s face in his hands and kisses him on the forehead. “You’re gonna be an excellent dad. You know that, right?”

“I’m gonna try.” Harry sniffs. He gives Sirius a meaningful look and says, “Learned from the best, didn’t I?”

Sirius pulls him into another hug, one hand cupping the back of Harry’s head while the other rubs his back, marveling at the young man in his arms. It seems like only yesterday he was hugging a too-thin thirteen-year-old for the first time in the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, and now Harry’s all grown up and with a baby on the way. Two babies on the way, Merlin. They’re going to need a bigger cottage.

“Love you,” he whispers, kissing Harry’s messy mop of hair. “Love you so much, Harry James.”

“Love you, too, Sirius.”

Sirius then releases him to grab Remus around the waist and spin him in a circle. “We’re gonna be granddads.”

[biolizardboils]

Crumpled Up Pages: Old Captain Underpants WIPs #1-4

The First Epic Movie turned 5 earlier this month, and I dug through some old folders to write this post about it. In the process, I found some fanfic ideas I’d written down, fleshed out a little, and then forgot about for years. So while hyperfixation still has its grip on me (and while there’s still some extra activity in the tag), I figured I’d finally set these dust bunnies free!

A few ground rules before this deep dive descends:

When I say “fleshed out a little,” I’m putting major emphasis on the “little.” Some of these docs contain detailed notes and snippets of dialogue, but others are just a title and a vague one-sentence summary. I’ll be transparent about what each one contains, and try to fill in the bigger gaps by memory.

If you were around for the CU Fandom Renaissance of 2017, some of the ideas here might sound familiar, ‘cus I refitted them into fanart and headcanon dumps that actually got posted. I’ll link to those where they’re relevant.

These were all written and abandoned months before a CU show was even announced, so there’s no Epic Tales content or characters in here. Sorry if you were expecting any!

I’m splitting this into two posts cus it was getting and taking too long. This first part will cover the 4 simplest, fluffiest WIPs; the second one will tackle the 6 sadder, more character-heavy ones. And with character-heavy stuff comes spoilers for the movie and books — especially the books. If you haven’t read all 12, you’re probably wondering why anyone would care about Captain Underpants spoilers. First off, your loss; second off, BEWARE!

And finally: if you write fanfiction and feel inspired to use any of these ideas? You have my permission to do so! Seriously, steal anything here and put your own spin on them! I don’t care much for credit, but if these old things help fuel someone else’s creativity, I’d love to know!

That’s enough prep, probably. Plug your nose!

WIP #1: Inspiration

It can come from even the worst of places. ...And people, in this case. [Book!Verse, pre-Book 1.]

This document contains a long script, but no context; I can remember the gist though, so I’ll insert that in-between dialogue. Basically it’s third grade, and George and Harold are in detention again. They cheat to fill up the blackboards like usual, but they’re too bummed out to start a comic afterwards. George sits around stewing in his frustration while Harold angry-scribbles Mr. Krupp yelling.

“...Why does he hate us so much, George?”

“I dunno. Maybe ‘cause he can’t handle our coolness? …Nice drawing, by the way.”

“Thanks. …It’s making me sad just lookin’ at it, though.”

“Yeah, me too. …I wonder what he’d look like if he smiled.”

“...?”

“...I mean, like, a real smile, not an I’ve-got-you-now smile.”

“Oh. Hmmm…”

Harold erases Krupp’s wide yelling mouth and draws a goofy smile in its place.

“Aw, man, now it’s just creepy.”

“Darn.”

The boys keep editing the drawing until it stops being creepy and starts being funny. George erases Krupp’s toupee, remembering the time they stole it and the teachers couldn’t take him seriously without it. Harold draws one of his office curtains around his neck, adding more color and kinetic energy. Soon they’re struggling not to laugh out loud, but they manage to calm down… until George gets an idea that takes the sketch from great to legendary.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Remember what my pop said about Superman yesterday?”

“That he looks like… DUDE. Duuuuuude.”

Harold redraws Krupp’s entire lower body so he’s only wearing underwear. Then with a flourish, he adds the finishing touch – two dots on his chest – and they both lose it. All their laughter finally prompts the real Krupp to check on them, and predictably, he rips up the drawing. It upsets the boys in the moment, but they’re still in much higher spirits than before, and brainstorm a new comic about their new creation as they skateboard home.

“You think we should make his origin issue first?”

“Naw, let’s get right to the action! His outfit’s already the perfect hook – finally, a superhero who actually does fly around in his underwear!”

“Yeah, and he could fight with Wedgie Power!”

God, rediscovering this gave me the most uncontrollable grin. From the date it was last opened, I think this fic was meant for September 1st, 2017 (Book 1’s 20th anniversary), and I gave up after missing it. For shame, 2017!me. For shame.

——————————————————————————————————

WIP #2: Untitled Boomer One-shot

Harold won’t admit it, but he’d slay a dragon for his little sister. [Book!Verse but only cus this scene was deleted and is thus dubiously canon]

This doc’s nothing but notes, so I’ll paraphrase the plot: Ms. Hutchins takes Heidi and Harold to Boomer the Purple Dragon: Live! Harold was gonna stay with the Beards but they cancelled last minute, and he’s grumpy about it the whole time. When the show ends, kids gather in front of the stage to meet Boomer; Ms. Hutchins suddenly gets an important call, and makes Harold walk Heidi up there. 

But the dragon’s mascot suit is big up close for a 6-year-old, and Heidi gets so scared she starts crying. She’s rooted to the spot and waves her arms in panic, but “Boomer” thinks she wants a hug and waddles closer and closer... until Harold kicks him in the groin. Their mom understandably grounds him for it, but Heidi is grateful and calls him her hero :)

This one was based on the classic “kid hits mascot in the weak spot” genre of AFV, but also on an early memory of mine! My sister and I loved Arthur as babies, so our mom took us to see this thing. The characters suddenly being real (and huge) was so upsetting that we scream-cried until she took us home early. (Speaking of Arthur, it’s a shame Heidi’s never really done anything in canon, I can see her having big DW energy.)

——————————————————————————————————

WIP #3: When Worlds Collide

It was less “love at first sight” and more “love at first squawk.” [Book!Verse, Book 7.]

A quick refresher: George told Harold to take Crackers back to dinosaur times, but he left her in the treehouse with Sulu instead. Later in the book, they’re shown snuggling in their sleep 🥺🥺 Anyway, this fic was about what they got up to in between! It’s actually the most complete of the lot, but only because it’s so short and simple.

