#she is still going to have the money and power to spew her hate and vile

[threepandas]

Your Biggest Fan: Part 2

-Villian Yandere Izuku-

Did you know his Hero~ was blacklisted at twenty-six different agencies, for publicly calling them out on Quirkist policies they refused to change? The most recent was for blatant mutation Quirk discrimination. The lead hero not only ignored it! He PARTICIPATED! She blasted it EVERYWHERE~

He's going to lose his license.

There are entire CITIES where she's not welcome. Agencies that won't answer her calls. Step after stubborn step, ever forward, as she stands the only thing between the SUFFERING, the WEAK, and the endless SEWAGE that spews and spews their hate! Ah~♡

She's so COOL~♡

Her costume's super practical, you know? She got it designed over seas! You can really see the western influences! They like focus on protection first, THEN Quirk. Instead of the other way around! Not like the Japanese. We also focus on marketability when designing, where as she went into a tax funded Heroics system for her education.

It makes her look INTIMIDATING. Foreign. Vaguely militaristic. Ha ha! As though that's not what Heros ARE! What they have BECOME! But not Her~ oh no, no no no, SHE took their tools and made KINDNESS out of it!

Safe parks to play in! Eco-friendly lighting for roads at night! Donating time and money to old pre-quirk cultural heritage sites. So she can help preserve history and traditions! Because before Quirks? We were still PEOPLE. Our past is IMPORTANT.

Community and kindness, mercy and... and...!

He whines. Squirms in his chair. So cool! SO COOL~♡!

It's so hard to keep his hands to himself. To keep them respectful. He shouldn't-! He CAN'T-! But... ah~ look at how REGAL she looks! And in THIS photo? She looks so soft and kind? Giving a speech to kids~ He wishes it was him. He would listen for HOURS. It'd be amazing.

He bet he could ask SO many questions! And... and she'd answer ALL of them! She'd be so happy to have an active listener. Someone engaged. Attentive. He'd remember ALL her talking points and ask after each one~ They'd talk for HOURS. P-probably get thirsty. She notice the time.

Go "ah, look at the time, Izuku-chan! It's been so long! Getting so LATE! But I still want to talk to you! We should get dinner." And he'd say YES, of course!

He can't resist anymore. The thoughts, his fantasy, too much to endure. His eyes flick from photo to photo. Not enough, not yet, but soon... so they WILL be. He'll get MORE. Right now... right now he needs... ah! There. Graduation. Formal dress.

He can pretend it's a date~♡

All dressed up, just... just to meet HIM! He can barely breath at the thought. The audacity of it. She would NEVER. B..But he could dream, right? No one needs to know. What he IMAGINES. What he thinks about as his hands unbuckle his belt, drag his pants down and open wide.

As he TOUCHES.

Runs hands across his skin, up under his shirt and vest, down and across where he wants it most, like he's EXPLORING. Like he's someone else. Someone with gentle, powerful, hands. His back arches, hips lift, but he refuses to stop his teasing. He wants to be rough. Would want HER to be rough.

She would refuse him.

He... he just KNOWS she would. Would tell him everyone else has been rough enough. Their first time should be gentle~♡ Ah~

She would grind the tip until he couldn't STAND it, just like he is. Listen to him babble and beg. Hips bucking in her grip. Begging her to let him WORSHIP her. To slide to his knees between her legs and never come out. Use his tounge and his fingers to make HER feel good. Make her MELT. Over and over, forever~

Just the thought of it has him spilling into the fist of his hand. All but milking himself dry. It's not enough. His body rides the aftershocks of pleasure and still... drinking in HER, plastered up all around his desk, brought up on his screen, it's not ENOUGH.

He needs audio. Videos. Enough for that high end deep fake program he had made. He... he could make her say ANYTHING. The thought sends a sharp, shuddering, jolt of pleasure through him. He could have SO MANY videos of their dates and... and intimate moments and casual conversations! All before he gets the courage up to TALK to her!

It's perfect~♡

Like a scrapbook of their lives to come! W-well, a FANTASY scrap book... Cool as she is? Busy as she is? She probably doesn't even have TIME to date. And what could a deku like him even OFFER? But... but ah~♡

He can DREAM can't he?

Look out for her, like she looks out for everyone else?

He's her number one FAN! They didn't talk for very long... but he can already TELL. He IS. She's the BEST. And she's gonna be his number one too~

[sunrisedespair]

the number of times I've been called a "Russian spy" throughout my entire life for simply wanting things like human rights and better healthcare etc. is hilarious

purely because my mother was called a "Russian spy" for protesting against the Vietnam War after her first husband was drafted and killed for nothing in a war he didn't want to be in

and my grandmother was called a "communist red sympathiser" for mourning the death of her first child in the 30s due to medical malpractice worsened by her family's poverty during the Great Depression (no money for a good doctor, no money for any pregnancy related healthcare, etc.)

it's frustrating, and so sad.

anyone who is even slightly to the left in the USA with perfectly understandable and fair reasoning, anyone with perfectly understandable trauma and pain related to imperialism, capitalism, the unique cruelty of the American Way, we've all been getting called some variation of "Russian spy" for generations

and the teens today are still getting called "Russian spies" for wanting *checks notes* the exact same shit, very basic shit, very basic human rights and a decent life for everyone as much as possible

but somehow wanting a good quality of life makes us all "Russian spies"

(being an actual Russian spy would offer better pay and healthcare than anyone in the fucking USA could ever get doing pretty much anything, I'm just saying)

and both Dems and Repubs have said this exact same shit forever, it transcends party lines because of course it does because the rot of ignorance goes deeper than just being isolated to one side or the other

and I'm just thinking about this because the Politics Hag has once again accused Pro-Palestine protesters of being somehow both Russian spies and apparently Chinese because of course she has to be racist on top of doing the same Cold War shit both of the major US parties just fucking love so much

the first time I was called a "Russian spy" was in a history class when I was seven years old and I told the teacher that free Soviet healthcare seemed like a pretty decent idea, actually

and the teacher called me a communist and told me to "go work for the Russians if I liked them so much"

and I still remember that because it was blatant weird hatred of a Soviet Union that had then recently already collapsed anyway (possibly just general Russophobia which is a huge problem in the USA in general)

but also because even just a child expressing the most basic of observations, that providing healthcare is blatantly better than not providing any healthcare at all to millions of people, was somehow an "evil", "communist" idea

Like I didn't fully understand the politics behind it until years later, but I remember it felt weird at the time due to the sheer vitriol in my teacher's voice, and in retrospect yeah, of course I was right to feel uncomfortable. I was seven.

And yet, I was somehow an "evil communist" for observing that if my disabled family had actual healthcare, none of us would be struggling as much as we were

even as a small child, that stuck out to me. I wanted a better quality of life for everyone, and that somehow made me the Sworn Forever Enemy of the Government and Nation, and it was like, what the fuck. I was seven years old.

and even now, in fucking 2024, the same USA political crowd is spewing the same shit at people who still just want the most bare minimum

we want peace and human rights and for those in power to be held accountable for the abuses of that power and we want healthcare and education and housing and somehow this makes us "evil communists"

it's the same Cold War shit they spewed back in the day, it's the same pre-Cold War shit they used to spew back in my grandmother's day

it's racist, xenophobic, blatantly hateful and ignorant, and is designed to evoke the "ideological bad guys" of the American socio-political zeitgeist in order to both other those seeking better lives from the presumed "American Standard" while also dismissing us all as being so vile to our overlords that they are not only being xenophobic and racist but actively stripping us of our identity as citizens in the process

to these USA politician fuckheads, calling an American a Russian or Chinese spy is intended to be this insurmountable insult, and it's so intentionally hateful and racist on top of being this insidious way to signal to their specific voter bases that "if you want a better life, you can't possibly be an American, and if you're not with us you're against us by default"

and that is both ignorant and racist while also placing all us "Russian spies" in significant danger, because that shithead rhetoric positions us as bring some kind of enemy of the people, when in reality, we are the people and we want lives that are worth living to a higher standard of quality of life

but they don't give a shit and it's easier for these USA politicians to just call all the leftists Russians or Chinese agents rather than make even the smallest effort to realise the severity of the circumstances in which most Americans are living

it's easier to turn leftists into Enemy Number One by not even acknowledging us as citizens at all, we're demoted from Fellow Citizen to Foreign Agent as a uniquely ignorant and racist way of dehumanising leftist Americans in the eyes of the establishment, because they refuse to believe that such a thing as a leftist American can even exist, they fundamentally do not understand and do not care to.

these are all just some thoughts I've had in the past few hours, since the Politics Hag has once again barfed out this exact fucking line once again

and it's so telling that their number one way of being shitty to people begging for peace, for justice, for any improvement in quality of life on this planet at all

is to immediately go to the same old ignorant, racist shit.

"you want good things to happen for once?? you're a fucking communist!"

My grandmother was called a "Russian Red" for demanding better healthcare after the loss of her first child caused in large part by the failed American medical system.

My mother was called a "communist bitch" for mourning her husband who was killed in action in a war he never wanted to be forced to fight in.

I've been called a communist and a Russian spy, purely because I've witnessed incredible systemic injustices and suffered some myself, and I want to improve the future so that ideally nobody else would have to suffer in these various ways ever again.

But of course, we're all just Russian spies or Chinese agents, because all of these fucking old USA politician shitheads never got over the end of the Cold War and they all grew up inundated in the racist ignorant Lavender Scare Red Scare Everything Scare era and have not cared one bit about anything that has occurred ever since.

They do not care. They are happy to watch everyone around the world die forever, slowly, in entirely preventable ways, because they are still obsessed with fake bogeymen that only live in their own dilapidated heads and have no desire whatsoever to look around then and see anything resembling reality. These politicians cannot be decent, even if they could pretend really hard like they ever wanted to be.

So they spew the same ignorant, racist shit, generation after generation, all the whole refusing to address any of the concerns anyone is trying to scream in their faces, no matter how serious and important and legitimate those concerns are.

US politicians are ruling over a desperately divided nation, steeped in systemic injustices and a socio-political culture that leaves no room at all for even the most basic humanity.

So of course, their reaction to Americans trying to cry for action, for help, for peace, for healthcare, education, the environment-- We're all just dismissed as their Cold War era bogeymen.

The racism and ignorance is designed to paint us as outsiders, because they refuse to acknowledge that the citizens are, in fact, not okay and are not going to sit through this shit quietly.

Because speaking truth to power is not the "American Way", it's something those Other Countries With Bad Leaders do, and USA politicians do not have the awareness necessary to realise that America is in all seriousness a Country With Bad Leaders-- They themselves are the bad leaders, and perpetuate all of this misery causing all of this discontent, and they cannot tolerate that truth. They cannot see it, and when they briefly get a glimpse of it when looking upon crowds of millions of protesters, they shrivel up and instead of looking inward, they cast the protesters out and push it all away and dismiss it all over and over, always in the same ways.

It's so fucking predictable and depressing.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure actual Russian spies and Chinese foreign agents get paid better than I do, so I mean, shout-out to any actual spies for having one of the only well paid jobs in the fucking world at this point, lol. I assume they at least get decent healthcare, so they're doing better than 99% of everyone in the USA by default.

also I have a headache so this might not be too coherent, this is why I never check the news lmao

shout-out to my family for having 3 generations of us written off as beatnik communists, honestly if I could put that on my résumé I would

I'm gonna take a nap now, anyway the USA sucks and honestly the ideal future is where the East gets a global cultural victory after the West collapses under the weight of its own bullshit, which is looking more and more likely every single second

where are those really meticulous Alternate History writers when we need them

also I'm just realising that being called a Russian by most of my teachers throughout my formative schooling years for simply wanting healthcare may have influenced my actual appreciation of Slavic stuff in general, which is the last thing they wanted lmaoooo man fuck the USA it sucks so bad

on the other hand I always thought Slavic stuff was cool so to be honest as a little kid I mostly took it as a compliment, it took me a few years and some more brain development to realise that apparently being called a Russian was supposed to be a bad thing, then I just ignored all these fucking teachers and immediately started listening to bootleg CDs of various Viktor Tsoi songs by the time I was in middle school LOLLL

lmao at the idea of learning Russian so I can tell my old teachers to go fuck themselves properly, though (but also so I can talk to my Russian friends better and watch a bunch of really good Russian movies and enjoy the fuck out of some choice Russian literature and music, it's so fucking good holy shit I'm so mad the USA just entirely ignores that all of this even exists but that's a rant for another day)

anyway nap time, I have to fucking sleep now lol

I'm gonna sleep better knowing that the fact that I taught myself how to read Cyrillic would give all of these politicians a fucking aneurysm, like that alone would be enough for them

looking forward to the dream future where any American can turn on a TV and there's only one channel and it'll be a public access broadcast of someone's Russian grandma telling people about the objectively correct way to preserve fruits in those little glass jars and a bunch of other stuff, fuck yeah staraya baba channel let's goooooo, and then for the evening broadcasts it's the same concept and the same channel but it's a Chinese grandma teaching stuff, Eastern cultural victory please god I need the Grandma Knowledge Channel

can you tell I couldn't take my ADHD meds today

bedtime now (I've said it like three times but now I mean it)

closing statement: fuck xenophobia, fuck racism, fuck the USA, and we are right to strive for world peace and international harmony as human beings with compassion and open curiosity in our hearts and the desire for a good quality of life for everyone

fuck the oppressive system and all oppressive systems everywhere, I love my global comrades and none of these ignorant hateful old bastards can tell me that I'm wrong to indulge the very nature of the human spirit, which is to seek out and explore all that is different and beautiful and interesting about all peoples and to make friends and to care about those friends regardless of whatever else

In accordance with Vulcan philosophy: Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations 🖖

[v3ng34nc3-w4yn3]

"TEETH."

veena lambert (x mare torres at the very end)

once again, angst, mostly veena centered this time.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Her teeth, most importantly her fangs. Sharp and deadly with a bite force to kill a man.

She was just the same. Sharp, fierce, deadly.

At least that's how people saw her. A horrific beast who only lived to kill. A monster that could only rip and tear, never love.

The rumors wore her down, despite how she presented herself, the words they threw at her dug into her skin, her weakened heart breaking.

She didn't want to be like this, she hated it. The claw markings on her walk served as a reminder of what she was. The teeth marks on her arms once again, reminded her of what she was capable of.

She felt no power, only pain.

When she was a little girl, they told her she'd do great things. She had dreams, just like any other child. If only she hadn't taken the wrong path home. If only she had stuck to the trail.

To this day she remembered the pain that shot through her shoulder. The cold earth met her bare knees as she was held down, it was painful. It drank from her. Tearing into her skin and leaving her bloody. She woke up after a few hours. The hospital room was so bright. It burned in her memory.

She wanted to go home. She was scared.

Those next few days were the worst. Veena was bed bound, her mouth aching, she hadn't noticed that she could tear into her food much easier. How her bedsheets tore under the pressure of her nails,

The final nail in her coffin was when he own father walked in her bedroom, shrouded in darkness, only to find her hunched over in the corner, the family cat in her arms, at first he believed she was cuddling her cat, only to find a horrific bite wound in the feline and it's remains spewing out her lips. Fangs out on display.

He did the only thing he could. Dashing to the living room, retrieving a pair of pliers, Her own mother forcing her down onto her bed, holding her mouth open, She screamed, she begged.

"it wasn't my FAULT!"

"HE DID THIS TO ME!"

"I didn't mean too daddy!! please! I DIDN'T MEAN TOO!"

She tried to shut her mouth, She tried to pull the arms holding her down but it was no use. Her father grabbed her chin, his broken nails digging into her face as he took the pliers to his own daughters teeth.

pulling them out.

She spent hours on the floor, bleeding. Blood was the only thing she knew. Locked in her bedroom, her tongue dragging along the two dips in her gums.

A part of her was grateful when the man with the funny accent kicked down the front door, yelling about a large sum of money. She may have been locked up in her room, hungry and cold but she still listened through the cracks.

The gunshots made her jump. The silence made her head hurt.

She heard the footsteps, she only backed away from the door just a tiny bit. For the first time since months ago she saw the hallway again, her view blocked slightly by a large man in a suit.

She looked up at him, A tiny doll clutched in her hand. She was scared, not of him but of his mind.

would he take her teeth out too?

"piccola rosa..look at your face.."

He kneeled down, reaching out a hand. One that she hesitantly took.

Her mouth stained with her own blood, bite marks tracing up her arms. Bruised and swollen.

"petalo prezioso..you cannot stay here,,"

He was so soft spoken, His other hand reached to hold her face.

"let me take you away from here, you will be safe.."

Her mother always told her to never trust strangers, But veena had lived her life trusting someone who only wronged her. Once a mother, now a stranger.

That was the day she packed a bag and followed this man into his car, carefully sitting in the backseat with her doll, brushing its hair.

Her life improved from then. She had learned to cope with her instincts, figuring out who she was with her father, Her fangs growing back, Her father helping her deal with any stress, They weren't related by blood but he had saved her and after a few mountains of paperwork, She had a family again. One that loved her unconditionally.

Veena is older now, she had grown, sitting in her own home. Currently holding a photo album in her lap, the one thing her father had gifted her at her engagement party. She wiped her tears, closing the book.

