#shocked that i don't hate the drawing since its been so long

[luckytiggertalia]

One day I'll finish that big illustration..... one day.......

WIPs below the line <3

Homelander as a naga,,,

where's @luckytiggertalia

talia!! where's the nagalander!!!

[weirdmorefics]

Could you pls do a fake dating fic with Colin bridgerton? Tysm xx

A Life Long Scheme

A/N- Sorry for the delay! I really do have the fanfiction writer curse! I say that every time but I mean it! I got my appendix out and rode in an ambulance. They don't even play music in them FYI.

Readers Pronouns- She/Her

Word Count- 2,512

Summary- You convince Colin to fake court you to gain the attention of other suitors but jealousy consumes Colin.

I knew I would have a hard time finding a suitor from a young age. My family may be wealthy enough to attend balls but certainly not enough for a sizable dowry for each of their children. I grew up competitive trying to prove myself worthy even if I came with a small dowry. My siblings relied on their looks but I was determined to be the best at everything. I will treat coming out like I do life competitively. As the eldest, I must set an example.

I was lined up with the others coming out into society this year. They all nervously played with their clothes and looked to the floor. I too felt like doing that but I kept my emotions bottled tightly in my chest and held my head high. We all took our turns bowing in front of the Queen she looked completely unbothered by us, dare I say bored.

I was last in line she looked me up and down and said, "I am unsure if anyone qualifies as a diamond this season."

I can't fight back the sharp inhale I take, I can physically feel my heart launch its way into my throat. I feel as if I may hurl as she gets up and walks away escorted by her guards. I look around at others visible shock. I can't help but feel the Queen just left because of me. I mean I was the last one. I need to do something! I can't fail already I just came out into society!

My night was filled with pacing and plotting. There has to be a way to impress Her Majesty. My Mama tried to comfort me but Father quickly told her there was no point in speaking to me when I was like this. I hate to admit but he is unfortunately correct. Once I am in a thought spiral there is no getting out. I thought of other seasons for most of the night as I lay in bed. What did they do to gain the Queen's attention? The most notable season of late would have to be Daphne's. I can't recall the last time The Ton has seen a marriage done with such haste before. She had a massive amount of suitors after her though that was only after The Duke's appearance.

The idea hit me suddenly I launched out of bed, put my carpet slippers on, and ran out of the house. I am lucky my family sleeps so soundly because I am sure I sounded like a horse trotting as I ran through the house. The Bridgerton manor is right next to ours, so close in fact that I grew up playing games with all the Bridgertons. Colin has always been my dearest friend (even though Mama always told me a male friend was improper). I knew Colin would go along with my plan, we have been scheming and pranking since we were children. This should be no different! It unfortunately hit me how late it was when I stood in the darkness of the Bridgerton Garden. I was here now I refused to backtrack just because it was an untimely hour.

I used the bushes to help guide me to Colin's familiar window. Once there I gathered tiny pebbles and started ricocheting them off his window. It did not take him long to wake and open the window with a messy bedhead and a lit lantern. His face instantly flushes at the sight of me.

"My god Y/n what are you doing out here in this state!" He shouts

I follow his gaze to my clothes and feel my face heat. My god, I did not think this through as I stood in front of Colin Bridgerton's window in the dark, in my silk nightgown. I will see this through the damage is done. "I have a plan," I smile.

He sighs and rubs his forehead, "Oh no… you are lucky my sleeping schedule is still askew from traveling abroad. Now get inside before someone sees you!"

I met him in the drawing room and he refused to look me in the eye, "So what is so important that you have decided to grace the house with your presence at this ungodly hour."

"I am here to present you with a proposition," I clasp my hands as he finally looks at my face suspiciously.

"And what might this proposition be? I can assume nothing good," he questions.

I roll my eyes and pace as I recite my plan."As you know Daphne was utterly suitorless during her season courtesy of Anthony. However, the moment a Duke entered the picture she had men competing for hand. They could not care less about Anthony's interventions."

Colin nodded confused, "Your point?"

"My point is I need competition! So I propose that you pretend to court me! If you will? I know you are aware of my Papa's financial situation… I mean the whole ton is after Lady Whistledown published his unfortunate business decisions and his one-too-many daughters for a dowry. None of this will matter if I can get a suitor who loves me and will help my family but that can't be done if I can't attract a suitor!" I continue to pace as Colin looks entirely unsure of what to make of this situation. I take a deep breath, "So what do you say?"

Colin looks at me with puppy dog eyes, "Of course Y/n. You are my dearest friend. I must know why you decided to discuss this so late at night in your…" he flushes again and looks to the ground. "In your nightgown."

I suddenly became all too aware of my attire and became a stuttering mess, "the conversation was of utmost importance the time of day and clothing choices have nothing to do with it!"

Colin smirks, "I see."

"I must save my Papa's business if not for him but for the chance my sisters will get to marry for true love and not for financial gain," I sigh. Colin's eyes which were once teasing turn to sadness, "Do not look at me like that Colin. I don't need your pity, I need your help."

He nods and straightens his posture, "Of course Y/n. Of course, I will help."

I quietly snuck back into the house after speaking to Colin. The plan was set in stone he would be the first dance on my dance card and we would round up potential suitors together. We were joined at the hip for every event and I purposely chose the busiest times to promenade so the most amount of suitors would see us.

I soon began to gain the attention of many suitors and even had many coming to my house to call on me! Mama was so proud I was so happy to take her mind off the situation with Papa.

Mama pulled me to the side of the drawing room, "Maybe hanging out with the Bridgerton boy will help you! Maybe their fortune will rub off on us!" I was proud to inform her I was to promenade in the park today with Colin. It was odd to see her smile with excitement instead of pale at the thought of her daughter spending her time with a man who never planned to court her. I wish she wasn't only proud of me when I wasn't doing something that benefited me in finding a wealthy suitor. It's no matter though, I will do anything to make her proud, and it feels like I'm finally doing it. She spent the whole morning with me to find a suitable dress for my outing.

Colin arrived promptly at the time we set previously and accompanied me to the park. As we promenaded I felt many eyes on us they truly believed Colin would court the daughter of a family barely escaping financial ruin. It is truly almost humorous how easily we have swayed the ton.

"It is truly working Colin! Mother is so proud that I will be the one to save my family's reputation. Such a shame she picked such a layered gown for one of the warmest days of the season," I whisper and fiddle with the seams of my dress.

Colin sighs, "How many suitors are you getting from this Y/n? They can't all have honorable intentions given your beauty and your family's standing."

I roll my eyes, " Why Colin Bridgerton are you jealous? I would not think you are the type. Do not worry you will always be my dearest friend. No husband could replace you."

His face turns serious, "I am just worried. I hope you are doing this for the right reasons and not for the sake of your Mama… and I am most certainly not jealous."

For someone who said he is certainly not jealous he didn't sound quite certain. That, however, is not what distracted me. "You think I want to marry a man not for love but purely for financial gain? It is every woman's dream to marry for love! We can't all have the privilege to do so! Especially one born into a family with a gambling addict for a father and a mother too frail to defend herself. My mother has been preparing me for coming out since I was a child! This is my job as the eldest! To secure a good future for my siblings so perhaps they get the opportunity to marry for love as I will never get to!" I back up as if I may burn from Colin's shocking gaze but I still point a finger at him, "And the fact that you don't already know this Bridgerton is having me question if we ever truly were friends! Perhaps all those travel stories in your head leave not much room for anything else."

I storm away from the Bridgerton, I think after his initial shock he calls for me but my rage prevents me from looking back to see if it was true or a cruel trick of my ears. It was perhaps not the greatest idea to run off from a suitor with no chaperone. Maybe I wouldn't have found myself in such a precarious situation if I had chaperone. I find myself cursing my father in my head for his terrible gambling habits that prevent anyone from wanting to associate with the likes of us. Therefore getting me into this mess in the first place.

"Y/N L/N, we have been watching you for quite some time. Your father never described your intense beauty but how could one put it into words?" The seedy man approached me.

I smiled politely, "Thank you! May I inquire how you know my father?"

"Oh darling I think you know why we are here. I mean the whole ton knows about your father's habits shall we say." He smiles menaceingly and I think to myself of course this has to do with his damn gambling habits.

I back up in case I have to make a quick escape and he unfortunately catches on. He grabs my wrist to keep me in place, "We have been very patient with your father. Given his position in the ton, we thought we could be lenient with his payment schedule. However, it turns out we were mistaken. What is more shocking is the fact that his daughter thinks she has a chance of finding a suitor with no dowry."

"Sir please unhand me," I try to pull away from his grasp.

"You think being in the company of the Bridgertons will help your family situation? Perhaps we could take you as payment? You do draw a lot of attention despite your social ruin. We could use you to bring more men to the establishment," he smiles sinisterly.

I yank my hand away even harder out of fear but his strength still outmatches mine, "Why would I ever help you put more families in financial ruin!"

He laughs, "Darling you think you have a choice?"

His eyes narrow at something behind me and I hear Colin's voice, "I believe the lady asked you to unhand her."

"This does not involve you, sir," he growled.

"You see it is my business when you have your hands on my betrothed, Colin growls back.

My eyes furrowed in confusion. He had been fake courting me of course but we certainly did not discuss a fake betrothal.

The man laughs yet again, "I read in Lady Whistledown that you were courting her but the fact a Bridgerton would sink to the likes of the L/N family."

I took in a shallow breath and Colin growled in response. This situation was going quickly downhill.

"You will not besmirch the lady's name! Now I won't ask again unhand her!" Colin shouts.

"Whatever you say," he smirks and tosses me to the ground. Colin's grimace seems to only encourage the man more, "I'd honestly prefer to use her to replace her father's debt but if you want to drag your family name down with her so be it." He walks away with a peppy jaunt in his step and I glare at him from the ground.

Colin quickly helps me to my feet, "I would have dueled him right here and now if I was not in the presence of a lady."

I brush the dirt off my gown, "It's fine. I'm fine. I will handle it."

"No, you will not! you will not take a step towards that insipid man," he yells.

"Well, Colin you don't really have any choice in that matter! Do you? You are just fake courting me. Or fake betrothing me now? I don't know. I have lost track honestly!" I rant.

His face turns serious, "Y/n I care for you! I would forsake my whole family name for you! You think I do not burn with rage every time I see a new man attempt to call on you after I started court you! I noticed your beauty and your smarts before any of these men did! The fact that they only noticed you once another gentleman entered the picture is disgraceful! I will always notice you Y/n! I will never let your family go through this! I hope to be a love match for you and help your family."

Tears collect in my eyes. As the oldest sibling I've never been the one that was cared for but the one that does the caring. Colin's words made me feel full. I try to tease but it comes more out as a sob, "Mr. Bridgerton are you proposing to me."

He smiles, "I think it is about time I finally proposed to you after you always proposed your schemes to me. So what do you say Ms. L/N? Would you like to continue proposing schemes to me for the rest of our lives?"

I nod aggressively smiling. There was no stopping the happy tears now.

[mindless-existence1]

hii i hope you’re well! could you write izuku with thigh riding? ty💗💗

Authors note: Awesome request I fear I love sub izuku. This is gn reader and aged up to not be weird. Hope you enjoy!

REQUESTS OPEN! REQUESTS OPEN FOR FLUFF ANF KINKTOBER!

"Honey please I need you." Izuku whines, drawing out the syllables in please. He has been begging you for the past few minutes. "Babe I'm busy, you're being greedy." He whines at the word.

"I'm not greedy I just want your attention please." Izuku comes towards your desk where you are sitting. He pushes your rolly chair out from the desk and plops himself down onto your lap. Your hand instinctively go to his waist.

"Thought you were a good boy Izuku? Why are you misbehaving?" Izuku shakes his head at your words. He hated when you were upset with him but he didn't care he needed this. "Have you gotten spoied?"

Your hot breath fans over his ear sending shivers down his spine. Izuku grabs your shoulders tightly. Spoiled? He was not spoiled. Why were you acting so mean? You hadn't been this mean to him for a long time.

Normally a bit of begging got him his way, but he guesses he has to bring out the big guns. Hot tears start to stream down his face and into the crook of your neck.

You grab his hair and pull him away from you neck causing him to whimper at the slight pain. "Don't get me wet baby." That's really all you say? No no no this can't be right. He was crying and you don't give him?

"I need it so bad please I'm begging." He hiccups in-between words, truly desperate for whatever you have to give him. You tug at his hair causing him to lean it back and leave his neck exposed. He moans when he feels you bite down on him.

"If you want to act like a bitch in heat then ride my thigh like one." Your words stun him but he doesn't have time to process them since you are moving pack infront of your desk. You move your arms around him and begin to look at papers again.

After he doesn't move after a minute you grab his waist again. "Common thought I told you to do something." He looks at you in disbelief for a second but moves to take off his pants. You quickly stop him with a hand grabbing his.

"Who said you could do that?" Izukus face is covered in shock. There's no way you were being so....mean. "But why?" He knows he sounds whiney but he can't bring himself to care. "Because you've gotten spoiled now get to riding before I get even more pissed."

With a whimper he moves and positions himself above your thigh and begins to grind down. The friction brings little relief to the hard on raging in his pants. Izuku is moving slowly but feels you lightly slap his ass with a free hand signaling him to go faster.

"Common pretty boy, I'm not helping." He chokes on the moan bubbling in his throat. "Not fair” Izuku whines into your shoulder with a pout. His hips stutter against your thigh as he thrusts them down once again.

Izuku glances behind him to see you still looking over different papers. It's not fair, he thinks but it goes out the window when he feels your hand grab his waist and push him down onto your thigh, hard.

He moans at the rough treatment. Izuku can feel a new wave of tears bubbling in his eyes. The friction from his pants brining him pleasure along with slight pain. He wants to hate it so bad but can't when it feels so damn good.

"Fuck honey I don't want to come like this please just touch me." He can feel his core tighten, izuku desperately attempts to starve off his orgasm. You chuckle and grip his waist tighter than before.

"Thought you were begging to come earlier?" The whine he let's out his high pitched. God he hates how you're giving him what he wants but not how he wants it.

Before long he feels the heat in his stomach reaching its peak. "Y/n I'm going to come please let me I need it." Izuku slightly rambles as he feels a burning sensation almost at its climax.

"Be a good boy for me and come like the little slut you are." The name makes him choke on the moan in his throat. With one last thrust into your thigh he's leaking into his pants. He's panting into your neck when his hips slowly stop their grinding.

"Good job baby, did so good." You set down you papers and rub his back. He whimpers as he feels a few more tears fall. "You were being mean." Izuku's voice is muffled and his voice is hoarse but it makes you laugh

"Oh I know but God were you pretty." The praise makes his face and ears flush. You lean down slightly to whisper in his ear. "How bout I make it up to you pretty boy."