It opens with Harold introducing them to each other, leaving out some treats for them (hamster food for Sulu, crackers for Crackers), then telling them to play nice until he comes back. They do not. Crackers pulls a Thunderclap the moment Harold leaves, Sulu karate-chops her throat until she spits him out, and they wreck half the treehouse in the ensuing chase.

Eventually they settle for standing in opposite corners and hissing at each other. Then Sulu… *squints* …records Crackers’ hisses with his bionic ears and plays them back so they can communicate? …Yeah, okay, why not. The outline ends after this sudden development; I’m guessing they talk things out and start to catch feels, before settling in to sleep. Anyway here’s the few sentences I actually wrote out:

Harold opened the door, Sulu got on the floor, and in walked the curious dinosaur.

[…] As predator and prey faced off, a little boy and his mother happened to be walking down Vine Street. “Mommy,” said the little boy, “I can hear a bionic hamster and a pterodactyl fighting in that treehouse!”

“Oh, please,” his mother scoffed. “How do you even know what that would sound like?”

The boy considered pointing out the CHOMPs, SQUEAKs, and SQUAAAWKs emanating from the tree in big blocky letters, but decided it wasn’t quite worth the trouble.

The doc ends with a reminder to not refer to Crackers with any pronouns until the two pets can understand each other. Also I was gonna title this after a Tony Orlando and Dawn song as foreshadowing, but I couldn’t choose one, so instead I went with this Spongebob song lol.

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WIP #4: Untitled Tommy One-shot

The school’s been near bully-free ever since Treehouse Comix Inc. was formed. Tommy reflects on this from the safety of his locker. [Movie!Verse with a hint of Book 9. CW: discussion of bullying.]

A Kid I Never Named knocks on Tommy’s locker and offers to trade Pilkeymon. They have to be sneaky, because it’s the 90′s and they have to slip a Link Cable through the locker vents without being spotted.

As they trade, the other kid asks Tommy why he hides all the time. He explains that it’s a habit from when Kipper Krupp terrorized the halls. But Kipper left four years ago, and the legend of Wedgie Magee has kept other bullies at bay ever since; the other kid points this out and asks why he still hides. This led into “a somber discussion on adverse school experiences and the long-lasting coping mechanisms they cause” (exact words from the doc). Unfortunately 2017!me never wrote any dialogue, and I’m mad at her for that.

Trivia drop! I used the Pilkeymon joke a few times at @treehouseblogsinc, but it’s way older than that, and also not mine: Pilkey.com used to have a coloring game named Pilkeymon’s Paintbox. It even had art of Dav’s old spiky-haired avatar with Pikachu ears! There’s no trace of it on the Internet anymore, but I swear I’m not making this up.

I left a note here to add that Tommy has glow-in-the-dark stickers in his locker, which ended up in this headcanon dump. There’s also a list of last names I came up with for him but never chose between: Chambers, Lakatos (which I shared once here), and Lockenspiel. Right now I’m leaning towards the last one, it rolls nicely off the tongue.

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That’s it for now! Not gonna lie, I’m still nervous about posting the other 6 WIPs. Most of them deal with Book 12, and all the tough subjects that that entails. But hey, I made this bed, and by God am I gonna lie in it. Thanks for reading so far!

[writingithink]

I’m too tired to make a whole tumblr fic post because of the way I formatted it.

But I’ll be reblogging with a link a nEw FiC!! It’s not a real new fic, it’s an old new fic. Tangled Timelines is still my main priority whenever I actually start writing again. I’ve dived into the wip folder for editing though and found something that was originally supposed to be massive and can be broken up into many lil fics.

Waste No Time Pairing: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rated: T Wordcount: 11,355

Summary: If saving the world will always be the top priority, Rose doesn't think there's a reason not to take small risks every now and then. Life is short. No regrets.

Preview:

It had been a couple of days. It had been a year. Depends on who you were asking.

As Rose stood there, listening through a tinny speakerphone connection to the lies the Slitheen were telling the planet, she suddenly really felt like it actually had been a year since she ran into the TARDIS, since she'd been just a girl who worked in a shop. It was all so different. 

She  was different.

They were going to nuke the Earth. Kill everyone without a single care at all.

"Alright, Doctor," she heard her mother on the phone and finally felt a little more grounded, "I'm not saying I trust you, but there must be something you can do."

There was. There had to be. She'd only known him a couple days, but it felt like a year and Rose believed in him.

[harrywritingsbyme]

Calm

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

This One Too

A/N: I’m not gonna lie…I had no idea what I was going to write for tonight😭. So I went “dumpster diving” in my want to write folder and old drafts and I found these concepts from a tiny while ago that I absolutely loved. So I did a hot lil something something with them...I hope it doesn't suck and you guys like it! Enjoy🙃

Jealousy, something that you and Harry we’re very familiar with. But mainly Harry though. See, despite the fact that he’d been with you for years at this point and had been married to you for a little over two years, Harry still got jealous. In fact, Harry was even more jealous now than before he slid the sparkling ring onto your coveted left ring finger. Just the thought of anyone coming less than five feet of you with an obviously flirtatious disposition made his flags go up and his jealousy levels spike. And to be completely honest, it was all because Harry was selfish. He wanted you all to himself, and anyone who even attempted to come in between you two went on his radar and he’d go on the defense. Now even though in most situations his jealousy was unwarranted and too much for the situation at hand, you did still enjoy it a bit. You loved when Harry was possessive over you and made it known to others that you were his. It was a really nice mix of soft and sweet along with hot and sexy. 

And judging by what was going on between you and Harry right now, it was guaranteed that you and Harry were going to be enjoying a heavy dose of that sweet and spicy jealousy. The two of you were enjoying your night out at a mutual friends birthday party, and you both were having a really good time mixing and mingling while managing to stay joined at the hip for the majority of your time there. But as you continued to glide through the party with Harry, you were contently sipping on your drink which led you to quickly empty your glass and be in need of a refill. Once you unwrap yourself from Harry, let him know that you’re going to get another drink, and inquire about whether or not he wants his drink refreshed, you weave yourself through the cluster of people and over to the bar where you place your order. And in this small window of time between leaving him and placing your order, you manage to walk right into the number one situation that would cause Harry to become jealous. Talking to an attractive guy that he didn’t know at the bar. 

