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phoward89 · 4 months

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Based on this ask

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Coryo x Big Booty!Reader, Smut, p in v, creampie, cussing, breeding kink, Dom!Coriolanus

Coriolanus Snow has classic tastes when it comes to his life. He has a sophisticated image, so of course he wears gold rings on his hands; never silver. Full Windsor knots in his satin ties, custom 3-piece suits made with only the finest material, and fine dress shirts that have to be starched. He wears cufflinks and all of his shoes are floor shines with 3 or 4 inch heels (because Coriolanus' 6ft frame needs to be even more intimidating so he can tower over everyone that's beneath him). His taste in food is classic, but upscale as well.

And when it comes to women, well, his taste is classic when it comes to that as well. T&A does it for him.

Coriolanus Snow’s a tits and ass man. The bigger the better too. And when he started dating you, well his classic tastes were definitely filled.

You're, in his opinion, the whole package. To Coriolanus, you're so beautiful both inside and out. You have a personality that just pulls him in. You keep him engaged and on his toes with conversations. But your physical appearance is what attracted him to you in the first place. Your curves make his mouth water. Nice tits and a nice big ass, just what he likes.

And your big booty is something that he loves. Seriously, Coriolanus can't get enough of it. And watching you sitting at your vanity in nothing but a white bra and panty set, hair up in rollers while doing your makeup for the dinner he's taking you tonight as his plus one makes him grin. Your white lace edged panties cling to your big booty just right and the way your plump ass sits on your vanity bench has Coriolanus mentally swearing to have you fuck him in his favorite position tonight when you get home from the dinner the University’s hosting for the Political Science majors of the Senior Class of 14 ADD (After Dark Days).

“Are you wearing the pearl jewelry set I got you for your birthday, Peaches?” Coriolanus asks you, buttoning up his crisp white dress shirt as he stands by his dresser- which has jewelry box open with his various cuff links (including pearl ones) and his chunky gold rings in it.

“Yes, Coryo.” You nod. Lightly dabbing your blending sponge on your face, you tell your boyfriend, “I’m wearing them; thought they'd look nice with my dress.”

Your dress is a strappy white gown that's form fitting. A dress that's hanging up on the door of your side of the walkin closet.

“I thought they'd pair nicely with your dress as well, my darling.” Coriolanus remarks while grabbing his pearl cuff links from his jewelry box and putting them on. “How much longer til you're ready, Y/N?” Your boyfriend asks, walking into thw walkin closet to grab and put on his dark maroon and white stripe vest and its matching dark maroon dinner jacket.

“Not long; maybe 15-20 minutes.” You assure him as he finishes getting dressed.

Coriolanus loves how sweet your booty looks with your clothes hugging it just right. He's always smacking it or grabbing it- a result of loving that big booty of yours. Whether it's in the privacy of his penthouse, that he moved you into, or out in public. He doesn't care, he just wants to feel your perfectly peachy ass in his hands.

But when he grabs your ass in public it's sometimes embarrassing.

Like tonight, his large hand keeps sliding south off of the small of your back to rest right on your plump ass. An ass that he loves, that he thinks looks perfect in the white dress you're wearing tonight for the formal dinner he's attending with you as his plus one. But it's not appropriate in the pre-dinner party cocktail setting, so you have to keep dragging his hand up and off your ass.

Despite standing around and talking to various people (high ranking people might you add since everyone at this dinner whether they're a professor, student, or plus one is a somebody in Capitolite high society- your own boyfriend included) Coriolanus has no shame and keeps grabbing your ass. It's very annoying. You even give him a slight side-eyed look, silently telling him to stop it. But your boyfriend has not shame; Coriolanus just gives you a loving smirk only to slide his hand back down to grab your ass again.

“You're gonna be my good lil cowgirl tonight, Peaches.” Coriolanus whispers into your ear, his baritone dark and lustful, while giving your butt a light squeeze as his friend Festus Creed along with his longtime girlfriend Persephone Price head their way over to you and your future political star boyfriend.

And you knew what he meant by his remark. He wanted you to fuck him in reverse cowgirl tonight so he can oogle and smack your ass. Oh, how his whispered promise of the night’s future events had your panties dampening.

Damn him.

Now you're stuck with wet panties all throughout tonight's long drawn out dinner. That bastard. Coryo always knows how to get to you.

And he knows the longer you're stuck in wet panties for the more desperate you'll be to fuck yourself on his cock once you get out of those panties.

What Coriolanus loves more then anything in the world is to stare at your plump, perfect ass while you ride him reverse cowgirl when you're fucking. Yep, he loves to watch your ass jiggle as you take him deep while bouncing quickly on his cock. It's one of his favorite positions for you to fuck in.

“Fuck. Your ass is so fine, Peaches.” Coryo groans as you quickly ride him, pushing your body quickly up and down while facing the foot of the bed. You're gripping his thighs in your hands, your nails digging into the skin of his sinewy muscles, as your knees frame his hip bones. “Yea, that's it baby girl, make that big ass jiggle for your man.” The platinum blonde orders, his deep baritone thick and husky, as his icy eyes are glued to your large, sweet ass cheeks as they bounce up and down as your tight cunt quickly takes his large cock in and out, in and out at a pleasurable pace.

Looking over your shoulder at your disheveled boyfriend, you give him a sultry smile. “You never get tired of watching my big booty as I ride you, huh?”

“Oh, Peaches, I told you when we first got together that I'm a tits and ass man; that the bigger the better.” Your boyfriend smirks. Reaching a hand forward, he grabs your ass and groans, “Your ass is perfect and it's all mine.” Giving your ass a hard smack, that echoed throughout the room and mingled with the led wet sound of your pussy fucking Coryo's cock, the platinum blonde orders, “Tell me your ass belongs to me, Y/N. Say it, Peaches, or you're not cumming tonight.”

And you know he means it. If you don't tell your possessive and obsessive boyfriend what he wants to hear that he'll take over, fuck you til he cums, and will leave you high and dry. He's done it before early on on your relationship when you played stubborn and didn't summit to him. But you learned your lesson; now you summit even if you don't want to.

It's all just dirty bedroom talk, right?

Coryo doesn't actually think that your ass belongs to him, does he?

No.

No, he can't.

He can't be that possessive and obsessive towards you, can he?

No, it's just bedroom talk. Dirty talk that gets him off.

“My ass belongs to you and only you, Coryo.” You tell your boyfriend in a high pitch mewl as the tip of his cock bruises your cervix; sending shockwaves of pleasure up and down your spine.

“Goddamnit, I love your ass.” Coriolanus confesses, his tone tight and husky. Smacking your ass again, he orders, “Go on, fuck yourself fast and hard on my cock til we cum.”

Coryo didn't have to tell you twice.

You use the grip on his thighs as leverage, helping your upper body control your faster than lighting movements. Quickly, you impale yourself on your boyfriend's large cock- letting out whines and whimpers every time your special spongy spot deep inside of you gets hit just right by the large cock that's stretching your cunt open wide. Sweat rolls down your brow as mewls of pleasure escape your lips. With every move you make your pussy clenches; pushing you closer to your orgasm.

Coriolanus is loudly groaning out, “Fuck, baby.”, while watching your ass bounce up and down just right. His baby blues are blown black by lust and they're transfixed on your ass jiggling quickly. “Fuck, Peaches, I'm gonna cum soon.” Your boyfriend forewarns you of his upcoming orgasm. Grabbing your ass cheeks in each of his large hands, he uses his strength to slam you up and down his twitching cock at a punishing force.

“Coryo…I'm gonna cum.” You moan, nearly toppling over from the brute force of your boyfriend moving you to fuck his cock as if you're nothing more then his personal fuckdoll. The only reason you're not face first between your boyfriends spread eagle legs is because of the tight hold you have around his thighs- nails digging in so deeply that crimson’s trickling down the pale skin.

“Go on and cum, Peaches.” Coryo orders before groaning, “Cum so I can fill ya up with my seed; knock ya up.”

His husky words sends a jolt right to your aching cunt and suddenly you're cumming with a loud moan that's only one word: Coryo.

Coriolanus doesn't let you ride out your high gracefully. No. I stead, he slams you down even harder on his cock. His cum heavy balls begin to tighten up as he tells you, “You're gonna look so beautiful knocked up with my heir. Can't wait to see your tits and ass grow along with your belly swelling with our child.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your boyfriend curses before shooting a thick rope of his hot seed into your womb. Your name falls from his lips as he cums.

He pushes you forward, causes your butt to jiggle in his hands. Coryo smiles, his eyes shining with lazy lust, as he watches his cum slowly leak from your clenching, tight, abused hole like perfect pearls. Pulling you up to lay next to him, Coriolanus adjusts the two of you to cuddle so that his head rests on your tits while his hand holds your ass.

The two things on you that he absolutely loves; that attracted him to ask you out- causing him to fall obsessively, possessively, and madly in love with you.

Your tits and ass.

But if you ask him what he prefers on you, Coryo will honestly answer that he loves your large ass. Without a doubt, it's your big booty that really does it for him.

After all, he did give you the nickname Peaches because of his undying love for that big booty of yours. An ass that he thinks is the sweetest peach in all of Panem.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @lady-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

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lotusbxtch · 6 months

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and I lost you [TS drabble challenge]

Here's my entry into @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! I got Maroon and Joel. Get ready for Angst City®️! (Divider by @saradika-graphics)

Song: Maroon (Midnights) Pedro boy: Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x ex!f!Reader (written in Joel's POV) Word Count: 686 Warnings/tags: post-outbreak, Joel's POV, no use of y/n, unspecified age gap, alcohol consumption, infidelity, aaaaangst, heavy reference to Taylor Swift lyrics, not beta'd

Joel lay awake in his bed, shifting his position for the umpteenth time while his memories play over and over in his head. No matter how he wraps his flannel sheets around himself, the bed is never as warm as it is when you were in it with him. But that’s all gone to shit now that he’s lost you.

He knows he’s made a fool of himself. Knows that he’s failed you. You - beautiful, charming, the only one to slip past his defenses, the walls he put up around himself to keep out everything, even the good. He let you into his home and his heart, let you fill it with laughter. He remembers how you told him stories about your college days before the outbreak, about your vinyl shelf full of records, of nights where you woke up on the floor in the late morning after too much cheap rose wine. He told you stories about Sarah, whom he never talked about to anyone besides you and Tommy. Her prowess at soccer, how she would help out their elderly neighbors, the watch she got fixed for him for his birthday - the day before his world ended. He felt safe with you, and you with him. You chose him, and he chose you.