"hey, sweetheart I made- oh my,, is everything alright?"

Mare, the man who loved her more than anything else, stood in the doorway, immediately rushing over to sit next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

"what's this? oh..old memories huh?"

She smiled a tiny bit, nodding her head.

She had met him in her third year of school, she was a troublemaker, snarky and cruel, he was a sweet kid, a goody two shoes in her eyes. He fell hard but she fell harder. A simple seat arrangement led to them kissing in the supply cupboard, soon those events led to a few dates, a few dates lead to a relationship, moving in..an engagement.

"oh..yeah sorry- I just, got a little emotional.."

His gaze softened, lifting his mask off to kiss her cheek, affectionately baa'ing when she kissed the hand that held her face.

"yeah? well, I made some tea..hopefully that'll make you feel better.."

She nodded, looking down at her hand. The prettiest ring latched onto her finger.

"still not over that?"

He lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, her giggles making him smile.

"you proposed to me!! we're getting married?? of course I'm not over it!!"

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, squeezing him affectionately.

"good!! I'm not over it either!!"

He chuckled, She leaned upwards for a quick kiss, he reciprocated.

She had the life she so desperately wanted. Despite all the things she had lost and had to live through,

She was finally happy, A family, A fiance, A life she could live freely.

And she was so grateful for it.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Veena's full lore, I'm so glad I actually managed to finish this 💔

♡︎｡⋆✮⋆｡♡︎

[cursivebloodlines]

things you said in the back seat of a cab - for lydia

Lydia couldn't recall the last time she felt this content. It felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was the perfect night she had, maybe it was the perfect company she found in Aaron, or maybe it was the fact that time had gotten away with them, a bit too much, and she found herself guzzling down a few too many cocktails. Maybe a combination of all three. Not one for drinking much, it had been a while and she couldn't remember what they tasted like. So, Lydia being Lydia, had to sample them all. Or as many as her body could tolerate without spewing over the floor; thankfully she wasn't enough of an idiot to get into such a state. But she wasn't drunk. Not in the slightest. Not that she was very convincing.

It had been another successful date, thus far. Aaron, with his charming smile, handsome looks, and ability to keep up with stimulating conversations, had managed to tear her away from work yet again without hesitation. She didn't even need much convincing which was progress for the workaholic. Or he simply mastered the powers of persuasion when it came to her, unlocking a part of her that she thought she lost long ago. A life outside of work? Who'd have thought that of her? Even she surprised herself. This was progress. The night was filled with laughter, much like other times before. Hours and hours of talking, about anything, about nothing, getting to know each other in more ways. Their conversation topics could deviate from each other, their days, and plans for the week, to people watching random people and making up theoretical conversations between strangers. It got creative; they decided that one man had came to nurse his losses after losing his money on the slot machines. A couple in the corner secretly hated each other and the woman was secretly screwing the postman. Another one looked like they got jilted at the altar or had attended their great aunt's cousin's husband's dog's sister's mom's funeral - the jury was out on that one. As time went on and more alcohol consumed, the stories got crazier which in turn had them erupting into fits of laughter. Everything was hilarious.

Now, she found herself in the backseat of a cab, sitting in comfortable silence next to him, the night drawing to a close much to her dismay. The smile still etched on her face though, an inebriated haze settling over her. They'd forgone road safety and not bothered with their seatbelts - she was too out of her mind to care too much about that anyway. Lydia found herself nestled beside him, though she couldn't recall when she scooted up to the middle seat. His arm wrapped comfortably around her and hopefully no intention of moving any time soon, and she snuggled up closer to him almost by instinct. Apparently, a non-sober Lydia was a more physically affectionate type of Lydia, too. but she wasn't drunk. She decided she liked this closeness, liked being close to him more specifically, which was new and relaxing and probably a bit worrying...she was trying so hard to be cautious, to protect her heart but he was ticking all the right boxes. Made it so easy for her to just...be.

Tilting her head slightly so she could peer up at Aaron, a lazy smile crossed her lips. Looking at him felt like discovering a new colour. His eyes were mesmerising, she could stare into them all day. And don't get her started when he called her 'boss.' Enough to make her weak at the knees, half worried it would potentially scare him off - though he proved time and again he wasn't going anywhere any time soon - or that he would stop.

"I think I quite like you, you know," she mumbled in her little daze, finally breaking the comfortable silence, humming happily as she smiled up at him. The close proximity made her realise, if she just leaned up a little more, they could be close enough to kiss. The thought became more tempting with each passing second between them, her eyes gravitating toward his lips as she wondered what it would feel like, what they would taste like against hers. Warm and inviting? She wondered. Would it feel like sparks flying? An enchanting dreamlike state? But then what happened to her trying to take things slow?

Fuck slow, a little voice in her head was telling her. The moment came and went though, as she started rambling once again. "Yes. I do...you're nice but not the kind of Boring Nice Guy vibes. Your parents must have wonderful genes because you are very attractive and I know looks aren't everything, but that's fine because your personality is just as much so..." Was she making sense? Her words probably slurred together, but once she started it was difficult to stop. "You refer to me as 'boss' a fair bit which further proves you've got your head screwed on which, in that case, is another tick of the boxes. Doing great so far in the class of Lydia..." A content sigh fell from her lips. Her nimble fingers absentmindedly tugged the zipper of his jacket, dragging it down, then up again for no reason other than she felt like it. "And dare I admit, you might be right after all. In an unexpected plot twist, it turns out that I may well have a heart after all. Apparently, your deep dive expedition is working. You've found the key and unlocked it, I fear." A faint hint of pink lightly coloured her cheeks. Was she blushing? No...Lydia did not blush. It was the alcohol buzzing through her system, and maybe the heat in the cab was turned up too much. Looking away from him then, she rested her back in its original position, letting her eyes flutter shut, albeit she was still awake. "Your ex-wife was such an idiot, leaving you..."

@overnightheartbeats | things you said prompts - accepting!

[witchywriterlythings]

Something This Way Comes

Chapter Two: Old Ladies Threaten My Life and My Best Friend Picks Out My Funeral Arrangements

When I stepped back outside, Nancy immediately named the new teacher the mist had come up with to replace Mrs. Dodds, giving me all I needed to pretend Mr. Brunner needn’t worry about me. It was a one off. I know nothing. 

Grover was quick to walk over to me, his crutches even catching one of Nancy’s friends in the leg when she tried to trip him. I had to cover a smile with my hand because I was sure he didn’t notice and would have felt bad if he realized. "Perrr-cy. Are you okay?" He seemed to be looking me over for injuries and his lack of subtly was refreshing after finding out that Mr. Brunner wasn’t what I thought he was. 

"Yeah, thanks man. Ms. Kerr—" I ignored his eyes widening"—just wanted me to buy her a new t-shirt in the gift shop, but she let me off when she realized I didn’t have any money on me." I let my shoulders shrug as Mr. Brunner rolled back into his spot by the stairs, with no one the wiser that he had ever left. 

Grover still didn't see me to believe me, but he let it go in favor of tossing me the last of the beef jerky for my lunch. "Never make me touch meat or plastic again dude, so gross." 

My brain connected some dots while we walked back towards the group and onto the bus and my mouth spewed it out before I could change my mind. "Do you hate meat because of capitalism or because you think it's gross?" 

"You know what capitalism is?" Grover teased, though he straightened in his seat and turned to look at me as best he could within the confines of the arm rests. "Sort of both, I guess. I could never eat meat cause I empathize with the animals, you know? But a major part of that is also how awful big meat industries are and the erasure of small farms. While I don't approve of them tearing down forests to make room for pastures and all the chemicals they use, not all of them are too bad." 

"You gotta admit though that the only thing going through chicken heads is TV static." They had always looked so stupid when one would appear on TV, though maybe they were like pigeons and held deeper depths. Pigeons could be evil. 

Grover laughed. "Nah, man, chickens are like…toddlers, for sure. I went to school in Vermont this one time and let me tell you, the farm animals there totally get into all kinds of weird stuff. I found one in my backpack once! And I lived in what counts as a city over there." 

I snorted at the image of poor Grover opening his backpack to find a chicken chirping at him, and even funnier if what I remembered about satytrs was true and he could understand the thing.  "You have been to so many weird places."

The rest of the bus ride was made up of joking back and forth, with me finally relaxing. With one problem out of the way in the form of Mrs. Dodds (was there a Mr. Dodds in the underworld somewhere waiting for her?) being turned to dust, I could handle Mr. Brunner not being who I thought he was. It was terrifying to think he had been hidden all of this time, not even his scent tipping me off, which must mean that he was covered by something powerful. But Grover didn’t protect me from him, so either Grover knew who he was and had decided he was safe, or even someone with as powerful a nose as he did couldn’t tell. It was a mystery, one I didn’t want. 

The weather steadily got worse and worse after Christmas, with pouring rain and hurricane winds. For some reason, my dad was pissed off and possibly, so was the king, which wasn’t that different to the norm if the bits of mythology I had been able to gather from my mom were anything to go by. She didn't like telling me too much because knowledge drew attention, but she also didn't want me going in blind to a world that wanted to kill me and my father being who he is would draw attention anyway. 

The worst part of it all was that I hate how easily my father's moods could affect mine, as if my emotions weren't my own and were as subject to his whims as the tides were to my half-brothers. I already had an authority problem, at least according to my permanent record, and being surrounded by people who didn't believe the letters danced around the page or that sitting still for so long literally hurt sometimes, as if my muscles had to hold me back and were as exhausted as if I had run a hundred miles. They just called me lazy and sent me out of class and I wanted to scream at them and rip something apart and I hated how angry I was because being angry meant losing control and that always scared people and I didn't….

Grover was probably the only reason I didn't lose it completely. The first time I growled at him, he flinched back but then just hugged me and asked if I needed help studying. I desperately wanted him to be my friend, a real friend, and not just someone sent to retrieve me for camp. Even if he was, I knew I would protect him with my life no matter how much it hurt to know. 

It got to the point where I started calling the teachers on their shit, using words I had seen in the library or on one of the school computers when I was allowed to use them. Old sot was still my favorite because Grover told me it meant drunk after looking it up in the dictionary and we both knew it was true. This far into the school year? Even the new teachers gave up the pretense that they liked us. 

Except Mr. Brunner, but that is most likely a "he isn't human thing" than anything else. And maybe it was also his fault that despite the fact that I was expelled from Yancy after a particularly spectacular incident, I was allowed to finish the school year. Or maybe someone else was looking out for me, as that was always the way things had been. One incident too many, but don’t worry! You can finish the grade. Don’t come back though. 

It was this meddling that really caught my attention when Grover hadn’t returned to the dorms half an hour to curfew. While other might try to cut it close, Grover had too much anxiety not to be in the dorm at least an hour before curfew unless he was with me. And seeing as how I was glaring down at my Latin text book, he very clearly was not. 

If someone has hurt him, I growled to myself, refusing to finish the threat even in my own mind. I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone caught him in the halls and decided to lock him in a closet of some kind because they thought it would be funny. So I left the dorm and tried to follow his scent, though it was muddled for some reason. By the time I made it to the hall with the teacher’s offices, I knew where he was. I almost didn’t want to know what he was doing there. 

But what else could I do?

"—rried about Percy, sir. There was a Kindly One in the school and you still haven’t told me how  it is she was killed, and Percy is clearly affected by the mist more than we thought because he doesn’t even remember Mrs. Dodds." So Grover was working with Mr. Brunner after all. I couldn’t breathe. 

Mr. Brunner sighed like an old man. "Grover, as I told you before, I’m not sure where she went. I arrived to assist Mr. Jackson and she was simply gone. Whatever occurred, he is now safe and none the wiser while she is in the Underworld where she belongs." There was the sound of shuffling on the carpet, before he continued. "We must keep him safe, the summer solstice deadline is rapidly approaching. This will resolve itself without him."

"Will it? Please, sir, I can’t fail again and I won’t lose him."  

I stuttered through a break and took a step back to leave, only to catch my heel on one of the doorstops which caused a boinging noise to ringout through the hall. I immediately took off at a sprint, rounding the corner just as the door opened. Mr. Brunner’s shadow was far larger than I expected, and was that a bow? I tensed even as he paused.

"I could have sworn…perhaps I just haven’t been the same since the winter solstice." 

 "None of us have."

I stayed where I was until sure they had walked away, making my way back to the dorms. I paused in the doorway when I saw how Grover was situated on his bed with his books out as if he hadn’t left. I pushed past it though and started to get ready for bed, something heavy in my chest as I breathed through the emotions I could feel welling up. If Grover could read my expression, he’d know I had heard something or at the very least that I was upset. 

"You get any studying done while you were gone?"  Grover was trying to be nonchalant but it was clear he was poking a bit. 

"Latin." 

The rest of finals passed by in a blur of words I couldn’t read and numbers I didn’t understand. The only exam I figured I hadn’t failed was Mr. Brunners, but that might be a bit of my heritage slipping through. Latin didn’t get as mixed up as english did, though I couldn’t understand it as instinctively as the greek my mother sometimes sung in. A lullaby she had learned before I was born. She never told me where she got it from and I never dared to ask. 

I wasn’t surprised when Grover packed up his things by himself, no one had dropped him off either, but I was a bit startled when he said he was taking the greyhound with me. I was sure  that if he worked for camp, they’d want me to leave right away. Maybe they wanted to talk to my mom first? At the very least it gave me the chance to finally confront Grover about what happened two weeks ago with Mr. Brunner. 

"Looking for Kindly Ones?" I asked, flinching when he startled so badly and his scent turned sour with fear. "Sorry, man, but you really shouldn’t talk about people behind their backs. Especially your supposed friends." 

"I am your friend," Grover defended himself and honestly looked a little insulted I would say otherwise. "Which is why I went to Mr. Brunner, to try and…" he paused as I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to use my best Sally Jackson ‘don’t you lie to me’ face. "How much do you know?" 

I leaned backwards and started fiddling with the cuffs of my sweatshirt. "You don’t know what happened to Mrs. Dodds, there is some sort of deadline and you want me to be safe. Does that sum it up?" I grinned cheekily at his dumbfounded expression, nudging his leg with my foot. "I can tell you what I did if you really want to know, but she ended up as dust all the same." 

Grover narrowed his eyes at me. "You’re really calm about all of this. And if you know what happened to Mrs. Dodds, why did you lie to me? You say friends don’t talk to each other behind their backs, but friends don’t lie to each other either." 

"I’m sorry, you’re right. I lied because I figured no one would believe me and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but since you clearly know something…" I shrugged as I hoped he would be able to forgive me for half truths over full lies. "What’s the deadline Mr. Brunner mentioned? Who even is he?" 

"I was sent to protect you, Percy, from monsters like Mrs. Dodds. I was supposed to keep my distance, but you are really hard not to be friends with when you decide you want to hang out with someone." Grover rolled his eyes but grinned at me and I knew we would be okay. "Mr. Brunner was…my backup, I guess. To make sure I didn’t mess up." 

I frowned as a memory of Grover pleading, "please sir, I can’t fail again. I can’t lose him" came back up.  "How…?" I was cut off by the engine of the bus letting off a mighty choking noise and what sounded like pop-rocks in a metal tube while the driver tried to pull us over. The smell wafting into the bus as it steadily grew hotter honestly reminded me of Gabe. As if I was locked in my room without air conditioning, I would feel right at home. 

We choked and gagged our way off the bus until we were situated with the other tourists on the opposite side of the highway from one of those popup stands. Despite the sweltering heat from the pavement, no one seemed to even glance at the icey lemonade and cider they were selling, nor the shade their tent  provided. Inside the tent were three old ladies helping each other knit, but I wasn’t fooled by their outward appearances. 

Grover yelped as I shoved him behind me and started growling, but his hands soon found my wrists and started to pull me backwards. "I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but we have to get back on the bus, okay? Perce, just get back on the bus with me." 

I didn’t move. Not when one of them pulled out bronze scissors, not when they snipped the string. I waited until they were gone to turn back to a shaking Grover who had his eyes covered, helping him back onto the suddenly okay bus. "Grover, what were they?"

 "Never make it past sixth grade, never make it past sixth grade. I can’t do this again." He was shaking like a leaf, so despite how warm and nauseous I was, I reached over and hugged him. "You aren’t allowed to die on me." 

Whatever they were, they had scared my best friend and potentially threatened me. I watched my reflection in the window as my teeth grew longer and my eyes turned black. "I won’t."

<Prev Master Post Next>

[gin-draws]

Hey! Sorry I didn't see these forever, but it's totally something I've been meaning to address and I just haven't had words for a while.

Firstly: fuck terfs.

The rest is long so it’s under the cut:

Having JKR alive and running around spewing hate has definitely not helped my love for the series. She uses money that we gave her to fuel her hateful bullshit, and to actively attack not just the trans community, but whatever issue she disagrees with in the UK. It hurts as someone that grew up putting myself into this world to have the creator openly using her power and influence to go after other marginalized people.

Even before JKR started openly being horrible I had worked hard to overlook my discomfort with stuff in the series (there's a lot of problematic stuff that 10 year old me could overlook but 32 year old me can't lol). A big part of me getting past that was just making her world my own through my art. I loved the community I found in the fandom on tumblr. I loved the people I could interact with over a shared interest and something that brought us all joy. Especially other creators that made the world their own.