Now even though the sparkler on your left hand was supposed to stop any flirtatious advances towards you, it didn’t. Despite clearly being married, you were still approached by males and females who wanted to “break off a piece” in the words of Harry. And to make matters worse, you went above and beyond to make yourself up. You spent a good amount of time getting yourself together for your night out with Harry. You looked so good that you two were extremely close to not even making it out the front door. So if Harry was looking and practically drooling at the thought and/or sight of you, there was so doubt in his mind that others were looking too. And he didn’t like that one bit. So once he saw you chatting it up with a guy who’s identity was unknown to him and who was pretty obviously checking you out and flirting, Harry’s disposition immediately went from calm cool, and collected, to calm collected, and defensive. The only thing that stopped him from swiftly coming over and injecting himself into the seemingly “harmless” exchange was a friend of his that stopped him right in his tracks. And if it wasn’t for that friend, Harry would’ve marched over to where you were, pulled you away from the man who from his vantage point was up to no good, then give it to you real good as he constantly reminded you that you were his and only his. That’s what could’ve happened. But instead of all that, Harry’s jealous fire was momentarily tempered to just a sizzle. Being at just a sizzle meant that he could do the unexpected right now. 

Being at just a sizzle allowed him to politely, but not so politely pull you out of the conversation and pull you both out of the party. From the outside, everything seemed oddly fine. He didn’t have a prominent scowl on his face as he drove you both home and he didn’t have an intense grip in your thigh. He simply had a hand on the steering wheel and the other loosely planted on your thigh. Seeing him so calm was very interesting to say the least. When you saw him in your peripherals at the party, you were kind of expecting and looking forward to having a hot jealousy filled quickie in the bathroom. You were expecting and hoping for him to fuck you like he hates you but because he loves you. But no, you got a calm cool and collected Harry who simply escorted you both out of there. The only thought you two had in common during the entire ordeal and the entire ride home was that you were going to get it upon arrival.

Now you were on the money about getting it at home, you were just off at the timing. You were thinking right against the door or in the living room since he’s had time for these jealous thoughts to fester as he drove. And he did let his thoughts fester in his mind and bring back the fiery feeling inside of him. Harry was definitely, if not more jealous and possessive once you two made it back home. He was more than ready to rip your clothes off and go to town on you as he made sure that you remembered who you belonged to. But yet again, he didn’t jump right in the way you expected. He simply walked you both into the house and right upstairs to get ready for bed.

At this point, you were on edge. When was he finally going to do something?! You knew he was hard and you knew that he was jealous. This was the perfect combination for a round or many of hot and rough sex. But in this situation, he simply went about getting ready for bed and helping you get undressed as well. You were buzzing with anticipation and you were constantly thinking of the many possible segways into what was bound to happen. You were all types of confused, excited, at the prospect of finally getting what you wanted. And your dream finally came true once you and Harry quietly went through you guys’ entire nighttime routine and were in bed. Even though you weren’t necessarily trying to end up in a situation where Harry was jealous and desperate to establish in your mind that you were his, you weren’t mad at it by any means.

“You know I love you, right darling?” Harry asks randomly, propping himself up onto his elbow to peer down at you.

“Mhm.” You hum up to him in response, making sure to send him a soft and reassuring smile in the process.

“Good.” He simply replies, bringing his free hand down to the side of your face. “Because I’m gonna fuck you like I don’t.” He continues, bringing the hand down to wrap around your throat and tightening it right as he mutters the last word. Harry was hard and Harry was jealous; it was game on for him. He wasn’t going to hold back; and to be completely honest, you weren’t expecting him to. As soon as his hand tightened around your throat, a shock went to your core and you were ready to take every last thing he gave you until you were just a pile of numbness.  “I swear to you. I won’t stop until your legs are shaking and the neighbors know my name.” He growls, bringing his face down closer to yours and keeping his hand on your throat as he moves on top of you and pushes up the bottom of his t-shirt to uncover your lower half. He then gives your throat one more tight squeeze, making sure that he was pushing your head down into the pillows before releasing you. While you’re panting to catch your breath, Harry is snatching any and every (even though it was only two things) piece of clothing off of your body. After getting you fully undressed, Harry is quick to push you over and tug his own t-shirt and boxers off as well. Now that he’s fully naked as well, Harry doesn’t waste a single second to wrap his hand around and tug at his cock. He was finally free of the confines of his pants and he was finally going to be inside of you after a long night. 

As he tugs at his cock, you can feel his other hand come between your legs and begin to move up and down your folds. You felt him push his two fingers up and down your slick folds and nudge at your entrance while he grunted and relieved himself a bit behind you. As he did this you tightened your arms around the pillows beneath your head and you soaked up any form of touch from him. Knowing Harry, even though he’s mad and ready to just pound you into oblivion, he’d build up to it and just leave you both hanging in the name of making you suffer. So you were definitely praying that he’d do more and not stop all together. He did say that he wasn’t going to stop until you were shaking and the neighbors knew his name after all.

After a couple more tugs to his cock and rubs to your soaking cunt, Harry finally pushes further to the place that you both are looking forward to. Keeping his hand around his cock, he lifts himself up from his kneeling position between your legs and into the position of hovering over your body with his other hand that was once between your legs planted on the bed for support. Then without warning, Harry begins to sheath his cock between your walls. Even though he was supposed to be Mr. Tough Guy and in charge right now, he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a little whimper. Your walls just felt so good around his cock. Like so good. And he wasn’t the only one whimpering. You too were a mess at the feeling of his cock stretching your walls to accommodate your size and twitching while it’s moving deeper and deeper into you. He was so big that the thick veins on his shaft were pushing into your spongy walls, causing you to feel them glide against you as he pushed into you. Now as he slowly fills you with his cock, Harry also begins to slowly lower himself down onto you until he’s fully on top of you body. You were sandwiched between his body and the mattress, your legs were pinned down by his, and his mouth was in your neck right by your ear. He was ultimately setting you up to be a mess around him. 

“Now you’re gonna be a good girl and take it right?” He asks, keeping his mouth right on you as he spoke.

“Mhm.” You whimper shakily, waiting for him to finally start and give you what you’ve been anticipating.

“Words!” He snarls, lifting his hips to send a sharp and unexpected thrust into you.

“Yes!” You gasp, feeling his cock slam right up into your sweet spot.

“Good girl.” Harry hums delightedly before continuing his thrusts. He consistently lifts his hips up, slightly pulling his cock from you just to slam back down into you sending his cock into the deepest parts of you. As he does this, you’re full on whining into the pillows. The way he was relentlessly fucking down into you as he grunted into your ear about how you were his and that he was the only one who would ever do this to you. It was absolutely amazing.