He doesn’t know when it started. But you’d been frustrated with Tommy’s reliance on Joel for border patrol; you felt that he was putting himself in unnecessary amounts of danger. Arguments started cropping up, and more than once you’d left the house to stay at Tommy and Maria’s after particularly bad fights. On more than one of those occasions, he’d trudged to the Tipsy Bison to drown his sorrows and avoid his feelings. And on one of those nights, he let temptation win out.

She was one of Maria’s friends, older than you were, closer to Joel’s age. She’d always blatantly flirted with him, despite him mentioning you and everyone knowing you and Joel were together. She was one of those women who liked challenges, who wanted to play games. She didn’t like that Joel resisted all of her advances, so she waited until he was at his weakest to pounce. Too many whiskeys in, Joel had let her drag him behind the bar. Had let her kiss him, his lips barely moving back against hers in response. She promised she could make him feel better than you did, that he didn’t need a girl like you, he needed a woman - despite you being more of a woman than she could even dream of. He didn’t stop her when she kissed down his neck, when she left marks along his collarbone - ones he knew you’d notice. He was just so mad at you for being right about the patrol shifts, but he felt guilty saying no to Tommy after all this time apart from him. His awful defense mechanisms figured that if you had left the house, it meant you didn’t want him or need him, and he wanted to forget.

But he was so wrong. When he stumbled back to the house, he didn’t expect you to be there. Didn’t think you’d be sipping red wine at the counter, waiting for him. So when he entered the living room, his button-up disheveled, the darkening hickey across his collarbone clear as day, you looked shell-shocked, then distraught, then more angry than you’d ever been before. You took the glass you’d been drinking out of and flung the contents at him, the burgundy splashing onto his t-shirt and face. You said nothing as you stormed out of the house, but right before you slammed the door, he heard the most heart-wrenching sob begin to wrack your chest as you held your head in your hands.

He felt like his heart had been strangled, but he knew everything was his fault. He deserved the full weight of the hurt he made you endure. Laying awake with your memory over him, he realized what a real fucking legacy his betrayal was to leave to you, the one he chose, the one who had chosen him.

#pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #taylor swift #taylor swift inspired #writeblr #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller angst

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hinamie · 2 months

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hi hina! if you were yuuji, megumi, and nobara's personal stylist (you already kind of are 🙂‍↕️) what's an outfit you would pick that represents their casual style and one look that represents fancy attire? and what's an absolute No for each of them?

SORRY FOR GETTING TO THIS LATE i have . fashion opinions and need 2 articulate them Properly. gomen ik this isn't /exactly/ what u asked this is moreso just. my style headcanons fr each of them but i think it more or less gets the point across gFGHDSHFGJ.

will get long btw :')

yuuji: casual:

i loveloveLOVE him in jean jackets . since a hoodie is a staple for him that + a jean jacket i think is The Go-To fit for him hands down i think he pulls it off so well. u can even ditch the hoodie to opt for a baggy graphic T shirt but the jean jacket carries the fit. it’s so casual n classic which helps it be ~versitile~ and it's just boyish enough to rly suit yuuji’s character. I have him in distressed jeans (grey or dark wash blue, as long as it’s a different shade of denim) whenever i can bc i think it looks good but athletic pants (think like adidas jogger-shaped) work also . add red sneakers of choice accessorize that boy with a gym bag or backpack Bam yuuji fit.

formal:

i feel very strongly about yuuji in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. no suit jacket fr him but definitely a tie and a waistcoat + straight leg trousers. i want to keep a pop of red on him so the safe option wld b to make his tie red but i think maybe he could pull off a maroon dress shirt + black everything else combo. important thing is He Wears Red :)

no’s:

honestly I can picture yuuji in most anything but i don’t think he wears long structured jackets, even fr fancy outfits. he’s too stocky of a build and i think a long jacket makes him look shapeless in a bad way i think mid-thigh is as long as i’d be willing 2 go for his outerwear, though im sure with the right fit i could b convinced otherwise

megumi: casual:

tl;dr: loose sweater over turtleneck/over collared shirt i feel SO strongly about megumi in loose straight silhouettes. HEAVY on the grey/black neutrals with the occasional cool jewel tone (green or teal u know how it is) though i do also like him in a chocolate brown! it is important 2 me also that whatever pants he wears r not too baggy since his top will have a lot of that Chunkiness to it and u need some shape n slimness 2 the leg 2 balance it out. this overall silhouette on megu >>>>>>>

formal:

unlike yuuji i Do think megumi could pull off a suit jacket or maybe even a blazer but whatever it is u best bet this boy is in All Black . I also like him in a turtleneck instead of a dress shirt but if we button him up Completely i think it achieves more or less the same look

no’s:

ok i have a couple but my biggest one is Fushiguro Megumi Does Not Wear Shorts end of story no further elaboration. also, this is slightly more forgiveable but like w yuuji i would avoid him in long jackets Also, altho fr the opposite reason . it’s not tht he’s too stocky for it rather i think he’s too lanky n a long coat runs the risk of drowning him — again situational tho !!!!! he would probably look good in a black wool coat so i will entertain the possibility .

also listen. this is a personal headcanon and ik it likely puts me in the minority and i may even get flack fr this . but i do not think fushiguro megumi would have piercings. i know ive drawn him with earrings before but listen those were for Me . those were for the fit. he was an acting mannequin. but just him??? his personal feelings?? i just have a hard time thinking that boy is th type 2 put metal in his face sue me :’/

nobara: casual:

this is so hard because a. women’s fashion has SO many more options b. nobara is 100% the type to have a different style every week and c. she looks good in all of it. I think though i like her best in long skirts and layers so something along these lines is a Hard yes from me, though possibly with a brighter colour palette

formal:

i had Other ideas but god just spoke to me through pinterest by showing me this dress and this is all i want to see nobara in actually.

(((real talk tho in terms of fancy dresses I like her in black/gold/red/pink for colours, either baby doll or bell skirts, strapless sweetheart necklines,, etc etc etc)))

no’s:

similar to yuuji, I don’t have many things that i picture as off-limits for nobara fashion-wise bc she seems the type to experiment :’) I think any faux-pas i can name r just my own fashion icks so i’ll just go with those: no low rise and no full skin-tight fits (ik i said she seems down for anything but i think she draws the line @ athleisure). also maybe a pocket pick but i don't think she would wear orange or hot pink on account of her hair

#kikuism #answered #HELP SORRY THIS IS SO LONG I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS #i would have illustrated some of it myself but i am Eepy and cannot b bothered gomen

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dw19791967 · 7 months

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That Type of Girl Part 3

Pairing: Dean x reader (Eventual), Sam x reader (Platonic)

Warnings: language, unrequited love, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of self-hate.

This is the third fic I have ever written, all mistakes are my own. Please be gentle on me!

______________________________

What does one wear to church? I wouldn’t know since I never really went as a kid and as an adult well, once you know who God really is, it can be hard to get past that.

I decided on a long oversized maroon sweater, black leggings, and boots. I never really was a heels girl. Sure, I could handle a wedge or boots with a chunky heel, but I definitely wasn’t the type to wear six inch heels. I decided to leave my hair in its natural state, but I did twist my bangs together and pinned them back. I can’t braid, no matter how many times I have tried to learn. So twisting two pieces together is my go to, especially to get hair out of my face. I applied my regular makeup routine. I do it for me, not to impress people. I may be overweight and unappealing in other aspects but my makeup is something I am proud of. Years of practice have helped make it easy, and quick.

I walked out of the bathroom ready to go. “Alright boys, let’s do this.”

__________________

When we arrived at the church not a ton people were there. There was a small group gathered. A few women, they seemed to be in their late 20’s and a couple of men who seemed to be around the same age.

“Ok Y/N you ready? Remember, Dean and I will be here if you need us. We are going to try to scope the place out a bit” Sam looked at me. I am glad he was confident in my people skills, cause right now I am not. I do fine talking with people I know and even strangers. But the pressure of trying to force a conversation can be a struggle sometimes. And since Dean didn’t seem too confident in my skills earlier, I have been dreading this. How is it that the man who is supposedly my best friend, doesn’t believe I am capable of doing something I have done a hundred times before.

“I guess.” I started heading towards the group of people.

__________________

We just arrived back at the motel. Sam sat down next to me “Well we found nothing, we checked all over the place. Nothing suspicious, no sulfur or EMF.”

“Yeah and all the single chicks were a bust too.” Dean smiled.

Of course he would be worried about chasing tail.

I sighed. “Ok, I talked to a group of people at the church. They mentioned a guy Sarah worked with, his name was Ryan not sure on last name (Sarah was the most recent victim). They also mentioned Sarah had a crush on a dude at the church, Marshall. And last one, she had talked to Rick quite a bit at the church. One of the ladies said Rick has just been in town the last 2 weeks. Something seems off with Rick, but I’m not really sure what.” I looked over the case files again. I always like to make sure I am not missing anything.

“Well since we are at a stand still, I say it’s time to hit the bar. We need a break from researching and thinking.” Dean stood up.

“Maybe you're right, we can take a break and come back to it later.” Sam looked at me. “What do you say Y/N?”

“I think I’m going to stay here, try to figure out what is happening. Something is wrong in this whole equation.” I kept reading the files. I am also not in the mood to see Dean flirt tonight. But I will keep that thought to myself.

“Well party pooper, call if you need us.” Dean patted my shoulder.

Maybe a break from the boys will do me some good.

I had just changed into a t-shirt and took my makeup off when there was a knock at the door. I figured one of the boys was back and forgot their key.

“I swear you guys can’t survive without me.” I headed for the door.

I cracked the door open. Rick. What the hell is he doing here?

“Hi Y/N, I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I just wanted to check on you and see if you maybe needed anything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous tick maybe.

“Um, I appreciate that. How did you know I was here?” This is weird for sure.

“Oh my aunt owns this motel, so I checked with her and she said you were here. She also mentioned you had two guys with you. Are you going to let me in?” He smiled at me.

“Uh, I guess.” I grabbed my knife and stuck it in the back of my leggings. A girl can never be too safe.

“So who are the guys here with you, brothers?” Rick made his way into the room.