Over time though, engagement kind of fell off on tumblr. (Where the reblogs at.. am I right?) And slowly I went from being able to ignore negative comments here and there because of the good interactions, to being worn out by the growing overwhelming negativity. People act like they can just demand things from creators and we somehow owe it to fandom to do what they specifically want.

Want that character to be white? Draw them yourself.

(Making characters bipoc brings out a shocking amount of anger from people for no reason but racism...)

I had tried to make the story I'd grown up loving into something that made me happy. I made the cast diverse because I grew up surrounded by all sorts of cultures and religions and it made my world a lot bigger. I sometimes played around with my own gender identity through my art, and it brought me a lot of joy. (Sirius was a fun playground for getting through a LOT of my own shit). But it brought out a lot of vitriol, and over time I just got tired of it.

I mostly stopped posting art because now it's something I do for me. My own characters and stories where nobody could send anon messages telling me "x should actually be white because---" I put a lot of time and love into my work and if it doesn't make me happy, I lose interest. Doesn’t mean I stopped drawing, it’s just not fanart as much anymore.

(I draw a LOT lol)

I miss the story I grew up loving a lot. But I can't actively put money in JKR's pockets, which distanced me from the series. A lot of my interaction with the community became a little too negative to deal with. And so over time I drifted away. It makes me sad to have strayed from that world, but it just became a little too toxic for me.

It still brings me a lot of joy seeing the positive comments, and people appreciating my old art means a lot. But I kind of moved on for myself, and now I don't have to worry about hateful comments about canon and race when I post my dnd characters lol.

I’ll probably be moving hp art I’m not happy with anymore over to my old hp side blog instead of deleting it, but as an artist and creative I’ve moved on to my own characters and stories. (If I open up commissions and people liked my interpretations of the characters, I would love nothing more than to draw desi Harry, or black Hermione, or Sirius not giving a fuck about gender. Lmao)

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

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A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​ 

[thegreatimpersonator]

So are you saying her being kinda racist and really misogynistic is not enough for you to stop liking her? Idk what you consider as a racist but promoting and giving platform to racists is considered as racist by most people. So if you keep supporting her aren't you enabling her and helping her grow.

I do understand holding her accountable and enjoying art is two different things but is it when it gives out the message that you would still like her if she did even worse things? She doesn't behave like her fans opinions doesn't really affect her and her actions do suggest that she considers herself to be so powerful she's above all these discourses. Her own fans seem to think that she only cares about charts and money and if it's true aren't you just going against what you're saying?

Also the black and white area doesn't really apply for her. It did when all she did was do petty things and be jealous and played victim. But I think the recent events have proved she's not quite in the grey area. Loads of swifties has been blatantly racist towards me and I do think what ts did make them feel unafraid of people accusing of racism. I even saw one person saying she must be at the level of fame ts is at because she was being called a racist.

Idk doesn't really sound that grey to me.

Have you not been here the past couple of months? I’ve literally been constantly calling her out as well as her fan base for enabling racist behavior and constantly ignoring it like it’s not a huge issue that represents a larger problem. I stepped away from her for a while and simply missed reblogging edits and gifs so once it all died down I started doing it again, as well as continuing to call her out regularly. I’ve literally never stopped. The irony of me getting this message about how I’m not criticizing her enough and basically calling me a hypocrite when yesterday I got messages saying I’m not a real fan if I criticize her this much is hilarious.

I stopped liking her and in no way like or support her the same as I once did before all of this mess. I’ve called out people who think it’s fine to ignore the fact she is fine with dating someone who promotes hate speech and spews hateful rhetoric. I do not think she’s as good of a person as a lot of her fans think she is and have always stood by that.

Reblogging a few gifsets and listening to songs doesn’t ‘give out the message that I would like her even if she did worse things’? It’s not enabling her and stopping her from growing when im constantly calling her out on things.

[yslkook]

WRONG (3)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: you find yourself at the tattoo parlor more often as of late. also, jungkook hates lemon jelly filled donuts and is easily bribed by mint chocolate and macarons. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, excessive use of pet names, kinda toxic friendship

Sora’s unbridled passion for why she believes Jungkook is wrong for you has never irritated you as much as it does in this moment. You’ll never understand why she’s so adamant about the topic, when it’s not her decision. When she knows that you’ve been harboring a small crush on the man for years now, and you’re fairly certain he returns your affections.

When the man told you that he had put an orange heart next to your name, you knew it was real.

You don’t understand why Sora is determined to make things so complicated, when they don’t have to be. You don’t believe her claims that he’s a fuckboy, that he treats people like trash. He’s shown you the opposite. He’s so gentle with everyone, not just you. He’s blunt but he has a big heart under all of the leather and layers of black.

If there’s a word to describe him, it’s dreamy.

Which is why you’re so hurt that Sora refuses to give him a chance. After all, if she was your best friend, shouldn’t she offer him a chance for your sake?

It confuses you.

“I’ve heard so many bad things about him,” Sora says knowingly, swirling her glass of wine in her hands. You don’t feel very much like drinking, not when your stomach swirls in unease. Being in her apartment is nothing new, but right now, you’d rather be anywhere else.

“But what things? And from who? Jungkook is such a genuine guy and he hasn’t done anything for people to start rumors about him,” You protest, but your words fall on deaf ears, “And I like him-”

“I mean come on, have you seen him? The man radiates bad vibes. My friends have all said-”

“Bad vibes? You’re dismissing him because of bad vibes when I’m telling you that-”

“I’m your best friend, don’t you think I know these things?” Sora says, heat and arrogance in her voice, “I’m only looking out for you. It’s shitty that you’re dismissing me for a guy-”

“I’m not dismissing you-” But your voice grows smaller and smaller, something that you think Jungkook might be disappointed in you for.

“It sure as hell sounds like you are,” Sora sneers with a cold sort of tilt to her lips, “Listen. I’m just looking out for you, even if you don’t seem to appreciate it. I thought we were best friends. Friends look out for each other, but if you don’t want to listen to me, that’s on you.”

Something dry settles in your throat and something heavy settles in your chest.

“He’s not good news,” Sora continues, as if she can’t see your heart beginning to ache, “I’ll find someone who will treat you much better, don’t worry.” She pats your knee in a way that is supposed to be reassuring but you wince.

You don’t want her favors, but it’s too late for you to protest. Besides if you did, she’d feel awful and you never want to be the cause of her being upset. She’s your best friend after all. And what kind of friend would you be, if you upset her to that degree?

But still... you don’t want anyone else. You want the sensitive man who gets misty-eyed by powerful renditions of Beyonce songs, the man who texts you until you fall asleep, the man who asks you what color to paint his nails when he feels like it.

You kind of want the sensitive man dressed in layers of black.

You let Sora talk your ear off about all of the guys she has in mind for you, but you stop listening. You don’t understand this vendetta she has against Jungkook, the vendetta that she’s always had. But she is correct about one thing- she is your best friend and has your best interests at heart...right?

The four walls of the tattoo parlor that you’ve begun frequenting more and more often begins to feel more and more like a welcome place in recent days. You’ve always been friendly with the guys, especially Yoongi and Hoseok.

Even if Yoongi doesn’t work at the parlor, he’s here frequently enough.

Though Yoongi and Hoseok are some of your oldest friends, you’ve only come to the parlor a handful of times in the past. Once that realization hit you, you’d made it a point to stop by more often.

Why hadn’t you before?

They’re your oldest friends, but these days, you feel closer to Mina and Mei as well. While you do have other girlfriends who you see as often as your collective schedules align, it’s still different.

But still. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly belonged with anyone. You feel as if you’ve been floating through life, with Sora by your side (at least half the time, when she’s not spewing criticism over the man you have feelings for).

Thinking about it gives you a headache and makes you feel nostalgic for something that you never had. But maybe it’s something you can have.

“Hey, you,” Mei calls from reception, where she’s sitting next to Hobi who waves at you, “What brings you here? Finally gonna let me pierce you?”

“I brought donuts,” You shrug, “And I’m not ready for that surgical instrument to touch me, thanks very much.”

“You can stop by without the pretense of bringing sweet treats over,” Hobi says knowingly, “I mean none of us will complain about donuts, but you know that right? You can come by anytime you want.”

“O-okay,” You nod, your throat feeling a little dry.

“Now, come here and let me see what you got. If there’s a lemon jelly filled donut, save that for Jungkook. He hates them.”

“You got plans this evening?” Mei asks, grabbing her bright red purse that’s nearly the size of your head. Her purse matches her bright red nails and for half a second, you’re mesmerized by the glossiness of her nails.

“No, other than getting ready for tomorrow’s day of work-”

“Great! Wanna come with me to the tattoo supply store? I have to pick up more needles, grips and gloves.”

“Sure,” You shrug, a little excited at the prospect of a quick adventure for Mei, “I’ll just say bye to Hobi.”

He’s already watching you with mirth in his eyes, as if he knows what you’re about to say. “Hey, will you tell Jungkook I said hi?” You murmur, feeling your ears burning at his smug grin.

“Sure, I will,” Hobi grins, “I’m sure he feels bad about not being able to say hi to you himself. He’s had a busy day.”

“Understandable,” You nod, “I mean, you guys say he’s the best in the city, right? I’m sure he’s got a waitlist of people who want to be tatted by him.”

“Maybe someday he’ll tattoo you, huh?” He says mischievously to which you roll your eyes and feel your face heat up.

“He would be so lucky,” You scoff, as if the notion of Jungkook tattooing your body doesn’t make something flutter in your belly.

“We have this competition at the parlor where the person who makes the most tips has to buy the supplies on a monthly basis,” Mei says smugly, “Usually, it’s Kook but for the last few months it’s been me.”

That doesn’t surprise you in the least- Hobi has told you that Mei and Mina are both skilled in realistic and watercolor tattoos, as well as piercings. You think if you were ever to receive a tattoo from either Mei or Mina, you would tip them for the mere fact of them being so close in your presence for so long.

They used to intimidate you, when Hobi had first introduced you to them. Mina with her sleek bob haircut, and Mei with her long, glossy waves. Both of them had nose piercings and their ears were dotted in different hoops and rods. You’d only caught a glimpse of their tattoos a handful of times- Mei has a full sleeve on her right arm where Mina’s tattoos seem to be more hidden.

They’re just so cool and funny and smart.

“How did you all get the idea for the tattoo parlor? Like, was it a business decision or were you all friends before?” You ask curiously.

“Well… Jin, Mina and I have been friends since we were kids, our parents are really close. Jin had this dream of opening his own tattoo and piercing parlor for the longest time. Jungkook and Hobi joined a few months after we officially opened. It took a while, but we’re where we are now,” Mei says fondly.

“That’s incredible! You guys started from the ground up,” You say, in awe, “That parlor is your baby.”

“Fuck, yeah it is,” Mei grins, “What about you? What cool tech stuff is going on in that pretty brain of yours?”

“Um…” Your face heats up at the compliment, “I’m currently helping in developing this app for one of our clients, it’s specific for tracking and trending information related to chronic health conditions. It’s still in its infancy, but it’s been fun! And it’s job security, I guess.”

Mei lets out a low whistle, “Wow, you’re doing something like that by yourself?”

“No, I have a pretty great team,” You shrug, “Something like that definitely can’t be done alone.”

Mei hums, “You’re gonna be great, Ms. CEO.”

“Yeah right, I’d never want that burden,” You scoff, “I’m good right where I am.”

With both of your arms full of bags of supplies for the tattoo parlor (and some extras), you both walk out of the shop and towards Mei’s sleek, black car. It’s late, and you don’t really feel much like taking public transportation. But you’re nervous to ask Mei for a ride home for some reason.

“Hey, did you drive to the parlor?” Mei asks.

“N-no, I don’t have a car yet,” You reply, “I only just bought my condo and didn’t want to make another big purchase just yet. I want to start looking though…”

“Oh! I’ll drive you home then,” Mei offers once she starts the engine.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of out of the way from here,” You reply, folding in on yourself a little in the passenger seat.

Mei only waves you off. “Oh, please. What kind of friend would I be if I just left you to get home alone?”

You bite your tongue, as vivid memories of Sora claiming that she didn’t have enough gas in the tank or her asking for gas money for the ten minute drive from her apartment building to your condo flash in your mind.

“Thank you, Mei,” You say gratefully, “Let me know how much to Venmo you, for gas money-”

“Gas money? For a seven minute drive? Is that a joke,” Mei gasps, “What do you take me for?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I asked!”

“Asking me for gas money,” Mei mutters, “You said you want to start looking for a car?”

Her smile twists into something mischievous.

“Yeah, I have no idea where to start though…”

“Ask your boy, Jungkook. Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin work at a car dealership and they’re his roommates, I’m sure he’d be eager to help you.” Something in her voice is coy but you maintain a neutral face.

“Yeah… maybe I will,” You say thoughtfully, “Hey! He’s not my boy-”

“Alright, alright,” Mei relents gently, “But really, reach out to him. He’ll help you. So that those boys don’t scam you like the sleazy car salesmen that they are.”

When you see Jungkook next at the tattoo parlor which is conveniently on your way home from work (again with a box of pastries), you muster the courage to step into his office to ask him for help.

“Hi,” You say weakly, “Umm… I come bearing gifts. Got some of those mint chocolate brownie bars that you like, and those macarons-”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to bribe me, baby,” Jungkook says, smirking widely when your lips part in protest.

“If I was trying to bribe you, it wouldn’t be with mint chocolate. Disgusting,” You roll your eyes and squeal out loud when he lunges for you, giving you a teasing but tight back hug.

“Take it back,” Jungkook murmurs lowly in your ear. You hardly hear him, too wrapped up in the warmth of the big black hoodie he’s wearing. The soft, gentle scent of laundry and vanilla floats into your nose when you turn your head to press your cheek against his chest.

His heartbeat is faint against your ear. You wonder if he can hear yours speeding up.

“Mint chocolate sucks. It’s a fact,” You mumble.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” His voice comes as a low grumble from his chest and you swallow nervously. Before your nerves can get the best of you, he changes the topic. “Mei told me you’re in the market for a new car?”

“I don’t really know where to start, but I’ve already started doing some research,” You reply, pointing to your small backpack. You pull out a binder with meticulously colored tabs labeled in neat print that Jungkook raises an eyebrow at.

“What?”

“You just carry around a binder with your research on car purchases at all times? Is that what you do?”

“I have to be prepared!”

“Sometimes you just need a vibe check-”

“You want me to purchase an entire vehicle worth about a million and one paychecks based on just a vibe check? Is that what you did with your motorcycle?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook gives you a crooked smile, “And a little research. I guess.”

“You guess,” You mutter under your breath.

Jungkook has been more touchy with you once you had given him the go ahead all those weeks ago. He doesn’t show his affections with you unless you’re both alone, and it’s never anything more than hugs and the occasional brush of hands.

He’s melting you from the outside in, and you bask in his radiant heat. The thought of Sora’s approval doesn’t bother you, not when he hugs you like this.

But as always. Her disapproving voice worms its way into your head and you reluctantly peel away from him to sit on the faded burgundy couch with the box of macarons on your lap.

“So,” Jungkook says, immediately feeling the loss of your warmth in his limbs, “How can I help?”

tags: @kookdbean

MoM tags: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥You Are Human, And Damn It, You Are An Important One!🔥

A/N: Hey everyone! I’m back! It looks like my tags finally decided to sort themselves out so I wanted to (finally) post a new story! I’m still working on requests though, so don’t worry, those are coming soon! I just wanted to post this in the mean time while I edit those and test if my tags are really fixed on one of my originals so that any requested fics will actually be seen later should an error occur. Thank you so much for your continued support and patience, you guys are so amazing! I hope this makes up for my temporary hiatus! This one actually has a bit of a heavier tone to it but I think I’m finally happy with it! Thanks again for the support, and don’t be afraid to talk to me! Shoot me a message or just spew random bullshit and I’ll still respond 😂. Enjoy!

(Warning: themes of non-con & abuse. This is set in a brothel, but there’s nothing explicit, it’s just mentioned or implied. Just wanted to put it out there! Viewer discretion advised!)