After pinning you down and fucking you right into the mattress, Harry was ready to switch it up. He wanted to see your face as you took every inch of his cock. He wanted to watch you fall apart as he imprinted his cock into your delectable walls. So to make a long story short, Harry is quick to lift himself up from your back and flip you back into your original position in front of him. When he does this, you’re still clutching onto the pillow that was once beneath your head as you anxiously wait for him to slam back into you. Before he does though, Harry latches onto the pillow and tugs it out of your tight yet weak grip and tosses it onto the bed behind him with a cynical smirk plastered across his face. He then brings his large, and still ringed hand around your throat before lining his cock back up with your entrance and pushing back into you. Again, he goes straight into thrusting down into you. As he did, your hands frantically searched for something to grab onto as you took the deliciously hard thrusts. From this angle, you could feel him really hitting those spots inside of you and you could feel his balls slapping against you.

Harry on cloud nine right now to say the least. You felt so good around him, clenching and shaking as you took his cock. And you looked so pretty with your glossed over eyes and as you choked on your moans. 

“Now m’gonna let go and I wanna hear you use that little voice of yours. Understand?” Harry pants above you, continuing to shove his cock deep into you. With the pitiful look still spread across your face, you feverishly nod your head yes. “And if you scream loud enough, I might let you cum.” He offers, loosening his tight grip on your throat. And once he does this, you’re screaming. You’re going on and on about how good he feels and how you can feel his cock all the way in the pit of your stomach.

“Please Harry!” You loudly cry out to him, feeling your body become warmer and number with every thrust. 

“Wanna cum?” Harry grunts, beginning to slow his thrusts down to more staggered and sharp ones since his own release was fast approaching.

“Need to.” You whimper, feeling your strength to hold back dwindling by the second. But luckily for you, Harry manages to send three final thrusts into you that send you both right over into your releases. The both of you can feel each other contracting and convulsing with every spurt of your orgasms.

 The both of you were beyond and completely out of it by the end of your earth shattering releases. And despite all of the numbness and soreness that was coming your way, every last second was worth it.

Masterlist

[inknopewetrust]

A Little Chaos

Summary: A thief finds herself at the center of the kidnapping of two girls and has the attention one very attractive detective. 

Pairing: Detective Loki x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Criminal activity, flirting, sexual references, brief choking, probably 16+ based on content but no explicit smut. A mention of pedophilia but nowhere near in detail.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written something like this and can I just say that I really loved it!? So, I really hope you all do too! Requests are currently CLOSED but I hope to open them soon again and with new characters to add to my list. Check out my Masterlist for all other works. Thanks so much for requesting this @mrs-blooooom! I just loved the idea so much and thanks for being so kind about all the delays!

One - pick the lock 

Two - lift up the screen and frame as quietly as possible but make absolutely no rough work of it. 

Three - slip on the shoe covers and assess the gloves before entering through the window. 

Four - get to work. 

That was always the structure, no questions asked. Though, you noticed the news beginning to trace your patterns. You had made a hit in another neighborhood two weeks ago and because the news began reporting the patters, you were sure the police weren’t far behind. 

And perhaps on that particular Thanksgiving, you shouldn’t have done another–or picked that house, rather.  

Detective David Loki had a million different things running through his mind on a daily basis. When a case such as the Dover-Birch one stuck itself in the middle of an already pending investigation of burglaries in the Conyer’s area, he had a hunch of who he would investigate first. But he couldn’t get to that immediately because Keller Dover convinced him and his superiors that the RV belonging to Alex Jones was the first and only way to go. 

But even after interrogating the man who had a child-like innocence to him, David Loki was convinced there was something more to the story. There had to have been a connection to who burglarized the Dover’s that same night and where the girls could be... he was certain, but then he wasn’t because he wasn’t sure you were the kind of person who would kidnap two innocent girls. 

On a particularly slow Tuesday, no new leads had come in and the investigation had stalled because Alex Jones had now gone missing without a trace. Although he was doing everything he could, Loki was far from finding a solution and decided to take the initiative into his own hands and dive into the file he had been working on for nearly five months–the one into you and your less-than-stellar activities. The post-it note sticking out of the side of the manilla folder contained an address to an apartment in the center of town. He plucked it out, tucked it into his pocket and walked straight out of the station. 

You weren’t worried about being considered a suspect in the kidnapping of two girls. You had no connection to the Dover’s, Birches’, or the Jones’, as well as no connection to the scene of the crime. You were always careful, and the Dover’s had no security cameras. So, when your comm buzzed in the middle of the day, you weren’t expecting it to be the police. 

“Hello?” 

“Ms. L/n? This is Detective Loki with the Conyer’s Police Department. I have a few questions I would like to ask you.” The voice was cackled with the circuited communication buzzer but you heard the man loud and clear. You also knew exactly who that was. 

Detective David Loki was an infamous creature of Conyers. One day he just seemed to sprout out of nowhere and into the public sphere, but you had known him for a while. You were never friends, and you were sure until now he didn’t even know your name, but he was the star pupil of the town. And the spotlight he was in, he absolutely hated it. Every time his picture appeared in the paper or when he had to speak on the television relayed that message and you laughed in pity. The poor man just wanted to do his job and that was one part he didn’t sign up for. 

“Can I ask what this is regarding?” 

“The investigation into Joy Birch and Anna Dover. I just have a few questions I’d like to ask you if you would step-” 

“I’ll buzz you up.” You pressed the button and unlocked the door, opening it just enough for you to rest on the frame with one arm on the door and the other on your hip. 

Another thing you knew about Detective David Loki was that he was one of the most attractive people you had ever laid eyes on. The man was a walking dream but unfortunately, on the other side of the law which was far from promising when it came to your vivid imagination. 

“How nice of you to not barge into my home, Detective.” You called out to him as he appeared on the steps landing just down the hall from your door. Loki gave no smile but shoved an orange post-it into his jacket as he shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“This surely won’t take long.” 

With a nod you moved away from the door, shutting it closed behind you. With the sudden and unexpected presence of this man who was a fine line between formal detective and loose cop, there was an urge to be exactly the opposite of what he wanted you to be. He had been trailing you for just enough time to learn patterns in your life, the people you associate with, the fact that you had a degree and a decent job. You had an apartment to call your own, a car that wasn’t stolen and yet you continued to break into people's homes and steal curious objects for what? Consignment sales? He wasn’t sure. But you weren’t going to give him the answers he was looking for. You enjoyed the life you built for yourself...even if you had to steal and sell things to arrive at ends meet to pay for everything in your life. 

“So... what can I do for you?” 

“Can you recall where and what you were going on the night of Thursday, November 28th?” 