“No, just friends. They came to be supportive. Can I get you a beer or water?” I had told the group of people at the church I was a cousin of Sarah’s, since she had no family in town it was an easy lie.

“I’ll have a beer, thanks.” I handed him the drink. “So where are your friends?”

“Out, they should be back shortly.” I was getting nervous. Something was not right here.

“Oh I doubt that Y/N. You know Dean always enjoys working on his night moves.” Rick's eyes flashed black. Next thing I know everything went black.

Oh I am so screwed.

_______________

“Wakey, wakey sunshine. God, I can’t believe how stupid you are for a hunter. Who the hell lets someone they barely know into their hotel room?" Rick poked at me.

We were in an abandoned warehouse. I was cuffed to a chair. This wasn’t exactly how I planned on my night going.

“Well, what can I say? I’m prone to making stupid decisions. So why don’t we just cut the foreplay. What do you want? ” I smiled.

Whack. Damn. I almost had forgotten what it was like to get the shit knocked out of me.

“You know, all of the women I took. There was nothing exciting about them. I mean they wonder why they are single. Maybe it’s because they are so damn boring. But you, I mean besides being overweight and homely, there's a certain spark to you. And once I found out you were a hunter, well you had to be my next victim.” He smoothed my hair out.

“So are you doing this for shits and giggles or is there a bigger agenda you are playing into?” He made his way over to a table and brought back a knife. Great.

“Oh sweet Y/N, of course I am doing this for me. You see, I have played by all the rules and followed the main man's plan. But it’s time for me to shine and this is just the beginning. So whatcha say, are you ready to have some fun?” Rick started to slice into my arm.

Lucky for me, I have a high pain tolerance.

“You see, you were an easy target. Your self esteem is so low. Plus can’t forget your little crush on the elder Winchester. What makes you think he would ever look at you twice?” Rick now started slicing my thighs. “I mean you have a pretty face for sure, but you know Dean prefers his women slim. You will never be that type of girl ya know?”

“Screw you. You don’t know the first thing about me. I mean you do realize anything you say to me, I have either heard or said it to myself a thousand times before? Way to be creative.” I laughed. I have always been stubborn. I’m sure as hell not going to stop now.

“You know, you are really starting to get on my nerves. How about I find a way to shut that pretty mouth up. I doubt the Winchesters would even miss your annoying ass.” Rick punched me in the face.

I spit blood out of my mouth. I hope he gets this over with soon.

Tag List:

@hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist

#dean winchester series #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn fanfiction #supernaturalfanfic

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mangoisms · 1 year

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i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter eight: you are beautiful like i’ve never seen | read chapter seven

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5.6k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

The first day of the four-day series between the Gotham Knights and the Metropolis Monarchs is soon upon you.

Like usual, Knights fans show up for their team. Even if they suck and have, on average, the worst win-loss record in the entire MLB, well. Gothamites take loyalty seriously. And you get it, anyway. Only you can say they suck miserably. Not the pretentious jerks who came down from Metropolis to jeer at the Knights.

“They’re just jealous,” you say, sulkily biting into a pretzel, then offering it to Tim wordlessly as your eyes scan the packed stands. To your pleasure, despite the likely outcome of today’s game — and this series, the first one between the two teams finally taking place in Gotham — you see that those dressed in grey and blue, the Knights’ colors, outnumber those in Monarchs colors, which are white and red.

He takes a bite, then, around a mouthful of pretzel, asks, “Why would they be jealous?”

“Metropolis got passed up to hold the All-Star game this summer. Which makes sense. They held it already a few years ago and Gotham’s never held it.”

“Sure.” Tim sips the absurdly large cup of Zesti, then offers you some. They were out of Soder, to your displeasure and his amusement. Still, you don’t say no, leaning over to wrap your mouth around the straw, your eyes still looking out at the field. With it being May, spring is in full-force and will soon be replaced with summer, though today, tendrils of it are already creeping in, humidity stifling you, along with the beaming heat of the sun.

You’re in jean shorts and a Knights jersey, unbuttoned with a white camisole underneath, along with the Knights ballcap you bought last time, situated backwards over your hair. Finally, with a beat-up pair of Converse, you have a pair of black crew socks patterned with the Wonder Woman symbol. You are quite fond of her. All the Wonder ladies, really. Strong, beautiful women who can kick your ass to the moon and back — what more can anyone ask for? You’d said the same thing to Tim when he saw your socks and teased you about them. He found that very funny, though you aren’t totally sure why.

The one in question is dressed in a maroon t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of surprisingly beat-up Vans, finished with the Gotham Knights cap you bought for him the last time you two were here. He wears his properly, though, unlike you, with the bill carefully hiding his face from any prying eyes. The air in the stadium is so charged with tension from the oncoming match, though, you doubt even if he took it off, no one would notice.

“Bet you twenty the benches clear,” he says.

“That’s not even a question, Drake. Try better.”

“Alright… I say, the benches clear before the fourth inning.”

You squint thoughtfully, then nod. “I say after. You’re on.”

The benches do clear after the fourth inning. But only in the ninth, both teams showing a, frankly, incredible amount of restraint despite the tense game that had them, shockingly enough, neck-and-neck.

By the ninth inning, both teams were tied 4-4. But a grounder at the bottom of the inning allowed the player on third base to make it home, effectively breaking the tie. The stadium exploded into noise, the Knights themselves celebrating, too, and one thing led to another and then both teams were spilling onto the field, fists flying.

Look, you aren’t saying the Monarchs are weaker because they’re from Metropolis. But the truth of the matter is, most of the Knights’ team is made up of Gotham natives and, well, this is Gotham. Can’t go around defenseless, not with the likes of the Joker, Scarecrow, Two-Face and more. More than that, you just think, in general, as being a team often at the bottom of the barrel… they must be holding in a lot of anger.

And by the blood you two see, that anger is coming out full-force. Not at all helped by the tension among fans, who cheer on their teams, of course, but then…

Tim’s hand tightens around yours warily as a Monarchs and Knights fan start yelling at each other near you.

“I think,” he murmurs, lips near your ear in a way that has your heart stuttering, “we should go before we get our asses kicked.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t protect me?”

“I don’t assume that you are a person who explicitly needs my protection. But if you ask…”

“Aw, no. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your pretty face.” Fists start flying. You pull your legs in as someone drops a cup of beer, feeling droplets of it against your skin. “Yeah. I think we should go.”

The two of you leave posthaste, along with a decent amount of people also trying to avoid trouble.

“So,” Tim starts when the two of you are in the safety of his car, blue eyes twinkling with something like mischief. “Pretty, huh?”

You refuse to be embarrassed. It’s, like, a fact of life. Everyone knows this. The sky is blue, the grass is green, Tim Drake is ridiculously pretty. So pretty he practically reinvents the word every time you see him. God, you like him so much.

“Yeah,” you sniff, crossing your arms. “So gimme my twenty bucks, pretty boy.”

Tim grins and gives you your twenty bucks and the two of you get the hell out of there.

(“So, like, would you… want to go to the All-Star game?” he tries to ask you nonchalantly later that night.

“Tim.”

“Maybe I want to go to the All-Star game.”

“You don’t even like baseball.”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, knowing you caught him out, so, he ends up going for the kind of honesty that makes your breath catch.

“Well, you do, so.”

You watch TV for a minute, trying to settle the raging feelings inside you.

“Alright… I’ll let you buy us tickets to it if you let me buy tickets to the Knights kickoff game when the season starts.”

“But you don’t like football.”

You give him a look that says Hello? Are you stupid? Because so what? He just said it. You like baseball, so he tolerates it. He likes football — or, well, the Knights — so you’d tolerate it, too.

He doesn’t get that, you think.

That you’d do anything for him.

But he can’t, for obvious reasons.

So, you’ll just have to remind him.

And he understands, too, laughing. “Alright. Deal.”

You think he agrees so easily because the football season doesn’t start until September and it’s only the middle of May.

But little does he know, you will in fact be saving up money for the tickets and you will be hunting Reddit forums for tips on seating and ticket dealers, thank you very much.)

(Also, the Knights manage to win the next game, and you say manage, because a handful of them were suspended for fighting, along with a handful from the Monarchs; but you suppose that evens the playing field.

They lose the two after, but no one really cares. It’s nice to be able to win a game. And also a little bit nice to have seen the fight that unfolded between the two.)

The nice thing about teaching social studies is that the state of New Jersey does not require an assessment test for it. The only tests they require, starting from third grade to ninth grade, are for the English Language Arts, Math, and Science — the New Jersey Student Learning Assessments, otherwise shortened to NJSLA and colloquially known as the SLA’s.

The SLA’s are taken in the spring semester, in the second to last week of school in June. While your fellow teacher aides and teachers scramble to prepare reviews and ensure the students are ready, you and Ms. C can, for the most part, kick back and relax. Final grades are due next week but you two have them ready, so you don’t have to stress about it.

Still, it’s not all great as you feel the usual guilt that comes with watching teachers and students alike fret over the tests. It is collectively known that the standardized tests aren’t indicative of anything at all and Gotham Pointe is the kind of school that wanted to move away from measuring knowledge with tests, but they are state mandated and so, unavoidable.

To that end, you and Ms. C agree to not make class stressful for any of the kids in the lead-up to the tests and you think you succeed for the most part. You get roped into proctoring for the eighth graders, who scare you much more than the sixth graders, and you’re pretty sure they could tell, too, so that’s just great… It’s easy work anyhow, if not boring and procedural.

But soon, the SLA’s are taken and done with and you are about to enter the final week of the semester.

The weekend calls for highs in the eighties and the familiar cloak of humidity that will only get heavier as you approach the height of the summer. Gotham has brutal winters that dry out your lips terribly and unforgiving summers that make you sweat from every pore you have.

But with it being only the first weekend of June and spare cloud cover that gives the occasional break from the sun, the weather is pleasant. Pleasant enough for you to decide to brave your allergies and convince Tim to have a picnic at Robinson Park. Cleaned up directly following the earthquake by Lex Luthor and then again recently by Wayne Enterprises, it has become a nice place in the city to visit. As nice as it can get in Gotham, anyway.

The park takes up a fairly sizable swath of central Gotham, east of the Upper East Side and south of Coventry. Not as far as Otisburg, where the Knights Stadium is, which is part of the northernmost area of the city. (Well, the northernmost area is probably, to be accurate, Bristol, the neighborhood where Gotham’s wealthiest reside, but you digress.)