🐉Song Recommendation: “The Gardener” By: Sarah Sparks 🐉

Word Count: ~7k

~~~

It was that time of year. The time of year that Levi hated the most. The Underground Market Festival. It was the time of year in which merchants from all around would come down to the Underground City, away from the prying eyes of the Military Police, and sell anything and everything to the nobles who weren’t exactly looking for orthodox materials. The normally filthy, mostly empty streets would be filled with members of the wealthy, dripping in jewelry, cash, and lavish clothing as they paraded around the sorry excuse for a city, boasting of their wealth and privilege as they bought enough food and luxurious goods to feed three times the number of people in the Underground while sharing none of it.

The days were starting to blur together. Levi honestly couldn’t tell if it had been a day, a week, or a month as the drugs in his system continued to work just like the brothel owners wanted them to, rendering him practically inoperative and perfect for use. His head pounded, swimming with confused thoughts. His gaze was unfocused, warped, and his whole body felt suffocatingly hot despite his lack of cover, his legs shifting as his body instinctively searched for a relief he didn’t even want. But that was exactly how they wanted him.

The sound of his door being unlocked made him look up slowly, his eyes taking a few seconds to fully focus on the man standing in the entrance of his room, a wide, malicious grin on his face. Levi couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. The man smelled of sweat and stale alcohol, and his unkempt appearance made Levi itch, even when drugged out of his mind.

“Oh, Levi…” the man cooed, making Levi shudder. “I have another customer for you.”

Even though Levi had been through this time and time again, even though he had been trapped in his filthy room since he was caught stealing from a merchant friend of the brothel owner at age twenty, even though the drugs in his system were making his body scream for what this new customer could give him, he still couldn’t help the wave of dread that washed through him, the fear. Levi didn’t fear much, having grown up on the streets of the Underground alone since he was abandoned by Kenny at the age of ten, but this? This he was scared of.

He thought back to the wretched old man that had abandoned him as a small child and wondered what he would think of him now. Would he be disgusted? Unsurprised? Angry? Not that it mattered. Levi knew he would never see him again. But even so, his brain couldn’t help itself from going down those roads, asking questions of “what if?” no matter how many times he reminded himself that it didn’t matter. He was just some bastard thug turned whore in the Underground. Nobody was going to even remember him, let alone care about who he was or who he may be in the future.

Levi was once again brought out of his daze when the pig in the doorway moved to the side, letting a noble woman saunter into the room. She had a wicked grin on her face as she approached him, ignoring the brothel owner as he slammed the door shut behind her, giving them some privacy. She was covered in glittering jewelry, and although the dress she wore was extravagant, it was very tight fitting and low cut, barely considered decent, her large breasts one breath away from spilling out over the top. Her hair was pinned up in a lavish braided style, twisting and coiling tightly, and held together with real gold pins that Levi knew must’ve cost a fortune.

“~Well, hello sexy,” the woman purred as she approached the raven-haired man.

Levi had to force himself not to grimace, even with the effect of the drugs, when she slithered her way over his thighs, her hands reaching up to cup his face. The smell of whatever custard perfume she had on was overwhelming, making his eyes water and his throat close up. Her hands felt clammy from all of the lotions and creams she had slathered over her skin to make it look shinier, making them feel like dead fish rubbing against his cheeks.

“Well? Aren’t you going to ask my name?” The woman demanded in a sickly sweet voice, making Levi close his eyes in barely suppressed agony.

“What is your name?” Levi asked in a low voice. He felt the woman preen above him at the sound of his voice, knowing she thought his deep tone was for setting the mood rather than the effect of his despair.

“My name is Lady Clarissa! What’s your name, hmmm?”

“Levi,” He said quietly.

“Oooh, Leevviiii, I like that,” Lady Clarissa practically moaned. “Say, Levi, you were quite expensive. That must mean you're really good at what you do. I can already tell that you fulfill my personal tastes in terms of appearance, so why don’t you convince me of the rest and give me a good time. Don’t make me regret spending my good money on you. Don’t make me punish you.”

Levi gritted his teeth when she ground her hips into him, trying his hardest not to fight back. He knew it would be difficult, the drugs making his movements and mental processes much slower, but at that moment, all he wanted to do was shove her off of him. Swallowing the bile in his throat, Levi reached for her as she leaned down to force her tongue into his mouth.

It was that time of year. The time of year that (Y/N) hated the most. The Underground Market Festival. It took everything in her to avoid groaning in annoyance as the people she was expected to call her friends dragged her down into the filthy Underground City for a day of “fun”. (Y/N) would much rather be back at home, reading a book in the library, or relaxing with the horses in the barn, or secretly practicing her sword fighting skills with the guards of their estate. But her father had forced her to go when her friends had shown up at the house, begging for her to come with them. He claimed she needed to get her priorities straight and actually present herself, show the honor and pride that came with being part of the (L/N) family. (Y/N) thought there was very little honor and pride in parading their wealth around like they owned the world, especially in front of people who constantly struggled to survive on a daily basis.

(Y/N) walked slowly down the worn cobblestone streets, suppressing the urge to gag at the sight of other nobles walking around, looking and acting as if they were rulers of the walls. She barely looked at anything, only stopping to occasionally buy food when she noticed the hungry children hanging around, looking for a scrap to steal. She could tell they were wary of her, but she never stopped trying, always offering them the food in some way, even if it meant leaving it in a secluded space for them to find later.

Her friends constantly tried to get her to engage, running up to her with crystal jewelry, silk clothing, and delectable foods, attempting to entice her, only to get pushed away. (Y/N) wanted no part in any of it. Even her attire spoke volumes about how little she wanted to be there. She knew that to the people of the Underground, the dress she wore would be considered something of utmost value, but when compared to the nobles around her, she looked underdressed and plain. She wore nothing more than a subtle red dress covered with a black leather jacket, paired with black combat boots and matching gloves, no jewelry to be found except for the simple white earrings she wore in her lobes.

Her father had been less than pleased with her appearance, but stopped arguing when she announced she was leaving, the lord just happy she had at least agreed to go to the festival. She knew he was disappointed in her, annoyed that she wasn’t like the other noble ladies who loved to flaunt their luxurious lifestyles and bend to the every whim of the lords around them, looking to marry early for money and power. (Y/N) wouldn’t be surprised if the entire reason her father wanted her here was so she could possibly win over the affections of a single lord milling about, one that was rich and influential. It was for that possibility alone that (Y/N) had originally thought to wear something that made her look underdressed, having to swallow the bile that rose in her throat at the prospect of catching some snobby noble’s attention.

“Yeah, her name is (Y/N)! She’s the one right over there, I think she could use a good time.”

(Y/N)’s head snapped up when she heard her name, her eyes shooting over to where her friends were standing in a group in front of a large building. All of them were looking at her, covering their faces with their hands to hide their giggles. Dread filled her to the brim when she saw the sign in front of the building, her face paling in horror.

“That one, eh? I think we can arrange something like that,” the brothel owner said, a smug smile on his lips as he stared at her, his grin only widening as her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. “Don’t worry, I’ve got one in particular that could give you a good ride. He’s expensive since he’s my most popular, but he’s worth it.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to argue, her cheeks on fire as her brain fought to think of something, anything to get her out of this situation. She didn’t want to fuck some random stranger for no reason, but she especially didn’t want to have sex in a brothel. She found them vulgar, repulsive, and horrible. The way they treated their “workers” was appalling. Just as the words finally reached the tip of her tongue, one of the girls she had come to the festival with cut off her impending argument.

“Damn, I’m jealous! If he’s that good I’m almost tempted to take him myself. But she needs this. She hasn’t loosened up the entire time we’ve been here and I think this might help. She’ll take him.”

The greasy man smiled and wrote her name down, happily accepting the roll of cash her friend handed him before getting up, supposedly to let the man know that he had another customer on the way. (Y/N) tried to escape when she could, but her friends rushed up and caught her before she could slip into the shadows, dragging her over to the brothel and shoving her towards an open door where the brothel owner stood, a creepy smile still plastered on his face.

“Guys! I don’t want this!” (Y/N) whispered frantically as she was dragged towards her doom.

“It doesn’t matter if you want it or not, you need it!” One of her friends said with a laugh. “Besides, you’re going to have a fun time. Don’t make us regret spending that money for you!”

(Y/N) was practically thrown into the room, stumbling as she fought to catch her balance, before the door was slammed shut behind her, the loud sound of the lock being latched reverberating around the room with the finality of a death toll. Huffing in anger, (Y/N) stood and brushed herself off, smoothing out her dress and straightening back up to her full height, fighting off the panic slithering up her spine.

A low groan of pain coming from behind her made her whirl around in surprise, her eyes landing on a shorter, pale skinned man with stunning silver eyes and raven black hair. Gods he looked pathetic. She could definitely tell he was attractive, it made sense now as to why he was a popular choice, but he looked sickly, his cheeks hollowed out, dark circles under his eyes, and a muscled yet neglected body starting to wear thin from years of hunger and constant overuse. The sight made her want to be sick. How could anybody be cruel enough to force themselves onto this obviously abused man? How could anyone willingly pay money to fuck him rather than help him?

“Um, hello,” (Y/N) said quietly. “W-What’s your name?”

The man raised an eyebrow, not used to the soft, kind, almost shy way she asked for his name. The women and occasional men he dealt with most of the time were demanding, controlling, and sadistic, knowing they paid for a man they could use, and their voices usually projected that. Yet, this woman looked as if she had been forced to do this, further supported by the way she had been nearly thrown into the room by whom he assumed was her friends.

“Levi,” he said quietly, waiting for the usual routine to start, no matter how much his gut twisted in disgust at the thought.

“Hi, Levi, I’m (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)...” Levi murmured softly, training himself to memorize it despite his swimming brain, knowing she would want him to scream it out later. Whether in pain or in pleasure, he wasn’t sure yet.

“Um…” (Y/N) was about to speak, her mind scrambling for something to say when her eye caught sight of a large bruise on his neck. Her eyes widened and suddenly started scanning his entire body, her stomach roiling more and more the longer she stared. Now that she was really paying attention, (Y/N) could see painful bites, hickeys, and splotchy bruises littering his neck, jaw, chest, and thighs. Her eyes narrowed on the long, bloody scratches running down the length of his chest and back, and she noticed blooming red patches of skin all over him that were raw and aching from being slapped hard and rough over and over again. 

He was wearing a loose pair of worn boxers as his only cover, and (Y/N) could only imagine what other horrors the thin cloth was hiding. Glancing down, she saw him shift uncomfortably, his boxers tented by his arousal. The sight made her growl in anger, knowing that to keep him going after he had already had so many customers for the day, a drug was being used to make him insatiable, forcing him past the point of pain and probably clouding his judgement and mental process as well. It made her want to go cut up the brothel owner and serve him to a pig.

Without thinking, (Y/N) rushed to him, reaching out to him, only to freeze when he flinched. She heard him curse at the involuntary movement, knowing it was his job to appear as unaffected and sexually appealing as possible, and it made her heart clench even harder, her hatred for this place and the people who ran it increasing tenfold.

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) immediately slowed her movements, trying to appear as calm and unhurried as possible. Her gaze softened and glazed with unshed tears when he closed his eyes, his arms reaching out as he prepared for her to sit on his lap and have her way with him like she knew every other man and woman who used him did. Gritting her teeth against the fury she felt, she carefully slid her way across his thighs. She felt him force himself to relax under her as he leaned forward to let her kiss him.

When he felt nothing, and heard something click, Levi cracked open his eyes in curiosity, only to have them fly open all the way when he felt something cool and wet against his neck. Looking down at the woman in his arms, his lips parted in shock, watching in confused awe as she leaned back and soaked a small cloth in some water from a bottle, rinsing the fresh blood from the fabric. Looking to the side, he saw a small first aid kit by her feet, the container open to reveal a variety of medical tools inside.

(Y/N) leaned forward again, raising the towel to his neck to dab at his abrasions, washing them carefully, reverently, almost... lovingly. Levi opened and closed his mouth but no words came out as she continued to work on him, delicately cleaning his jaw and neck before carefully moving on to his chest. Was this some kind of strange ritual she always performed during sex? Did she just find him dirty and want to clean him up before putting her lips or her pussy on his skin? His mind was running a million miles a minute as she worked on him in silence, only pausing when he hissed quietly at the feeling of his gashes being washed.

(Y/N) frowned as she gently swiped the cloth along the red gouges in his skin. They were deep, most likely caused by the long, sharp nail extensions some ladies liked to wear, or the dull blade of a man with violent tendencies. It didn’t surprise her, a lot of the men and women who used people like this did have sadistic qualities, but it didn’t help to quell the now roaring fire in her blood, wanting nothing more than to fight against the injustice of this man.

“W-What are you doing?” Levi finally managed to ask.

“Cleaning your wounds.”

“Why? Is this some kind of-”

“Preparation? No. We aren’t going to do anything. I just want to help your injuries heal.”

Levi felt like his brain was full of static, like his mouth was stuffed with cotton. He wasn’t complaining, far from it, but he couldn’t get a reading on this woman. Why would she, a noble from the surface, want to help him, a hopeless whore from the Underground?

“Wha-”

“Before you ask what my intentions are, I’m just going to tell you that I didn’t even want to do this. I was forced to come to this festival because my father wants me to become more of a proper noble woman. But since I wasn’t too thrilled about having to be here, the people I came with thought I could use an opportunity to loosen up, and paid for me to do this with you in the hopes that I’d start having fun with them afterwards. But I have no intention of doing any of that. I hate how everyone in the Underground is treated like shit, and the last thing I want to do is take advantage of someone who obviously isn’t in control of his situation. I just want to help.”

Levi closed his mouth, all of his protests dying on his tongue. He still had questions, a lot of them, but he decided those could wait, her explanation making him feel surprisingly relaxed for someone who had trained himself to never take the word of a noble at face value. He had never met anyone like her. Even before he was forced to whore himself out, all he had ever known of nobles was their complete lack of humility and egotistical sense of self-importance. 

It was silent for a moment, but this time, the silence was more comfortable, both of them starting to relax a little as (Y/N) continued to patch him up. Levi felt himself loosen up a bit, his muscles unwinding as his hands settled on her waist, keeping her securely balanced on his lap as she worked. Pride swirled in (Y/N)’s chest as she felt his tense muscles soften, her eyes sparkling as she started to work her way towards earning his trust.

“What’s your happiest memory?” (Y/N) asked suddenly.

Levi quirked an eyebrow in suspicion, “Why should I tell you, brat?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” (Y/N) said, shaking her head and stifling a giggle at the nickname. “I only asked because I figured we may as well talk while we do this. Not only that, I feel like you could use some happiness right now. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so if you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to.”

Levi was silent for a minute, the cogs in his mind turning as he tried to make what he believed to be the right decision despite the fog clouding his judgement. Just as she had promised, (Y/N) waited patiently, not pressuring him to answer, or even bringing up another question. She merely sat in silence, her clear (e/c) eyes narrowed on his injuries as she worked to make him feel better.

“There was a time when I was with my friend Farlan, a few years back. We were doing a job, trying to get rid of a troublesome merchant for a client of ours when we found out the merchant had a cat. We were hiding around the corner, waiting to strike when that damn cat jumped up onto Farlan’s lap. I’m fine with cats, but that was the day we found out Farlan had some kind of allergy to them. He was trying to hold back his sneezes but finally lost control right when the merchant came around the corner, and Farlan ended up sneezing really violently in his face. That merchant got so scared he must’ve jumped at least three feet in the air, and even managed to piss himself before he took off. We still had to finish him off later, but in that moment, when Farlan was mortified and our target was running for the hills because of a cat induced sneeze, I couldn’t help but laugh a little.”

(Y/N) had paused in her work to listen to him, and couldn’t help but smile when he finished his story. Going back to work, (Y/N) didn’t ask what happened to Farlan, not wanting to drag him back down after she had finally gotten him to talk to her, about something so personal no less.

“What about you?” Levi asked.

“Hmm, I think I’d have to say when I got my horse for my birthday,” (Y/N) said. “I was never around the horses, wasn’t allowed to be in the barn because it wasn’t “proper for a lady”. But I loved them, loved seeing them on the streets when other nobles would come visit my father or when the soldiers from the Survey Corps would come back from a mission. I couldn’t stay away, so no matter how much my father tried to squash my love of them, it just wouldn’t happen. My mother eventually convinced him to let it go, and surprised me with a little chestnut filly that I named Sashay when I was about sixteen years old. Now, she’s my best friend. We’ve been through everything together, and she’s the only one who doesn’t try to force me to be something I’m not. Aside from the royal guards, I guess. They learned a long time ago to stop trying to get me to sit still and look pretty when I beat all of them in the sword fighting ring.”

Levi’s brows shot up into his hair at that, his lips parting in surprise. “You know how to sword fight?”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Yeah, not what you were expecting, huh?”