“Thanksgiving?” You asked with a raised brow and he nodded. Loki pulled out no notebook to take notes, rather he watched every movement. He was trying to identify guilt, but you were a casual sleuth. It wasn’t a game he was used to because all of his suspects eventually gave in. 

“I got up around 8:30, maybe 9 and ate some breakfast, um I-” You took a seat on the arm of your couch, running a hand over your mouth trying to “remember” what exactly you were doing a few days ago. 

“-took a shower and then got started on my dish to pass at my parents dinner. I made sweet potatoes and stuffing-or dressing... I don’t know what you call it.” Loki was far from amused that you were making this appear less than serious. He couldn’t let himself believe that you were stupid enough to believe he wasn’t there on behalf of the story that captured the attention of the entire nation, so he didn’t believe a word you said. 

“When that was done I got ready, did my makeup, and headed out to my parents where my sister and her family were meeting us to have dinner. Then I left their house around 7-ish and came home.” 

“After dinner you went straight home?” 

“Yes.” 

You looked at him with an unfazed gaze which he met but didn’t buy. It was a game. A cat and mouse game that he wasn’t willing to bite into but it was too late, you already had him on a string. Loki would be lying if he didn’t find you attractive, even in the slightest. You were a beautiful woman, and it was because of how you looked that you’ve never been caught. You always covered every inch of your body and you looked unassuming. You had a perfectly pristine house, looked like someone who didn’t need to steal to live but then again, most of the time, all the people who do steal never look like they would because that is what people are taught not to look for. 

“I made some phone calls late last week and someone in your family spilled that you weren’t there. In fact, you haven’t been to a family holiday since you graduated college nearly ten years ago. Bad relationship?” 

“I can assure you–whoever you talked to, they weren’t there. I was there. I can tell you what I wore, what I ate, what was on the T.V. and what color shoe my nephew was wearing that day.” 

“Those could just be good guesses?” Loki let his eyes wander around the small living space. He looked at the picture frames, the vases, the bins, the T.V. stand, everything that could have screamed “out of place” to him but nothing did. 

“You didn’t happen to pass two little girls on your drive home, did you?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Two girls. I’m sure you’ve seen their picture on the news.” Loki pointed to the T.V. at first but then dug into his pocket and pulled out a single picture of two girls photographed on a playground. They were smiling widely and happily at the person behind the camera. You had never seen the girls so you shook your head no and crossed your arms. 

“No. I’ve never seen them before. Am I supposed to?” 

“I don’t know, are you?” 

“What are you implying, detective?” 

“Do you know the house you broke into on Thursday, November 28th was the home of Anna Dover. Anna and her friend Joy went missing that same night after returning to the Dover residence to find a whistle. You were inside the home at the time we believe the girls went missing. So, tell me–do you know where the girls are?” Loki was zoned in accusation. The man was unwavering in his tone or his assumption and you would say it was scary if you didn’t find it attractive. Why, God WHY, did the detective working on this case have to be everything you looked for in a man? It would be so much easier if he were old and wrinkled but he was far far from it. 

“Detective, if I would have known you would come into my home and accuse me of kidnapping two innocent girls, I wouldn’t have answered the ring.” 

“Where are the two girls? Do you know where they are?” 

“No. I told you I didn’t take the girls.” 

“But you were in the house? Did you see the girls?” 

“I didn’t say that either.” 

“What if I told you that you were a sloppy thief?” 

“Excuse me?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. You were certain that you were not. There was never a time where you left as much as a trace of hair in a location that you hit. 

“The bin.” Loki walked over to the T.V. stand that had three white bins tucked into slots. The bins were generally filled with junk except for one thing that the Dover’s told him went missing yesterday afternoon. A medium size blue decorative pot with yellow flowers on its sides. It was meant for shallow flowers as a table center piece that was gifted to Keller and Grace on their wedding day. Grace was distraught over it and it was sitting the left-most bin under the television. Loki pulled open the drawer and carefully took out the pot and you looked at it with a shrug. 

“Where did you get this?” 

“My mother.” 

“I thought I told you that they told me you haven’t spoken to them in a decade?” 

“Well I obviously spoke to them before that.” 

“I am going to ask you again and I want an honest answer. Where did you get this pot?” 

What were you supposed to do? The man literally cracked the code. If only you hadn’t chosen that house. Oh! How much easier your life would be. 

“I plead the fifth.” Oh, fuck. 

Loki set the pot carefully down and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. It would have been hot if you weren’t terrified of what came next. Then you made an ill-timed joke. 

“You’re not pulling those out for another reason are you?” You didn’t even laugh yourself because he simply ignored it and motioned for you to stand and turn around. 

“I am going to take you to the station and we will talk more there. Stand up, turn around, and give me your hands.” 

“I already told you I don’t know where the girls are.” Ignored again but the feeling of him pushing your shoulder with his hand and taking your wrist was something you wished you would stop replaying in your mind. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything-” 

The Conyer’s Police Station was wimpy compared to other cities. It was a small, single story brick building with three holding rooms and one interrogation room. You weren’t sure how long you sat in the holding cell, but it was nighttime by the time you were taken out of the room by another officer and into a brightly lit, slightly yellowed room with a mirrored window and a small desk with two chairs. There was a pencil and a pad of paper at the center of it but you were sure if it was going to be Detective Loki interrogating you, he wouldn’t need it. 

The officer uncuffed you with no words spoken and pointed at the chair facing the window. You rubbed your wrists from the friction the metal left before taking a seat and staring into the glass where your reflection met your own. You had nothing to do with the two missing girls so you had nothing to give them, or rather, nothing to give Loki to further his investigation. 

The man of the hour waltzed into the room a mere five minutes after you were sat down. He had a half-drank cup of coffee in one hand and a small grouping of papers in the other. Loki sat down, settling himself before looking up at you and beginning the interrogation. 

“Please state your name, age, and address.” 

You recited the information as told.

“How many homes a year do you burglarize?" Loki opened a file that was tucked under some papers with a series of pictures printed on a piece of computer paper. It was amalgamation of missing objects from families around Conyers. You were fucked, but you couldn't let him think that, or at least believe that you were guilty in anyway. Your stealing wasn't going to find those girls because you had no idea where in the world they were. You had never seen them before their faces were plastered on every hour of the news.

"Shouldn't my lawyer be here if you are going to accuse me of something?"

"Do you need a lawyer?"

"Do I, Detective?"