You and Tim occupy a small, quiet area on the south side of the park. A large tree and perfectly-cut shrubs hide you from the prying eyes of others.

The park is bursting with greenery, a breath of fresh air — literally and figuratively. The healthy trees and shrubs and freshly-cut grass remind you that New Jersey is technically known as ‘the Garden State.’ Hard to remember when you’re downtown Gotham, standing among towering skyscrapers, brightly-lit screens, and smoggy skies, but here, it is a nice reminder.

You say this idly to Tim as you two eat an early dinner — caprese sandwiches he made, with lemonade brought back from the manor, courtesy of one Alfred Pennyworth, and the freshest strawberries you have ever had the pleasure of looking at and eating.

He nods at your words, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Ever since No Man’s Land, the park’s thrived. Nothing ever dies.”

“That’s not ominous at all. And… what about No Man’s Land?”

No Man’s Land, the cataclysmic earthquake that struck Gotham City several years ago — like when you were fifteen or something — that caused the death of millions and displaced even more. Though, you might say that is because of the US government’s response. Instead of continuing to fund rescue efforts and help, they abandoned Gotham, turned it into No Man’s Land. No longer part of the United States and those who stayed also exiled. Of course, many didn’t exactly have a choice…

The city has since been rebuilt, with all buildings built stronger — earthquake proofed. When it happened, the only buildings left standing were the ones owned and built by WE because Bruce Wayne specifically called for them to be earthquake-proof. He was also the last to leave, the last to fight in front of Congress. If not for the philanthropic efforts he does around the city, then for that, you have real respect for him.

Tim shrugs, sipping his lemonade. “Apparently, Poison Ivy camped out here for the entirety of it. She left eventually when the city opened again but since, the park’s been healthy. Even during winter.”

“Huh,” you say. The conclusion is obvious, then, that she might have something to do with it. Well. You’ve heard she’s leaned more morally grey these days. Still wanted by the police and all but… you don’t know. It’s a nice notion, to keep some of the only greenery in the city healthy no matter the season.

You’ve never frequented Robinson Park before now — again, allergies — but Tim often looks too pale for your liking and now that he isn’t working at WE, you are more inclined to get him out of Rose Oaks. Even at the risk of a stuffy nose and watery eyes that’ll bother you tomorrow.

You finish your sandwich and lemonade, help yourself to more than a few strawberries, which are a delicious mix of sweet and tangy, then lay down, sprawling out on the blanket. Well. Not totally sprawling out. The sundress you wear doesn't allow for that. Yeah, you are wearing spandex underneath but still. It’s the principle. No one is allowed to get an eyeful under your dress. Other than maybe Tim. Definitely Tim.

The thought makes your face warm and you shove it away, distracting yourself with grabbing a napkin and digging through your tote bag for your makeup bag.

You dab at your mouth and open your compact mirror, checking for any food that might’ve caught on the darkly-tinted lip balm you’re wearing. Looks fine, though it’s faded towards the center from eating.

Tim sits upright next to you, his body twisted toward you and one hand planted on the blanket as he leans back on it. His eyes are elsewhere as he lifts a strawberry to his lips. Your eye twitches as he bites into it and some of the juice dribbles down his hand and nearly out the corner of his mouth — you say nearly because his tongue darts out, catching the droplets before they can fall, and you’re pretty sure a meteor could hit Gotham right now and you would absolutely be none the wiser.

Doesn’t help when he lifts his hand to his mouth, either, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he catches the trails of strawberry juice. Pink lips move, shaping words, but you don’t notice, because this has to be a new circle of hell or something, you don’t give a shit what Dante thinks, this is the worst.

With concerted effort, you turn your eyes to your compact mirror and dig for your lip balm.

Forgetting that he had said something while you were staring at him and wondering why god was so cruel, you jump when his jean-clad knee brushes the outside of your thigh, the texture rough against the softer skin there.

“Wh-huh?”

You look at him and he’s finally looking at you, the sunlight doing too much for him in the way it sets off his pale skin and his dark hair, his eyes a softer shade of blue than you’ve ever seen, like the sky in Metropolis, considerably less smoggy than Gotham’s. He’s cleaning his hands with a wet wipe — yes, he seriously brought wet wipes because he said ‘eating fruit is serious business’ — lips quirked as he gazes down at you.

“Did you hear me?”

“No. What did you say?”

“I said, do you know what that tree is?” he asks, nodding to the tree next to you, tall in height with faintly yellowed leaves.

You squint. “Should I…?”

“I guess not,” he says. “You’re more into social studies than science.”

You’re also not him, brain stuffed full with the oddest of facts.

No one is like him. But this is thought with a ridiculous amount of fondness, as par the course. There is little he does that annoys you and info-dumping about some odd thing that grabbed his attention is not one of those things.

“So, you know, then?” you ask, lifting the lip balm to your mouth and reapplying it, a tad distracted as you keep an ear out for him.

“It's shagbark hickory. Carya ovata. Look at the trunk.”

You look at the tree trunk.

“See how the bark is peeling and a little weird? That’s how you can tell.”

“Kinda creepy, isn’t it?”

He exhales a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You turn your head, eyes scanning for another tree. You spot one some distance away, a pretty thing with white flowers blooming on the branches, reminding you vaguely of a cherry blossom.

“What about that one?”

Silence meets your words. Your eyes flicker from the tree back to him. “Tim?”

Instead of looking at the tree you pointed out, he is looking at you. Not just at your face but your —

“Sorry,” he says quietly, lifting a hand to you. “You just have some lip balm right here…”

Just as he finishes speaking, his thumb slowly swipes the underside of your mouth, the slightly calloused pad of his thumb just barely catching the actual skin of your lips in a way that sparks a fire inside of you.

There is no way for you to save face, you think dimly, and you know that to be utterly true as your eyes then find his thumb as he pulls back. On the pale skin, the smudge of your darkly-tinted lip balm stands out.

You meet his eyes again in the next second and they seem a shade darker, more like the blue waters of Metropolis Harbor instead of their clear skies. It’s more than that, though, it’s the look in them, the weight of his gaze, like a physical thing, burning straight through you, and the urge to be close to him, to press your lips to his, is monumental, practically religious, like even that wouldn’t be enough, like the only way you might be satisfied is if you two were one, cells and atoms intermingling.

You want so much.

Too much that you can have.

The shriek of laughter from a child shatters the moment and he looks away quickly. Your heart pounds out of your chest, face unbearably hot. For him, too, red rises high in his cheeks, not doing anything to detract from your attraction. Exacerbating it, if anything.

You raise your eyes to the sky, closing your eyes, trying to calm yourself.

Next to you, Tim clears his throat and suddenly flops down beside you with a grunt, arm brushing yours.

“White flowering dogwood.”

“Huh?” you ask, eyes opening as you glance at him. He’s looking up at the sky, allowing you a view of his sharp jawline, the slope of his nose, and the press of his full, pink lips. God…

“The tree,” he says, voice a little rough. “The one you asked about. It’s white flowering dogwood. Cornus florida. It can be pink, too, but, well, as you can tell, that one is white.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah.”

You loathe the slight awkwardness that falls over you in that following silence. He seems to dislike it as well as he clears his throat.

“You were right about this,” he says, voice back to normal, soft, soothing tenor, music to your ears. “It’s nice.”

“A little vitamin C does wonders for the mood. And complexion.” You pause. “Your complexion, to be clear —”

“Alright, alright,” he says, faintly amused. “I get it. I’m pale.”

The silence that unfolds in that next moment is considerably lighter, more comfortable. You force yourself to relax, crossing your ankles idly.

“Any plans for the summer?” he asks after a couple minutes.

“Hmm, no, not really. Probably pick up a few more classes. Might visit my family.”

In the corner of your eye, he nods. “If you get any more of those offers to bring someone, count me in.”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” he trails off and you turn your head as he moves, a hand digging through his bag. The sound of something crinkling, before he pulls out an object wrapped in wrapping paper, the same kind you use in class for finished products, that way they don’t break.

A grin pulls sharply at your lips as you take it from him.

“It didn’t turn out so bad,” he says, a smile in his voice, though your eyes are on the mug, which you eagerly unwrap.

You can’t help your gasp. “Tim…”

The mug the two of you shaped is no longer dull grey clay, soft and malleable, but hard and durable; you still hold it gingerly, smoothing your thumb over the now-smooth surface. Underlaid by a soft shade of blue, the mug is iridescent, glimmering green, blue, yellow, purple, and many more colors, almost like the surface of the water.

“I had to get some help,” he admits. “But I got the hang of it eventually. Despite this little… imperfection —” he reaches out to brush a finger over the lip of the mug, where it’s a bit wonky “— I think it turned out nice.”

“Told you,” you say, your matter-of-fact words belied by the soft wonder in your expression. “Perfection is a false ideal. And boring. This is beautiful, Timmy. Seriously. Thank you.”

“‘Course,” he says softly, a kind of warmth in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat.

You look at the mug a little longer, taken at how it shines under the sun, then wrap it up again, passing it back to him. He puts it away.

Warmed at the thought he put into the mug, you two sink into a truly comfortable silence, broken by the laughter of children nearby, the distant and usual wail of sirens, and the chirp of birds.

He hums thoughtfully.

“What?”

“The birds.”

“Let me guess, you’re an expert in birds, too?”

“Something like that,” he says softly. “Listen.”

“I’m listening.”

Multiple birds chirp in that following silence. Quick, repetitive.

You scrunch your face up. “Pretty sure I’ve heard this one, like, every morning.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Downy Woodpecker. Very common.”

You hum in acknowledgment, able to pick it out now that he’s put a name to it. The two of you lapse into silence again, a concentrated sort of energy coming from him as he focuses on something.

“Ah,” he murmurs, as another call joins. “Now this is a treat…”

“Share, share.”

“Any guesses?”

“Pigeon.”

He exhales a laugh. “Not even close.”

“Social studies. Not science. Or whatever that area could be classified as. Zoology?”

“Ornithology,” he says, because of course he knows the correct name, his arm brushing yours as he drops it to his side, like yours is. Fingers brush yours. You don’t pull away, allowing your pinky to skim his before his fingers slide against yours, filling the gaps. Your heart stutters as you let yourself bask in the contact, then attempt to focus on the bird call that just joined the Woodpeckers.

It’s not as repetitive or quick as the other one, calmer, in a sense.