[maple-the-awesome]

Prettiest One In The Room || Part 1/2

Pairing: Mob! (any) Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 4,678

Overview: Given your family's history, you should've expected judgment from those of higher wealth in whom you've unfortunately been more exposed to given your new 'position'. Luckily, while you may be hurt by the cruel remarks and snide laughter of others, Peter Parker will never stand for anyone insulting his new wife.

Warning: Bullying and suggestive content, but nothing too serious nor detailed (yet)

Is this one of my longest one-shots? Am I writing a smutty part 2? Yes, yes to both 😏

Marvel Masterlist 🖤 Fandom Masterlist 🖤 Requests

You hate the color red.

You hate how much attention it draws to your eyes, acting as a glittery highlight that outshines the sharp black point painted over your eyelids. You hate the way it contrasts against your bare skin, parting mere inches down your thigh in a way that would expose your whole leg if you stand too widely. Most importantly of all, you hate its chill against your chest, sinking through what was once a bearable shade to create a darker stain dipping down from your breasts to nearly your stomach in a splotch that's impossible to hide nor fade no matter how much you scrub at it.

At this point, you've managed to ruin two innocent white towels whose only crimes were being folded into a pleasant stack in between each ceramic sink. The second proved just as useless as the first, somehow absorbing the stain without doing anything to actually rid of it from your dress. The soft fabric which is only comparable to the fur of a rabbit offers little comfort to your swirling nerves nor does it pacify your distressed sobs as you clench this towel in hand and bow your head in shame in front of the mocking mirror before you.

The once perfect makeup that Mary Jane had spent well over an hour applying to your face has long been smeared, the black eyeliner and mascara inseparable as it traces your tears down your cheeks which further creates damage to whatever blush and foundation your maid had picked out. The only makeup that has somehow remained intact throughout the night is your far too bright lipstick, although that's only because you've gone through extreme lengths to preserve it, refusing drinks or snacks for that purpose alone; not that it matters anymore...

Why is it that life loves to throw you off your feet the second everything's finally going well? You don't even use that word lightly or to any extreme. 'Well' as in you weren't dreading every second or breath. 'Well' since you genuinely smiled at some jokes thrown into the conversation. 'Well' because for once, you didn't feel any need to shy away from your husband's touch, instead letting his hand rest comfortably on your hip as he tugged your body against his.

Happy moments are a rare find; they always have been. Born into a poor family knee deep in debt thanks to your parents' gambling addictions, you've grown up fully aware that you could never ask for much. While other little girls dreamed of finding their prince or princess in shining armor, you had never been so foolish. Perhaps you always knew deep down where your life could possibly lead, however that didn't waiver the absolute shock you felt once those fears had actually been confirmed.

While your parents have always been cruel and selfish, you never imagined it going as far as to quite literally sell you off. Even that doesn't feel like a proper description for what exactly happened. Really, they could've sold you off to plenty of other men, ones with petty criminal records, sure, but nothing to the extent of what your husband holds in his own hands.

A mob boss. You almost laughed at the thought that that's actually a real job, although the sound quickly became bitter by the stone expressions your parents stared at you with. Your hand in marriage in exchange for paying off every loan shark with your parents on speed dial; a fair trade in their eyes, but not yours.

The only comfort you’ve felt after your parents' betrayal isn't one they can claim. Instead, that prize belongs solely to your husband because despite his cruel reputation and ever crueler line of work, he is, very shockingly, a respectable gentleman at least towards you.

Peter Parker had only barely turned sixteen when he took over the family business from his late uncle. Wanting to respect a memory, he's worked hard to teach a lesson to anyone who laughed at the scrawny teenager living within a shadow and in no time at all, he rose out of that shadow, becoming arguably the most feared man in New York by utilizing the same strategies taught to him by his beloved uncle. Of course, how to run a successful mob wasn't the only lesson Benjamin Parker passed down to his nephew. Apparently, he had taught a great deal about how to respect women, too.

While sour about the marriage yourself, you must admit Peter has been nothing but sweet and understanding towards your discomfort (again, shocking given his job). By the time you first moved into his luxurious mansion, he already had a room set up specifically for you. Painted in your favorite color with the softest of bed covers, the room was more than anything you've ever owned with tons of books, art supplies, make-up, and about anything else a young woman might enjoy, but just in case he had guessed wrong or forgotten something, Peter made sure to provide an unlimited credit card for you to use at your disposal.

If the room hadn't been enough, Mary Jane had been hired since your husband figured you'd have better luck being comfortable around a woman your own age and from a similar background. Every morning, she greets you with a smile while bringing you breakfast accompanied by a freshly picked rose and handwritten letter she assures are gifts from Peter's hand alone.

Then for the rest of the day, you're allowed to go and do as you please in the mansion, Peter’s only request being that you don't leave without proper security and that you always share dinner with him at six thirty sharp every night. Sometimes you sit in silence, sometimes you tell him about your day, sometimes he tells you about his (outside of work matters, of course); never does he push you out of your comfort zone.

You respect Peter for all of that. He could easily do as he pleases with you at any point and, as arguably the most powerful man in New York City, who would ever stop him? Instead, he is, daresay, a model husband who dotes on his wife so much that despite all prior judgment, she actually started falling in love with him.

Peter has upheld his role flawlessly throughout the last seven months, thus you've felt bold in wanting to raise up to yours at last. Slowly yet surely, you've managed to open up to him: visiting him in his office when home, joking at the dinner table, and even requesting date nights (you swear he looked like a child on Christmas when you first shyly asked).

Tonight was meant to be the cherry on top. Peter had mentioned a dinner party off hand earlier in the week, not truly expecting you to willingly volunteer to go with him. Honestly, you actually surprised yourself with the request, too, not usually being one for fancy get-togethers especially those attended by hordes of rich socialites, politicians, and who knows what other criminals, but it’s worth a good date, isn’t it?

In preparation for said date, you had gone out with Mary Jane (and your ten security guards) to pick out the perfect outfit which ended up being a red slip dress that hugs your body flawlessly, stretching down to nearly the floor with a gap in fabric over your thigh. Although not a dress you'd normally be comfortable wearing, you felt excitement choosing it solely because of your desire to capture Peter's eye while wearing something sexy tailored to his favorite color. This paid off, too. All night, you've felt his eyes linger on you, often dropping a bit lower than appropriate, but you are his wife and his gaze is only fair. If only he knew what you're wearing underneath.

Tonight you didn't just want to tease your husband. No, your plan went deeper than that. You want him; dearly so. You wanted him to be enhanced by your beauty, barely able to keep his hands off of you on the car ride home where he would finally have freedom to ravish you for the first time. That's why you agreed to this date and went on that shopping trip with Mary Janes. It's why you've been so nervous yet giddy, replaying her advice in your head in hopes of finally utilizing it…Unfortunately, there's always a miscalculation to every plan.

Everything was going well at first. Despite your initial discomfort regarding your revealing outfit, you soon began to feel just as sexy as you looked thanks to Peter's praises which seemed constant throughout the night. Every time a businessman or friend turned their attention away, your husband's mouth was against your ear, whispering another compliment which, unknowingly to him, sent heat to more places than just your cheeks. He was perfectly within your grasp, hooked to your string and all you had to do was reel him in the second this stupid party finishes…Then trouble found its way to you.

Much to your dismay, your husband isn't the only one here who knows your story. When the Big Bad Peter Parker got married, news spread fast within his social circle. Even if someone managed to miss it then, they would’ve learned it by now since it's rather difficult to miss the way he hugs a random girl to his side all night, not to mention his hand is absent of all his normal, extravagant rings because ever since the wedding, only the single golden band around his finger has truly mattered.

Now, it would be one thing for Peter Parker to get married, however the reaction changes depending on the bride. No one could comprehend how someone like him would 'settle' for a poor girl with a last name known by practically every loan shark in New York, therefore your existence at this party has made quite a strong appearance in party gossip.

Originally, you didn't hear any of it, only feeling the burning stares behind your head yet choosing to dismiss them as your imagination, after all, Peter hadn’t shown any sign of hearing or seeing anything, thus it must not have actually occurred, right? You’re just a little uneasy given the crowd is all.

Then Peter left. It wasn’t meant to be long, only a quick chat with a man who begged for his time to finish an urgent business deal. Although Peter refused at first, you stupidly convinced him to reconsider.

“It seems important, so you should go.”

“Don’t worry about me, I can manage on my own just fine”.

You assured him that you’d wait patiently in place for his return, a promise sealed by the quick peck he gave to your cheek before going off. It should’ve been an easy wait from there. As the party’s natural outcast, you didn’t think anyone would care to approach you then, but it proved to be quite the contrary, unfortunately.

Four women took the golden opportunity to stroll over, presenting themselves as friendly while asking about your dress and wondering about your husband. You answered each as if being quizzed, doing your best to awkwardly laugh at their ‘jokes’ which held poorly hidden jabs towards you. Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to realize this group’s true intentions, but too cowardly to disappear into the sea of people to escape them, you remained as their punching bag, fruitlessly ignoring the pain of their insults which only grew more direct.

“A poor, ugly slut who managed to blackmail Parker into marrying her so that he could be her sugar daddy! How pathetic!”

That's one of things they said about you anyways. How they managed to make such a mean spirited sentence roll of their tongues like it’s just friendly banter is beyond you, however it still brought a sting to your eyes.

“What do you have on him, huh? Did you dig up dirt on him and threaten to hand it over to the police?”

“Did your family trick him? Make you wear a veil until the vows were done? Oh, I bet he was pissed!”

���She’s probably one of his hookers who decided to fake a pregnancy or something!”

Each woman listed the many rumors they've heard throughout the night, making sure you understand the bottomline of what everyone else has been thinking: you don't belong with Peter. Whatever reason he had for marrying you, it wasn't for you because who in their right mind would do that?

"How foolish are you to think Parker would actually be attracted to an ugly slut like you?" That was the last of it which came as a literal splash when the woman threw her red wine over the front of your dress followed by a chorus of her peers’ wicked laughter.

You were understandably horrified and embarrassed by the situation. It felt like every soul in the room was staring and laughing with them, mocking you for having such a childish dream of actually believing your husband might love you. Now how will he be enhanced by your beauty or even think of touching you on the car ride home? Why would he feel an ounce of desire in ravishing you ever let alone tonight? He can barely stand looking at you as it is!

Your violent sobbing halts quickly when you hear the door of the bathroom open. A chilled panic runs down your spine, worrying that the women have returned to bully you further. The difference would be the lack of witnesses. In theory, they could do whatever they wish while you have zero protection.

Instead of hearing their snickering, you hear your name whispered breathlessly yet somehow, that's worse to hear, causing your grip to tighten over the towel as you fight unsuccessfully to stop your tears.

"Princess, what happened? Who did this to you?" Peter shows no regard towards this being the women's bathroom, his only concern being to rush to your side and immediately begin examining the damage. A red wine stain drenching the front of your body, your make-up having encountered a tsunami of tears, your breathing uneven...This was not how he left you fifteen minutes ago.

"Who did this?" He repeats his question when you don't answer the first time, cupping your cheeks in his large hands and forcing you gently to look into his eyes. There's a hateful glimmer in them, one that promises trouble the second you mumble a name, but you refuse to.

"I-It's nothing-"

"-I return to the party to find my wife gone, hidden in the bathroom clearly distraught with wine spilled all over her-"

"-I spilled it myself-"

"-Bullshit," Peter curses with narrowed eyes which silences you instantly," you haven't had a single drink all night. I refuse to believe you conveniently retrieved one and spilled it over yourself within the short time that I was away. I'm smarter than to believe that. Damn it, I only left your side for ten minutes."

Peter's furious, but not towards you. He’s furious with himself if anything. Given his line of work, the number one rule he lives by is to never trust even those working alongside you. Anyone can hold a knife behind their back, preparing for the opportunity to strike the second it’s presented, thus Peter's always sure to never provide that change be it regarding his business or his personal affairs. It's what Ben always warned him about. Ben never left May out of his sight when attending social gatherings or going out in public because it would be too easy for someone to target her to get to him.

Peter should've been like Ben. He shouldn't have left your side especially when you're so new to all of this. You aren't May. You haven't spent decades by Peter's side yet, learning the ins and outs of his work along the way to form your own thick skin and survival instincts. You've only been married for seven months. Hell, you hadn’t even begun seeing Peter as a husband until last month and he's already fucked it up!

"...It doesn't matter what happened, Peter, so...let's not start a fuss," your words are sweet, attempting to makehim feel better in this situation instead of yourself. Your thoughtfulness would make him smile if not for how much his blood boils right now.

With a sigh, Peter runs his thumb against your mascara stained cheek softly," a fuss? I don't cause 'fusses', sweetheart, although that's what whoever did this to you can hope for once I find them out...and I will find them out whether you're the one to tell me or not, so out with it. I'll ask this one last time before I run my own investigation: Who. Did. This. To. You?"

Biting your lip, you want to deny it further, however you give into Peter's intense stare by directing your own to the tile floor," just a group of women...I don't know their names…”

"What were they wearing?"

"Peter-"

"Describe them to me," he lifts your chin with his ring finger, staring into your eyes with a whisper," I won't hurt them. I'll even forgive them for you if you ask nicely, but they still need to understand what they did wrong. 'just a friendly little warning for what happens when they upset my beloved."

Briefly, you wonder what ‘friendly’ might mean to Peter. His knuckles are rough, scarred from all the beatings he’s delivered over the years. While you’d like to think he’d show a bit more restraint than to physically harm anyone over something so silly as hurt feelings and a wine stain, even a ‘friendly’ car ride to the docks doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibilities for your husband.

Nevertheless, you have observed his habits well enough to understand one thing for certain: Peter’s too persistent and stubborn for his own good. Since he’s clearly already set his mind to it, you aren’t going to win this argument, therefore you must give in, telling him the descriptions of the four women from earlier.

Once you begin talking, Peter steps away from you and pulls out his phone, promptly texting someone who you assume to be one of his security guards scouting the ballroom outside. All the while you wait patiently, hugging your bare arms which are beginning to feel cold. Actually, they’ve been cold for a while, however you had elected to ignore it until now for the sake of making this dress work.

Peter speaks your name again, letting it roll off his tongue like sugar. This beckons you to lift your gaze, meeting his eyes when he looks away from his phone," is that all they did to you?"

"Um..." You toy with the idea of nodding and allowing this situation to end on an early note, but seeing as you’ve already hesitated aloud, Peter will no doubt notice the lie," they...said some cruel things, too.”

"Like what?" He steps closer to you, but stops immediately when you step back into the counter as a response,"...like what, sweetheart?"