It was the attitude that angered him the most. A woman like you didn't need to steal. Based on your records, he had no reason to truly believe you would. Clean record. No screaming signs of intent or distrust popped out but he knew you were guilty. There was not a doubt. But there was something in that attitude that made him squirm. An attractive quality that he did not want to admit.

"If you answer the questions I ask truthfully, then no, you won't need a lawyer."

"Ask away." You leaned back in the chair with arms crossed and a determined narrowness to your eyes. It was a challenge. Try me, Detective. Do it, I dare you.

"When did you first start stealing?"

"When I was seven. My sister always had better stuff, so I took it."

"And that escalated to...what?" Instead of leaning back on his own chair, Loki leaned forward. His shoulders were hunched in an aggressive, intense tactic to scare you into admitting something that you didn't have any part of. He just wanted to find those girls and you happen to be a speed bump in the way.

"Minor petty theft. I never take anything over $500."

"How do you know what something is worth?"

"I'm sure you can find that in my file, Detective. Everything is there I am sure of it. You all know just how to frame the people you want. But I had nothing to do with those girls."

Loki's line of aggravation was growing thin. Sooner or later, attitude wasn't going to cut it and he was going to have to use the tactics he used on Alex Jones and other potential perpetrators on you. He never liked to get outright violent with women, but he couldn't let this go without trying to get something. The days were wearing thin and he needed to find Joy and Anna.

"You were in the Dover's house the night of the abduction. Where are the girls?"

"I told you I didn't have anything to do with that."

"Didn't or don't."

"Doesn't matter. I did not see them. I do not know where they are. Ruining children's lives isn't my MO, Detective-"

"But you do and you did! YOU were in that house. YOU were at the scene of the crime at the time they went missing. YOU are the one who knows what happened to those girls!" His voice was no longer steady and calm as he had been taught during his training. His string had snapped when in response, you laughed.

Loki flew out of his chair, rounded the table as the sound of his chair skidded across the floor and to the wall behind him. If you weren't so focused on him, you probably could have heard the surprised yells of the Detectives and Officers behind the mirror. The angered Detective roughly arrived at his destination–you, and grabbed the back of your hair, pulling your head back to look at him as he stood over you.

"Where the fuck are the girls?" It came out like a hiss. His eyes enraged with pain for the families and his own reputation if the case goes wrong and he doesn't find them in enough time. You weren't scared of him or his tactics. Rather, it was quite the opposite. If he wasn't attractive, you would have been disgusted but the man was the epitome of perfection and this scene would be one to get you off for years to come.

"I told you, I don't know where the girls are." He gripped your hair harder and you felt the chair waver underneath you. Still not scared.

"You're a liar, a fucking thief, and I don't believe you. Where are the girls? Do you like that sort of thing, huh? Do-"

"You sick fuck. I'm a thief not a fucking pedophile. I didn't take the girls!" You were slightly taken aback by his suggestion, but it was all a tactic. You had seen it on millions of police shows before. He just wanted answers, but he wasn't going to find them with you. Whatever in the sentence you had just spoken to him, Loki was worse off for it. He practically lifted you by the hair and charged you into the wall roughly. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make a point. He wasn't playing around but neither were you.

Loki's hand let go of your hair and one found itself on the wall next to your head as he closed in on you. You could feel his breathe on your face and his eyes pierced your goddamned soul. The other, well the other found itself right on your neck, holding you in place against the wall with a slight squeeze. Holy fuck.

"Keep this up Detective and I would have the means to believe this might lead to something else." The smile, your smile crept up on your face at your own assumption. You wouldn't complain if it did escalate to that.

"TELL ME WHERE THE GIRLS ARE? WHERE IS ANNA? WHERE IS JOY?"

"I told you I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE GIRLS ARE!"

There was something in your own anger that made him want to believe you didn't take the girls or had any clue where they were. He would hate to see a woman like you throw your life away for a career of crime. The proximity between the two of you was next to none. A knife wouldn't have been able to break the tension and the way he held you, unintentionally violent with a hand just a little too suggestively on your neck was a mistake but not one that he was readily going to admit. If this was any other situation, he might have let himself be willing to feel something more. But this was an interrogation, so he kept the face and squeezed just a little harder.

"Where are they? Tell me where they are?"

"Starting to sound like a broken record there. I would tell you again but I'm sure you have my admission of NOT KNOWING WHERE THEY ARE ON TAPE!"

Loki had enough and let your neck go with a jolt. His hands went to his belt where his cuffs were sitting and he pulled them out and turned you around. Your body was flush against the wall and one of his large, tattooed hands held your wrists together as he went to cuff them. This was another thing that would forever be engrained in your "sexy when it shouldn't be" file in your brain.

"Fine. You won't tell me where they are? Maybe a night in lock up will make you think." His voice was low, just at the base of your ear and his hot breath lingered on your neck as you could hear nothing but your heart beating out of your chest and the sound of cuffs closing.

But the man didn't get much further than that because the door to the room opened and like two deer in headlights, you both turned your heads to the sound of the intruder. It was another officer who looked both scared and amused and slightly embarrassed in regard to what he walked in on. He approached Loki as the latter man pulled you off the wall and forward, in front of him to walk toward the door.

"It was the hospital. Joy Birch was just admitted."

The look on Loki's face was priceless. You literally scoffed out loud and turned your face to his.

"I told you I had no fucking idea where they were."

Loki simply passed you over to the other officer and headed to the door, frustrated and confused about his own work and internal feelings about what had just happened–both the realization that you had no idea where they were and that he had been aggressive to the point where it kind of turned him on.

"Detective!" He was halfway out the door when you called out to him and if he had a mind, he would have ignored you and continued on, but he was so flustered that he did.

"If you ever want to use those cuffs sometime, you know where to find me."

Loki didn't say anything, but his eyes wandered. From your face to your body to the floor and back up. It was an unashamed look that made the officer uncomfortable, but you couldn't help but let a small, sly smile grace your face at his look. This man would be the end of your criminal career if he managed to find the time to reunite with you again.

And he did. Two days after Keller Dover was found in a hole and on a holiday he knew you were not going to spend with your family.

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I’m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

[doubleleoenergy]

ii. Serial Killer, Lolita Series

Sneak up on you really quiet. Whisper, "Am I what your heart desires?" I can be your ingenue.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of erection and male masturbation, lewd thoughts, drinking, mentions of domestic violence, murder, and divorce

Words: 2893

Summary: Andy spends an evening with y/n and learns about her hopes, dreams, and sexual relations

Andy Barber was straightening his tie against his grey button down when he walked into the hallway from his bedroom, the smell of bacon wafting through his nostrils as he followed the scent to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Andy.” Y/N’s voice held that sickening sweet seduction he had gotten used to over the past few days. It was seven o’clock in the morning, and the fact that she sounded so chipper had Andy amused. His son was not a morning person, neither were any of the other boys staying with them.