“No,” Levi said. “I’ve never heard of a noble woman who could fight, let alone with a blade. Are you any good?”

“I tend to think so, but that all depends on who I’m up against,” (Y/N) said with a cheeky smile.

For some reason, Levi couldn’t help but smile back for the first time in years. His lips felt chapped and strained from disuse, but it felt good, a light feeling flooding his chest with warmth. “You said earlier that your horse’s name is Sashay,” Levi said, suddenly changing the topic.

“Mm hm.”

“That’s weird.”

(Y/N) giggled at his bluntness, making another fluttering feeling swirl in his chest. He had never met anyone other than Farlan who saw his language as something other than rude.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” (Y/N) said. “But I named her that because she is a sassy chestnut mare. I like to imagine that if she were human, she’d be someone you wouldn’t want to mess with, someone who wouldn’t take shit from anyone, but would do so with a spicy attitude. So I named her accordingly.”

Levi huffed a laugh at her response but almost immediately regretted it when the movement of his chest caused the rough gauze at her fingertips to brush against his injuries a little harder than before, the stinging sensation making him hiss in pain.

“Sorry!” (Y/N) said, quickly retracting her hands and holding them up, waiting for him to give her the signal to continue.

“Not your fault,” Levi mumbled, motioning that it was alright for her to get back to work. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I said that before.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me. I want to do this.”

Levi wanted to ask her why but remembered what she had told him at the start of this and decided to trust her word, swallowing the question and instead changing topics. “Why do you even have this? Do you always just carry a first aid kit around?”

“Only when I come to the Underground. I want to have it available for those who really need it.”

“You do know that at least half of the people down here would kill you without a second thought to get to that medicine. Or they’d kill you if they thought you were pitying them.”

“I know, but I’d like to think I can handle myself a bit more than the average person. Even so, I usually keep it hidden unless I really want or need to use it on someone, and it’s only for quick patch-ups anyway. I can’t really fix anything major.”

(Y/N) finally finished with his front and carefully slid off of his thighs, moving slowly to begin working on his back. She made sure he was okay with everything she was doing before settling herself down onto the edge of the bed behind him, her hands reaching up to start her work once more.

Levi wanted to know more about her. He felt as if he could talk to her for hours, as if he had known her for years. He wanted to know what made her laugh, what made her cry, what her vision was for the future. It was insane, so much so that Levi idly wondered if he’d fallen off the deep end. But he couldn’t deny it. She was just too intriguing, so surprisingly kind, so genuine.

What was your childhood like? What are your favorite things to do? Do you come down here often? When will I see you again?

The questions continued to rattle around in Levi’s head as they once again lapsed into a comfortable silence but he forced all of them back, not wanting to seem either too desperate to get to know her, or be seen as coming on too strong.

After debating with himself for a while, Levi finally settled on, “You’ve mentioned your father a lot, and how he doesn’t want you to be yourself.”

(Y/N) tensed a little, her face twisted in a grimace behind Levi’s back. “Yeah… he used to be better about it, but ever since my mother died, he’s been like a tyrant. He’s upset he didn’t get a son in the first place, but now that he’s stuck with me for a daughter, he’s even more disappointed that I’m not someone he can easily make profits off of by marrying me off to someone. Not only have I been adamant about not allowing it, but no nobleman wants a woman who can think for herself. A woman who can ride a horse, go toe to toe with her soldiers, has an opinion, and is knowledgeable about current conflicts. They want someone who will dress up all pretty for them and be in bed, ready to satisfy them when they get home from gambling and drinking all day while sitting on their parents’ money.”

Levi scoffed and (Y/N) huffed in agreement. “I’m just not that kind of person. Every suitor that has ever met me has run away from my casual attire and sailor’s mouth.”

“Your father wasn’t like this when your mother was alive?” Levi asked.

“He was, but he wasn’t as bad. My parents were in an arranged marriage, but they got along alright. At least my father loved my mother enough to listen to her most of the time when she told him to lay off of me. I honestly think she’s the reason why I have such a strong fighting spirit.”

“I’m sorry she’s gone,” Levi said awkwardly, not used to providing words of comfort.

“Thanks,” (Y/N) said genuinely, a warm smile gracing her beautiful features.

“I didn’t know my mother that well,” Levi said haltingly, still unsure why he felt comfortable telling her about things he hadn’t even talked to Farlan about. “She died of a disease when I was four years old. She was a prostitute, like me, so I never knew my father. When she died, I was picked up by a man named Kenny, who I thought might’ve been my father for a short while, but as I grew older, I realized he wasn’t. I don’t have any proof, I just know. When he abandoned me at ten, I was alone for a few years before I met Farlan.”

“So… you didn’t get stuck doing this because of your mother?” (Y/N) asked carefully, almost afraid to ask in case it made him shy away from her.

“No,” Levi said slowly. “I was twenty years old when I was caught stealing from a rich friend of this brothel owner. I had made a mistake and there was no way out. He figured out who I was, a thug who was known at the time for carrying out favors for people, whether that meant stealing or killing depended on how much they were willing to pay. Unfortunately, this led them to Farlan, and he gave me a choice. Me, or my best and only friend.”

“And you chose to save your friend at the expense of yourself,” (Y/N) finished for him in a hoarse whisper, filled with horror and unbridled fury at what this man had been through. She figured she should’ve been alarmed, he had just admitted that he had blood on his hands. He was a thief, a thug, a criminal, a murderer. But (Y/N) knew those things were nearly requirements for living in the Underground and no matter how she thought about it, she couldn’t think of anything that would make this man deserve what he was going through.

(Y/N) opened her mouth to say something just as she put the last bandage in place when a loud pounding on the door startled them both. “Time’s up, you two!” The brothel owner shouted through the door.

(Y/N) shot up from the bed and rushed around to where the water and first aid kit sat, quickly packing up the little box of supplies and splashing her face with water, trying to make herself look sweaty enough to look convincing. Once everything had been packed away, (Y/N) stood and shrugged off her leather jacket, throwing it to him.

“Here, take this, it’ll keep your boss from seeing the bandages and trying to get rid of them. It’ll also give your injuries a little more protection from the bacteria in this room.”

Levi wanted to refuse, tell her he couldn’t accept a gift like this, even if it was temporary, but no words would come out as he watched the beautiful woman in front of him mess up her hair and swipe her fingers across her lips, trying to make herself look as wrecked as possible. When she finally looked the part enough to seem convincing, (Y/N) made her way to the door, turning one last time before she opened it to throw him a wink and a sweet smile.

“~Goodbye Levi, I hope we can see each other again soon.”

The lilt in her voice was fake, an act for anyone who may be listening on the other side of the door, meant to be taken as a sickly promise of more sexual endeavors to come, but he could feel the genuine emotion in her statement.

“I hope so too,” Levi said quietly after she had already left, the once comforting quiet of his room now making him feel lonely and empty.

The sound of pounding on his door woke Levi abruptly, making the raven-haired man growl in anger and annoyance. It was rare that the poor man got to sleep, not only because customers could come in at almost any time, day or night, but also because of the horrible insomnia that often plagued him. It made him even more irritable to be woken up, his body sore and his mind groggy as another round of pounding roused him further and prompted him to swing his legs over the side of the small cot he was provided when not busy fucking, and make his way to the door.

“What?” Levi snapped when he swung open the door, genuinely surprised that the pig who owned him hadn’t just burst into his room like he always did, raving about yet another customer for Levi.

“Get your shit, you’re going to the surface.”

Levi blinked. This had to be some kind of joke. The brothel owner never let anyone under his foot leave the brothel, let alone the Underground. Even the highest class noble women couldn’t request for him to come to them, the old man not trusting his prostitutes to be sent back. Especially Levi.

“Oi, your ears gone to shit now? Grab your pathetic bullshit and get out of my sight,” the man snarled, his small, watery eyes narrowed on Levi like he was the scum of the world.

Shaking himself out of it, Levi didn’t hesitate for another moment, rushing back into his room to grab the pitifully few things he had with him, including the leather jacket he had gotten from (Y/N), draping it over his shoulders to hide his healing injuries just in case it was a trick. The festival was still going on afterall, this could just be some ruse the old man set up to make the experience more interesting for the men and women who paid for him.

When Levi returned, the man pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and jerked his head, signaling Levi to follow him. Levi knew better than to risk running. In his full health he could’ve easily escaped from the man’s clutches, but with little more than a half hour of rest, his injured body, weak muscles, and the remnants of the drugs still working through his system, Levi didn’t trust himself to outrun a bullet, and knew the pig wouldn’t hesitate to fire, no matter how valuable Levi was to him. 

Even though Levi kept expecting the brothel owner to turn down a secluded street and lead him right into an ambush or trick of some sort, he never did, leading Levi right to the stairs exiting the Underground. When they reached the guards at the base of the stairs, the man took two slips of paper from the inner pocket of his worn brown coat and showed it to the guard. When he was cleared to continue on, the brothel owner turned and motioned for Levi to stay close as he stomped his way up the stairs, grumbling incoherently to himself all the while.

Breaching the surface, Levi brought an arm to his face, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the sun as it attacked his face with warm, bright light. He eventually got used to it, slowly lowering his arm and rushing to catch up with his boss, who was impatiently grunting for him to hurry up.

Passing through what appeared to be a busy market square, Levi followed the brothel owner along the lively cobblestone streets until they reached a quieter part of the town, stopping along the edge of a beautiful flower field, the grassy meadow filled with colorful blossoms that secretly took Levi’s breath away.

The sound of horse hooves caught his attention, and Levi looked up only to have the air fly from his lungs when (Y/N)’s bright face came into view, the stunning woman seated astride whom he assumed to be Sashay and flanked by two armed men.

“Right on time,” the brothel owner grumbled, his little pig eyes narrowing when he saw her passive aggressive smile.

“Of course I’m on time, this is my deal, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man growled. “Are you sure you want this one? He’s my most popular, I’d hate to lose him.”

“Yes, he’s the one I want. Besides, I believe the money I’ve paid you has far exceeded the profit you have earned from having him around. I’m sure you will be able to manage.”

The man sneered at her but didn’t respond, using the muzzle of the gun to push Levi forward and digging in his pocket to fish out the same pieces of paper he had shown the guards on the stairs, handing them to (Y/N).

“Thank you, sir. I believe we are done here.”

The brothel owner slunk off, casting dark looks at her but refusing to argue as he hunkered off to head back down to the Underground, where he would continue to rot like the rat he was. Levi watched him go before turning to (Y/N), surprised by the bright smile she flashed him when he met her gaze.

“(Y/N)? What’s going on?”

(Y/N) smiled even wider and held up the pieces of paper she had been handed. One of them was the file labeling him as a slave to the brothel owner, keeping him from escaping, and the other was a bill of sale. His eyes widened when he saw her signature on the bottom of both pages, officially registering her as his new owner. He opened his mouth, about to speak when she took both pages in her hands and ripped them in half, letting the torn pages float onto the street below, forgotten, useless.

“There, you’re free now.”

Levi was at a loss for words, his mouth gaping open. “(Y/N)? What-”

“Before you ask me what my intentions are, I’m just going to tell you that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about your life, your sacrifice, your pain, and I decided I could do something about it. You are human, and damn it, you are an important one! I couldn’t just leave you there. Now, you won’t have to work for anyone but yourself. You won’t have to cater to anyone else’s needs and you can fulfill whatever dreams you have.”

“But, that must’ve cost you a fortune, to cover more than the amount of money he’s made off of using me? What about-”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Levi. I want to use my funds for good, put them towards the people who need it the most. That includes you. Especially you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you having to stay in that shit hole for even a second longer than necessary.”

“What do I do now, then?” Levi asked, trying to focus on keeping his voice steady.

“Well, you can do whatever you want now. You’re a free man, you can find a house and settle down somewhere, or you can go back to the Underground and pick up your life where you left off. You can join the military, or you can start a small business here in the square. It’s anything you want. You get to choose your life now.”

“And what if I don’t want to do any of those things?”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that flashed across her face then, her heart filling with warmth. “Like I said, it’s your choice, you can do whatever you want, carve your own path, but if you want to come with me, you’re always welcome to.”

Levi’s lip twitched and he took a step forward, reaching up to pat Sashay’s muzzle as he got closer. “Alright, I’ll follow you.”

(Y/N) beamed before turning around to nod at each one of her guards, dismissing them. When they had left, presumably returning to (Y/N)’s family estate, she reached down for him, her hand extended for him to take. Placing his rough palm into her warm hand, he allowed her to help him up into the saddle behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist to keep himself secure as (Y/N) kicked Sashay into an easy canter. Sighing blissfully, Levi let himself relax, his chin coming down to rest on (Y/N)’s shoulder as they made their way home, together.

Levi had never expected to see the day when he would willingly go with a noble, but then again, he never thought he’d ever meet a noble like (Y/N). Now, as he felt her warmth soak into his chest, he knew he’d made the right decision.

Levi finally felt the remnant effects of the drugs in his system fade away as the sun beams broke through the fluffy clouds in the sky, leaving his mind clear. He was making this decision all on his own, nothing left to impair his judgement, and no matter what, he knew he would never regret the path he chose to take just so long as (Y/N) stayed by his side.

[wreckofawriter]

Attention

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, sexual jokes

Request: @souhmhey Hello! I really like your blaise au and was wondering if you could do a hogwarts ver of 97 with bill weasley/cedric diggory since your requests is open. The reader is a slytherin btw. Thank you and take care!

#97: You are famous and we keep bumping into eachother so the media thinks we're dating

A/n: sorry for inactivity, I have no concept of time. This is a tiny bit off the prompt but oh well. (There is so much dialogue in this fic, I'm sorry.)

You hated attention. You had hated it since the second you had been birthed into the world. The world which robbed you of your privacy. The world which had dug its grimy hands into your life and tugged and pulled until it looked pretty enough to be on display. A world which everyone claimed to wish for, to envy. 

It made you sick. 

You had no right to complain. You knew that you were privileged, your parents had more money than they could spend even if they tried, you had grown up in a mansion which simply could not be called a house. You had the tutors, the vacations, the clothes. You had it all, well all except privacy. 

Your birth was on the front page of a dozen magazines, your face tacked onto newspapers before you could even read. You were so used to the flash of lights that you stopped registering them as strange. 

When you left for some faraway school in the hills of Scottland you had assumed that all of that would go away. That you wouldn’t have to fake smiles anymore or refrain from making the smallest mistake for fear of ruining your parent’s reputation. 

Your father’s status as a quidditch player kept you form that unattainable dream. Whenever he spoke of the sport he told it like some fantasy, something he had done so he could soar into the sky not bring it down onto his daughter. 

You snapped your eyes shut the bright flash of light only worsening your headache. As the faint burn you were all too used to faded you gathered the image of the young boy in front of you.  His mouth was dropped displaying two rows of crooked teeth, his brown eyes wide with amazement. 

Your jaw tightened, “Do you need something?” the tone you used was clearly threatening, hoping to break him from the trance you had unintentionally put him under. The conformity of the boy’s features lead you to believe he was either deaf or stupid. 

“Well?!” You snapped and it seemed to do the trick. 

He blinked a few times, his open mouth giving way for a dopey grin, “You’re y/n y/l/n.” 

You scoffed considering shoving the large camera he was holding down his throat, “I don’t know who you are talking about.” 

“But-”

“Move before I move you myself.” You snarled and before the kid could answer you shoved him aside and continued for your class which you were now surly to be late for. Vector wouldn’t be happy. 

You entered the room already spewing apologies you should have to give. 

The teacher cut you off with a pointed look and you snapped your mouth shut. There were a couple snickers from the class and your head hammered on the front of your skull. 

“You have been late almost every day this week Ms. y/l/n. Is this going to continue all year or should I cut you from my class now?” Her glare was stiff. 

You tried to swallow your mouth suddenly feeling too dry, “I’m very sorry professor it’s just I have to come all the way from potions, and getting through the halls can be difficult.”

Her eyebrows raised, “I don’t see any of my other students struggling to get here on time.” 

“Well, I-” 

“Or do you simply believe the rules of this school don’t apply to you?”  She sneered and giggles erupted around you.

Your cheeks burned and you hung your head, “That’s not what I was saying professor.” you mumbled know your words fell onto emptiness. 

“Ten points from Slytherin. Go take a seat next to Diggory.” 

You let your mouth fall shut nodding obediently as your blood boiled beneath your skin. Eyes followed you to your seat and didn’t leave until the lesson began. Your cheeks hurt, you pushed your hands upon them attempting to cool the burn of embarrassment. You didn’t even spare a glance to the boy seated next o you, his presence barely registering as you tried to convince the earth to swallow you whole. 

You really hated attention. 

Cedric Diggory didn’t quite understand why so many looked his way as he passed in the halls. He was good at making friends, his words always seemed to flow so seamlessly from his mouth, he never stumbled over syllables or tripped on his tongue. He was good with people, they liked him, he never gave them a reason to do otherwise. 