"They, um..." you swallow, cursing yourself for that returned feeling of needles pricking your eyes. You can’t cry again, not in front of Peter. What would he possibly think of a wife who can’t handle simple words? You must be stronger than this!

"They just couldn't believe that you married me. They thought my family might've blackmailed you or something because...because I'm not fit for you."

"Not fit for me?" Peter echoes only the last part, moving his shoe against the ground yet suppressing his desire to step towards you again. It wouldn’t be a wise move given how uncomfortable you already are," why wouldn't you be fit for me? I mean - I suppose if anything - a devil shouldn't be married to an angel...but that isn't what they meant, was it?"

Your lip tugs slightly, wanting so desperately to believe he sees you as an angel. Alas, you shake your head,"...Peter, just look at me."

"I am looking at you. I've been looking at you all night, my princess - if you haven't noticed."

"I'm not pretty or anything-”

"-Now that's bullshit," Peter tilts his head with a crooked smile, attempting to gain a better view of your face despite how much you avoid him at every angle," because the way I see it, you've been the prettiest one in that room all night. As I said, I've barely been able to take my eyes off of you…That dress; it’s gorgeous on you. ‘fits like a glove, not to mention red is my favorite color; even more so when it’s on you."

"...So, you like it?" You dare to ask, looking up at him fully with a hint of a hopeful smile. You're pleased to see him nod eagerly.

"Of course! In fact, I’m buying you a new one first thing tomorrow; one that isn’t stained in wine so that you may wear it more often. Hell! I wouldn’t be against the idea of you casually wearing something like that just around the house," Peter smirks when adding," you look sexy, if I may say."

"That was the goal."

"Was it now?"

You nod shyly,"...I knew you like red and I wanted to look good for you tonight."

"Then count me as the luckiest man alive," at last, Peter steps forward, watching your reaction to ensure you’re comfortable with the movement. It only takes him two steps to be directly in front of you, his hand brushing your arm as he takes this quiet moment to think,"...I did marry you as a business deal."

You frown at his sudden confession, your heart skipping a beat, however before you can let it crack, Peter continues.

"But it was a deal set up on my own accord with my own terms. No, you weren't given to me nor was I backed into a corner by your family and forced to marry you. I chose you. I saw your picture by chance yet it was love at first sight; I wanted you to be mine. My only problem was your parents.

“You know, believe it or not but despite all their dull-witted habits, your folks can apparently grow brain cells once they realize they actually have the one up on someone for once and that’s exactly what they had on me. I wanted you, their daughter, thus they suggested a deal: I could be with you so long as I settle all their debts while I am. As long as they controlled you, they could keep us both under their thumb. ‘guess they thought they were pretty clever with that logic. ‘didn’t notice the small writing at the end of their own pen till it was too late to revise.”

“And what was that?” You gulp, feeling small under Peter’s stare. Have you ever gotten this close to him before; close enough to see every change in shade to his eyes where his irises get lighter closer to his pupils? They’re beautiful…

“The deal only worked in their favor as long as you were theirs to control - their property. Now, I simply refuse to sit around as anyone’s puppet let alone theirs which is why I jumped right to the vows instead of a more formal relationship to start. Once you became my wife, you became mine, not theirs; according to the contract at least.

“…I know it’s fucked up. I was selfish and I apologize for that. I also apologize for your treatment as an object in this case. I promise, I intended no harm to you, my love; not an ounce. I had only hoped that we could let our relationship grow while never feeling the stress of them holding the strings…I want us to be happy, owing them absolutely nothing; not money, not obedience, not even communication if we desire it.”

"Is that why they looked so upset at the wedding?" You remember the bitterness your family clearly held that day, not that you cared to ask them about it then. Instead, you felt satisfied seeing it, figuring it was very much deserved. Even now, you feel the same; let them be bitter for treating you as a bargaining tool.

Peter trails his touch up your arm, fixing the strap of your dress onto your shoulder with a chuckle,"...none were pleased, but I’ll have it be known that I did at least settle the debts that they had at the time, thus I wasn’t as much of an asshole as I could’ve been.”

“A part of me wishes you had been.”

Peter’s eyes glimmer at your harsh remark, although he decides to move along with his point rather than gush over your attractive feistiness,” you’re my wife based on choice, regardless of what others have tried to tell you. I love you, princess.

“I love how beautiful you look without even trying- even after just rolling out of bed with your hair a mess. I love how you keep standing, never letting the world beat you too low because deep down, I think you know your own worth. That's why you kept me fighting for you in the first place, right? You kept your distance until I gained your respect. A lot of girls try falling into my arms, you know? They don't get it, but you do: love is something to be earned and shared.”

Pausing momentarily, Peter's hand brushes against yours blindly until it runs against your diamond ring- one worth a dizzying amount to you yet to him, it's only a small fraction of what he believes you're truly deserving of. If he could have it his way, he'd have a literal star built into that gem on your finger.

"This is a commitment," his breath is gentle, blowing against the crook of your neck as he hovers there. Ever so softly, his hands grasp both of yours," you are my wife; my greatest treasure not for just your body or looks, but for you as a person. 'doesn't matter how anyone else sees it…and I'm willing to prove that to you in any way, too.”

Honestly, Peter only says this as a means to tease you. His laughter is held right on the tip of his tongue, prepared to announce he's only joking around to lighten the mood, however he's ill-prepared for the shock that is you giving a nervous smile. It's small, barely noticeable to the eye, especially given the way you stare at the floor in embarrassment while providing your own reply.

"I would like you to," you curse yourself for such a pathetic response. Based on your husband's wide eyes as he stares at you in amazement, he clearly meant the question as rhetorical and not at all in the way you decided to imply, but unfortunately, the words have already left your mouth along with the damage.

"...I'm sorry. I-"

"-Do you really want me to?" Peter sounds so childish, looking the part, too. He practically glows, so eager to hear your answer yet watching you carefully to study your reaction more closely this time because apparently, as it's just now come to his attention, he doesn't know his wife as well as he had previously thought.

"I mean...I, um..." You, as a great contrast, stumble over your words, needing time to create this answer he so desperately waits for.

While shy to admit such an embarrassing thing, you’ve worked so hard preparing for this moment. Okay, admittedly this isn’t entirely loyal to the perfect image you’ve been holding mentally. You had expected to be sinking into the fluffy covers of either Peter’s or your bed, pushed down by the man in question as he showers in love while blanked in the darkness of a room deprived from any possible distractions.

A bright, public women’s bathroom where anyone could walk in at any given moment to destroy your private and intimate deeds wasn’t originally within your realm of possibilities nor is it ideal…but wouldn’t it be a shame to deny Peter when he’s quite literally inches away from you, happy to accept that precious thing you’ve been saving just for him? If anything, you’ve earned it after all you’ve been put through tonight!

Taking in a breath, you look at your husband confidently with a quick nod despite the unwanted quiver in your voice," w-well, if you're offering, I would like that very much..."

PART 2 ➡️

[lucygxybaird]

only one of two ways - billinea

you love me, but there's only one of two ways that this is gonna end -- someone dies, or someone gets hurt -- but if one of us dies, i hope i die first. cause i don't wanna live without you, i don't wanna ever learn how to fall asleep without you. tell me what's worse, losing you now or later? maybe i can break the curse and be in love forever, if i die first. (die first - nessa barrett) Billy tries to find a vestige of faith as Dulcinea struggles to give birth to their daughter. tw: childbirth, suicidal ideation

As he listens to Dulcinea scream, Billy tries to remember what it’s like to pray. 

It’s been so long. Faith — in God, in most others — has never really served him well, at least not since his mother died. He’d wondered what sort of loving deity could look at a woman like her and think that it was just, that it was fair,��to take her from this life before she was ready. To take her away from the son who needed her. Who would be alone without her. 

Dulcinea screams again. He closes his eyes. 

“God, please,” he whispers. If he speaks softly enough, maybe his voice won’t crack. He can’t blink, he can’t break, or he won’t be able to do this. “Please, don’t take them away from me.”

She had been nervous to tell him. He’d seen it in her eyes, the way her smile hesitantly flicked up at the corners before settling into an uncertain, wobbly line, as if she might cry. Her hands, folded at her waist, had reached for him with uncertainty, grasping at the folds of his shirt. 

He’d taken her gently by the arms, drawing her closer to him. His heart had been beating a little faster, trying to push away the thought that she was going to leave him. She would be safer, then; she would be able to have the life she deserved, instead of the half life of danger and uncertainty that he had to bear. But the thought still makes him feel like he is drowning in sand. 

“What’s wrong? Please, just tell me.”

Her eyebrows had twitched together, her eyes meeting his, and she smiled again.

“Billy…”

Inside the house, she screams again. He can hear her sobbing, each breath a wretched heave, and more than anything, he wants to go back in. But both the doctor and Manuela had nearly carried him out the door. The doctor’s wife, his nurse, put her hand on his arm.

She’d said, “You can’t do anything for her now.”

Maybe it had been intended as comfort, a way to assure him he could take a step away, but it sounded like a curse. 

Dulcinea's voice had been shaking when she told him. He remembers saying, “Are you sure? Are you sure? ” Over and over again, until she was laughing, framing his face between her hands and saying, “Yes, yes, yes ” each time he asked. He’d wrapped his arms around her and held her so tight, a part of him had been afraid that he was going to squeeze her so flat that she could just slip through a crack in the floorboards at their feet.

“I know you hate me,” he says now, opening his eyes and tilting his head back to look at the stars. “And I understand why. Sinning to survive is still sinning, I get that. I do. But she hasn’t done anything wrong except love me.”

And the baby? If there was innocence in this world, surely it was this little life that had been created out of love, that hadn’t even opened its eyes to the world yet. 

Her eyes. 

Dulcinea has been insistent on that from the beginning, even before she started to show. “A mother’s intuition, ” she’d say, her expression almost smug, like she was in on a secret that he would never understand. He supposed she was right about that, at least. 

True, he had felt the baby kick inside her, putting his hand against the curve of her belly with a gentleness bordering on reverence. It had shocked him each time, like a splash of cold water, and each time, he’d grinned giddily like a man in love for the first time. And wasn’t he, really? In love with his girl, and in love with this little life, so intensely that it felt like it might push everything else out and leave him full. 

If I lose both of them, he thinks with a rather detached calm, the way he thinks when he’s planning a step in this never-ending war between him and Riley, him and Lincoln County, him and the rest of the fucking world — 

If he loses both of them, he’ll just walk out into the desert. He will walk until he can’t anymore, and then when his legs give way beneath him, he won’t fight. He pictures himself laying there with his cheek against the ground, his eyes closed, waiting. He doesn’t know, even as he tries to commune with God, if he would be reunited with them — with all of them — in the hereafter. 

Even if he’s not, at least this long struggle will be over. 

“ I was afraid you would not be happy.”

She’d spoken so softly then that he almost hadn’t heard her. The two of them, leaning against an oak growing on the property. Her, wrapped in a blanket that he’d insisted on bringing despite the mild spring weather, leaning back against him. Him, with his arms around her, one hand splayed over her stomach. 

Billy had felt almost insulted. A slap would have stung less. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

She hadn’t turned to face him, but he’d felt her shrug, her shoulders nudging against his chest. “Everything is so…tumultuous. I know you are worried all the time. I can see it in your face. This baby…”

She’d trailed off, and Billy put his lips against her temple. He breathed her in for a moment before he said, “This baby is ours. We made it together, you and me.”

Even though he’d been unable to see her face from this angle, he knew she was smiling. "T hat is typically how it works, from what I understand.”

“Hush.” But he was smiling, too. “I love you.” He nuzzled against her hair. “An’ I love—”

“Her,” she’d interrupted.

“Oh, her, huh? You’re sure?”

“Yes. Her. ”

She had expressed the desire to name a daughter after their mothers, and Billy finds it ironic now, as he listens to her labor to bring forth life and keep her own. He may lose a Kathleen all over again. 

He closes his eyes again. A breeze comes down from the sky, as if the night is sighing for him, and he feels it brush against his cheek, comb through his curls. He swears, for a second, that he can almost catch a familiar scent on the air. Perfume dabbed delicately on her wrist with a fingertip, because there wasn’t much of it, but it made her feel like a lady. 

“Ma?”

Dulcinea’s screams have faded to rhythmic, hushed sobs, like a terrible tide, and he can hear Manuela begging her to push, just once more. It’s fainter, but he thinks he can hear Dulcinea say, “No, I can’t, I can’t, I’m so tired…”

”Help her,” he begs. “Please, Ma. Please? I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me for the things I’ve done. Or maybe — be mad at me, but help her, anyway. Help my baby. Please.”

Except he knows his mother wouldn’t be angry. Disappointed, maybe, but that’s worse. Frightened for him, which is even more awful. But more than anything, she would love him through it all, despite it all, the way Dulcinea does. 

It’s like faith, that love, in its depth, in the way it can feed the soul if you let it. But it's unconditional, not blind, which is what separates the two. To have faith, you have to trust in absence, wring signs from silence, and see providence in the actions of men. But Dulcinea has always seen him exactly for who he is, even if she didn’t understand, even if she didn’t agree. She trusts him, and she believes in him, even when he cannot do those things for himself. 

But it’s because he has shown her, time and time again — and he will continue to show her, if God or his mother or the intervention of medicine, whichever works; he does not care if it is one, or both, or a brew of all three — that he will do anything for her. 

He wishes he could do this. If he could absorb every ounce of her pain, he would do it, right now. If he could trade his life for theirs, he would swallow a bullet like the finest whiskey.

Right now. 

“I just want to be a better man,” he says, to his mother, to God, to anyone who might be listening. Anyone who can help. “I want to be the man you always thought I could be. But I need them to be that man. I can’t do it on my own. They’ll take my heart with them if they go.”

It hasn’t occurred to him what he’ll do if he loses one but not the other. What if he has to look into Dulcinea’s eyes and search them for blame? He is supposed to protect her, and he keeps failing. Everything she has suffered, it’s because of him. And now this. 

Or what if he has to hold that baby in his arms, motherless like him, looking up at him as if he has what it takes to nurture anyone? He is poison. He must be. 

Otherwise, why would this keep happening to him? 

From inside, there is more urging, more begging, more sobbing. Another scream, and he swears he can feel the air itself swelling, the way it does before thunder breaks. He hears Manuela laughing and crying all at once, the doctor barking instructions like a general, and underneath it all, Dulcinea asking: “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with her?”

Her.

God, she’s quiet. Why isn’t she crying? He stands up, but then he’s frozen, waiting. 

Praying.

Please, God — please, Ma — anyone, anyone, please…

A cry rips through the air, rips through him, a plaintive wail that expresses, quite clearly, a perplexed sort of indignity, as if to say, “And how the hell did I end up here?”