He turns the corner towards the kitchen counter and takes in the sight of her. She’s ready for her first day as an intern for him, though her outfit doesn’t seem to be the most conservative for an attorney’s office. Her tight black skirt with white lines is barely covering her ass, and there’s a small slit up the right side that is showing more skin, if that’s even possible. She’s paired it with a simple black tank top that is cropped to reveal just the tiniest bit of skin on her abdomen, his eyes trailing down her toned legs to her black strappy stilettos that finish off the look. Andy has to look away and busy himself with his briefcase in order to stop himself from coming in his trousers.

“Morning, y/n.” He chokes out, reorganizing the files in a folder he had pulled out. Y/N slides a plate beside him, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she walks directly to his side, holding out a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

He takes the cup in his hand appreciatively, eyeing the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast that she had slid over to him. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do any of this.” Andy takes a sip of coffee before setting his mug down beside the plate, picking up the fork and knife before diving into the meal.

“I know I didn’t have to, but we can’t let you go to the office on an empty stomach, right boss?” She teased, her manicured nails tapping gently on the counter next to him. God how he wished to feel those nails scratching against his scalp.

“Well thank you.” He responds, trying not to think about how she had just called him boss and how it made it incredibly wrong to be thinking about her like he had. The past few days had been rough, watching y/n saunter around the house in her sinful outfits, teasing the other boys and stealing glances in Andy’s direction. He had fucked into his fist every night since he saw her in that damn bikini.

As Andy finished eating y/n cleaned up the dishes, drying them and putting them away where they belonged in the appropriate cabinets and drawers. She was eager for her first day in the office, and honestly happy to be working somewhere where she was already familiar with the boss. 

“That was great, y/n, thank you again.” He wiped his mouth off on a napkin before pulling his briefcase shut, y/n taking his plate and mug and cleaning them in the sink before drying her hands.

“Anytime, I appreciate the carpooling to work as well.” Her fingers reached for her purse on the edge of the counter, following Andy out into the garage and sliding into the passenger seat of his pristine Audi. It was much flashier than her ten-years-too-old Ford Focus. She could get used to this lifestyle for the rest of the summer.

Andy and y/n spent the entire drive to the office making small talk, while Andy tried his hardest not to glance at her supple thighs in her thin skirt. Soon enough they arrived at the office, Andy gesturing for y/n to follow him inside the large office building.

Passing through the doors, Andy says a quick hello to the colleagues he passed, waving them over to gather inside their large conference room.

“Alright everyone, I’ll make this quick. This is y/n, she’s our new intern for the summer so please, be kind and help her to get the most out of her time here.” Andy’s eyes scanned the crowd of people, noticing the way the men in the office all lusted over her, their eyes dark with attraction.

As Andy dismissed everyone, Neal fucking Loguidice strides forward with confidence, extending his hand out to y/n’s. “Neal Loguidice, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Y/N seems to be enjoying the attention, standing up straighter as she takes his hand in hers. “Thank you, Neal. The pleasure is all mine.”

“How about I show you around the office? You know, as an assistant district attorney I can answer any questions you have about this place.” Before Andy can protest, Neal puts a hand on the small of y/n’s back, guiding her out of the conference room and walking her down the hall. Andy hates the way he grits his teeth, the hand not holding his briefcase forming into a tight fist by his side. Why was he even jealous? He had no reason to be, didn’t he?

Andy spent the rest of the morning answering phone calls and meeting with clients, though he couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on y/n anytime he left his office. She had picked up lunch for the entire department, created copies for a staff meeting, and was unfortunately still being followed around by that slithering snake Neal. Who did he think he was?

He tried not to let it get to him, but as he walked past y/n’s makeshift desk after a coffee break, he watched as Neal leaned over her. He was teaching her how to scan documents to their respective folders, his eyes staring directly down y/n’s shirt to catch a glimpse of her perky tits. That was it, he had had enough.

“Neal.” Andy clenched his jaw as he spoke, watching as the man’s eyes lingered briefly still on y/n’s tits before meeting his gaze. “A word in my office. Now.” He barked.

Neil walked with confidence into Andy’s office, shutting the door behind him before slumping into the chair in front of Andy’s desk, a smug smile plastered on his face. “What can I do for you, Andrew?” Neal challenged, crossing his left leg over his right.

“You need to keep your eyes and your hands to yourself with y/n, it’s disgusting and she’s one of my son’s best friends. I’m not going to let you disrespect her like that, and neither would HR if they found out.” He growled, his eyes growing dark. Neal puts his hands up in protest before he stands, backing towards the door.

“Whoa, those are some big accusations without any evidence, Barber. I was just showing our intern around.” He’s still got that smug look on his face that Andy wishes to smack off him, though he knows he can’t. Neal opens the office door, walking out and heading back to his own office, leaving y/n to work by herself at her desk.

It was fucked up that he was lecturing Neal about the way he looked at y/n while knowing he’d jerked off into his hand every night fantasizing about her. But he wasn’t acting on anything, it was just some harmless fantasies, he was newly divorced after all. This was just lust, wasn’t it?

The rest of the day went by fast, Andy moving from meeting to meeting with clients and y/n working diligently on getting acquainted with their latest cases and filing the paperwork into the appropriate folders on their server.

Andy shut his office door a little after six o’clock, locking it behind him before strolling over to where y/n sat at her desk, texting on her phone.

“Are you ready to head out for the evening?” He asked, watching as she stood up beside him, only a couple of inches shorter than him in her heels.

“Yes, Jacob just texted me. Him and the guys are out bar hopping with some, as he put it, ‘absolute tens’ and won’t be home until late.” She follows him out of the office building, watching as he locks the front doors behind them before sauntering over to the passenger side of his car.

“That’s fine, why don’t I order us some takeout, I know a little place by the house that serves the best pad thai.” Andy and y/n get into the car as he starts it up, the vehicle roaring to life under them. “I would love that, thank you.” 

It’s a quiet ride back to the office, y/n scrolling through Instagram as the radio plays softly, the car filled with the lyrics to a Lady Gaga song. Andy parks the car back in its usual spot in the garage before walking inside and dropping his briefcase on the counter.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll order the food when I get out and then we can relax, I’m sure today was a lot for you to take in.” Andy assured, loosening the tie around his neck.