“What is it?” you ask, voice unknowingly dropping into a whisper.

Tim’s voice is just as low when he next speaks. “American Robin. Relatively common, too.”

His thumb rubs over your fingers right after, making your chest tighten with warmth, so all you can do is pinpoint the call of the Robin, that clear string of whistles the only sound in the silence.

He is quiet for some time after, the both of you listening to the Robins and Woodpeckers sing. But eventually, he picks it up again, easily singling out bird calls and putting names to them.

You two spend several hours there, mostly dozing, but towards seven, you find yourself filled with perhaps too much sun and warmth, so he suggests something cold. You pack up and drop your things off in his car — you grimace at the grass clinging to the blanket and the way the blades of it catch on the material in the trunk but Tim waves a hand at it, unbothered, saying it’s not an issue. For him, with the ability to easily afford car washes and interior cleanings, you believe it.

He pops by a Wawa’s to gas up while you search for nearby frozen treats but you get distracted by the attendant in the neon vest that quickly comes over to gas up the car.

“This is why I could never get a car,” you say, watching the attendant punch the premium grade — at Tim’s request — then pull out the nozzle. “We didn’t have this so sometimes my parents made me fill up the car and I hated it. Something about it just makes me nervous. Like I know I’m pressing it for gasoline but I’m like… What if it did a little switchy-switchy and now I’m filling the tank with diesel and now it’s ruined and my dad’s going to kill me.”

Tim looks fondly amused. “So, shouldn’t the act of someone else doing it for you help?”

“No. Not even a little bit. Because yeah, I am nervous, but at least it’s me. We all grow up with different ways of doing this and I dunno. Besides,” you say, craning your neck to watch the attendant stand idly by the gas pump, numbers ticking rapidly as the tank fills up; the price makes you grimace. “This kind of feels like a safety risk, at least here in Gotham. What if they put in diesel?”

“Well, the good thing about that is they’re liable for it. So, I would think that makes it easier.”

You grunt. “I guess. I just think it’s a tricky thing, okay.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Have you found anything?”

“Just some fro-yo places.”

“Fro-yo’s cold.”

“Yeah, but it’s fro-yo. I don’t want discount diet ice cream, I want ice cream. The whole concept of fro-yo is questionable.”

Tim laughs. “Who knew you had such strong opinions on New Jersey’s self-servicing laws and frozen yogurt?”

You flush, because despite the tease, he looks fond, and that’s too much for you after everything today, so you grumble a little bit and turn your eyes back to your phone.

The two of you end up at an ice cream parlor in the Upper East Side. Tim gets mint chocolate chip ice cream, much to your horror.

“That’s basically toothpaste. You might as well brush your teeth then eat some chocolate.”

“Okay, drama queen. Relax. Maybe if you tried some —” the red spoon waves under your nose as he gets in close and you turn your head, bracing a hand on his chest, though you aren’t trying that hard to push him away. You find yourself noting the muscle there, something you’ve noticed since the two of you slept together on the couch. Tim has a lithe frame but there is no shortage of power, evidenced in the way he can easily carry a large pack of water bottles without losing breath. You can carry it, but even you have your limits for how long, limits he easily surpasses, you suspect.

The car doors unlock as you near it, parallel parked perfectly (and he made it look easy, too, though you won’t give him much credit on the driving front since he’s a little too much for you) in front of the ice cream parlor. Tim had asked if you’d ever driven the scenic route up in Bristol, to which you responded of course you hadn’t. That’s all the way north of the city, off the interconnected islands entirely. Much too far for you, at least with your bike. So, he matter-of-factly said that’s what you two were going to do and maybe if you stuck around long enough, you could see the sunset from there. It sounds awfully romantic but you try not to think about that.

Instead, you redouble your efforts on teasing him as the two of you pause by the car.

“Bleh. I’m not going to ruin my taste buds with that. You should try this.” You scoop out some of your ice cream, lifting it to him.

“Chocolate chip cookie dough. Revolutionary. You’re really breaking barriers there.”

“It’s classic, Timothy. Do you deny that?”

“Have you even tried mint chocolate chip?” he shoots back, spoon still proffered. “Instead of, you know, jumping on the hating bandwagon.”

“Wow.”

He grins, stepping closer, wiggling the spoon at you. “Try it.”

And the mistake here, of course, is thinking that you have it in you to deny him. At least for something as unserious as this.

And he can see the moment you give in, grin turning victorious as he lifts the spoon and you, with your face flaring with heat at the action, only just barely realizing it, have no choice but to take it.

But the sharp minty flavoring combined with the sweetness of the chocolate chips saves it — you — from getting too weird.

Tim laughs, delighted, as you swallow it, face scrunched up in disgust.

“I almost feel like you picked that one to torment me.”

“Tormenting you is fun,” he agrees, before dropping his spoon back into his cup, then taking your wrist, hand still holding the forgotten spoonful of ice cream, and guiding it to his mouth.

“You don’t deserve the goodness of my ice cream,” you say, forcing a scowl and a light-hearted glare in a desperate attempt to control the tidal wave of fizzling heat that envelops your insides at him doing that. Mostly his gall. Seriously what is up with him…

It seems to work as he releases your wrist, red spoon cleaned from his mouth — that’s going to haunt you while you eat — and he laughs again.

You punch his chest lightly, grumbling, then go around him, checking the street for any oncoming cars before going to the passenger door.

Tim slides in a second later, still chuckling as he turns on the car and leaves his cup of ice cream in the cupholder. You bluster about it for a little but eventually agree to help feed him some of it, since the drive might take a while. Along with that, he lets you commandeer his phone and the music, naturally turning on ABBA as he pulls out and starts for the Sprang Bridge that’ll take you to the northernmost island, with Otisburg and the Knights Stadium in the east and Burnley and Park Row to the west. Continuing north, you hit the Kane Bridge that’ll take you off the islands entirely.

Take A Chance On Me plays on the speakers as you dutifully spoon the last bits of Tim’s ice cream into his mouth, then set the cup aside. Traffic slows you down but you don’t mind. You’ve never actually crossed this bridge, you think, in your entire time here. To the east is Amusement Mile and Gotham River, while west shows the rest of the Atlantic, dark waters stretching out into oblivion.

Tim hums the song idly, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder as he moves into the left lane that is going faster than the one you are currently in. Even with his admittedly reckless and impatient driving skills, you are nothing less than smitten as he taps the rhythm to the song on the steering wheel.

Hiding a smile, you finish your own ice cream and get comfortable.

It takes a while to finally get off the bridge and onto the two-lane road for Bristol. Considerably higher in elevation, it affords you exactly what he said — a scenic route of Gotham, overlooking the entire island. Even Metropolis, off in the distance. The sun is starting to set, too, washing everything in gold.

At that, he pulls off the main road to a small gravel-filled area with no other cars and a single path that leads through the woods.

“I guess this is the time you’re going to finally murder me and dispose of my body?”

“Naturally. But only after we watch the sunset on Spillkin Hill,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning off the car.

“Ah, of course, of course.”

The trail leads to a grassy hill that overlooks the city. Tim brings out the blanket again and you collapse there, a little sweaty and a little out of breath. He offers you a drink from his water bottle, which you gladly accept.

From here, you can see everything. The Kane Bridge, with bumper-to-bumper traffic, Amusement Mile, rollercoasters arching high into the sky, Knights Stadium, sun glinting off the metal, floodlights on and bright. Up here, away from the true reality of what goes on in the dark, the city looks beautiful washed in the golden light of the sunset.

So does Tim, you think, breath catching in your throat as a breeze ruffles his dark hair and your fingers twitch to run through it, to put it back into order. His skin glows under the light, thick lashes casting shadows over the swell of his cheeks, cornflower blue eyes softened in a way that makes you want to lean in.

You don’t.

Instead, you look back out, biting at the inside of your cheek.

You had thought and hoped that your feelings might be short-lived, just a crush, just an infatuation, but what you are learning, since the day you two went to the rec center, since he spent the night, is that it will not be that simple. These feelings, you think, are the kind that stick with you, the ones that will make themselves known every time you spy a flowering dogwood or hear the call of a Robin.

But that’s fine. Tim has brightened your world, made it that much warmer. You just want him, in any capacity that you can have him.

Even with his odd behavior today and from the last few weeks, behavior that has you second-guessing… Hope is a dangerous thing to have in Gotham City, after all.

But who are you kidding, right? That’s half the reason you stay here.

And maybe, just maybe, it can finally pay off here.

You’ll have to wait and see.

━ end notes

1. the stuff about the state tests for NJ — i did search that stuff up, however, the SLA stuff i just made up bc i like acronyms. so :D also! new jersey and oregon are in fact the only states in the us with self-service laws still in place, so basically, you cannot fill up your own gas. i always have a chuckle when i remember that LMAO

2. about the poison ivy thing, i just thought that would be some Fun Gotham Lore. i also don’t know if others would know, exactly, that she was inhabiting it during no man’s land because during that event, it was all hush-hush and mostly rumors, but afterward, there had to be more talk about it, especially when the kids she was taking care of were turned over to officials, you know?

3. here’s a website where you can listen to the calls of both the downy woodpecker and the robin mentioned here!

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #batboys x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you

132 notes · View notes

rosesloveletters · 2 years

Text

Maroon.

Pairing: Lt. Col. Frank Slade x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 1,117

Warnings: suggestive content(?)

Summary: Frank and reader share a quiet moment, cuddling in bed on a rainy day.

Request: “Can I request Frank Slade with a romantic s/o? I haven't watched Scent of a Woman yet, but he seems like a really loving type, so maybe their anniversary came up, and he's going all out for it. Just something soft and fluffy for them, if this is okay💕” ( @fan-of-pretty-much-2-much )

Notes: My first Frank Slade piece! I tried something new with this one - the only dialogue included is from memories/thoughts. This piece happens to be a little short, but all that needed to be said has been. I hope you enjoy. Loosely based off the song with the same name.

edited.

Your eyes remained closed as you listened to the wind-driven raindrops pattering against the glass windowpanes, adding richness in hue to the velvet-softness of the thoughts playing on repeat in your mind. There was a certain crisp chill in the air, but your naked body felt it none as you were wrapped up in blankets, cocooned in warmth beside your beloved. You inhaled the scent of fresh linen, having washed the duvet and sheets the day before so that you and your lover would have fresh bedding for the long weekend ahead of you. You planned to stay in, as it was forecast to rain nonstop for the next three days and so far had the prediction remained true. The world beyond the four walls of your shared bedroom was glossy with the fallen rain that coated every surface it touched and the sky was a dismal gray; the sun had not shined on this land in days.