It’s a question he’s asked himself before, but it’s never made him sob like this, even as the stupidest grin makes his face hurt. 

That’s his baby. His baby is crying. 

“Billy?”

Manuela is standing in the doorway. One look at her face and he knows, but he still finds himself asking, “They’re okay?”

She beams at him, but there are tears glistening on her cheeks, too. “Yes,” she says. “They’re okay. You can come in now.”

He follows her inside, wondering how he is managing to walk when he’s fairly certain he has become divorced from his body. It’s like he’s a puppeteer managing a gangly marionette, all shaky knees and fumbling steps. 

Until he sees them, framed in the doorway of their room, nestled in bed, and he comes crashing back down into himself with a roar of clarity so powerful that it feels like he has never seen anything before. Let alone anything as perfect as this.

Dulcinea smiles at him. He can see her exhaustion written on her face, painted in the sweat plastering her hair to her cheeks and her forehead, but — thank you — she is still here. Looking at him with gleaming eyes, cradling a mewling bundle in her arms. 

“What are you standing there for?” She raises an eyebrow, still smiling. “Come in here.”

He is aware of the doctor and his wife still standing in the room, but they may as well be ghosts, ephemeral, for the impact they have on him. Billy carefully lowers himself onto the bed next to her, putting an arm around her and burying her face against the crown of her head.

The baby snuffles, huffs, as if asking him why he hasn’t even looked at her yet. 

So he does.

“Oh,” he breathes out, awed.

Dulcinea laughs. “Oh,” she agrees. 

Possibly, he’s biased, but there has never been a more perfect baby in the world than the one looking up at him right now. Dulcinea’s delicate features, including a tuft of raven hair, but those are his eyes. Round and blue, almost challenging, looking around at this new world and asking who is going to come take her on.

He reaches out carefully and touches the round peach of her cheek. He’s afraid she’s going to start crying right then, but she just sniffs daintily. The tiniest hand he has ever seen emerges from the blanket wrapped around her, and when he offers her a finger, she grasps it tightly. 

“She’s perfect,” he says, leaning his cheek against Dulcinea’s head. “Thank you.”

Content now, wreathed in the sanctity and peace of new motherhood, Dulcinea leans into him. “Oh, you’re welcome,” she says. “I am never letting you touch me in that way again.”

”I understand.”

They are silent for a while, both of them just watching Kathleen exist. Breathing, eyes occasionally roving around the room before turning back to them, fingers flexing, little rosebud mouth parting. Billy thinks he could sit here forever. The world could burn to ash outside, and as long as the flames did not reach them here, he wouldn’t give a damn.

”Although…” Dulcinea starts, and he lifts his head to look down into her face.

”Mhm?”

”A little brother would not be so bad for her, I think.”

Billy smiles. He tilts hie head back against the headboard and closes his eyes. He cannot find it in himself to pray right now, not for lack of faith but because he can’t imagine asking for anything more than this.

Although…

”I think you’re right.”

[silvermoonshipping-is-love]

previous anon here! its absolutely understandable why you feel that way, especially since i noticed you were here during the creepypasta fandom recession era (2016-2019), where people were starting to police what was the right and wrong way to intepret the pastas.

As for the drownedsilver hate, while i cant confirm for sure it was the source, was primarily started by a pokepasta fnf community member who has been recently outed as a creep and a generally terrible person (who called any ship they disliked proship!!) 😭 they had an iron grip over that community for 2 years, hence why so many people were dogpiling! Now that they're gone, i see more people being comfortable with putting out drowndsliver content out there!

I dont know if this information or acknowledgement will eleveate your anxiety. But i hope you gain the courage to post more about your own intepretations of ben and silver 🫂 You shouldnt feel like you have to appease a wider public to enjoy what you love.

My favourite example is the fact that say Ben HAD to be a pervert or a stoner and an asshole, nevermind the fact he's a deeply traumatized child, stuck in a video game and canonly a pacifist and not (intentionally) hurting anybody, like that is fine, but GOD FORBID you make EJ's skin slightly blue-ish to go with his overall colour palette. But also god forbid if you draw or write anything messed up or more mature in whatever way?? If anything the creepypasta fandom of all things being so strict is so odd, most characters don't have a fully set personality or the fact that all kinds of awful shit happens to them, especially CHILDREN, but wanting to draw two characters smooching? Now you've gone too far lmao.

Policing fandoms and fandom activity is a rising trend and I'm not happy about it as a "fandom old" so to speak lol. My motto is unless you are genuinely harming someone in real life or crossing someone's boundaries, just tag it correctly, and you do you. I may not like everything you do personally, but unless you are actively interfering with me or trying to harm me or others, whatever.

Also I was never in the community fully due to the incident and the hate towards SilvernMoon, so I never heard about this person. But unfortunately I'm not even that shocked, if you're that adamant about how wholesome or pure or unproblematic you are and everyone has to be, then you just seem all the more likely to have some skeletons so to speak. Just a real shame about my one FNF AU, cause it's sort of a personal one to me, cause of venting and feelings depicted.

If you mean creep as I think you do, I hope the victims are okay now.

But on the flip side I also eventually thought the fnf community are hypocrites anyways. Cause I saw all the hate for SilvernMoon while not even say incest stuff got as much hate in all my fandom years, yet the very person most of the community shipped Silver with? Red. The Red from his story. The same Red that is the whole reason Silver is forgotten and dead! I don't want to fully ship-shame, I just wanna showcase the irony, like- THAT is fine but SilvernMoon is wrong?? SilvernMoon out of all ships I ever saw is the one people drew the line at and hated the absolute shit out of???

Also there was a similar person over here in the regular creepypasta fandom that dogpiled on me as a minor, so that added, who called me a pdf file because I portray these characters as adults and made a more adult joke, but they INSISTED every version of Ben had to be 12 years old. Gurl, I don't know how to tell you, but the ghost kid that haunts a Nintendo Cartridge... He's not real, his whole concept as a cyber ghost isn't real. I know it's shocking to hear, you may sit down from that, but it's the truth.

I am getting better but it still feels like a long road to fully heal and say "fuck the haters"... I keep trying to even do youtube or stuff, but all this is holding me back pretty strongly-

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Ehem…may i request some content on reader that draws (again) 🥺 kyojuro has really pretty eyes right? And so i wanna know what his response would be if reader mid sketching tells him that, and that they’d like to try and paint his eyes some time soon (as in ask him to be a model) 👀✨how would that conversation go?

a/n: im finALLY writing again- who knows how long this brain blast will last LOL - E im sorry this took so long!! thanks for being patient with me lol ;n;

-x-x-x-

it's become a very common occurrence that kyojuro is present during your downtime- whether than be reading, resting or indulging yourself in your hobbies

your hobby in art still fascinates him and entertains him

he really likes checking on your progress from time to time to see how you start and how you do things to get the end result

he's also verY supportive in your process- even if you say that you hate it even though youre not close to finishing, he makes sure you have enough encouragement to keep going!

kyojuro is 'trust the process personified and put through an amplifier

its in one of your sit-ins that he's reading a book that had been recommended to him through senjuro that you find yourself watching him instead of the other way around

instead of sitting in your art room, you were both sitting out on the engawa enjoying the weather with your sketchbook in your lap

you sketched whatever you saw, a tree, a flower, a patch of grass, a quick sketch of a bird before it flew away

it's getting later in the day and the golden hour is just around the corner of the clock

the golden hour is the best time of day for kyojuro- there was no question about it. it made him seem like a walking candle- burning brightly and lighting up whatever area he wander in

bring warmth with him along with his light

his eyes were the most brilliant of all like the burning wick of a candle that smolders and flickers with embers that fan it's own flames

he looks up from his reading momentarily to check on you beside him, maybe ask if he could see how far you've gotten in your sketching but was shocked to see you already looking at him

it wasn't like you to get distracted in the middle of a piece since you get so absorbed in your work

had something happened while he was distracted perhaps?

"Is something wrong, my dear?"

"you know," you start and his book gently closes, one of his fingers between the pages to keep his place while he offers you his undivided attention

"has anyone told you the sun looks good on you?"

he laughs at your compliment, and you don't even find it in you to be embarrassed because it was so very true

the sun did look good on him

tremendously good

"what brought that on?"

"it's just a fact," you tell him before using the back end of your pencil to move his hair around and open up the side of his face to show off his sideburns

the way your pencil cast a shadow over one of his eyes and left the other to glow in the early evening sunlight made you realize something

"i'd really love to paint your eyes kyojuro"

he says nothing as you start murmuring to yourself

"the way they still seem to glow even under a shadow, and this time of day is the perfect time for them to shine. they're such a pretty color too"

"you think my eyes are pretty?" he asks and of course, your flabbergasted that he could even think you didn't think that!

"obviously! not only are they pretty, they're emotional eyes. you can convery so many feelings through them without even speaking."

"i've never been told that before," he told you clearing his throat. "I must say, i am rather embarassed to hear you say so."

you laughed at him, leaning into his sholder as he ruffled at the hair you had previously been holding away from his face with your pencil

"thank you for saying so, my dear"

"i'm always willing to state the obvious- just for you though"

later on when it's far too dark to read or sketch anymore, you both head back inside and he stops you as you put away your sketchbook and pencil

the flickering candles and dim lighting of the indoors suits his eyes well too you can't help but notice

"do you really want to paint me- my eyes?"

"are you offering?" the way you said it with so much hope and excitement made him feel bashful in a new way he hadn't felt with anyone else

how could he ever turn you down when you seem so excited?

short answer: he couldn't

even shorter answer: why would he?

-x-x-x-

a/n pt.2 : i'm out of practice okAY

[extravaguk]

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

wordcount: 15k

genre: summer!au, ex high school classmaters, kinda frenemies to lovers, tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook, popular!reader

rated: m (fluff - smut - angst)

warnings: you broke jungkook's heart you bitch!! , oral sex (m&f), protected sex (shocking tbh), CL as your bestie it doesnt get better than that! idk i dont wanna spoil too much

author's note: fucking finally dude!! i've been writing this since february but school was kicking my ass. now that i finished my exams and mercury is in gemini i was able to finish it. if you read this, i hope you enjoy it!

Inkphoria

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping the flyer too tightly, rumpling the paper in your hand until you're pretty much sure it's ruined. It's the first day of June, and it's already too hot. The sun and humid weather are causing beads of sweat to form in your hairline and your white tank top to stick to your skin. Your jean shorts didn't feel this uncomfortable a few hours ago and you're sure the heat is causing your mascara to transfer to your eyelids and lower lashline. You've never needed a slushie and a smoke this bad in forever, even if you knew the later would make your parents lose their shit.

Inkphoria

You read it again. Your brain is trying to guess what font its written in, an excuse to try to steady your heart beat until your nerves ease a little and you can finally gather the courage to step into the damn shop. You've noticed a few people passing by giving you strange looks because maybe it hasn't been fifteen minutes. Perhaps you've been unmoving like an idiot in the middle of the street for longer than you want to admit.

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

'Its not that much of a big deal. It's not even that painful, trust me.'

You wish you could trust your best friend, but your best friend is also the same woman who assured you Cats was the movie of the year. Yes, not 'Cats: The Musical'. 'Cats', the movie.

'And this could be a great start to get out of your comfort zone and start living your life exactly the way you want to, not the way people expect you to. Not the way your family wants you to, not the way Adam wanted you to.'

But although her credibility could sometimes be questionable - like that time she also told you she'd tried marmite and 'honestly, it's not as bad as people make it out to be'-, you also didn't trust anybody in this world as much as you trusted her. She had always been your entire support system, the only one around you who never sugarcoated, who always treated you as an equal, who was always there for you to help you discover yourself and, at the same time, remind you of who you were.

'And it's gonna look so hot, too.'

That's it. Sticking the wrinkled flyer on your back pocket, your feet finally start moving. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing open the door.

The first thing you notice is that, thankfully, the shop is empty. The second thing you notice is the bright sky blue walls, a green undertone peaking through. Your eyes scan nervously the interior. Frames with tattoo designs and people modeling other different designs decorate the walls, some skateboards also hanging from the ceiling. A few plants in the corner, and two leather couches on either side of the room. Your scanning stops on the counter, where a girl with short, platinium hair and -what you guess is- the eighty percent of her body inked. Face included. She's been looking at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. Her tone is amused when she speaks

"Hi." she says. "You can come closer, you know? We don't bite."

Great. As if you couldn't feel more out of place, apparently you also couldn't look more out of place.

"Sorry." you gulp as you walk forward. "It's my first time doing anything like this."

She laughs this time, but it's not mean. It's not mocking, thank God, and the smile she sends you is as warm as the weather, friendly, luckily helping you calm down a bit. "A virgin, huh? JK's gonna love this." your eyes jump in surprise, but she's fast to wave her hands in front of you. "Just a joke. So, first time getting a tattoo. You have something in mind, honey?"

"Um, no. Not a tattoo. Not yet, I think." you wet your lips, regretting not reaplying chapstick before stepping inside. "A piercing."

"Oh! Cool!" she claps her hands, too excited for your own taste, pulling from under the counter a catalogue. "So, where will it be? Cartilogue? Nose? A lot of people are getting their septums pierced right now, though, so you might-"

"Nipples. Like, one of them."

Her gaze finds yours in surprise, although her face swiftly transforms again into an amiable expression. "Now, that's badass. Alright!" she skims through the pages of the catalogue until she finds the nipple piercing collection. You scratch your head before wiping your forehead sweat-free. "You can pick either barbells or hoops, although barbells heal faster and they don't move around as much. There's different kinds of metal, too. Gold or platinium. If your skin is sensitive, I recommend titanium. It's hypoallergenic and not as problematic."

The blonde keeps talking as you nod your head, a smile making its way into your face while silently thanking her for her easygoing personality. It quickly makes you feel comfortable and stupid for being so terrified of doing this.

Once you decide, settle on the cost and sign the papers, she stands up from the stool she'd been sitting on. "Ok, I'll go tell my coworker. He's been sketching tattoos all morning, it's time he gets to work!" she laughs, but suddenly your smile banishes and your throat shuts down.

"He?" your alarmed tone halts her motions and she looks back at your frightened expression.

He? A he is going to pierce your nipple? You're about to let a random stranger, a HE, see and touch one of your boobs and then pierce a needle through one of your nipples?

"Oh, baby, don't worry. I'd do it myself if I knew how to, but I only do tattoos. Most of our staff are on summer vacation so it's mostly just him and I. If you don't feel comfortable, which is totally understandable, you can wait until september when Minzy comes back and she can do it for you." It's her turn to scratch the back of her head as she adds: "but trust me, we're professionals. He's not a creep or anything like that. He's been doing this for a long time. He won't cross any boundaries."