“That sounds great, thank you Andy.” Y/N bounds up the stairs as well, letting her body muscles relax under the heat of the shower. Downstairs, Andy is doing the same, except he’s got a cold shower running to rid him of his thoughts from the day. How y/n’s skirt would ride up as she bent down to pull a copy from the copier, the way her lips pursed, and brows furrowed perfectly as she focused on her computer screen. How did her little actions send his brain into such a tizzy?

It wasn’t long before he had calmed his thoughts and pulled on a pair of grey sweats and a navy-blue t-shirt, calling the restaurant and placing a delivery order for two pad thai dinners. As Andy waited for the food to arrive he sat down on the couch, fumbling with his phone until he heard footsteps from the stairs, his eyes trailing over the silky baby blue short shorts and front-tied top that barely covered her breasts, her nipples hard through the fabric.

“Is the food here yet?” She asked, plopping down beside Andy on the couch, her leg just barely grazing him as she sat. Just as Andy went to reply the doorbell rang, immediately standing up and grabbing his wallet from the counter. He pulled the heavy front door open, greeting the gentleman and handing over the money, including a generous tip, in exchange for the bag of food. 

As he walked back into the living room, he noticed y/n had gotten up and placed two bottles of beer on the coffee table, careful to include the thick grey coasters below them.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, emptying the contents of the bag onto the table before handing over one of the takeout boxes to her. She opened it delicately, her fork twisting into the container before pulling out some of the contents and chewing it thoughtfully.

They both sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the scraping of their silverware and the occasional movement of a beer bottle on and off the coasters. “So…” Andy started, swallowing a bite of his dish. “What made you want to be an attorney? S’not very often that I see someone interested in the profession.” Or someone like her, he meant, though he tried not to come off as if a woman like her couldn’t do the job.

There was an expression that flashed across y/n’s face, something he hadn’t seen yet, a twinge of sadness? “Life circumstances. I actually want to be a defense attorney, specifically.” Andy finished taking a swig from his beer, setting it back down.

“Interesting, are you from the area? Or, at least, close to Columbia?” He questioned.

“No, I’m from Ohio actually. It’s a shit place, only really good for driving through to get to your destination.” Y/N set her half-eaten container on the table, sitting back against the couch.

“Your family must miss you, with you all the way at Columbia.”

“My aunt and I talk every day, s’not much to miss.” Y/N responded; brows knitted into a frown.

“That’s not true, I’m sure she misses you. What about your parents? I’m sure they miss you when you’re gone too.”

That struck a nerve with y/n, she didn’t talk about her family to anyone, she hadn’t even told Jacob or the other guys about her family life. Something about Andy made her feel comfortable, though, her eyes focused on her lap while she picked at a loose hangnail.

“Well, that’s kinda why I wanted to become a defense attorney. My uh-my dad used to beat the shit out of my mom when I was younger.” Her face flashes a few different emotions, pain, anger, guilt, as she swallows a lump in her throat. “Don’t really know why he would’ve been with her in the first place, what’s the point of wanting to be with someone if you just want to pummel their face every day?” Andy listened intently; his food abandoned on the coffee table as well.

Y/N isn’t sure whether to continue with the story or not, deciding she’d already gotten through the first part, might as well finish. “I went to my aunt’s one day, I was nine at the time, and my aunt got a call and she was…beside herself.” She pauses, lips pressed in a grim line. “I guess my mom wanted to leave my dad and he went ballistic, loaded his pistol and emptied a few shots into her. She didn’t survive, of course, and my dad got life without parole.” Y/N cleared her throat.

“Anyhow, I went to live with my aunt, excelled in school, got nearly a full ride to Columbia and have dreamed of becoming a defense attorney for domestic violence and sexual assault victims ever since. I think I’d make a damn good attorney. I’d love to see the look on the guilty faces as I get justice for their victims.” Her voice regained its confidence, her body relaxing back as she finally took a sip from her beer, trying to look unphased.

“I…” Andy started, y/n waving her hand in dismissal. “It’s all good, I’ve moved past it, mostly. You don’t have to say the whole ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ shit. I’ve heard it all before.” Y/N took another long swig from her beer, swallowing it before pointing in his direction.

“What about you, what made you divorce Mrs. Barber? Jacob doesn’t mention her at all, only that you divorced last December.” Andy lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding during her entire story.

“Just wasn’t meant to be. We’d been together our whole lives practically and I woke up one day and realized I didn’t love her anymore. We were always fighting, and it wasn’t worth it to try and make it work.” Why he was explaining this to a twenty-two-year-old friend of his son, he didn’t know, but she had just shared something so intimate with him that he felt it was only fair.

“Well, it’s her loss.” The usual sensuality in her tone is back, her lips curling into a smile around her beer bottle. “You’re still young enough and fit, I’m sure you’ll find a pretty woman to meet your every need.” The words made his cock twitch, a chuckle leaving his lips to ease the sexual tension in the air.

“Well thank you. What about you? I see how my son and the other boys eye you.” And himself, but he’d leave that out. “They said your off limits and not the relationship type.” Andy didn’t know if it was appropriate to mention the conversation he had with Rashad and Collin the other day, but it seemed from y/n’s smile she was well aware of how they viewed her.

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share of boys. Watching them fall one by one.” She teased, running a hand through her hair. “I’m kinda like a sweet serial killer on the warpath, I like to have boys wrapped around my finger, but I am fully in control of who gets to move past a few stolen kisses. And frankly, there aren’t many that do” Her tone is honest, Andy licking his lips. I bet a man like me could change that. Before Andy can open his mouth to respond the front door opens, Jacob, Collin, and Rashad bounding in.

“The party’s here!” Rashad cried out, clearly tipsy. The boys stopped in the living room when they saw y/n and Andy, Collin eyeing the takeout on the table.

“Dude can I have some? I’m starving.” Collin announced before picking up y/n’s takeout box, plowing into it with the fork.

“Help yourself, I was actually going to get to bed. Gotta get up early for the internship again.” Y/N slinked seductively off the couch, her eyes meeting Andy’s. “Goodnight, Andy. Thanks for the talk.” He manages to give her a quick goodnight before she’s walking up the stairs, tits bouncing with each step.

Was he slowly being wrapped around her finger like the other boys she mentioned? He didn’t think so, but what he did know is he had yet another outfit of hers to picture her in when he jerked off tonight.

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @midnightf @my-divine-death @saamwilsonn @fierylibraa @fuckandfluff​ @rattlemyb0nes​ @rootcrop @goldenboysteve​  @turtoix​  @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​  @ccmarvelxx