Frank hadn’t complained when you told him you weren’t keen on going out with it raining as it was. He was pleased with the opportunity to spend time in your company, encapsulated within the intimacy of your private abode and with nothing else to do but to be with each other. He was without words, overcome with happiness at the outcome of the situation. Long had he desired a moment as perfect as this and even longer had he anticipated he would go without it.

Fragments of your soul fit in to the spaces between Frank’s fingers as he grasped your hand beneath the burgundy duvet.

“Burgundy. Women love it.”

Frank believed so. The color of elegant sophistication, often a symbol of wealth and power, was the embodiment of admiration, determination and passion. A color claimed by dying embers, trailing echoes of late summer sunsets, red wine, flushed cheeks and the scarlet marks Frank’s lips often left on your neck.

So scarlet, it was maroon.

Even the sight of him made you feel warm and cozy.

Frank reclined against the headboard, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and dark sweatpants. With one hand firmly holding on to you, the other slid easily around your waist and with just one touch, the blood rushed into your cheeks with the thought of what you hoped for him to do to you.

You tangled yourself around him, craving him as near as possible. It was like you were possessed, consumed by this man and his scent: bay rum aftershave and the heady aroma of warm skin.

You had found home in his embrace and knew it was where you wanted to remain. He dipped his head and the whispering trace of warm lips brushed against your forehead.

When you looked up at him, his sightless eyes were trained on some far-off place, hardly blinking as he remained distantly focused on something and you had a peculiar feeling that he was seeing, somehow. He had memorized the curve of your face, all the indentations, marks and imperfections that, to him, surpassedperfection. Lt. Col. Frank Slade had seen you, from the very moment you met; the way in which he held you told you so, but so did the way his soul cries out for yours when you laid together like this.

Frank’s bark was far worse than his bite, though all things considered, he was a brash and outspoken man most of the time. He often said things as he was thinking them and that had gotten him into trouble throughout his life.

It was refreshing not to second guess yourself, all because of what the other person was not saying.

Frank and his words, his acts of endearment — you were so fortunate to have him in your life.

His words often sounded like a beautiful idea, now that you finally understood this complicated man. They weren't words spoken kindly from a stranger — they were words that belonged to you, written from a deep place within his heart.

You cupped his cheek and the sudden touch seemed to send an electric shock through him as he sat up a little straighter and the trace of a smile graced his lips. He allowed you to admire him, to drag your fingers through his soft brown hair; beneath all that product were some cleverly hidden, almost boyish waves that you did not see too often. This older gentleman – whose beauty at this age had the power to take your breath away – must have been a sight to behold in his youth.

You loved Frank inside and out, from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes, even to the crass words that sometimes flew out of his mouth with no effort taken to stop them.

At face value, Frank Slade was a lost cause. A worthy adversary to most anyone in his heyday, but now a hardly relevant, overlooked, hardened old man who had pissed off one too many people with no strong relationships to show for any of his strife.

The idea of being alone often plagued him and, he would never say it, but the reason he was so angry with the world was because he was angry with himself first. He had made many mistakes in his life and hurt the wrong people; this world was a cruel, nasty place and he had learned that lesson repeatedly during his service in the United States Military.

The only thing that kept him going all these years was this.

Frank had lost far more than just his eyesight, but now he smiled distinctly to himself at the thought of all that he had gained.

"The thought that one day, I'd have a woman's arms wrapped around me, her legs wrapped around me, that I could wake up in the morning and she would still be there and I could smell her…”

Echoes of words he had spoken in confidence to Charlie Simms on that fateful trip to New York rang in his ears.

As he had sat on that couch in the Waldorf Astoria hotel, maintaining perfect composure as he divulged from where he derived strength, weakness and the ultimate driving force of his life, he had followed it up with, “I finally gave up on it.”

Only, he hadn’t.

He would not be lying here beside you had he given up, and your Colonel was not a quitter, despite what he might tell you. Beneath gruff overtones, the derision of a deeply pained soul and customary barked bouts of biting laughter, Frank was still willing to fight the same as he always had been.

He need not fight now; he had won.

So forbidden, it was forgotten.

#al pacino #scent of a woman x reader #scent of a woman #frank slade #frank slade x reader #al pacino imagine #scent of a woman imagine #biblio :: 📖

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bro-atz · 1 year

Text

pretty ladies

in which: the members are seventeen turn into women one after the other

word count: 5k

content: idol!au, genderbend, comedy

apply for the permanent taglist here!

2/13

Jeonghan didn't look all that different that morning. The hair length was the same, just to the shoulders and perfectly straight with that little curl on the end. Jeonghan didn't notice anything particularly off that morning either. Had he not been half asleep, taken a double take, looked at his reflection in the mirror would he have noticed something, well, off.

And so Jeonghan stood in front of the toilet, his legs slightly parted to empty his about-to-burst bladder when he finally noticed.

Where the fµck was his dick.

Jeonghan patted himself down as he realized that something was definitely off that morning. Where a flat chest once resided was now replaced with a small petite mound while his dick seemed to have shrunk.

Jeonghan swore he didn't fall asleep like this last night. Maybe it was a nightmare and he was bound to wake up at six in the morning because his alarm clock was beeping uncontrollably. Yeah, that was it, this was all just a nightmare.

One hour and thirty-three minutes later, Jeonghan is frantically pacing the house as he- or is it she- ponders the thought of how he, she, was going to turn back.

Seungcheol was the next one to wake up that morning. He sat up in bed and felt an immense pressure on his chest, a pressure he had only experienced when benching weights. Seungcheol stretched, his long, wavy hair brushing past his not-so-toned arms.

Wait.

Long, wavy hair?

Seungcheol looked down at his bare chest, provided the fact that Seungcheol still didn't make it a habit to wear a shirt to sleep, and saw two significantly large masses of tissues clinging to his torso.

At exactly 7:38 in the morning, a high pitched, girlish scream sounded through the dorms of Seventeen, Jeonghan immediately running to the source of the room.

"Thank Jisoos I'm not the only one."

Seungcheol held her blanket tightly to her chest and wailed, "What the fµck is going on Jeonghan?!"

Seungcheol trembled as Jeonghan let out a sigh she didn't know she was holding in.

"Do you really think I would know? I woke up like a girl too."

Seungcheol flopped back into her bed and groaned, "Please tell me this is a dream."

"Nope."

Footsteps padded through the halls as Chan, the only one bothered enough to wake up from the scream, reached the room.

"Is someth-"

Chan's face flushed deep shades of maroon as he saw Jeonghan and her Nana-like body. He covered his face in utter embarrassment and squeaked out an apology.

"Chan, it's me, Jeonghan."

Chan stopped muttering apologies and peeked through his fingers. Sure enough, the tall slender girl wearing grey sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt that barely provided enough padding for the girl's breasts was Jeonghan.

"Hyung," Chan's hands left his face, a slight blush lingering on his cheeks. "Why are you..."

Chan couldn't finish his question; the context of his question was just too weird, especially at 7:42 AM. Chan cleared his throat and asked, "Who screamed?"

Jeonghan leaned back slightly as Seungcheol sat up and raised her hand up, the blanket slipping from her armpit and exposing her breasts. Chan definitely got an eyeful that morning along with major blood loss as his nose started bleeding before he fainted. Seungcheol covered herself up again while Jeonghan sat the fallen boy against the wall and ran off to get him an ice pack.

The rest of the members slowly awoke later that morning, Seungkwan being the second one to be utterly flabbergasted.

"Is this some sort of sick joke? Hyung, halloween already passed and April fools isn't for another couple of months."

Seungkwan refused to accept reality as he saw Seungcheol's breasts bounce while she walked around the kitchen to get food for breakfast.

Jeonghan was on one end of the breast spectrum while Seungcheol was the far opposite. Jeonghan was actually pretty flat chested while Seungcheol has breasts worthy of a Soma model. Seungcheol had curves all over, his butt and honey thighs putting Nicki Minaj to shame while Jeonghan looked like she was ready for the runway.

The vocal line was the first to all collect in the kitchen, Jisoo's eyes rooted to Jeonghan and her softer facial features. Jihoon ended up burying his face in his arms to keep himself from staring at Seungcheol's breasts and Seokmin moonwalked his way back to his room, thinking he was still asleep.

Once Minghao and Junhui woke up, they made their way to the kitchen for breakfast and tried to run back into the rooms once they saw the long flowing hair of Choi Seungcheol.

Jeonghan was feeling pretty bad about herself at this point. None of the boys reacted to her when they first saw her, mainly because of the fact that she really didn't look any different than when she was a boy. The only significant change about her was amount of weight she dropped. Her height didn't really change though; she was only a couple centimeters shorter than her original height. Jisoo seemed to have noticed Jeonghan's silent brooding because he put his arm over her shoulder and engaged in a conversation with her as Mingyu entered the kitchen and screamed once he saw Seungcheol, the carton of milk in his hands falling to the ground and spilling everywhere.

"Mingyu!! What the fµck! Help me clean this up!"

Wonwoo sat at the kitchen countertop and stared at the unraveling scene, Mingyu getting towels to clean up the spill. Seungcheol, who was now wearing the biggest shirt she could find because her breasts were too large to fit in anything else, bent over and started to clean up the spill, her cleavage noticeably visible. Red liquid flowed from Wonwoo's nose as he strained to look at Seungcheol's bouncing cleavage.

"Uh, Wonwoo?" Jisoo held out a tissue for Wonwoo. "Your nose is bleeding."

Wonwoo took the tissue and pinched his nose to stop the blood flow. Vernon and Soonyoung were the last ones to enter the situation that fine morning, now afternoon. They entered the stony silent kitchen and looked around in confusion. The rest of Seventeen were seated, or standing, around the kitchen countertop, the two girls sitting right next to each other. Soonyoung was the first to notice the girls, and his eyes had never been so wide. He prodded Vernon's shoulder and whisper-hissed, "There are two girls in our dorm!!"

Chan, who was better now from the earlier mishap, shook his head and said, "Nah, that's just Seungcheol hyung and Jeonghan hyung."