September? You won't even be here in september. Fuck.

Sure, you could do it when you move back into the city. But this summer was supossed to be the summer. You already decided after your breakup with Adam that there would be no trace of the old you. That it was time to push yourself, to do the things that you've always wanted to do, unapologetically. To find the new you, the real you. To stop being scared.

So after going through you options for a few seconds and taking a deep breath, you make up your mind.

"It's fine. I can do it."

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"JK, sweetheart!"

Jungkook is finishing drawing a Chinese dragon when Mijoo opens the door without knocking. Again. He puts the pen down, rubbing his eyes. It's monday, a slow monday, not much work, and he had hoped it would stay that way until closing time. It's summer and Jungkook hates summer. He hates the heat, he hates being drenched in sweat, and he hates the fact that he can do nothing about it. Because working in the summer is terrible. Summer makes him lazy, makes him want to bathe in a tub full of iced water and not get out until he turns into a raisin and october comes. It makes him irritable. Summer makes him annoyed by people -like Mijoo, even if he loves her to death- and himself.

"I got a girl here who wants a nipple piercing, her first piercing by the way, so get your shit ready and bla bla bla. Straight titanium barbell. Also, don't flirt and don't be creepy. She almost ran away when I told her a male was going to be touching and piercing her tit, be mindful of that. She's too cute, if you want to get her number you should wait until it's done. I think that's it. I'll bring her in in a minute."

Mijoo leaves as fast as she talks, but Jungkook is already used to it. He's already used to the headaches her mouth causes too. He sighs before standing up, tying his too-long raven hair into the best bun he can manage. He washes his hands, sets the table up, sits on the chair and puts the gloves on. He's too busy sterilizing the jewerly when Mijoo comes back with you.

"Alright, my babies. I'll leave you to it." she turns to you. "He'll explain everything, from how the process will be to how to take care of it after it's done." she leaves before saying bye, closing the door behind her, and then he finally turns to you.

Your eyes meet and suddenly everything stops. He almost drops the sterilizing machine, his whole body tensing, going into panic mode as he recognizes you immediatly. His hands shake.

Of course he does. Of course he recognizes his high school crush. The too goody two shoes, too pretentious and too rich, too good for everybody and, most importantly, 'too good for Jeon Jungkook' girl of his high school dreams. Of course he recognizes the girl he had confessed his stupid crush to when he was sixteen. Of course he recognizes the girl who rejected and broke his young and foolish heart when he was a dumb teenager.

It doesn't matter that six years have passed ever since. He still knows every lock of your hair like the palm of his hand. He still remembers the shape of your lips and the exact shade of your eyes. He can still identify the body he fantasized about -and jacked off to- when he was a hormonal teen, now filled in all the right places. Now a grown woman.

Just one look at you after years and years of pining is enough to almost make him faint. And grow a boner under his jeans.

And by the look on your face, your eyes wide and your mouth agape, you recognize him as well.

Dammit.

He schools his features and clears his throat. Forces his body to relax and compose himself, because he's not a teenager anymore. He's also a grown man, who has matured, who now has much more experience with women than he did back then. He had already embarrased himself enough when he was sixteen to be doing it all over again. You're just another attractive girl in a sea of attractive women.

He turns to you. You still haven't said anything. Neither has he.

"Um, you can sit on the table." he manages, motioning to the set up in front of him. He watches you taking doubtful steps until you're sitting down, your eyes avoiding his gaze. He almost forgot you were here to get pierced. Holy shit, you were here to get pierced. To get your nipple pierced.

You're a professional, Jungkook. You can do this, Jungkook. You've seen boobs before, Jungkook. You've pierced nipples before, Jungkook.

Clearing his throat again and forcing his hands to stay by his side, he speaks. "The... The top." your gaze finds his, like a puppy about to get scolded. You look at your top, realization dawning on you. "You don't have to take it off. You can just pull it down."

So you do, pulling the straps of the white tank top down and dragging the fabric down with trembling fingers. No bra. Jungkook gulps as your breasts comes into vision. As perfect as he had imagined years ago. His cock twitches. Round, full, perky and so damn inviting he has to hold himself back from latching onto one nipple with his mouth around it and swirling his tongue over the nub until you're a pretty, moaning, little mess on his piercing tabl-

He closes his eyes for just a second before reminding himself to act like the 23 year old Jungkook he's tried so hard to become. The confident, assured Jungkook he is.

"Okay, this is how it'll go. First I'll clean it and scrub it to get rid of any bacteria." he's so glad he hasn't stuttered yet. 23 year old Jungkook doesn't stutter like 17 year old Jungkook. He's also glad he can pick the alcohol bottle and the surgical scrub without trembling. When he faces you again, you're watching his motions with your lip caught between your teeth. That has him swallowing the lump in his throat.

Making eye contact with him again, you take a deep breath and offer a small nod, so he gets to work. He can show you and himself he's a grown man. A grown man who can pierce a nipple without appearing like it's the first time he's seen a boob in his life. The sooner he does it, the sooner it's over.

Jungkook wets the paper towel with alcohol before carefully wiping over your nub with it. Your back arches, probably from the cold feeling, he guesses. He rubs it a few times before throwing it in the trash can nearby. He avoids looking at how enticing the soft peak is salluting him when he reaches for the marker. He doesn't say anything when he dots it with it, jaw clenched and his dick painfully stiff.

"Lay back." his voice low as he commands, turning away to get the clamp. When he slides closer, he tries to ignore the view: you, with your hair sprawled and your sweaty, shiny skin and your eyes focused on the cieling, nipple fully erect, like the star of one of his most erotic dreams. He extends his free gloved hand before he can stop himself, fingers carefully working the nub until he's sure it's painfully hard. Almost as hard as he is.

You gasp, your back arching again. He stills and looks at you, your cheeks flushed pink. Probably from the heat, he guesses again. Or at least that's what he tells himself. He can't stop himself from wondering how responsive would you be in a different setting, most likely his bed while his teeth play with your breast and his cock dives into-

"You okay?" he studies your face, your eyes not meeting his and instead still focusing on the white ceiling.

"Mhm." you reply with a small voice.

"Relax, alright? It'll be over soon." his voice is as gentle as he can, his fingers mindlessly caressing your breast to try to soothe your nerves. Or maybe it's just because he's a selfish bastard. Whatever it is, he forces himself to bring the clamp to your nipple, securing it around it.

"Take a few deep breaths. This will only take a second of pain and then it will go away." He misses the way your mouth falls open, but he doesn't miss the way your eyes squeeze tight as the needle goes in.

"Ah!" he definitely doesn't miss that either. He goes rigid for a second, because that didn't fucking sound like a cry of painfulness. It's breathy, and whiny, not too loud and, for fucks sake, if that's how you sound when you're getting fucked, he swears to God-

He feels your heartbeat under his hands when he puts the barbell in and then the bandage over it. He takes a look at you, chest moving up and down. And then you take a look at him and what he sees is almost enough to take you right there.

Reddened cheeks, drops of sweat framing your face and those eyes glazed with something he's seen too much in the women he's fucked throughout his life. They're half lidded, mascara adorning your long lashes and almost smudged, looking right through him.

"Jungkook..." and your voice, as you say his name -acknowledging him for the first time since you stepped into his shop, for the first time since you were sixteen-, it's hoarse, almost inaudible, like you just came all over his-

He's on his feet in an instant like he's been burned. "It may bleed for the first week, and it can be really sore. The swelling will eventually come down." he's quickly tidying up the table, a bottle in his hand that he hands to you without looking directly. "Wash it gently with this soap and warm water once per day. Don't touch it. Wear a comfortable...bra. If it gets crusty, clean it with saline. Not alcohol or any other thing you might clean a wound with. The soap I just gave you or saline. Nothing else."

He's pacing around the room as he takes his gloves off and throws them in the trash bin, too agressively maybe, then he keeps rambling, like he's hurriedly trying to make you leave as soon as possible. "Avoid pools and the sea. It takes about six months to a year to heal, so don't... don't touch it, don't play with it or..." he clears his throat, "don't let anyone else play with it. And if it gets infected, come back immediately and I'll take a look at it." which he honestly hopes it won't happen. When he faces you, your top is back on and you're getting off the table.

"Alright, um...I'll do that." clearing your throat, your hand gripping the doorknob. "Thank you."

But right before you can exit the room, Jungkook says your name.

"_____." when you turn around to face him, it takes a few seconds for him to make eye contact from across the room. "It was good to see you."

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"Let me see!"

It's the first thing Chaelin says when she opens the door to her appartment. It's on the second floor, small enough to compare it to most expensive appartments you'd stayed in throughout your life, but big enough for Chaelin, her cat and her -impressive- collection of acrylic nail kits and pairs of high heels. It's also big enough for her to offer you the only guest room until summer is over so you didn't have to, one, stay at your parents' place, and two, find an appartment in a short period of time for a short period of time.

When you left years ago, you did so with the thought of 'never looking back'. You never really expected to return here, of all places. Maybe visit your best friend for a weekend at most, have dinner with your parents on a saturday and then go back to the new life you'd made for yourself on a sunday.

But that was before you'd caught Adam cheating.

Tale as old as time: childhood sweethearts get engaged, move in together, son of a bitch sleeps with the assistand he told his girlfriend not to worry about, and then the brokenhearted girl packs her bags and leaves the cheating bastard begging for her to come back.

You'd be lying if you said you were surprised.

Throughout your life, you'd learned to expect many things, regardless of being sheltered and babied by your family since you were born. Watched too much Maury and Dr.Phil. Too much Gossip Girl to know what the deal with life really is.

So, thankfully, you'd only shed a few tears, mostly because your ego and self steem were slightly triggered. You'd realize long before that your feelings for Adam started to disappear once he popped the question and you said yes. Your love story began as teenagers but soon after graduating, the two of you went on different paths: you'd matured, grown into your twenties while he got stuck at 17 and never stopped acting as such.

So yeah, whatever, break ups are hard. But they're not as hard when the love is gone and the sole reason to stay with your partner is to please your parents. You were also right when you expected your mom to tell you to 'forgive and forget' because 'those things just happen, it's not a big deal, honey'.

But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

The lanky nerd with braces, glasses and an anime obsession much bigger than his hentai obsession, which is saying a lot. The shy, awkward classmate who'd stuttered his undying crush for you when you were just kids. That one who you had rudely rejected like the bitch you used to be in high school.

But my God, Jeon Jungkook was anything but a kid now.

You were shocked. You were gagged. Couldn't seem to fathom what was happening and what your eyes were seeing. It took you a while to close your mouth when you realized JK was Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

With messy black hair, a smoldering gaze free of glasses, piercings adorning both ears, and his right eyebrow,, the braces long gone showing perfectly straight - but still bunny like- teeth. The clothes he wore were loose, all black, but it was impossible not to notice the muscles of his back and arms, covered with tattoos from his hands to his forearms. You'd bet there were more of them underneath the fabric.

It was awkward at first. You didn't know what to do, or what to say. Didn't know if he rememberd you. So you chose to stay quiet while your body chose to react like it had never been in the presence of an attractive young man in it's entire life.

And oh, did it react.

He was reluctant, his old timid demeanor peeking through his newly adopted persona. But as soon as those hands came in contact with your skin, your whole body was lit on fire. Like you were 16 and losing your virginity over again and it was the first time a dude touched your boobs.

There shouldn't have been anything erotic about it -besides the fact that your entire breasts were exposed-, it should've been just a professional procedure. But those gloved fingers touched and pinched and suddenly you were too aware of Jeon Jungkook and the way you were starting to sweat profously, not due to the heat of the season.

You tried to distract yourself by looking at the cieling and not at his gorgeous face. Tried to avoid thinking about Jeon Jungkook and how his mouth would feel wrapped around you. Tried not to think about the way your panties were a second skin to your folds, and how tempted you were to grind your hips until you recieved some sort of friction with the jean fabric of your shorts. You wonder if he noticed you squeezing your thighs together. You hope not.

And then the needle happened. You never thought of yourself as a particularly kinky person. Sex with Adam was boring for the most part and you'd lost your libido for a long time. Stopped thinking about sex altogether. But the pain. The pain mixed with his hand rubbing soothing circles on your breast and his voice, as sweet as honey, guiding you through it. It made you reconsider a lot of things you'd once dismissed as 'weird' or 'deviant'

You swear you almost came right on his table.

And then your eyes connected, you made the mistake of calling his name like a satisfied woman who still needed more, and it was all gone. He stood up like a scared cat, gave you a bunch of explanations about the aftercare that you barely grasped without even looking at you and pretty much rushed you to leave.

So you walked, all the way from the tattoo parlor to Chaelin's appartment, mortified, and completely humilliated.

"Are you gonna let me see or not?" your friend says expectantly as you finally sit down after chugging a glass of iced water. You sigh, placing the glass on the table before carefully pulling down your top. "Oh my God, it looks so cool!" she gasps and you can't help a smile while she studies it in amazement. "Did it hurt?"

"Um, I guess." you keep out the part where you almost orgasmed, obviously, stopping her hand from touching when she reaches towards you. "Wait, no. He said something about not touching it for like six months or a year, I don't remember."

At that, Chaelin's eyebrows quirk up. "He? It was a he? Was he cute, at least?"

"You won't believe this..." looking away for a few seconds, you take a deep breath. "It was Jeon Jungkook."

There's a pause, a silence that fills the room when Chaelin's jaw drops. "Jeon Jungkook...pierced your nipple?"

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for what you're a hundred percent sure is coming.

"Ha..." there it is. "Ha ha..." you still know there's more. "Ha ha ha..."

Chaelin laughs hysterically for about God knows how long, while you keep drinking your glass of water unfaced, your mind drifting back to Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie, his tattoos and his stupid gloved hands.

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You know he's here.

Everything was cool, you were doing alright, having a great time with your vodka sprite in hand and your cute white bikini on. Chaelin was by your side, the guys were excited to have you back and thankfully, you'd avoided most questions about Adam and they'd avoided digging too deep into the topic. You'd sunbathed the whole afternoon, kept away from the water like he'd told you and ate the Hawaiian pizza Yoongi insisted on ordering despite Namjoon's and Jimin's complaints.

It's at night, when you're a little tipsy and your cheeks are flushed, that you feel it. You'd barely noticed Taehyung disappearing to let in a new guest.

You don't see him, but you feel him.

You're sitting on the pool tile steps, legs dangling and the water baely reaching your belly to make sure it doesn't touch your very sensitive and newly pierced nipple. Your back is facing the sliding glass doors of Hoseok's house, but the moment you hear his voice, smooth but animated as he converses with Taehyung, your body wakes up immediately, back straightening, goosebumps forming on your arms and nipples tightening against the fabric of your two piece.