Students envied him, he knew that. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that girls and boys found him attractive, he wasn’t stupid. People often treated him like he was anyway, as if his popularity had drained his common sense. It was aggravating to try and prove that his worth went past his reputation again and again. 

He always paid mind to you. He was aware of your fame, well your parent’s fame. His eyes like may others had frequently wandered towards you, he had a feeling you hated when they did. Your own were always narrowed into a glare as you did everything in your power to avoid the popularity you had been gifted. 

As you sat beside him, your head buried in your hands, teacher continuing with a lesson he should be listening to he felt sorry for you. Sorry that you were so often painted as a self-entitled brat, sorry for the prying eyes and the whispers behind hands. 

“I could walk you from potions if you wanted.” The words had spilled from his mouth like an overflowing sink.

Your head snapped towards him, eyes hard as steel as you bored into him. “What?” 

Cedric suddenly felt like a fool, something that didn’t happen all that often. He stuttered for a sentence, “I, uhh..” What had he just said to you? It was like his thoughts had been replaced with cotton.”I have the same potions as you, and um you said that you were having a hard time getting through the halls. I could walk with you.” 

“Whatever.” you ignored the part of you that thought it might be a half-decent idea and scoffed, “You would only draw more attention.” 

The Hufflepuff chuckled, “I suppose you’re not wrong.” 

You didn’t answer, eyes now zoned to the front of the room. He let the conversation drop. 

If there was one thing that you hated more than attention it was exercise. You disliked exhausting yourself, the grime, and sweat making you feel incredibly dirty as you jogged the edge of the grounds. Your breaths were labored and you felt awkward as your thighs bummed together. Despite all of the discomfort, your head felt clear. Thoughts weren’t plagued but crisp as you listened to the chirp of birds and your own pants. Finally, you gave out, your legs groaning as you halted bending over. Lacing your hands on your knees, you tried to calm your racing heart. 

“Oh, hey y/n!” 

And your peace was ruined. 

You stood up, stuffing your hands in your pockets and trying not to look as fatigued as you felt. 

Cedric looked so good it hurt. The sweat on his brow giving him the polished look of a deity. His hair was untamed yet adorable, cheeks stained apple red from the exertion. The sun which was peeking above the horizon framed him, making the boys edge hazy and warm. He smiled down at you, his breaths steady as ever. 

You cussed at him not even bothering to lower your voice. You watched his face falter with confusion. “Fuck you.” You repeated, “How do you look so good after running?” 

His grin jumped back, “I just stared, I’m only two miles in.”

You were tempted to slap him, “Only.” you cursed him again for good measure.

“Are you heading back towards the school? I could go with you.” 

You considered his offer for a brief moment, “Whatever you monster.” 

Apparently he took that as a yes because the second you began to jog again he was beside you his pace obviously slowed to fit yours. 

“I was actually happy to run into you.” He hummed.

You frowned, “Why?” it was more of a pant than a question.

He shrugged, “You seem nice.”

There were a lot of things you ‘seemed’ nice was not one of them. The side glance you gave him was question enough and you heard him chuckle a bit.

“I know you think you’re all scary and everything but you’re not that bad.” 

You scowled, “You don’t. Know. Me.” heavy breaths broke what was supposed to be an intimidating sentence. 

He nodded, “I think I’d like to.” 

You didn’t respond and instead tried to focus back into your safe world of exhaustion and exhilaration. You managed to reach the front of the school and practically collapsed.

“Are you okay?” Cedric asked his hand landing lightly on your shoulder. 

Shoving it off you nodded, “I’m going to get water before I pass out.” you heaved, “Feel free to continue your workout, Diggory.”

“Alright, I’ll see you-” the door shut in his face, “-later.”

Your exhaustion kept you from ripping off the heads a group of first-years who wanted your father’s autograph on your way to class. It faded as you made your way through transfiguration and potions. When dismissed you scrambled from the classroom at a quick pace, the last thing you wanted was to be late to Arithmancy again. Being publicly ridiculed once this week was plenty for you. 

You didn’t stop as your name was called behind you, shouldering through a group of students who shot you glares. You heard it again the same voice, closer now and you picked up the pace. 

Your shoulder was grabbed and you spun around with such force your bag fell from your shoulder. Quills and ink crashed to the ground and you swore loudly dropping to your knees to pick up the scattered supplies.

Cedric descended beside you helping gather your things. You snatched them from his hands before he offered and continuted down the hall without even a glance in his direction. His long strides brought him to your side. 

“You don’t have to worry about being late you know.” He offered you stayed unresponsive. “You’ve still got 6 minutes till class.”

You let out a bothered sigh, “Well if I’m stopped then those minutes go fast.” 

Cedric frowned, “Stopped?”

“Yep. It’s always like this at the beginning of the year. The first-years slowly find out who my parents are and want autographs or pictures as if it’s somehow my responsibility to serve them.” Your voice slowly filled with annoyance like a balloon expanding with air, “It’s irritating.”

The boy beside you furrowed his brows, “I can imagine.”

As if on queue a young girl trotted up to you stopping you in your tracks.

“You’re y/n y/l/n right?” Before you could answer she continued, “I was wondering if I could have an autograph from your mother, I saw her in a movie when I was six and I-”

“I’m really sorry but we have to get to class,” Cedric spoke, cutting off the bob child. 

Her eyes widened a bit, “Oh sorry, um bye then.” 

You gave a half-hearted wave before glancing at the boy beside you, “Thanks.”

He grinned, “It’s no problem.” 

Neither of you noticed the eyes which followed you down the hall. 

The Weasley twins had a special talent when it came to being bothersome. And they were sure to use it to their full potential, making a point to leave no one out of their troubles. You included. You didn’t know them all too well but after their offer to buy autographs from you and them sell them for a profit they had always stuck in your head. 

“Ah, but if it isn’t my favorite celebrity.” Fred grinned his arm draping around your shoulder before being quickly shoved off. 

“Well if it isn’t my least favorite red-head.” You respond attempting to return to the open textbook in front of you. 

“It’s only natural that you like me more than him.” George grinned sitting beside you.

“Nah, you’re tied for last.” You mumbled scribbling down notes on a messy roll of parchment. 

The younger twin frowned, “Are you sure I’m not beating him?” 

You looked up at him amusement etched into your features, “Positive.”

Fred popped some of the jelly slugs sitting beside you into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously loud. “So you and Diggory huh?”

You stiffened, glancing up at him. 

“I didn’t think he was your type.” George grinned catching one of the candies in his mouth as his twin tossed it over your head. 

You scrunched your nose, “What?” 

“Oh come on y/l/n, don’t be coy.” 

“No reason to be shy, we all know you and the Hufflepuff prince are boning.” the younger giggled. 

Your mouth went dry, “What did you just say?” 

Fred hummed, “Wow you’re better at acting than I thought, I guess you take after your mother.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.” You sputtered.

“Wait really?” 

You nodded.

“So you and Cedric aren’t dating?” 

You scoffed, “God no, where in hell did you get that idea?”

The reflections shot glances at each other. 

“The whole school thinks you are,” George stated plainly.

You slammed your textbook shut in a vicious snap, eyes from around the library drawing towards you. “That fucker.” You hissed and in a second you were on your feet.

You didn’t have to look very long to find the brunette. He was only a few corridors form the library a small group of people huddled with him. 

“Diggory!” Your voice cut the pleasant atmosphere in two.

“Oh hey y/n, I was just looking fo-” Before his sentence could be finished you had snatched him by the tie and began dragging him behind you. 

A series of whistles and calls followed you around the corner where you slammed open a door and shoved him into a small closet. 

“Y/n whats are you doing?” He asked loosening his tie which you had unintentionally sinched around his neck. 

Your hands met his shoulders pushing him back as hard as you could manage. Cedric stumbled, his back hitting the door with a thunk.

“You asshole!” You spat leaning over him, “How dare you?”

Cedric was bewildered, the anger clear on your face in the dull lighting. Your breaths were heavy, the sharp scent of mint hitting him, “I’m sorry what?”

You sneered, “Don’t you dare lie to me Diggory. I know what you did.” You had grabbed his tie again, forcing him to lower his head to meet your eyes. 

“What did I do?” He asked, his cheeks feeling unbearably hot from the close proximity. 

You scoffed, “I don’t know, how about telling the entire school we’re fucking dating?” 

Cedric frowned, “I didn’t tell anyone we were dating.” 

Now it was your turn to look baffled, “Then who did?” 

Before your question could be answered you were falling forward, the door opening the two of you tumbling out into the sudden overwhelming brightness. You screwed your eyes shut in response, your ears catching the sound of laughter and whistles. You were brought your senses abruptly, the crowd gathered around you giggling behind their hands. 

“Damn Cedric, I thought you were classier than a quickie in a closet.” Someone snickered.

You lept off the boy you had been straddling moments before your cheeks burning from embarrassment. Cedric sat up, his own face tinged red as he glared at the Hufflepuff which had spoken. 

You shoved your way through the crowd wishing the earth would open up and let you fall into its core. Or at least those gathered around you. 

“Wait y/n!” 

You didn’t turn instead holding your middle finger in the air, making sure the entirety of the group could see it before you disappeared from sight. By the time Cedric was able to push his way through the crowd to where you had turned you were gone. He cussed letting his head fall into his hands. 

Cedric didn’t see you the entirety of the weekend. You weren’t in the hall for meals or out in the cooling September air where many students were finding refuge. Your absence was annoying, the thoughts of your breath fanning over the bridge of his nose, chest pressed into his only worsening the harbored feelings he had buried. Rumors of your relationship continuted to circulate, the scene caused a few days before morphing into lewd stories which made his cheeks bloom with roses. He felt partially responsible for the trouble caused for you, his friends were some of the most active in the gossip. 

Cedric knew it was only a matter of time before you would be forced to converse with him. You would never skip a class.

You appeared in potions Monday and managed to convince Snape to let you leave five minutes earlier than the rest of the class. There was no escaping assigned seats in Arithmancy. Or so Cedric thought. You had used your extra time to swap seats with another student now all he could do was bore holes into the back of your styled hair from four seats back. You didn’t even give him a chance during meals, eating quickly or simply never appearing, a girl you were with frequently taking a plate with her as she left instead. 

It was aggravating. He knew that both of you barley qualified as acquaintances but having the small amount of progress he had made in your relationship ripped from him less than a week in was cruel. 

Cedric was more persistent than you intended him to be. You didn’t quite understand why, you hardly knew each other. Yet he tried to corner you in hallways and stop you in classes. You supposed he probably felt guilty. You almost felt bad for avoiding him. 

When he wasn’t present in potions you assumed him sick or skipping. So you didn’t find the need to leave early or rush from the room. You should have known it was a trick. The second you left the room you were trapped, Cedric stood directly in front of you his gaze almost daring you to run. 

You sighed rolling your eyes, “Ok fine. You got me.”

“Can we talk?” He asked his hands stuffed into his robe pockets.

“Aren’t we all ready?” You challenged.

He shook his head softly, “Please?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You huffed. 

“It will take thirty seconds.” 

Your eyes narrowed, you knew it would take longer but your curiosity was killing you, what could he possibly have to say? Your money was on some useless apology.

“Fine.” 

You were lead deeper into the dungeons beginning to suspect he was going to murder you where your screams couldn’t be heard until he came to a stop in some far away corridor. 

You crossed your arms tapping your foot impatiently, “Well?”

Cedric felt that unfamiliar twist in his stomach as he looked down at you, his hand scratching at the back of his neck, “Well I wanted to say sorry.” 

You sneered at this, “Are you serious? If this what you dragged me here for then you can just tell your friends that they are dumbasses with no life of their own so they have to stick their nose in other peoples to stay entertained and leave.” 

The Hufflepuff was taken aback, “Oh no that’s not it, umm, you, I mean I have-”

“Spit it out Diggory,” you demanded. 

He nodded, “Right, uh I like you y/n.”

Your eyes shot wide.

“And I was just wondering if you would let me take you out.” He finished feeling better now that the words had been spoken. The moment was ruined quickly. 

“No.” Your answer was plain.

“Oh.” Cedric wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

You sighed, the boy’s face now deflated like a sad puppy. The odd feeling of guilt settled in your stomach, “It’s not because of you.” You assured him, “I mean your talented and hot and nice and everything, it’s just I don’t want to deal with all the shit.” 

His cheeks flushed at the complaint but his lips twitched into a frown, “What shit?”

“Ya know.” You spoke gesturing around you, “Your friends and the rumors and everything. I’ve already got enough on my plate, I don’t need anymore.”

Cedric nodded, understanding, “Then give me a chance.” 

You hummed a question.

“The astronomy tower tomorrow night, meet me there after curfew and let me prove I’m worth it,” he explained.

You blinked owlishly at him, head tilted slightly to the side, “Seriously?” 

“Yeah. One date, no commitment, if you don’t like it can go back to ignoring me and no one will know.” 

His offer was tempting. The way his eyes glimmered with hope only making it more enticing. So you gave in, “Alright.” 

A smile stretched his lips, “Really?” 

You shrugged, “Why not?” 

“You won’t regret it.” 

Part of you already knew that. 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

@chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[sweettodo]

Lady Boss ⟿ Levi Ackerman x reader

Vanilla, somewhat of a quicky, consensual, office fucking, boss.

1,722 words

Strutting down the halls with the upmost frustration, blood boiling, your veins pulsating through your angry fists. You couldn’t fathom how you were getting blamed for something you didn’t do.

Being the ‘mistress’ or in other words overseer for these excuses of men who all thought they deserved to be at a higher- scratch that; they were too fucking stupid to be as good as me.

So what if my brother - Jean, put me in the position I’m in today, but he didn’t just let me sit on my high horse, I needed to do work. ‘Who’d she sleep with to get that promotion?’

SMACK!

“That’s what you get for being a fucking peon. Go make yourself useful like cleaning the bottom of my feet.” The group of men cease speaking. You shake off your hand, you were not afraid to discipline these fuckups.

“So-”

“Sorry what was that? Speak up!” I shout. They sigh in defeat. ‘Someone put her in a mood today’ they simultaneously think in their heads. They hated your attitude, especially on these days.

“Sorry...damn.” That’s right, you thought to yourself, you let out a sigh and continue walking quickly down the large hallway of offices, our ... business was more or less a money laundering business, we were discreet and powerful. We racked in tons of cash and had plenty of allies.

You reach the large double door, slamming your fist against them a few times, you tapped your foot in anticipation.

“Well if it isn’t the biggest fuckup of the day, actually; month.” Chairman Levi scoffs, slowly letting you into the office. He moves back to his desk and you slam the door.

“You act like this was my fault. Your men are fucking stupid.”

“Your men actually, fun fact, you’re in charge of them. Therefore my hands are clean of this mess.”

“You act like I can babysit 25 men to hold a few wads of cash.” You snort, slamming paperwork onto his desk.

“And I’ll say it again, it is not my problem.” He crosses his arms, his body leaning against the windowsill, he was too cocky. You hated him, but you knew you needed to get out of this.

“It was actually twenty five thousand... hey, what do you think you’re in here for? To yell at me for your wrongdoings? I should demote you. I might as well make that call now-”

“Wait- uh.” I didn’t think before speaking, sounding weak on the spot, he stuffs his phone back in his slacks.

“How do you intend on fixing this mess?” He stands, slowly unbuttoning his black blazer, he was so toned.

“I’m a smart woman; I’ll figure this out without your input thank you.” Such a nasty attitude, on days where you two could cut the tension with a knife, days like this where his disgust towards you strengthened. How your hateful words spewed from your mouth. You’re a woman for god’s sake, act like it.

He drops his blazer so it hangs off his chair, he wanted you to feel intimidated of what he could do to you at anytime.

“Here’s the deal-” his finger points at you lazily and it taunts you, he drops his crossed arm stance and sits in his tall leather chair, “you can come here and I’ll help you, or I’ll let Jean now how much of an incompetent bitch you are, your choice.”

You pondered, you could possible wiggle your way out of Jean finding out; Levi reaches for the desk phone and begins dialing Jeans extension to his office, your heart drops, I quickly move towards him and grab his wrist and the neck of the phone, hanging it up before it could ring.

“See, you are a smart girl, I love it when you actually listen to me.” He chuckles, I mock him and wait to be dismissed, “take that off.”

What? What the fuck was he doing, your mouth drops open in utter shock, it was a mix of a dream come true and something ripped out of an erotic novel.

“Take what off?-”

“Your shirt.” He says matter of factly, the lump in your throat freezes while he does it himself, tired of him waiting for you to strip and get down on your knees.

Painfully, he looks down at you while he unbuttons each and every blouse button, your heart pounded; he was not close enough. You shoved the dirty thoughts to the back of your head, you needed to regain power.

“What are you going to do for me Mr. Ackerman?” You hold back his hands, he smirks.

“I’ll loan you the twenty five, you just gotta remember to pay me back babe.” ‘Oh fuck yes’ you secretly became excited to his words, this meant no Jean.

You shrug off your blouse, revealing the pinkish-nude lace bra you had on, he stares in awe at your perky boobs, they sat so nice. Countless thoughts ran his head, labeling every part of your body... ‘I’ll do this, and this’

“Liking what you see Lev-”

“You think just because I’m going to fuck you; that you can call me by my first name?”

“Sorry sir.” He turned you around, forcibly holding down the side of your head against the cold desk while he took his time once again, staring at every part of your body, he was in fucking love.

His body hot, you wanted to stand up and rip his clothes off him like the feral slut you were for him. You wanted to be his little toy, do whatever you want to me sir.

“You should keep wearing skirts to work, easy access.” He rubs your butt with his tough hands, he pushes up your skirt and the matching panties gave it away.

“Sir, let me help you.” You stand quickly and he takes a tiny step back, allowing you to speedily unbutton and you practically rip it off him, god he was so incredibly sculpted. As they say, god spent extra time on this one.

“Stop drooling,” you snap out of your trance and fiddle with his belt, unhooking it. He throbbed, his meme er begged to be fucked by you and Levi was too excited to see you.. and hear you, and taste you.