Vernon paled and walked out of the room, running into a few walls along the way as Soonyoung had to take a seat.

"What are we going to do about," Jisoo made a wild gesture to the girls sitting at the end of the table. "That?"

"We don't have any major comeback coming up, so it's not like we have to make any appearances anywhere," Soonyoung pointed out.

"But how are we going to practice and record the songs when their vocals and bodies are fµcked up?" Jihoon asked.

The table grew silent again, Vernon coming back into the kitchen and sitting next to Seungkwan, who patted his back and whispered comforting things into his ear.

"I guess we'll just have to practice without them. We still have to rehearse and work," Soonyoung concluded, the girls solemnly nodding their heads.

"You better switch back before our comeback though," Seungkwan said as he pointed an accusing finger at the two girls. Vernon slapped Seungkwan's hand away and left before he could pass out.

3/13

It had been a week since the girls arrived. Jeonghan ended up going shopping, since she looked the most normal in comparison to Seungcheol, and bought some panties and bras for the two to use. Busty Seungcheol was a definite problem in the Seventeen household. The girls actually had to go online and calculate what size bras Seungcheol would need. The panties weren't a problem; she was a medium. As for her bras, those costed quite a bit.

"Here," Jeonghan threw the bag into Seungcheol's lap.

"You owe me $150. Your bras were fµcking expensive."

Seungcheol could only gawk at the bras on her lap. She had seen them countless times when she had gone to the mall with her mother, but she had never touched nor used one before. She immediately got up and went to the bathroom, only to scream and run away.

"What?"

Jeonghan rushed over to the trembling girl standing by the bathroom and turned a ghastly shade of white.

"Jihoon.... Are you dying?"

Jihoon was the next to be found as a girl. Not only that, but she came with blood flowing out of her like a tidal wave. Jeonghan ended up going back to the store that day.

Jihoon was a petite girl. She actually got a lot shorter; she was now only 4 feet and 11 inches tall. Her hair was freakishly long, the pink dye making its way all the way to the ends of her hair. Her long ass hair went past her butt and, surprisingly enough, did not seem to get tangled. Her hair was also naturally straight, Seungcheol enviously glaring at her whenever she walked by her.

As for her period problem, Jihoon just stuck to using pads; she didn't like the idea of looking at the bloody mess between her legs every time a tampon got used up. She hated periods. She hated the endless cramps, the hourly bathroom checks, the sit-with-your-legs-together-before-blood-leaks-everywhere, and oh god, she despised the food cravings. She wasn't the only one though.

"Jeonghan hy- wait, is it unnie now? Jeonghan unnie!!"

"What?"

"I'm hungry!!"

Jeonghan's eyes narrowed as she glared at the emptied bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

"You just had a whole fµcking bowl of popcorn!!"

Jihoon, who found a guitar, most probably from Jisoo's room, held it up threateningly and said, "I'm hungry."

Jeonghan hesitated before going into the kitchen and saying, "One order of ramyun it is."

For the most part, Jihoon was either eating, bleeding into the toilet, or sleeping. She was supposed to be working on new songs for Seventeen's future comeback, but no one wanted to approach her when she carried a guitar with her everywhere. Not even Jisoo, even though it was his guitar.

"If any more of us turns into girls," Jeonghan said as she blow dried Seungcheol's thick, black, wavy hair. "I will cry."

The boys were in the studio practicing the new choreography Soonyoung came up with, the girls lazing away in the dorms. Jeonghan was the only one able to go out into public because she looked the same in contrast to Seungcheol and Jihoon who changed significantly, so she decided to keep the other girls company as Jihoon complained of stomach cramps and Seungcheol walking around carefully because she now realized the pain of having two lumps of fat on her chest.

"No one else will become a girl, don't worry," Jihoon spoke through mouthfuls of chips while swatting Seungcheol's hand away, who was reaching to take a chip or two from the bag of chips Jihoon was holding onto possessively.

"I hope so. Seungcheol's hair is already too much of a problem, imagine the rest of the boys turning into girls."

Seungcheol was a problem, other than the undergarments issue. Her hair, unlike Jihoon's or Jeonghan's, seemed to shed worse than a dog, long strands of black hair collecting on the ground. Mingyu, who was fond of cleaning up, actually got sick and tired of seeing Seungcheol's hair on the ground that he just handed her the vacuum cleaner and left. And thanks to Jihoon's excessive eating, Seungcheol was now in charge of cleaning up all the crumbs as well.

"Stop eating those, you're going to get fat," Jeonghan confiscated the bag of chips from Jihoon, Jihoon immediately whining and holding up the guitar threateningly.

"And I know you got done with your period yesterday."

Jihoon could only scowl as she hugged the guitar to her tiny, yet significant, chest.

Jeonghan could only pray no one else became girls.

5/13

Soonyoung was gorgeous that morning she stumbled, more like glisséd, out of the bedroom. Her hair was slightly longer than Jeonghan's, but a brilliant shade of blonde that could only be found on dutch women. Her hair, although a nice length, was a mix between wavy and straight, not to mention voluminous as fµck. Soonyoung's eyes seemed to have gotten smaller and more playful. She lost a couple centimeters off her height, but boy oh boy did she have a sense of balance. Not only that, she also seemed to have developed the flexibility of a gymnast and the dance skills of a ballerina and an ice dancer.

Soonyoung seemed to be having too much fun as she pirouetted into the living room, Jihoon scrunching her nose in disdain.

"You wish you were as flexible as me don't you?" Soonyoung jeered as she lifted her right leg above her head.

Jihoon slung the guitar over her shoulder and said, "Shut up."

Soonyoung immediately lowered her leg and apologized as a rather large burrito rolled into the living room. Jihoon slowly approached the burrito and prodded it with her foot.

"What is it?"

A tiny tuft of hair popped out from an end of the burrito blanket and Soonyoung said, "More like who is it."

The burrito whimpered, Soonyoung immediately guessing who it was.

"Seokmin, are you a girl?"

The burrito nodded and rolled into Soonyoung's legs before wrapping around Soonyoung.

"Pain," a soft voice whispered out of the blanket, Seokmin's fragile, feminine face finally escaping through the blanket. Her eyes were just a little wider than before and her cheekbones were a little more defined. Her hair was a short bob that barely reached the end of her neck and her eyebrows were just about as soft as her hair.

Seokmin hugged her knees to her chest and rolled side to side as she tried to get rid of the pain. Jihoon, assuming Seokmin was on her period, went to the medicine box and pulled out painkillers for the burrito girl. Jihoon also got Seokmin a pack of Oreos and helped her onto the sofa where she could divulge her pain away. Soonyoung, being the considerate girl she was, stayed by Seokmin's side as she cried silent tears because of her cramps.

Jeonghan was the official errand girl at this point; however, it was getting risky to go out into public and buy feminine hygiene supplies without someone recognizing her. She was forced to put on a face mask and pay the full price without being able to get an idol discount. Jeonghan's money was pretty much gone by the end of Seokmin's period, and so was her happiness.

Chan helped the girls out the most. He helped around the house with chores and did the laundry. He felt bad for the girls who were sitting in the dorms doing virtually nothing. They sat at home playing video games, eating, sleeping, bleeding to death, or complaining about the fact that they were girls. Mingyu kept on cleaning the house out of irritation that there were long ass hairs scattered all over the dorm. Jisoo would lend the girls money because that was the American gentleman he was. That and the fact that he just couldn't say no to Jeonghan. Both Minghao and Junhui would tell the girls what they worked on and what they should work on next; basically petty talk for the girls to tune in on.

The boys tried to help the girls to the best of their ability, but most of them were afraid that they too would turn into girls if they so much as touched the turned boys. Wonwoo was of no help whatsoever. All he would do was just stare at the girls breasts and butt whenever they bent over, earning a black eye from Jihoon, who flung the guitar at him one fine day when Wonwoo smacked Jihoon's ass. Vernon, let alone talking, would not even make eye contact with the girls. He was in denial half the time, saying that the girls just went on vacation somewhere without him. Seungkwan in particular stayed the furthest away; he didn't want to bleed himself to death anytime soon.

7/13

It was ironic, really. Seungkwan never really wanted to experience being like a girl, even though he was sassier than one.

No one could really notice that Seungkwan turned into a girl because of how many layers she was wearing that morning. It was so cold that day that she had to bundle up in almost all the blankets she owned. As she waddled out into the living room, no one seemed to notice the difference about her face, mainly because of the fact that she looked like an eskimo and that no one could see her nose or lips. Vernon was the first to realize that she turned into a girl because of her eyes and the "vibes emitting off her." As Vernon fled the scene, he bumped into a not-so-manly Mingyu and screamed as she was wearing no shirt or bra.

Mingyu was still tall. She neither shrunk nor grew. Her blue hair seemed to brush the small of her back and was wavy as fµck. Her smile was still beautiful and her hips seemed to sashay around the dorm endlessly. Her long tan legs had Wonwoo tripping everywhere and her bust, not living up to the size of Seungcheol's, were still pretty big. If Wonwoo wasn't tagging along to Mingyu before, now he was definitely glued. Mingyu didn't seem to mind though; she was gorgeous in contrast to her earlier handsomeness.

Seungkwan was petite, but on the chubbier side. Her cheeks puffed out as if she was always irritated or upset and her eyes drooped downwards slightly, giving her the look of a Basset Hound. Like Seokmin, her hair was also short, but cascaded past her collarbones. She seemed to have shrunk a couple centimeters and wow did she look good in skirts.

Jeonghan, now taking advantage of Jisoo's credit card, bought more feminine clothing for the girls to wear just because dorm life was getting boring. She bought fashionista clothing for herself and Seokmin, cutesy clothes for petite Seungkwan and Jihoon, and Soonyoung seemed to wear nothing but sports apparel. As for Mingyu and Seungcheol, Jeonghan bought clothes from Victoria's Secret for Seungcheol, because her breasts were too large to fit in anything from Pink, and Pink clothes for Mingyu.

Sadly, as the girls kept appearing, Junhui turned to the dark side where Wonwoo resided. They simply could not live a day without having to slap a girl's butt and stare at their cleavage. In other words, they were deprived.

"Listen, I'm sorry Doogi PD tampered with the wifi to block the porn, but that is no reason for you to stick your face in my bosom Wonwoo," Seungcheol sighed out as she tried to pry Wonwoo off her.

"Just five more minutes," Wonwoo whined as he dug his nose deeper in Seungcheol's breasts.