You don't turn around, instead opting for downing the remaining of your drink and coming to the realization that, of course, Taehyung, social butterfly who'd always got along with everybody and remained friends with most people from high school, still keeps in touch with Jungkook.

You ignore him when he enters the pool, still peering from the corner of your eyes while pretending to be engaged in Chaelin's and Jihyo's conversation. Your mind sabotages you by taking you to that day a week ago at the tattoo parlor.

To the warmth of his hand, to the few strands of hair that his small ponytail couldn't keep together, to the way his eyes focused on such an intimate part of your body, to the endless ink decorating his skin, to-

Great. Now your bottoms are wet and not due to the water.

You don't miss Chaelin supressing a laugh and her not so subtle elbowing. You glance at her in warning and try to keep calm for the next fifteen minutes until Jin proposes moving to the living room to watch a movie.

"I'm gonna stay here for a little longer, guys." you say, after clearing your throat. You needed some time to gather yourself before being in a confined space with Jungkook.

"Are you sure?" Jin stops by your side to place a hand on your shoulder as everybody starts exiting the pool. "It's Mean Girls! You love Mean Girls! You never miss a minute of Mean Girls!"

Rolling your eyes, you wave him dismissively. "I know every dialogue on Mean Girls like the back of my hand, I think I'll be alright, Jin."

When everybody finally leaves, you take a deep breath, covering your face with your hands in an attempt to get him out of your head. Damn Jeon Jungkook and his irresisitble glow up.

"You okay?"

The unexpected voice startles you, a gasp finding its way out of your mouth and causing you to jump on your seat, heartbeat erratic as you instantly recognize who it belongs to. Your hand grasps your chest as if that would do anything to protect yourself against him.

"Shit, don't do that!" you say, the words almost getting stuck in your throat as you see him approaching you, still submerged in the pool. The more he nears you, the less water depth there is and the more visible his torso comes into view. Wich was exactly what you'd been avoiding.

Because Jeon Jungkook was ripped, as you'd imagined when you first encountered him.

Broad shoulders and strong biceps and chiseled abs and veiny forearms. Drenched hair, a full sleeve of tattoos and water dripping from delicious tan skin and all just so very hard. That paired up with a loopsided smile that does nothing but make you shudder.

"Sorry." he doesn't sound apologetic at all when he says that, the smirk adorning his features telling. "You just seemed a little off." you advert your gaze when he pushes his hair back.

"I'm fine, just...just wanted to be by myself."

"Oh" Jungkook's smile disappears. "I can leave, if you want me t-"

"No!" you're not sure where that comes from and neither does he, judging by the look on his face when your eyes find his. Eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted, he's as surprised as you and there's an awkward silence for a few seconds. "Um, you don't have to. I mean, it's not my house, you can do whatever you want." you sniff and tame your voice, trying to seem cool and collected like you didn't just practically beg him not to go.

Ironic, considering this was exactly what you had been fearing for the past thirty minutes.

And then he smiles. A knowing smile. A smile that says 'you just totally checked me out and now you don't want me to leave'. A smile that you would have never associated with Jeon Jungkook of all people years ago. A smile that makes you want to look away but still keeps you in place.

"Sure." he says, closing the space between the two of you slowly but still leaving enough distance. "So, how's it going?"

You clear your throat, head high and determined not to let this man, or any man for that matter, turn you into a trembling mess. You're still you and you're not easily shaken by the opposite sex. Or at least that's what you helplessly chant in your head.

"Everything's cool. I'm on summer vacation now," a little white lie, "so I decided to-"

"The piercing." he says, the smile never leaving his face. "I meant how's the piercing."

"The pier- right." you almost miss the step he takes forward, all too aware of his height over yours but thankful for the centimeters that being propped on the stairs added to yours. "It's-" you almost, almost miss his knee touching your knee and him slightly separating your legs with his own inch by inch. Or how your thighs open unvoluntarely to welcome him in and how you can barely find coherent words to speak. "It's doing-" or the way his smile disappears and is instead focusing his dark stare fully onto yours.

"It's doing well." you finally say in a whisper, not being able to bring yourself to be louder.

He hums. "May I see it?" Jungkook wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and the action and his voice is enough to make you nod your head, bewitched.

His movements are unhurried, his hand coming up to tentatively come in contact with the flesh of your clavicle. His fingers skim through your skin upwards, his touch is feather-like when it wraps around your throat. You pant, and he stops but he doesn't move away, his eyes still focused on yours, studying you, daring you to pull back, to tell him to back off. But just a simple touch of his and you're fully under his control. It reminds you too much of the day you got that damn piercing.

Your lips are parted and for a moment he stays just like that. His body so close to yours but not close enough, and his hand slightly gripping your neck. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you can't wrap your head around the fact that something so simple sets your entire being alive and leaves you aching.

Then, as slow as he started, his hand travels from the front of your neck to the back, pushing your hair aside to carefully untie the straps of your bikini. He breathes through his nostrils, doesn't make a sound. He seems so collected it's starting to annoy you.

Instead, your breathing is ragged when the top falls down, exposing both your breasts to him. That's when he removes his eyes from yours and his jaw clenches. Your nipples perk up under his gaze, like they remember him and the effect he had on them just a week ago. You're at least glad you're not the only one affected but he seems to be a master at keeping it under wraps.

Then, his hand moves again, leaving goosebumps on your skin as it goes south. Jungkook takes his time, so deliberate you want to scream, until he's cupping your pierced breast, keeping away from the nipple just like he'd advised you a few days prior. You can't look away from his face, from his eyes observing you like you're a full course meal and he's been starving for days. You feel drops of water falling from his hair to your thighs, his thumb caressing your skin so delicately as it faintly nears your still tender nipple. Just nearing it, never touching it.

"Beautiful." his murmur is almost imperceptible and for a moment you think you've imagined it. Your back arches on its own, breast pushed against the palm of his hand, almost like your body is begging him to come closer, to touch you more, to feel you all over. He meets your eyes briefly, gauging your reaction, before going back to your chest. Suddenly, the grip on your breast tightens, fingers ever so softly squeezing your flesh. From your throat comes a mewl, your eyes shut and your legs close around his waist.

"Jungkook, please..." you whisper when you open your eyes. He looks at you, unvertainty written all over his face, lips bruised as if he had been biting on them too hard, gaze as glassy as yours. And just like that, the spell is broken. He blinks and his expression changes completely. Lips forming a straight line and jaw tight. His hand retracts, fixing your bikini top over your breasts before tying it around your neck like it originally was. Meanwhile your eyebrows crunch in confusion. But when you're about to start asking questions, he clears his throat.

"It's healing okay." he steps back, avoiding your eyes. "I'll see you inside."

Jungkook leaves the pool like nothing happened.

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Jungkook is fiddling, fixing the position of his glasses and combing through his straight hair with shaky hands, habits he's tried so hard to get rid of in his sixteen years of existence but still finds impossible to.

He can't help it. He's always been like this: the quiet and awkward kid in class who sits in the back, a misunderstood puppy in a sea of stronger dog breeds that could eat him alive. An outcast. Too geeky for his own good. Notebokes full of Dragon Ball doodles on the margins of the pages, the shelves in his room stacked with Marvel figurines, and a closet filled with outdated clothes that he has been inheriting from his older brother.

He has never been the type to stand out, always being overlooked by people like he's invisible. He doesn't mind though. He'd much rather be ignored than getting picked on by bullies like he used to in elementary school.

He never gets invited to parties. Ever. He's a nobody who barely speaks, and when he does he either stutters or manages to embarrass himself in one way or another. He's seen the look on people's faces when they look at him. Their eyes seem to scream 'weirdo' everytime he gets acknowledged.

So obviously the only reason he was invited to this particular party had a first and last name: Kim Taehyung. The only kid in Jungkook's entire life who didn't look at him in a funny way, the only kid who took the time to entangle in a random conversation with him after class and who seemed geniune enough to make Jungkook feel comfortable.

He's not sure how it happened, since Taehyung mostly hangs out with the cool kids. But somehow it did, and now Jungkook is uncomfortably standing in a living room full of drunk teens, looking directly at you.

You, the one girl Jungkook had been pining on for God knows how long. You, who are obviously too pretty, too popular, and way out of his league. You, with your plaid skirt and your polo shirt and those legs that never seem to end. You, who are sitting with your friends in a couch, drink in hand and visibly tipsy. And yet, he doesn't think he's ever seen anyone pull of the 'drunk-rosy-cheek' look better than you.

He can hear your laugh through the music and he already thinks it sounds better than whoever is playing in the background.

"Come on, Gukkie! Her friends are leaving and she's all by herself now! It's your chance" Taehyung's obviously drunk too because it took Jungkook a while to decypher his exact words. He'd disappeared for a while and now that he's back, he's pushing Jungkook in your direction.

"This was a mistake, Taehyung." Jungkook shakes his hair and steps back, quickly glancing at the front door to prepare his escape. But his new friend's grip on his hoodie keeps him in place.

"Guk, listen. The only thing you have to do, is walk up to her, and say 'hey I think you're, like, really pretty. Just letting you know. Bye!' That's it. Jung- Dude, Guk, seriously, look at me." Taehyung grabs Jungkook's cheeks, squishing them between his hands and forceing him to face him. "You've been crushing hard on her for years, my man. We're graduating and you won't see each other again. What's the worst thing that can happen? Getting rejected?"

Jungkook's eyebrows draw together. "Um, yeah?"

"Exactly! Getting rejected is not the end of the world, bro! It just means keep trying on other girls!" Taehyung releases his hold on Jungkook's cheeks. "I just think you're going to regret not telling your crush she's your crush. Who knows? Maybe in the future you two will get married."

Jungkook snickers, muttering a 'yeah right' under his breath. Still, he can't help the smile that Taehyung's words always seem to pull out of him.

"Now," Taehyung playfully slaps Jungkook before turning him in your direction again. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Okay," Mijoo's voice slices through Jungkook's memories. She's sitting on Jungkook's desk, munching on her brownies and looking at her coworker expectantly. "And then what?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, sits back on his chair, already feeling the effects of Mijoo's baked goods. "And then I walked up to her, like a damn fool, stutter and all. And I say:" he clears his throat, making an effort to do his best teenage Gukkie impression."'Hey, _____, um, so, I think you're beautiful and I've had a crush on you since seventh grade, haha, just wanted to let you know.'"

Mijoo rolls her eyes, still chewing. "And then what?"

"And then she looked me up and down, giggled, fucking giggled, Mijoo, and said 'Who are you, again?'" Mijoo gasps and Jungkook closes his eyes, trying to force that recollecion out of his head.

"What a bitch." she can't help but laugh before apologizing. Jungkook merely shrugs his shoulders and takes another bite of his brownie. "She didn't say anything else?"

"She said something along the lines of:" he clears his throat again, this time, doing an impression of you. "'That's sweet and all but, you and I... we're not the same. And I have a boyfriend, so...' She said that like I didn't know, like I wasn't aware of the school's it couple! Like I was dumb!"

Mijoo nods. "And now you want to fuck her even more than you did in high school."

"I- No! Well, yes. Fuck, of course I want to sleep with her! But I just... can't."

"Why not?"

"Did you hear anything about what I just told you or were you too concentrated trying to get high?"

It's Mijoo's turn to roll her eyes. "I heard everything you just told me. I just don't understand what the problem is. You two were sixteen. Sure, she was a bitch about it, but Lord knows I've been a bitch my entire life and now I'm not anymore." Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. "Okay, sometimes I can be nice. But the point is..." Mijoo finishes her piece of brownie before getting off of Jungkook's desk. "It's been, what? Nine? Ten years? People change, JK. You're the best example of that. You want to fuck her and she obviously wants to fuck you too. You're both adults." she wipes her hands on her shorts. "I think it's time you fulfill that high school fantasy of yours."

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You've made up your mind.

And by you, it means Chaelin has made up your mind.

It didn't take long to convince you though. That last interaction with Jungkook cause too many emotions stirring within you. It left you hot, it left you bothered, it left you confused. Sure, it also left you a little bit embarrassed like the first time, but above everything else, that interaction with Jungkook left you absolutely livid.

Because who the fuck did Jeon Jungkook, formerly known as Guk, Gukkie, Jungukkie, and currently known as JK, think he was to come near you, speed your heart rate's up, and then runaway like that?

You've spent days thinking about it. About that face, about that body, about those hands and- shit. You're doing it again.

You've spent days trying to push those intrusive thoughts. Spent days trying to bury what happened. You've spent days trying to keep quiet, not telling anyone about it and just wishing that stupid spark of desire simply went away.

But it has just been simply unavoidable. You haven't been able to ignore the sleepless nights with your brain drifting back to that night and forbidding your hand from slipping under your panties. Or the excessive amount of time during the day where images of him suddenly popped in your head and wouldn't go away, even with you squeezing your thighs to try to make the ache go away.

So you ended up ranting and ranting and ranting to the only person you could confide on, who is obviously your best friend. Your best friend, who's too smart for her own good and knows you too well for your liking. Because apparently your moodiness and snappy remarks couldn't go unnoticed.

And after explaining the fiasco over a bottle of wine -and minutes of endless laughing on Chaelin's part because, again, it's Gukkie you two were talking about and, according to her, this was "the most karmic thing I've ever seen"-, she gave you the best advice an older sister could ever give.

"Fuck him."

"I know right? Fuck him!"

"No. I mean, fuck him."

And now here you are. Right inside that room you stepped in weeks ago, confronting the man in question with the same confidence that has always distinguished you from others and trying to act like the fluttering inside your belly wasn't nauseauting.

"A date."

"Yes."

"You want to go on a date with me." this wouldn't be so hard if Jungkook didn't look so delectable in a plain white t-shirt and ripped jeans. You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to not look down at the exposed skin of a man who obviously worked out a lot and apparently, never skipped leg day. "What's the catch?"

He's sitting on his chair, back resting comfortably and legs spread, narrowing his eyes at you and probably wondering why the girl at the front desk let you in without an appointment. Also, probably wondering if there was a catch to all of this.

"There's no catch. I just want to go to the fair this weekend. I'll ask Taehyung for your number and text you the date and the exact place we'll be meeting. Unless..." your quirk one of your eyebrows. "Unless you're already planning on how you'll chicken out this time."

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Of course, Jungkook says yes to going on a date with his high school crush but spends the following days overthinking every single thing.

He can't help but feel like it's kinda sketchy. What if you're planning your vendetta on him? What if you don't even show up and he ends up there looking like a damn idiot? What if you hate him and are just messing up with him? What if that incident in high school is going to repeat itself?