He doesn’t allow you to drop to your knees, ‘you’re too good for that’ he told himself, he wanted to see you fall apart beneath him.

“Just hurry up and fuck me then.” His eyes widen, his smirk grows as he pushes you back over onto the desk, bending you in half while he quickly moved your panties to the side. He was about to indulge.

You let out a squeal the moment he pushes himself into you, you sucked him in, he knew it was all too dangerous to fuck you now, you were going to have him pussy whipped.

It seems as if he has more and more to stuff you with; reaching spots previous men couldn’t reach, surpassing all nerves that you even knew existed.

“Wow- Sir.” You’re taken aback, you gasp when his hips finally clap against your ass and thighs, he was in all the way, you were fucking stuffed.

Swears fly from Levi’s mouth as he takes time with the first few thrusts, pumping out and back in; in and out in and out.

“I could be in this pussy ass day, my god, you’re clenching so hard.” He groans, he picks up the pace as he pulls apart your ass cheeks to fill you up as much as possible. Your spongey walls contacted and gushed around his big cock while your eyes rolled tot he back of your head in complete pleasure.

“Hmm it feels so good sir, please keep fucking me like this, I need it.” You moan, he follows your orders, he needed to move your position, he needed easier access to this goddess of a body, goddess of a pussy.

You both went into the office separate days of the week, rarely seeing each other.

“You know-” Levi pounds into you, “if our deal upholds, I need to be able to fuck you anytime I want.” His breathing ragged.

“Yes sir I understand.” You moan, mouth jammed open, your legs slowly wanting to give out as he takes you to different heights, this was gonna be a earth shattering orgasm.

He bit onto his bottom lip to stop himself from sounding like a moaning mess under your spell, you were dripping wet, it felt like a palace between your walls, silk sheets, sliding in and out, not easily. You were so tight he didn’t know what to do with you.

“S-sir I’m about to come.” You whine, pushing yourself against his cock, he lets out a tense breath of air, not expecting you to do the work for him.

“Then come.” Levi grabs the other hip, kicking apart your legs further and fucking you senselessly, you were a drooling mess.

Your body contacts once again, he slows down slightly while still fucking you hard with those powerful thrusts. You cream all over his dick, he’s starstruck by feeling those spasms and seeing your helpless body grasp behind her onto your wrist, it was enough to send you flying over the edge.

You release your seed into her, holding still for a few moments and pulling out making sure it seeps into every crevice in her pussy. Seeing both her and your come drip from her beautiful cat. It was a sight to see alright.

Levi’s muscles are weak, he needs to catch his breath, sit down. You wore him out so good just from those ten minutes of him tearing you apart. The same goes for you, you relax your body and breathe heavily whilst slowly picking up your panties from your ankles and pulling them up, tugging down your skirt and trying to limit your leg movement, afraid of not being able to walk.

You two stood in silence, redressing and regaining composure, “you have a very nice dick sir.” You purr in his ear, he thinks about other things to prevent him from getting hard again.

Glancing at his watch, he knows he’s off the clock, “come on, you’re coming home with me.” He grabs his belongings and you do the same. You were absolutely thrilled.

“Yes boss.” Giggling, you follow behind him closely, halls empty so no one would suspect a thing.

[4ragon]

sebastian debeste

MY BOY

Okay, I know I said Edgeworth is the most dynamic character in the series, and I stand by that claim, but Sebastian at least gives him a good run for his money. And he’s only in ONE GAME!

I love Sebastian so much. He really does start out as this joke character that you can’t help but care about by the end of it all. I do think that tragic backstories and the like really do work best on rival characters like this, characters that aren’t villains or evil, but who are staunchly opposed to you until quite suddenly they aren’t.

And then of course, there’s all the ways that Sebastian turns the usual AA Rival tropes on their head. He’s selfish, and cocky, and confident, and smug, just like every other rival character you’ve gotten, except that he has no real talent to back it up. (And I know Justine is more your rival than Sebatian but I think they tag team it.) He’s really sort of the butt of the joke, the Team Rocket of the AA universe but somehow less threatening.

At first he’s kind of set up as a foil to Justine. He’s not very sharp or clever, the lead prosecutor with no real competence to speak of, giving way to Justine’s counterattacks. Justine, in particular, I think is the most effective rival in any of these games. She’s smart, very good at poking holes in your arguments, and she has the power and status to pose a very real threat to Edgeworth. Meanwhile, Sebastian is hitting himself in the face and whining about how no one is paying attention to him. Getting to face off with Sebastian is like getting a break. It’s relaxing. Well, maybe not, he still is aggressive about it, but at least you know you’re not in boss territory yet.

And then we meet Blaise Debeste.

Whooooo boy, Blaise Debeste. Hate his design, but I do think he’s an incredibly effective villain. He’s more ruthless than Justine, clearly a selfish, self-serving, self-aggrandizing asshole. He’s thematically relevant, given all of the corruption in AAI2 in particular. But more importantly than that, he provides Sebastian with valuable Context.

Sebastian is, at the end of the day, a victim of emotional abuse. His father literally only ever refers to him as his idiot son, sometimes going out of his way to do so. And even if you’ve been calling Sebastian an idiot since the moment you met him, seeing it being spewed at him from his father is actually kind of upsetting, kind of heartbreaking. And watching the slow breakdown of trust, watching Sebastian’s life slowly unraveling at the edges, watching him learn that all the parts of himself that he valued, all the parts that his father told him to value, were just illusions, and he was never going to win his father’s love.

I think that’s the saddest part to me. His father cared so little about him that he refused to give him the tools to improve and then punished him for not improving. Like! That’s some toxic shit! Of course he’s never going to become a great thinker, you literally taught him never to think! Every single flaw you pick at is a flaw you let flourish! He’s a child and you hate him because he’s different than you!

Actually, here’s a fun thought: Sebastian Debeste is just a less competent Franziska von Karma. Like, at the end of the day, Blaise and Manfred both view their children in much the same way. They are not children, they are simply tools meant to reflect their parents. Like, if Franziska wasn’t good at what she did, do you think Manfred would even give her the time of day? Manfred von Karma’s love was entirely conditional on her ability to perform. Similarly, Blaise saw Sebastian as an extension of himself and not as a human being capable of any real emotion or depth. And the moment he realized that Sebastian was never going to be able to do that, Blaise decided it was easier to pay for some good grades than try to help in any way.

Sebastian is a character that has to learn to rebuild himself after something traumatic, after manipulation and abuse, and that is a really compelling story. And also, even when he was the joke villain of the game, he was still pretty fun. His music was bouncy, and it was usually a nice break to have to deal with him rather than fighting tooth and nail with Justine. And then when his music changes to something triumphant and you see him finally confront his father, well, that is some great development.

I will say, and I hadn’t thought about it until my friend Grace mentioned it when she was doing a fic ask the other day, but it is kind of hard to figure out how to write an older Sebastian. Because there is a fine line. I don’t want to erase the oodles of characterization from the games, but at the same time, with people like Edgeworth and Justine there to help him improve and come into his own, he has to be a much different person. I’m sure he’s less braggy, and I still like to imagine him as a little clumsy and bumbling, but at the same time, with Edgeworth personally invested in watching him grow, I have to imagine he’s at least able to stand on his own.

[sweet-sammy-kisses]

Monsters of Past

2

For my @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt take me instead.  Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, and OC Rating: M Warnings: Past rape/non-con, rape/non-con elements, Tim Drake has bad parents (they are the worst) Lots of protective Jason, Cass and Dick Summary: "That is what I was trying to protect you from Damian." Tim's voice was hollow. "You talk about your birthright as Bruce's blood son, that you want everything you deem yours handed to you on a silver platter without knowing that there is a price you are going to pay. Do you know how many there are who would love to have the Crown Prince of Gotham's blood son in their power? Forced to do whatever they want to seal the deal? They are the monster waiting in the shadows knowing their money and power will protect them. I was trying to protect you, Damian.

"To protect Damian Tim gives himself to a monster of his past. Word Count: 2,901 You can also read it on AO3

"Enough is enough. Today is the day that I take my birthright back from Drake." Damian had waited long enough for his father to dismiss the unwanted one, he had already been removed as Robin as one of them now it was time to remove him from his position as CEO - it was his birthright and that Drake was still in his place filled Damian with rage - and once and for all show Drake he wasn't wanted nor needed and it was time for him to move on, far away from them.

Damian had overheard a conversation between Drake and Tam before Drake discovered and destroyed the bugs Damian had planted in the CEO's office the last time he had been there reminding Drake that he was nothing but a temporary replacement until father took back what was his or passed it onto him as it is his birthright.

Tam had brought up the owner of a company that they needed to work with but the CEO was holding out until Tim agreed to a private meeting with him.

"We can't keep putting this meeting off. The board members are beginning to ask questions as to why you don't want to meet with Aiden Tyler."

"I know. His company is doing some good but Aiden Tyler is an ass."

"Tim!"

"I'm sorry but I have dealt with that man in the past and he is a real scumbag and if we didn't need his product I would tell him to go to hell. Call and see if you can make an appointment with him sometime next week."

Damian knew that was his chance to prove he was worthy to take over now, despite his age.

+******+

Aiden Tyler quickly agreed to meet with Damian and the youngest Wayne couldn't help but preen with pride.

"That will show Drake." He will secure the deal and prove once again how worthless Drake is then maybe they could finally be rid of him.

Dressed in his finest of suits Damian arrived at the five-star restaurant where he walked in and owned the place like the Prince he is. "I am meeting Aiden Tyler, take me to him." He demanded.

The host quickly did as ordered and Damian couldn't help but smirk the man knew not to mess with a Wayne.

Led to a booth in the back a handsome man with deep brown hair with streaks of silver the man was fit for nearing his fifties. Dark eyes met his and Damian refused to shiver as they roamed over him with something in them that made him uncomfortable.

"Mr. Tyler, I am Damian Wayne, I am thankful that you could work me into your schedule." Damian greeted him.

Aiden's lips curled up into a smile, "Please call me Aiden and when it comes to Wayne Enterprise I am always willing to make room. I'm sure that we can work out a partnership that is agreeable to both parties."

There was something about the way the man spoke that reminded Damian of a predator stalking its prey. 'Well, Mister Tyler you will learn that Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is no one's prey.' "I hope that as well."

"Well isn't this nice but if you want to do business with Wayne Enterprise you need to talk to me."

"What are you doing here Drake?" Damian hissed out, he couldn't believe that Drake had the nerve to show up here and ruin his chance to prove to his father he was ready.

Thankful for all the train Bruce had given them Tim was able to hide his feelings behind a cool mask as he was forced to face someone he hoped he would never see again unless it was behind jail bars. "I am doing my job, Damian. Now, why don't you run along and leave this to the grown-ups." Tim ordered not suggested.

Damian bristled much like Alfred the cat and he looked ready to spew his usual vile insults towards Tim but right now he didn't care, he needed Damian far away and somewhere safe.

"If you leave now I will not inform Bruce of you trying to endanger Wayne Enterprise's." Tim held up a hand as Damian went to speak, "As you would know because of your age any agreement you reached with Mister Tyler would not be binding. So in order for this partnership to be legal, it is me that must make the deals. Now head home Damian." Tim ordered.

A low growl escaped Damian he hated to admit that Drake had a point, after all, he was not of age to make any partnership legal which is why he had planned on creating the agreement than bringing his father in to show him he was capable. Now he couldn't for that surely end with his father agreeing with Drake. "This is far from over," Damian warned before storming out.

"Such a shame, I was looking forward to seeing what young Mister Wayne had to offer me." Aiden's voice was like nails on a chalk board and all Tim wanted to do was run far away but it was too late for if he did nothing the man would go after Damian again.

'You can do this Tim. You have faced the likes of the Joker and Ra. You can face him.' Tim repeated to himself as he forced the smile back on his face, "I'm sorry but you will have to settle with me."

Aiden's smile turned wicked, "We both know that I won't be settling for you, Tim. Come sit, let us catch up before we get down to business."

Having little choice Tim slipped into the booth.

Tim could feel the vile beginning to build up in the back of his throat as Aiden's hand slid up his thigh. He did his best not to shudder as unwanted memories flooded his mind.

Moving closer Aiden removed any space between the two of them, "I still hope that you cry as pretty as you use to do." Aiden whispered in Tim's ear. "I am going to have so much fun breaking you all over again. It was so sweet of you to offer to take your little brother's place."

Tim wondered if it was wrong that he wished for an Arkham outbreak at that very moment. "As long as you leave Damian alone you can have me instead."

"Agreed." Never had such a word sent pure terror flowing through Tim's body.

+******+

"Father! I demand that you talk to Drake!" Damian growled as he slammed the door to the manor open.

Bruce could feel a headache building, he wished that his two youngest sons could get along. "What now?"

"I had a meeting with Aiden Tyler, one that Drake has been putting off for a month, since he wasn't in a hurry to seal the deal I took it onto myself to see it through."

Cass appeared out of nowhere, her expression hard, "Did you leave Tim with him?" She shocked everyone with her growl.

Damian blinked at Cassandra, taken back by the rage burning in her eyes. "Yes."

Horror filled Cass' eyes before she was moving. Bouncing to his feet Dick followed after his sister, "Cass, what is going on?"

"Tyler hurt little brother in past and is hurting him now." Was all that Cass offered before she was gone, leaving their very confused family behind.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound too good, someone gets Babs on the line and have her find out everything she can about this Aiden Tyler," Jason suggested. Something was bugging him, he had heard that name before and the fact that it made him want to reach for his guns wasn't a good sign.

Worry shone in Dick's blue eyes, "Do you think Timmy might be in danger?" His and Tim's relationship hadn't been the same since he didn't believe Tim that Bruce was alive and caused him to lose his standing in the hero community, he kept meaning to fix it but he kept pushing it off and now his baby brother might be in trouble and he might turn away his offer of comfort.

"I do," Jason growled out.

+******+

At Alfred's suggestion, they had moved down to the cave to do a background check on Aiden Tyler and discovering that Tyler Holdings had a history of deals with Jack and Janet Drake made Jason even more on edge.

He stepped over the edge when Cass returned a protective and murderous aura pouring off of her and a long line of hickies on Tim's neck arrived. Cass was curled around Tim, looking like a mama bear ready to take down anyone who proved a threat to her cub, her sharp glare had everyone on edge.  

A gasp of horror escaped Dick, "Timmy."

Jason knew what those marks meant, he had worn his own when he was living on the streets.

Bruce looked like he was going to be sick, his parents and then Alfred had shielded him from the lengths some would go to get more money.

Though Damian had been raised as an Al Ghul his mother had made sure he would never have to lower himself to serve others so he had no clue as to what powder keg he was about to set off. "What is the meaning of this Drake? You were supposed to be sealing a deal not lowering yourself to be a common whore." Damian snarled at Tim.

"Damian! Enough!"

Shock filled Damian's face as he found himself taking a step back at the anger in Dick's voice, his Batman had never spoken to him like that and he didn't know why Richard chose know to speak up. "Why are you defending him now Richard? I am only speaking the truth as I have before, Drake has proven himself to be nothing but a whore unfit to wear the Wayne name."

"I'm only the whore to spare you from becoming one." Tim's voice was soft but it echoed through the cave.

Damian could only blink at Drake before scoffing at him, "I would never lower myself as something so disgraceful. You make no sense."

The fire burned in Tim's dull eyes, "There was a reason that I kept putting off meeting with Tyler. I was waiting until I was sure that Bruce, Dick or Jason could be there with me. The bastard wouldn't try anything with one of them there. He just likes them young and pretty."

"What are you saying, Timmy?" Dick didn't know if he wanted to know the answer.

"You think that this is the first time that I had to give myself over for a business deal?" The laugh that escaped Tim was bitter. "I have been doing this for years. I was a prize that my parents dangled before anyone they could. Now that I am CEO of Wayne Enterprise I am an even bigger prize."

Jason's eyes were glowing green as he realized what his baby bird was saying.

Dick looked like he was going to murder someone.

Bruce looked horrified.

And Damian... Damian looked baffled.

"That is what I was trying to protect you from Damian." Tim's voice was hollow. "You talk about your birthright as Bruce's blood son, that you want everything you deem yours handed to you on a silver platter without knowing that there is a price you are going to pay. Do you know how many there are who would love to have the Crown Prince of Gotham's blood son in their power? Forced to do whatever they want to seal the deal? They are the monster waiting in the shadows knowing their money and power will protect them. I was trying to protect you, Damian."

To no one's surprise, Jason took a protective stance in front of Tim, there were few things he hated more than child rapist, the main one being the Joker, and to hear that his little brother had been forced to entertain monsters like that had him tasting the pit in the back of his mouth and he wanted nothing more than to hunt all those bastards down but that would come later right now all that matters is Tim. "Cass, take Tim upstairs and call those friends of his. He needs to be with people who will love and support him."

It was telling how awful that Tim was feeling as he didn't put up any protest as he allowed Cass to lead him out of the cave, he stopped only once to look at Damian, "You might not believe this but I do love you Damian and there was no way that I was going to let my little brother be forced to do something like that, not if I could protect him in ways that no one protected me."

Bruce collapsed into the chair as he buried his face in his hands. Dick would have offered him comfort but his legs gave out beneath him.

A dangerous growl escaped Jason as he flew a fist at the punching bag, he didn't care what Bruce said tonight he was going hunting.