Seungcheol seemed to reek of girl, as noted by Wonwoo, and Wonwoo couldn't get enough of that smell. He, along with Junhui, also preferred the stylings of Kim Mingyu and her luscious ass that was discovered accidentally one day as Junhui entered the bathroom while Mingyu was taking a shower. There was more blood that came out of Junhui's nose than any of the periods the girls seemed to experience.

Chan and Jisoo both spent the most time with Jeonghan. Chan spent time with her because of the fact she looked like Nana while Jisoo just liked Jeonghan in general, but he liked her just a little bit more now because, well, she was a beautiful girl, girl being the key word. Jeonghan was ever so grateful for the attention, and Jisoo's credit card.

Neither Seokmin nor Soonyoung had special attention from the boys. They didn't mind though because half the time they were doing each other's nails and hair. And somehow, they managed to go out into public and by a shit ton of accessories, which they decorated the girls in. At the end of the day, Seungcheol went around with angel earrings in her ear piercing, not that she minded though.

Minghao seemed to prefer the petite girls and would strike up conversations with them whenever Junhui decided to act like a pervert, which was basically all the time. Seungkwan nor Jihoon had ever experienced this side of Minghao before; they called it "The Boyfriend Observation," and took notes on whatever Minghao did to make them blush so that they could use it for when they turned back.

And that was a problem by itself because no one knew how long this "magical spell" would last in the first place. The Boyfriend Observation thrived as Seungkwan and Jihoon talked to Chan and Jisoo as well. It was basically useless to try to talk to Wonwoo and Junhui because all they wanted to do were things unimaginable, not to mention that Vernon refused to exit his bedroom and worked in there.

The petite girls learned that Minghao is sweet as fµck, Jisoo really does know his way around words, and Chan was still immature but too cute. Jihoon did most of the talking though; she seemed to fit Jisoo's and Minghao's ideal type. Chan was futile after a while because he just wasn't boyfriend material.

9/13

The Boyfriend Observation died when Minghao could no longer b-boy with her breasts and Jisoo decided it was time for her to bleed herself to death.

Junhui left the busty girls life when he saw how fragile Minghao had turned and Jisoo's model like body. He also realized the beauty of Yoon Jeonghan and her composure as she worked around the house. He seemed to have escaped the clutches of the dark side as Wonwoo, well.

"Wonwoo get the fµck out of the shower!!"

Seungcheol, who offered to scrub Mingyu's back, didn't realize that she left the bathroom door unlocked. Wonwoo, a very horny boy at this point, entered the bathroom shirtless and ready to fµck. Wonwoo got beat up that day, a purple mark covering his eye. Doogi PD asked about it; Wonwoo said he slipped.

Doogi PD actually didn't know about the situation until both Seokmin and Seungkwan skipped out on their radio show. Up until then, the boys told Doogi PD that the boys were just getting bad colds, and Doogi PD actually believe them because "Mingyu keeps sneezing on the other members." And so Doogi PD believed right up until the point where he decided to visit the boys in the dorm.

"Boys I hope yo-"

Doogi PD paled as he saw a girl that looked suspiciously like Jihoon walked in front of him. She was clad in a baby pink, frilly dress with bows in her hair. She was also holding a guitar to her chest and had an irresistible pout on her face.

"Guys?" The girl with pink hair called out. "I think we have to tell Doogi PD now!"

Doogi PD sat on the sofa as not-so-different Jeonghan explained what happened to him. Jisoo, who was having period cravings, stole the thermos that contained the soup that Doogi PD brought for the "sick boys."

"When are you guys going to become guys again? You have a schedule you know."

Jeonghan never talked back to Doogi PD, but she felt an urge of irritation wave through her body and said, "Do you think I know? I don't want to be a girl!"

Doogi PD was taken aback at the words, but he couldn't get mad at a female Jeonghan, so he stayed silent.

Doogi PD canceled all of Seventeen's schedules and sent a statement out to the press explaining why Seventeen was "quarantined." Naturally, all the fans blamed Mingyu because he simply did not know how to sneeze like a normal human being, thus loosing many fans because of how "disgyusting" he was. Mingyu was offended and went on Twitter later that day to make a statement that was unfortunately overlooked.

Vernon still stayed in the room and only came out of the room to either use the bathroom or get something to eat, which was basically on the hour. Jihoon kept a watch on him to see if he would turn into a girl anytime soon.

12/13

Everyone's wallet seemed to have emptied when three of the four remaining boys turned into girls one night. They needed to buy more bras, underwear, and clothes overall because Junhui was wide shouldered and wide hipped, Vernon was naturally thin, and Chan had the body structure of a twelve year old.

Jeonghan went shopping for the girls again. She bought sports clothes for athletically built Junhui, hipster clothing for teen like Vernon, and neon clothing from Justice for Chan. Soonyoung and Seokmin also bought more accessories because when Vernon turned, she started dressing up in new clothes everyday and refused to wear the same things twice.

Wonwoo was a full blown out pervert now. He managed to scrap up all of his money to buy a high definition camera and take pictures of the girls in their "finest moments." Whether it be looking cute or looking hot, Wonwoo took pictures of literally every scenario. His favorites, the one that made it into The Album, were ones of the girls bending down or full out naked because they forgot to lock the bathroom door before they took a shower. It didn't help that Seungcheol still didn't fix her habit; she still slept shirtless, which Wonwoo had the pleasure of finding out after he went on a midnight spree and took pictures of the girls sleeping.

Wonwoo and his trusty camera didn't last long, however. Jihoon took the camera and smashed it to itty bitty pieces, Wonwoo's tears falling to the ground as his camera rested on the ground like pieces of a puzzle. As for his pictures, those stayed safe in places unimaginable.

The girls spent quality time braiding each others hair, doing each others nails, and watching k-dramas while being confined to the dorms. A couple more girls had periods and food ran out three times as fast than when they were boys, which was surprising because the boys, now girls, never thought girls ate that much.

Ice cream and Oreos became a necessity along with plenty of tissue boxes and pads for those overemotional period girls. Wonwoo was declared errand boy after a cashier almost recognized Jeonghan and absolutely hated it because he didn't want to have to rent chick flicks for the girls whose hormones were off the walls.

Seungcheol broke all of her bras during this long month and no one wanted to buy her new ones, therefore she roamed the house with a low cut shirt that Jeonghan bought from Victoria's Secret, Wonwoo now having a restraining order to keep him away from Seungcheol. Not only that, but Wonwoo wasn't even allowed to use the dorms' bathroom; he had to go to the gas station across the street.

Wonwoo, along with holy Jisoo and the rest of the girls, prayed that the girls turned back into boys every night.

13/13

Wonwoo was appalled. Her skin was so pale and her hair was likewise Mingyu's; wavy and long. She too had a nice ass and her bosom was breasttaking. Her beautiful thighs, er, eyes and her hips don't lie. She looked better than IU and Suzy put together that she could only cry. Wonwoo was her own ideal type and it hurt.

The girls wished they were boys again and that Wonwoo remained a girl because god forbid she was eye candy. Maybe she even tasted as sweet. Jihoon pulled out her camera, the one she and Seungkwan used for The Boyfriend Observation, and made Wonwoo model almost everyday.

Wonwoo tried different styles. Her first attempt was the gothic look because she was most comfortable in that. After being thoroughly lectured by Vernon, the true fashionista, Wonwoo, the former fashionista, made a comeback. She tried the sporty look, the cutesy look, the sexy look, but nothing looked as good at the hipster style.

Wonwoo had never wanted her piercings back so badly before. Even if they poked the space behind her ears every time rolled over in her sleep, it was worth it. The accessories Soonyoung and Seokmin bought were all she wanted now. And she decided that it was time to re-pierce her ears.

"Wonwoo, are you sure about this?"

Mingyu held an ice cube to Wonwoo's ear lobe as Jeonghan hesitantly held up a needle.

"Yes. I want to get my ears pierced again."

Mingyu held her breath as she placed the needle right where Wonwoo wanted her piercing. Thank god Doogi PD came over when he did otherwise Wonwoo might have bled herself to death.

The girls oh so desperately wanted to turn back. Chan didn't like the concept of periods at all; she sat in the bathroom all day and just bled into the toilet while not forgetting to flush. Vernon would not stop going on social media and looking up make up tutorials while Seungkwan went online to ask girls for boyfriend advice. Yes, she was still hung up on The Boyfriend Observation. Minghao simply wanted to b-boy again for she was afraid she would loose her skills because b-boying right now was so immensely painful. Mingyu was still brooding over the lie that Doogi PD told the press which explained why Seventeen wouldn't appear for any event. Seokmin loved to do her nails; they were just too gosh darn pretty like her fingers. Jihoon turned into a yandere, in other words, she had a pretty face but was ready to chop off anyone's head within a matter of seconds. Wonwoo was ready to become a covergirl, she nearly submitted her application, but the wifi went out because of Soonyoung's excessive YouTube addiction. Soonyoung watched many, many, many, various styles of dance and proved to excel in all of them. Junhui got into sports such as badminton and volleyball and would constantly play with whoever was around at the time she was going to go to the practice studio. Jisoo just wanted her guitar back, but Jihoon wouldn't let go. Jeonghan became the mother of the girls and cooked, cleaned, and payed the so called expenses. And Seungcheol, she was lazy as fµck.

The girls had a prayer circle every night to try to return back to normal.

0/13

One morning, as Junhui woke up early to head down to the practice studio to play volleyball, she noticed that her wrists weren't as skinny as they used to be. She also noticed a rather tall bulge by her pelvis.

Junhui was a boy again.

He raced down the halls of the door while screaming his happiness to the world and ended in the living room where he saw the Christmas tree sparkling brightly.

"It's a Christmas miracle!!!"

One by one, the boys left their rooms and made their way into the living room while being ever so grateful to not be boys anymore.

There was one girl who was the most sore though, and that was Wonwoo.

She, now he, loved being prettier than the nation's most recognized idols. If only he could go back.

That Christmas, the boys dressed in their regular clothes again and gave away their clothes for another girl to have. In nicer terms, they gave back to the community.

The boys resumed their activities and continued prepping for their future comebacks as Mingyu let his anger unleash, claiming that he wasn't as "disgyusting" as the fans proclaimed him to be.

But the hidden photos Wonwoo took when he was a pervert seemed to claim otherwise.

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