"If she doesn't show up, you simply move on and never speak to her again. It's that simple. She can't have that much power over you to cry about something like that." Mijoo had said that same day she let you in the tattoo parlor after you'd asked to see Jungkook. Jungkook's coworker hadn't even question you and just motioned you to Jungkook's room with a knowing smile on her face. Later that day, Jungkook had scolded her about it and she'd simply shrugged.

He considers cancelling, eyes reading the 'won't be able to make it, sorry (sad face emoji)' over and over again and fingers hovering over the send button so many times he's lost count. But then he remembers that comment of yours about him chickening out and Jungkook starts seeing red.

How couldn't you understand he's just terrified of you rejecting him one more time? Sure, Jungkook is now an adult who doesn't get butthurt over stuff like that. He's experienced too much after graduating from high school and he's a much stronger individual than his fragile self back was back then.

But something about you just makes him feel so... weak.

He still finds it impossible to concieve where he got the courage to approach you like that at Taehyung's pool, or how he brought himself to touch you for longer than a minute without coming in his pants. He'd enjoyed it too much. Allowing him to see you so exposed, just for him. He'd be so tempted to kiss you right there and then, to run his hands up and down your thighs and fully wrap your legs around him to let you known how much you'd affected him. Once you called his name, it was like he'd finally snapped out of it and backed away like he'd been burned by you. He spent the next twenty minutes trying to keep himself from pulling down his pants and jerking off in his friend's bathroom.

It's terrible. Because he feels like the teenager he used to be when you're around. Shy, insecure and overall a mess. You showing up in his life after so many years and now apparenly being interested in him seems like a dream that he's not sure he wants to keep being in or wake up from before it's too late and he falls back into that tumoltuous longing that will inevitably end up in heartbreak. His heartbreak.

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It's saturday night, he's standing by himself in the crowded fair at the spot. You're fifteen minutes late and he's already about to turn back and dip out. He feels too awkward and the nerves are eating him alive.

You're not going to show up. You're not going to show up and now he feels and looks even dumber than the time he told you he was crushing on you. You're not even going to show up and now he's going to come back home, get drunk by himself and curse your name for-

"Hey!" he turns around to the sound of your voice and sees you running towards him. "Sorry I'm late! I couldn't find my phone and spent like thirty minutes looking for it. Turns out, Sharon Stone, was taking a nap on top of it and I didn't even notice."

"Sharon Stone?"

"Chaelin's cat."

To be honest, he's too surprised to process your explanation right away. He might also be a little speechless because that sky blue sundress looks too good on your skin and your eyelashes are so long, framing your beautiful eyes, and your lips are all glossy and kisseable that it takes him a while to find his own voice.

He clears his throat. "It's alright." scratching the back of his head, he momentarely adverts his gaze from you in an attempt to not get distracted by how soft your hair looks and how much he wants to wrap it around his hands in a ponytail. "Um, where do you want to go first?"

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Almost an hour and a half later, when the sun has already disappeared and you're both surrounded by colorful lights, Jungkook decides to buy the both of you hot dogs and a drink and you both settle down on a bench.

You've been walking all over the fair, going from booth to booth, playing any game in sight Jungkook dared you to -he obviously had a competitive streak-: from the ballon and dart games, to the shooting games, to the bumping cars, to the ball-in-basket one. To say you were having fun was an understatement.

You'd almost regretted setting the date up. You were sure he wouldn't even show up and if he did, you were scared of how awkward things could get between the two of you. And if things were awkward, you were sure it would only take less than thirty minutes for the both of you to part ways and never talk again about such failure of a date.

To your surprise, none of that happened.

The conversation was flowing, both of you acting like you were strangers on their first date getting to know each other, which, to be fair, that's exactly what it felt like. There was a slight banter, teasing each other when one of you lost in whatever game you were playing while the other was obviously winning. There were laughs and a funny feeling in your tummy whenever you'd walk side by side and his arm brushed yours.

There was no stiffness on his shoulders, no mention of the past or your previous encounters, no acknowledgement of the blatant sexual tension you'd experienced before, not an ounce of avoidance whenever your eyes met his and he was even sure of himself enough to place a hand on your lower back or briefly interwine your fingers with his to guide you through the mass of people.

It felt like you'd both unspokenly agreed on making each other feel comfortable enough to have a good time.

"I didn't think you were going to show up, to be honest." you suddenly say, taking a sip of your strawberry juice and thankful to finally let your feet rest for a while.

Jungkook looks at you, hot dog mid air and eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. "You didn't think I was going to show up? I didn't think you were going to show up." you simply shrug, lowering your gaze seepishly, the beginning of a smile on both your faces. He surprises you by tilting your head in his direction with his forefinger. You watch him watching you, a little dazed, a little lost in how his dark hair messily falls over his forehead and his equally dark eyes study your face, his thumb swiping over your lower lip. "You um... There was ketchup right there." he lies.

"Oh" you say, feeling your face heating up. "Thanks. Red doesn't really match this dress." you manage a smile and tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

At that, he eyes your dress for a moment, mouth slightly ajar. He's debating on whether or not to say something but you beat him to it.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

"For being late? I already told you it's fin-"

"No." you shake your head. "For... that time when we were young and I was such a concieted brat." you say, looking away , trying to find anything else that's not his pretty face. "I thought I was a queen bee back then. I was annoying and rude, specially to you. I..." you lick your lips. The cherry glittery gloss was already gone. "I thought it was cute, what you said. There was no reason for me to act like that. I know this doesn't make anything right but..." when you turn to face him again, there's still the same expression on his face. "I'm sorry."

A few seconds go by before it's him who's shaking his head. "It's okay. It was a long time ago, anyway." he smiles at you, although it doesn't reach his eyes and seems sorta forced. You sigh, and he takes your hand. "Let's go to the ferris wheel."

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tell you're tense. You're sitting right beside him in the ferris cabin, your back is all straight, you're facing forward and he believes you haven't blinked for what feels like an eternity. He thinks it has everything to do with your conversation a few minutes ago. You were probably not content with his response but what could Jungkook do? There was really no point in apologizing for something that happened years ago, but at the same time, he didn't want to hold anything against you like a resentful asshole because it was really not who he was. But there was still a little bit of stingyness inside of him and he didn't know how to make it go away.

At the end of the day, here you were, on a date with him that you'd asked for, getting along and asking questions about him and laughing at his jokes and trying to start all over again.

But then the ferris wheel starts moving, and he finally understands why you look so uncomfortable.

It's the way you immediately grip his forearm, nails digging in his skin and he swears he hears the smallest gasp forcing itself out your throat.

"Are you... scared?" he tentatively asks.

You say nothing for a while, not moving an inch. He would laugh if you didn't look so pained about it.

"I don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters." you finally say through gritted teeth.

"It's not really that small and ferris wheels are not rollercoasters. " your nails dig deeper and he winces. "Okay, okay. You don't like small confined spaces nor rollercoasters, and that includes ferris wheels. So why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I've never liked ferris wheels but you seemed excited about it, so..."

There's a silence after that in the environment, neither of you exactly sure of what to say or how to act. Until Jungkook moves one of his hands hands until it's resting on the one who's holding onto him for dear life, fingers caressing yours. The warmth of his hand spreads through yours and although it's almost July and you can already feel your sweaty back staining your dress, it's oddly comforting. What's more comforting even, is him twisting his body towards you and talking with the calmest and most soothing tone you've ever heard.

"Look at me." you do instantly, unwillingly, and kinda wish you hadn't. It's almost as if your body will do anything he says without question. Like he has some sort of power over it to just react however he wants. His eyes bore into yours and suddenly the cab doesn't seem so suffocating. "It's just you and me right now. We're not even on a ferris wheel." the corners of his mouth turn slowly upwards. You zone out the environment, suddenly too aware of him and how close he is and how loud the beating of your heart is to your own ears.

"Jungkook."

You swallow the knot in the back of your throat when he removes his hand from yours. It almost makes you protest, - now realizing you've losened the tight grip on his arm- , before it craddles your face, keeping you in place while bringing his body closer.

"You have to stop saying my name like that."

With his thigh touching your thigh, your whole demeanor melts. When he leans closer, and you feel his breath fanning over your lips, your eyes shut closed.

"Tell me I can-" he starts to say.

"Yes." you finish for him. He doesn't doubt on closing the distance between you two. His lips touch yours and your body shakes in excitement. It's just him lightly skimming your lips with his but it's already too much and at the same time, not enough. It has you deepening it, yourself moving closer when he kisses you again. It has you relaxing against him, the tenseness prior disappearing and making you arch your back when his tongue asks for permission.

But it's exactly then, the moment you open your lips to him, that has you losing your mind.

The sparks fly, traveling from your head to your toes and then settling on the pit of your stomach as soon as the kiss starts to turn desperate and rough. When he nibbles your lips with his teeth, it makes you mewl and whine and your nipples tight against the cotton of your dress. It makes the metal barbell to feel uncomfortable, slightly painful. And when he goes back to being messy and filthy with his tongue tangled with yours, your thighs close on their own.

He forces himself to pull his hand back and bring it down, finding the parting of yd opening them for him. "Wait," you say, your fingers wrapping around his forearm as you try to catch your breath."The ferris-" he shuts you up with another kiss.

"We're not on a ferris wheel." he reminds you, a soft whisper against your mouth. And for whatever reason, you believe him.

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"He fingered you on the ferris wheel."

"Yes."

"And you came before the ride was over."

You take a small sip of wine, your eyes focusing on the TV where a rerun of the Golden Girls is playing, although, to be fair, lately you haven't been able to pay much attention to anything else but a certain brunet with doe eyes and kisseable lips. "Yes."

She hums, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bowl between your thighs.

"How long did it took? Like five minutes?"

There's a pause in which you clench your jaw, your fingers twitching around the glass in your hand, and then you answer. "Probably less."

There's another pause, and then-

"Ha...Ha ha...Ha ha ha-"

You let her laugh. It's okay. You knew you had it coming.

Chaelin knows the pillow you throw right at her face is also something she had coming.

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It's not that you're mad.

Jungkook and you had a great time on that fair date, he made you laugh, bought hot dogs and drinks for the two of you and got you off inside the cab of a ferris wheel on record time with those magical, long fingers of his. Technically, there shouldn't be anything to be angry about.

Except it's been a week and you can't stop thinking about him, about wanting more, and about those words that he left you with after the ferris wheel ride ended, when you had tried to return the favor.

'Next time, maybe.'

And there hasn't been a next time.

The thought of texting him or giving him a call to ask for another date is persistent in your mind. It remains while you do the laundry or wash the dishes, while you shower, while you eat or while you spend your days at the beach with Chaelin. There's always the incessant desire to reach out towards your phone, unlock it and dial his number to beg for more.

But you'd never been one to beg, so you resist the urge everytime that feeling starts to creep up on you and it washes over you like a wave. You silence your phone and try to concentrate on making the most out of your summer.

It's one random night, when you're tiredly dragging your feet across Chaelin's apartment's carpet, yawning and ready to succumb to a well needed slumber, that you see your phone screen's lighting up with a message.

Your heart pathetically leaps inside your chest when you read his name.

'you free on saturday?'

You wish you could say you ghosted him, ignored his text and moved on with your life until it was him who begged you for another date. But the truth is you opened it in a matter of seconds and typed 'i'm free, why?' back in a rush with trembling fingers.

So now you're on the passanger seat of his car while he sits on the driver seat, the first saturday night of July, like he's Danny Zuko and you're Sandy Olsson, watching a vintage movie in a drive-in theater which plot you don't give a shit about, even if Jungkook's date plan idea made something inside of you churn with adoration.

And the only reason why you don't give a single damn about the movie playing in front of your eyes, is because you're hot. Way too hot. And the reason and cause is none other than the boy-now-turned-man sitting on your left.

You barely exchanged words when he picked you up, just rode in silence until you got to your destination and you bet he can feel as well as you do the tension in the air.

You've surveyed him a few times from the corner of his eye, noticing him fiddling with the rings around his fingers and shifting in his seat from time to time. And if the sight of his fingers bring memories that you've tried to bury to keep yourself from lunching towards him, a brief glance at his forearms, adorned with ink drawn through his golden flesh -doing a poor job at concieling the veins running underneath- and his skin-tight jeans wrapping those muscled thighs of his is enough to have you be the one squirming in your seat.

A woman can only endure so much, and you come to that realization thirty minutes into the movie.

"I want to suck your cock." you say, a stern expression on your face as you turn your body in his direction.

Jungkook frozes as your voice slides over him. It takes him a couple seconds to look at you, shock widening his eyes and parting his lips.

"Huh?" he manages, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white.

Without separating your gaze from his, you gather your hair and tie it in a ponytail with the hair tie previously around your wrist. You don't miss the quick glance he sneaks into the curvature of your neck and the valley between your breasts.

Inching forward, closing in on him, you place one of your hands on top of his thigh, the action making his whole body tense. "____..." he whispers your name in a warning that doesn't sound convincing even in his own ears.

You smile, your eyes never wavering from his as your hand inches upwards, slowly caressing over the fabric of his jeans until you finally come across what you were looking for.

His hand flies to your wrist, stilling your movements. "____, this is not-". He starts, but his voice gets stuck inside his throat when you palm his undoubtly growing erection.

"Shh." your shaky breath fans over his cheek and you force yourself on your knees on the passanger seat in a more comortable possition to stop the trembling to reach them.

You fumble with the belt holding his pants in place, then with the button and finally with the zipper. He helps you by lifting his hips to pull his jeans and boxers to his thighs and you have to bite back a mixture between a gasp and a moan at the sight below you. You haven't even seen Jeon Jungkook naked all the way, but the mere sight of his hard cock with pre-cum glistening on his crown is probably the sexiest thing you've ever had the pleasure of appreciating.

It gets sexier when you wrap your hand around the base and his body melts in the driver seat, throwing his head back with his eyes shut. It gets even sexier when you finally lower your head, swirling your tongue over the head before finally engulfing him fully in the wet warmth of your mouth.

"Shit." his voice is tight, uneven as his hand loosely grips your ponytail, as if careful not to accidentally hurt you and break the glorious moment.

Although you wouldn't mind at all. Because the moment your hands are on him, and your tongue is on his shaft, that's the only thing you care about. Your belly is twisting, an undeniable wet spot on your panties as the fabric sticks to your folds, and the more you suck Jungkook, the more you want from him. His earthy taste is addicting and the soft little whimpers he occasionally can't prevent himself from are making you want to milk him until he can't take it no more. There's this desire within you to whorship him and his cock like you had been dreaming for the past weeks.

"This is s-so fucking h-hot." he rasps between ragged breaths, the bobbing of your head, sliding up and down his dick as your hand works the centimeters your mouth can't take is about to make him faint.

"Getting a blowjob?" you joke, your throat starting to feel sore as you kiss his leaking tip.