"I didn't know." A shaken Damian whispered, he thought that Drake hated him just like he hates him but to know what Drake protected him from made his world spin. His mother had drilled into him that Timothy Drake was his enemy and the only way to take his place in his father's family was to get rid of him. "This makes no sense. Why would Drake do that for me?"

"Because you are his little brother and he was trying to keep you safe," Dick answered him with a sad smile on his face. Tim had protected Damian but they failed in keeping him safe. "There has to be a way to fix this." Dick just didn't know how to start.

A strong hand landed on his shoulder lifting his head Dick found himself staring into Bruce's grim face, "We messed up B."

"I know." Bruce felt guilt building up in him, he is Tim's father it is his duty to keep him safe. "All we can do is be there for him. Jason is right though Tim needs his friends here. We need to show him that we love him and are here for him."

No one noticed when Jason slipped away from them he had a monster to hunt.

+*****+

Kitchen

Jason stalked towards the door with purpose in his step.

"Master Jason."

Halting in mid-step Jason clenched his fists at his sides, "I cherish you Alfred but not even you can stop me from doing this." Jason warned.

"I don't intend to Master Jason," That had Jason whirling around to look at Alfred, the man looked calm but Jason could see the storm brewing in his eyes, "I would just like to inform you that Aiden Tyler will be attending a party tonight and from his habits, he will not arrive at home until around 2 am, which at such time the Sirens have promised to keep the rest of the Bats busy," Alfred informed Jason. No one hurt one of his grandchildren.

A wicked grin appeared on Jason's face, "This is why you are the best Alfred."

"Indeed. Now I need to prepare snacks for Master Tim's guests. Do be sure to return tonight and I shall have your favourite cookies waiting for you." Alfred gave Jason a soft smile.

"You rule Alfred." Jason would come back for Alfred and look after Tim.

+*****+

With Tim curled up in a puppy pile with Bart, Connor, Cassie and Cass watching Star Wars. The Sirens leading Batman, Nightwing and Robin on a chase throughout Gotham the Red Hood was free to deal with business.

Aiden was riding a high he had sealed a deal with Wayne Enterprise that was sure to make him an even wealthier man and his favourite toy returned to him. Nothing could bring him down.

That was until he felt the cold metal of the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead. A red helmet followed and Aiden felt a sense of fear.

The Red Hood was in his home.

"Whoever sent you I am sure that I can pay you double what they offered you."

"I am a Crime Lord I don't need your money and no one sent me. See I have issues with people like you who target children and think because you have the money and power that you are above the law. But you aren't above me. I am here to ensure that no other child is gifted to you."

Aiden had been so focused on the gun at his head he never noticed the second one aimed at his groin until it was too late.

Beneath his helmet, Jason grinned as Aiden screamed in pain on the floor, blood pooling around him.

+*****+

"Is he dealt with?" Dick asked.

Jason grinned at his older brother, "He will never hurt baby bird again."

While Dick wished he had been the one to deal with that bastard he needed to keep Bruce busy, still that didn't mean he wouldn't ruin him in other ways. Someone had sent Clark a copy of everything Babs had dug up on Aiden. He would see that monster ruined, without money and his power stripped from him, until he was as helpless as he made Tim feel.

[duhragonball]

Hi! I wanna preface this by saying this isn’t a request for a liveblog, but just a recommendation for some light reading. There’s a comedy-action series currently running called Mashle: Magic and Muscles. It’s basically just taking the piss out of Harry Potter (mocking the house system, blatantly unfair classes, and just general story structure) in a sort of ‘One Punch Man’ way. It’s a lot of fun and doesn’t take long to get through at all.

I may check that out some time, but from my point of view, taking the piss out of Harry Potter is like shooting fish in a barrel. I shot the hell out of that barrel years ago, and I'm not sure there's much more appeal to be had in seeing it done again. Mashle is probably really good, but I'd probably have enjoyed it more in 2010 than in 2021.

Part of what sucked the wind out of my sails was when JKR went full-transphobe a few years ago, and it started to realize that all the pathetic asshole characters she wrote were a reflection of her own character. Snape was ultimately on the good guys' side, but he still betrayed Lupin just to be a colossal dick. Umbridge was more concerned about sorting her doilies and imposing order on others than in any sort of compassion or moral ideology. Gilderoy Lockhart was a narcissist social climber, desperate to hijack any conversation and make it about himself.

Fans want to compare JKR to Hermione, mostly for lack of any prominent female characters, but Hermione's no saint either. She spent all of Book 3 using time travel to take all of her classes, but she still talked shit about Trelawny for daring to suggest that a person could magically see into the future. Never mind that Trelawny had actually done it before, and got tenure teaching it as a recognized subject. I'm not saying Trelawny was good at her job, but you've got some girl saying "Um, actually, I think I know a little bit more about your life experiences than you do, so I'm going to do everything in my power to discredit you."

Sound familiar?

I'm sorry for going off on a tangent here. You're just recommending some manga to me, and I appreciate it, but I've had this on my mind for a while. Here's the thing I can't get out of my head: Nick Gage robbed a bank.

Let me explain. Nick Gage is a professional wrestler, specializing in "deathmatch" wrestling, where weapons are legal. One time he was pronounced legally dead during a match, because there was broken glass everywhere and he got hurt and I'm not sure I know or want to know the full story. But he got better and he's still alive today. Somewhere in between, he had some hard times and ended up robbing a bank and going to prison for five years.

But Gage is a folk hero, and I admire the man, in part because he appreciates his fans for supporting him. All of his fans, including the LBGTQ+ ones. On July 7, 2020, he cut this awesome promo declaring that trans rights are human rights. He's not sitting on a golden throne, spewing a bunch of bullshit pseudo-biology to millions of followers. He's just speaking from the heart. I think this was one of those deals where you pay someone to do a video greeting, but he went on to add that he would have said this for free, because he believes it. Here's another video where he explains why this is so important to him.

Rowling, and a lot of her characters, they always seem to "punch down", taking shots at people in worse circumstances than themselves. Nick Gage doesn't do that, probably because he's been about as down as it gets, and he knows what that's like. He knows other people have it tough and he has enough empathy to respect what other people are going through. I heard JKR was an unemployed single mother once, but it's hard to tell if she remembers any of that.

This is why I get a little nervous when I hear people talk about things being "wholesome" or "family friendly" or whatever. Because what they usually mean is that they want things to be sanitized, uncomplicated and unchallenging. I never liked the way people put Harry Potter on a pedestal of literature, perfect for young children and college classrooms alike. It carries this broad appeal, and I fear that's because it doesn't really have anything to say, no bold demand that would upset anyone. I mean, there's an implied message about the evils of classism, but Rowling doesn't seem to believe it if she's willing to turn against some of her most vulnerable fans for TERF clout.

Then they made some Harry Potter video game for PS5 or whatever, and all these fans are like "Gosh, I'd like to stop giving this hateful woman more money, but I'm afraid I simply cannot help but answer the call to Diagon Alley once more." It's gutless. You've got generations of people reading these books and the books aren't even that good, and nobody learns anything from them except how to spend more money on this shit. Nick Gage wrestles in broken glass for a living and he gets it, so why can't anyone else?

I'm sorry, I sort of hulked out there for a bit. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Mashle is probably a lot of fun, but it probably doesn't operate on this level, where all the characters are jerks and society is worse off for their introduction into Western Canon. But I might still check it out sometime.

[justasparkwritings]

Peace: Clowns to the West

Previous: Would It Be Enough? 

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Angst / Slice of Life

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse/manipulation, Mentions of rehab, Scandals, Mention of fighting 

Summary: Across the globe, Big Hit grapples with Jungkook’s outburst. 

Listening: peace by Taylor Swift 

This is officially the last chapter of peace. Mirrorball follows. Illicit Affairs precedes.  

Peace Master List

         “We can’t make them break up,” Mr. Cho, a Big Hit lawyer, told Bang and Sejin.

         “Why not?” Bang asked.

         “Both sides signed an agreement.” Ms. Lee, a second lawyer, reminded them.

         “It’s in his contract, they have to remain secret,” Bang responded.

         “They’ve been together almost three years and they’ve never had a slip up,” Mr. Yang said.

         “This isn’t a slip up! This is a total disregard for decorum! For rules! For boundaries!” Bang yelled, voice echoing against the walls of the conference room.

         “Do we know why Jungkook punched him?” Sejin inquired.

         “Not yet,” Mr. Cho answered, eyes moving to Ms. Lee and Mr. Yang, conferring in silent glances.

         “His hand is okay though,” Ms. Lee responded. “We got confirmation.”

         “Good, who is posting it?” Mr. Yang asked.

         “A few tweets have surfaced, no one on Weverse has said anything, and it doesn’t seem to be sold to anyone, yet,” Ms. Cho informed them. Her spectacled eyes stayed glued on her screen as she fielded emails, tweets and Weverse posts, mining for a hint that anyone knew what transpired.

         “Do we have the name?” Bang wanted to know.

         “We’re working on it, the lawyers in LA are fighting the clock to get the footage and receipts from the restaurant so we can narrow it down, we’ve got a team working on tracing him,” Mr. Cho said.

         Mr. Cho, Ms. Lee and Mr. Yang had worked for Big Hit for all of three years. They had joined when Namjoon had led the insurrection, when BTS had demanded new contracts and lawyers that worked for the good of everyone, not only the executives of Big Hit. They worked closely with the band, fought for them, protected their rights and stood by them when Bang and Co were unreasonable. They had combed through the agency, ridding it of lawyers whose integrity was compromised, whose morals allowed them to turn a blind eye when discussions of what had happened to Jungkook occurred. They were poison, and Cho, Lee and Yang were resolute in their decisions to rid the company of them.

         “The LA lawyers are arguing it was a hate crime, the man attacked first and Jungkook defended himself and y/n,” Mr. Yang said.  

         “No one knows about his fight with Namjoon, do they?” Sejin inquired.

         “It’s been three years, sir, if someone knows, they would’ve sold it by now,” Ms. Lee told him.

         “This cannot get out.” Bang reiterated.

         “What if it does?” Sejin questioned.

         “Jungkook pays for having it scrubbed from the web,” Bang responded quickly.

         “What will ARMY say?” Sejin pushed. The ever-present fear, the thorn in their side, what would ARMY do?

         “They’ll be livid,” Bang responded, looking at Sejin.

         “Angry at the person who assaulted Jungkook, or Jungkook for having a secret relationship?” Sejin asked.

         “Both, they want Jungkook for themselves. Not only is he in a committed relationship, which he has lied about for nearly three years, but he met her when he was sent to rehab, and he’s punching men over her,” Bang ticked off each reason on his chubby fingers, not pausing when Sejin wanted to interrupt. “They’ll find the man and harass him until the day he dies.”

         “Are they closer to getting married?” Ms. Lee interrupted.

         “We should ask,” Sejin said.

         “We asked when Jungkook came to us the first time,” Bang reminded him.

         “He didn’t have an answer,” Sejin shrugged.

         “He specifically asked that he be given the chance to see where it could go,” Mr. Cho had pulled up the initial agreement, signed years ago, never amended.

         “They’d already been dating for six months at that point,” Mr. Yang said.

         “He was too good at hiding it,” Bang whispered, eyes drifting from Sejin to the pictures that lined the office, images from concerts, award shows, when they received their medals and spoke at the UN. Images of their accomplishments, of their status, of their power.

         “Namjoon told him he had to tell us,” Sejin spoke softly, pulling Bang from his reverie.

         “They gave us answers to our questions,” Bang responded, voice still soft.

         ”I’ve never met a woman so angry before,” Mr. Cho said laughing.

         “She was rightfully angry with us,” Sejin stated.

         Bang’s eyes grew wide, creases in his forehead appearing as his glare bored into Sejin, “She nearly tore them apart.”

         “We nearly tore them apart” Sejin corrected.

         “We?” Bang’s voice had gone from a docile whisper to a yell, a change in decibels that surprised Sejin.

         “We asked Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon to ask those questions. We gave them the list, we told them when they had to do it. We manipulated Jungkook for years. We have nearly torn them apart so many times, it’s a miracle they are standing.” Sejin was fuming, the total disregard for their behavior sickened him. He hated the way Bang ignored their actions, hoping no one would notice if they were quiet about it. They signed the bands new contracts, they agreed to allow Jungkook to date and ease up on their restrictions. They made plans to be better and now, with Jungkook hurting, they were discussing the possibility of hurting him again.

         “And out of the ashes, Jungkook’s relationship,” Mr. Yang replied.

         “Out of the ashes, Jungkook rises, again and again,” Sejin corrected.

         “They came back with nothing,” Bang repeated.

         “Disdain and anger,” Again Sejin corrected Bang’s revisionist memory. “They felt that before they spoke with her.”

         “They’ve done a good job keeping their relationship quiet. Can’t we extend them a little grace?” Ms. Lee said, bringing the men back to the conversation at hand.

         “No, they signed a contract,” Bang snapped.

         “It was self-defense,” Mr. Yang reminded him.

         “No one will care,” Bang said.

         “They’ll want her name, how long they’ve been together, how they got together,” Mr. Cho listed the questions they too had asked.

         “We tell them that Jungkook met her on contract mandated anger management and rehab? That we sent him to an outpatient treatment on the ruse of working on music and choreography in LA, when he was really in therapy because of the decade of abuse he endured at our hands?” Sejin countered Mr. Cho, angered that they continued to gloss over these inalienable truths.

         “Don’t forget that Namjoon went out there too,” Mr. Yang added.

         “Yoongi and Seokjin as well,” Ms. Lee aforementioned.

         “They met at a restaurant by chance, that part is true,” Mr. Cho took a sip of his water, tired from the hours long meeting.

         “While he was in rehab,” Mr. Yang amended.

         “That we drove him to,” Sejin interjected. Unlike Bang, he kept his fury under the surface, simmering, bursts of steam the only sign that he was angered.

         “Or that our agreement stated if he attended treatment, he could date,” Mr. Cho shrugged, tossing back a few aspirin with his water.

         “Him and Namjoon, two relationships,” Bang muttered.

         “Both Americans,” Sejin added.

         “It’s less of a headache, less to hide,” Bang stated.

         “How long until the rest come knocking?” Sejin asked.

         “We’ll have to deal with their, sexualities,” Mr. Yang reminded them.

         “They can’t be gay and a pop star,” Bang scoffed.

         “They can in almost every other country in the world,” Ms. Lee told them. She had been a lawyer in Korea for years, and never had she been so conflicted about the integrity of her career as she was working for Big Hit.

         “They can’t leave us, do we have enough to stand upon?” Bang’s mind was moving to the worst-case scenario, Jungkook breaking his contract, the other six following. They were a unit, they were a team, they couldn’t stand without each other. They didn’t have to, and they never wanted to.

         “Financially? Yes, for a while,” Mr. Yang answered.

         “But what will our name mean?” Sejin pondered aloud, “Our legacy if the seven of them decide either after their next negotiations, after service, or before, that they don’t want to be represented by an organization that denies them love, relationships, a family?”

         “We follow the same policies as every other agency,” Bang said.

         “Yes, but do they have as much power and clout as we do?” Sejin questioned. “Who will we be if we don’t let them date who they want, love who they want, marry who they want?”

         “Page Six,” Ms. Lee called.

         “Who?” Bang asked, temper rising.

         “Page Six and TMZ, they’ve got it,” Ms. Lee clarified.

         “Get it down!” Bang roared.

         “What if they won’t?” Mr. Yang asked.

         Bang took a deep breath, regaining his composure before he spoke, “No amount of money is too much.”

         “How much is Jungkook willing to pay?” Mr. Cho inquired.

         “Call and -

         “Don’t call, get it down and we can negotiate with him later,” Bang instructed.

         “They’ve got video,” Ms. Lee told them.

         “Video!” Bang and Sejin yelled.

         “Let me see it, now!” Bang roared.

         The video was tossed on the screen, and in grainy footage, they could see the man approach you. They could see him grab you, Jungkook telling him to back off. In fuzzy audio they heard bits and pieces of the various slurs and they watched as you and Jungkook froze before his fist collided. The video was coupled with dozens of bad photos, none miraculously, capturing his tattoos. In the rush to leave the bar, there was a single instant, a moment, where the undercut can be seen, the earrings flash, a slight blur of ink, and a side profile that looks almost, almost, like Jungkook flashes across the screen.

         The team sat, clicking through the photos, watching the video over and over. For what it’s worth, and it’s worth a lot, you never yell his name. You never identified the man you’re with, and other than a blur of skin, your face couldn’t be made out. The only thing that was obvious was the man spewing hate. His volume louder than anyone else’s.

         It’s in the moments of watching the video over and over, looping the audio, sending it to engineers to enhance, that more photos began popping up, better quality, videos with clear shots of Jungkook’s face.

         Bang and Sejin are on the phone with lawyers and conglomerates, trying to pay by the hundred thousand, reaching out to their already made contacts in hopes of stopping this.

         They could barely admit it, but they were scared.

Scared of ARMY’s reaction.

Scared of what this means for Namjoon and the others.

Scared for the safety of you and Jungkook.

Scared their stocks will tank.

Scared that BTS will walk.

Scared that their lies and manipulation will come to light.

Scared that hate speech and racial slurs will spill out from the dark corners they’ve been hiding.

Scared of the power they created.

Scared of the dynamic they were breathing in.

         But more than that, they’re scared that they have, again, in an attempt to control him, given Jungkook too much.

         It never matters what Big Hit has taken from him. Only what he’s given, and the promise of more in the future. A scandal of this size, a hidden lover, unsure if Jungkook would do anything to stop it, was enough for them to pay extra to have teams monitor for the next several hours, weeks, even months to ensure it doesn’t get out. It’s enough for them to put Jungkook on stricter orders, to attempt to amend his contract, to attempt to cage him in. They’ve got him on his tiptoes, spinning, shining for them with the threat of shattering looming above them all.