"N-no." he draws in a rough breath when you take him all of him again. "You giving me a blowjob... T-the f-fact that anyone c-could see us..." he darts a quick glance at your body, your ass up in the air and your dress sliding down, almost exposing you completely. "The fact that-ah! Shit..." he squeezes his eyes when he feels a glob of your spit lubricating him.

There's a sudden need to make you feel the same, to touch your skin and have you shaking the same way you have him. So one of his hands travels from your spine, to your perked ass, finally dragging the cotton of your dress to allow himself to see your thin white panties. "The fact that anyone could see you l-like this," he murmurs, regaining a little bit of control when he squeezes one of your cheeks. "letting t-them see you s-sucking my cock and..." he smirks when he feels you gasping around him, his fingers trapped between your thighs and pushing them inside your heat easily "and letting them see me fingering this pretty little pussy."

Soon after that he's cumming in your mouth while you're cumming around his fingers.

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At first, it's mostly on weekends when you see each other. Weekends of stolen kisses and soft sighs and whispering against each other's lips. Then weekends turn to week days, sitting on grass while sipping on refreshing beverages, drawing each other laughs, elbows touching as you walk around the park side by side because the both of you are too scared to interwine your fingers together.

Jungkook feels content like this: sitting on the sand with you between his thighs, admiring the sunset while nuzzing your neck and inhaling your scent every now. He likes waching you enoying your strawberry ice cream, almost forgetting the chocolate chip one already melting in his hand.

"If you were an ice cream flavor,which one would you be?" you ask him, relaxing against his chest.

"Rocky road."

"Why?"

He shrugs behind you. "Everyone likes rocky road."

You hum, playfully rolling your eyes. "What about me? Which ice cream flavor would I be?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer."

"Lemon sherbet? Out of all of the flavours out there, you're rocky road and I'm lemon sherbet?"

"Lemon sherbet, in the summer." he corrects.

"Okay, fine. Why?"

"You're boring and basic."

You gasp, trying to feign outrage but not being able to repress the laugh that escapes your throat. You elbow him, his laugh mixing with yours while taking the time to wrap his arms around your form, the breeze blowing your hair allowing him a spot between your neck and your shoulder. "You're boring and basic, but once you have a taste..." he presses a small kiss on your skin, causing the tiny hairs on the nape of your neck to rise. "Once you have a taste, specially on the hottest day in the middle of summer, you can't stop tasting and licking until there's no more lemon sherbet left."

You suck in on a breath when he craddles your jaw to face him. "It's been my favourite flavor since I was a kid." he kisses you immediately after, his lips swallowing the small whimper now stuck in your throat.

You close your eyes as his tongue opens your mouth, arousal blasting your insides and something much, much deeper that you fear to even name shredding your chest.

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The beginning of august comes faster then you two realize, but what you both do realize is how hard it's becoming to stay away from each other.

It's been thirty days of dates happening almost everyday, sharing high school memories and anecdotes of the time you spent away from each other. Hours of getting to know each other and opening up to each other. From failed relationships to new friendships. Of park dates walking side by side and fingers now interwined because you both realized one day that, fuck it.

It's difficult to sleep when you realize you're starting to catch serious feelings for somebody who was just supposed to be a fling. It's hard to sleep when his face, his voice and his touch and thoughts of missing him when you don't see each other start haunting you at night.

It's hard for Jungkook to focus on work when you're everything that's occupying his mind. Because he has a hundred sketches to make but he's too busy thinking about the hundred different sketches he would make of you.

It's hard not to send him a goodnight text, just like it's hard for him not to reply in a matter of seconds, almost as if he was already waiting to recieve it.

Jungkook thinks of you at night. Of how pretty and absolutely perfect you are for him. Of the taste of your lips, the way your hair feels between his fingers, or the flush on your cheeks when he makes you cum as droplets of sweat accumulate between your breasts. He thinks about your voice. He also thinks about the amount of hours left to be able to listen to it again.

But mostly he thinks about how ridiculous this situation is. Because he was stupidly crushing on you when you were only teenagers, daydreaming about a chance with you. And now his crush is long gone and he's starting to realize that he's falling, and falling fast.

You, too, think of Jungkook at night. Of his ability to bring a smile out of you, to soothe you with just a few words and filling your belly excitement, happiness and feelings you're sure you've never felt before.

Jungkook's managed to imprint himself in your dreams, and you, in his.

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Getting drunk with Jungkook is fun and messy.

It's fun because he lets loose, he stutters a lot like he used to do when he was a teenager and he makes you laugh louder than ever before. It's messy because he has no control over his hands as they explore your body, clumsily taking your clothes off as his mouth laps at the breast he's allowed to touch.

He's more forceful and dominating too, pinning your hands above your head, and commanding you to keep them right there, on the pillows of his bed. When you rebel against it, your fingers finding the hard planes of his chest, he pulls away from you and places them back where he left them. "Don't make me tie you up." he threatens, and your body shudders beneath him.

He sucks, and bites and leaves marks all over your skin, grunting in response to your moans. Creating a path of kisses from your lips to your stomach, his shoulders separating your knees, opening you up only for him. And thankfully, when you reach down to tug at the strands of hair framing his face, he lets you, because he knows you need something to hold on to the moment his tongue eats you up. He leaves his fingertrips on your thighs as he keeps you in place, not allowing you to runaway. Just forcing you to take it as he takes from you.

And when you cum, he doesn't back away. He keeps sucking, and licking and punishing you with his mouth until you're cumming over and ove again, screaming and begging for his cock.

Having Jungkook over you, both completely naked, skin to skin and only sweat in between is more than you could've ever fantazised about. He slurls your name when he puts the condom on. He would do anything to feel you raw, but he also knows he wouldn't be able to last a minute. The sight of you spread open, with your cheeks darkened by a crimson blush and your hair tangled all over his pillow is a picture he wants to keep forever.

He enters you when you call his name, your voice dripping with need. He stretches your warm and wet felsh, slowly easing himself into you at first, until he's fully inside and your bodies are completely in union. A shiver runs down Jungkook's spine when he looks at your contorted face in pleasure, your lips forming an 'O' and your pussy clenching around him.

"Oh, my God." you moan into the dark of Jungkook's room, and even then, he can clearly appreciate every curve of your body lifting off the mattress to connect with his. He lowers himself on his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in and capturing your mouth with his.

"I know, baby." he murmurs. It's hot, in the middle of August but suddenly Jungkook doesn't hate summer as much as he used to. Not with you sharing the heat with him. "It's way beyond what I could ever imagine." You nod hurriedly against his lips, your arms finding their way around his neck as he starts rocking in and out of you.

"It's too good." you cry, when he hits a particular spot that has you rolling your eyes in bliss and gripping his waist tighter with your legs against you. Your fingers thread through his hair, not bothered by the beads of sweat gathered on the nape of his neck.

"Too good..." he agrees, not missing the shiver that's shaking your own frame when he picks up his speed. "You have no idea what I would do t-to fucking feel you with n-no barriers between us," his movements become frantic as his hips slap against yours, his jaw clenched as he keeps talking, "to s-stuff you full of my c-cum over and over again until it won't stop d-dripping."

Jungkook's voice against your ear has you trembling and your orgasm nearing closer, your nails scratching down his back as his thrusts overpower your form. "Would you like that?" he asks with his voice strangled.

"Y-yes. Anything y-you want."

"You'd take all of my cum like a good cum-slut?"

You hate the fact that that's what makes you come undone. The twisting and knotting in the pit of your stomach finally snapping until you're holding on to him like you never want to let him go and he's following soon after.

Because if Guk, Gukkie, Jengukkie was not only able to make you come in less than a few minutes with his fingers or his tongue, but he was also able to make you cum instantly just by calling you a good cum-slut, that means you're fucked. Like, really, really fucked.

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There's a knot in Jungkook's stomach and a suffocating grip around his vocal chords as he caresses your skin. The sun is rising in the distance with the first rays of light entering his room through the window. Your shamphoo is intoxicating him, numbing him and enticing him to bury his nose in the tangled curls pressing against his chest. Your arm is thrown across his stomach, your breathing leavig goosebumps all over his body.

"It's too early. Go back to sleep." you mumble against his heart. He wonders if you can feel it dangerously speeding up.

"I can't." he says, voice struggling to stay balanced. "I have to tell you something."

You hum in response, sleep still interwined with your body, your arm tightening around him. You sigh in content, expecting him to elaborate.

He wets his suddenly dry lips. "I don't want this to end. In fact, ____.... I want more. Need more."

"Jungkook..." your whole body goes rigid right away, untanglling your bodies from each other and sitting up on the mattress.

"No, listen to me." he mimicks your movements, rapidly grabbing your hands to make you look at him. His eyes are expressive, a mixture of fear and hope swirling in his dark irises. "I wake up everyday, and you're the first thing I think of. I go on about my day, and I keep thinking about you, wondering what you're doing and counting down the hours until I get to see you again. I spend every night dreaming about you, and when we'e together, the only thing I can think about is how I wish I could stop time so I don't have to say bye to you the next morning. ____, I-"

"Jungkook, stop please." you shake your head, pushing away from him and in desperate need of air. You press a hand against your chest, beating back the throb of pain while the other curls in a tight fist, the feeling of your fingernails digging into your palm less painful than the ache inside your heart. "This... This wasn't supossed to happen, Jungkook." you start pacing around the room, as if trying to find an exit while avoiding his gaze. "This was just a summer fling. That's all it was, I'm supposed to come back to the city in two weeks and-"

"A summer fling?" a sardonic sneer comes out of him. "Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening again..." he mumbles to himself before rising from the bed. You stop immediately, a shiver quaking through you as his impressive frame intimidates His eyebrows are drawn together and his dark eyes are void of any prior emotion. "You're going back to the city in two weeks? And you didn't care to tell me until now, after I just spilled my guts to you?"

You eyes fill up with uncomfortable tears, reaching one arm towards him. "Jung-"

He flinches, taking one step back. "A summer fling is all I mean to you?"

"Ju- "

"Look me in the eyes, right now, and tell me that's all I mean to you. A summer fling." panic crawls up your throat. There's the need within you to confirm, to stare into his beautiful and stern eyes and tell him that, yes, that's all he is to you. But you've never been a good liar. So nothing comes out. You opt for wrapping your ams around yourself wishing they were his and lowering your eyes to the ground. "I think... I think you should leave."

Those are the last words he says to you, and the last thing you see when you turn around one more time after gathering your clothes, is his back as he looks out the window.

You allow yourself to cry the exact moment you step into Chaelin's apartment. Your friend is sitting on the couch, bowl of cereal in hand and a fresh cup of coffee sitting on the livingroom's table.

"Hey, you're early tod- Baby, what's wrong?"

"Please, don't laugh."

That morning, you lay down for hours on the couch with your head on Chaelin's lap while she softly brushes your hair as you cry, hiccup, fight through the pain in your heart and relate to her as best as you can the latest events.

She doesn't laugh at all.

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"She'll come back." Mijoo's slurred words do nothing to put Jungkook's state at ease that night. He simply shrugs, fingers clenching at his sides, frowing into his drink before gulping down the bitter taste of vodka in one shot. "Seriously, I think she's just afraid. My ex was the same."

"Comparing her to your ex is not the analogy you think it is."

"Ugh, shut up. Things didn't work with my ex because she was a bitch." Jungkook gives Mijoo a pointed look which she responds to by rolling her eyes and sipping on her rum coke. "Your girl is not a bitch. She used to be a bitch. What she did this morning was bitchy, but, like I said, she's just being a pussy. If she only wanted sex with you, she wouldn't have been doing couple stuff with you the entire summer."

"Whatever. I don't care." he lies and Mijoo knows he's lying but decides to drop the subject fo now.

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"We can't keep spending our days smoking weed." Chaelin speaks over Blanche's voice on the TV.

"I know. I'm just sad."

"You have to come back and tell him how you feel."

"I know."

There's a beat of silence before your friend kicks your thigh with her feet.

"I know and I will." you mumble through red eyes and smoke clouds.

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It's September first and it doesn't feel like Jungkook's birthday at all. He's been trying to focus on his work, alternating between isolating in full hermit mode and hanging out with friends to drink away his sorrow. The days have gone by and before he could realize it, he woke up today with over twenty text messages wishing him a happy day and a throbbing hangover.

He dresses up on autopilot. First a cotton shirt, then a pair of jeans and lastly, his Nike's. He doesn't bother tying his sneakers just like he doesn't bother taking a shower. He smokes a cigarette for breakfast, the death stick making him feel nauseaus on an empty stomach. And then he goes to work.

He's been repeating the same routing for the past weeks and he's not thinking of changing it, not even on his bithday.

He spends hours drawing, tattooing and drawing some more between yawns. He ignores texts an phone calls and simply waits until the day is over to go home, go to bed and forget about the fact that you're probably on your way to the city and that he hasn't crossed your mind not even once.

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Inkphoria.

You've been standing outside the shop re-reading the word for fifteen minutes, although it definitely feels like it has been longer. You're gripping cup of ice cream as it melts down your fingers the more you wait. The shop is already empty and it's starting to darken out side, and still you're so hot. Your shorts are heavy and your tank top is sticking to your skin. You didn't even bother to put on any make, although your eyebags definitely needed some concieling and your lashes some dimension to hide the fact that you'd been crying for the last few days.

'You're crazy about him.'

Chaelin's voice echoes inside your head.

You've lost count of how many times your best friend has given your advice, or simply encouraged you to do something you've been too scared to try.

'And he's cazy about you too.'

Chaelin might be wrong about marmite and the movie Cats, but she's definitely now wrong about anything regarding your and Jungkook.

That's it. You briefly close your eyes, inhale a deep breath then release it slowly. You start walking. It doesn't take longer than three strides and you're pushing the door open.

The tattoed blonde looks up from the counter the second you come into view. She smiles at the distance between you two. "You can come closer. I won't bite."

You clear your throat, stalking closer to her. "Is he-"

"He's in the back." she replies before you can finish you question. You close your mouth, clear your throat and nod your head.

"Thanks, Mijoo." she gives you a small wink, her smile easing your nerves like she had three months ago.

She watches you disappear. She shakes he head, her smile meeting her eyes. "I told him so."

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Jungkook ignores the knock on his door at first. It's almost ten and the parlor is about to close. He just has to finish this last fucking sketch so he can grab his shit and go the fuck ho-

Knock knock.

He growls, exhasperation cursing through him. He runs a hand through his messy pile of hair, his rings tangling between the strands, making him wince in pain. "Come in." he grunts under his breath. The door opens. "Mijoo, I really have to finish-"

He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees you.

"Hey." you say after a moment of hesitation.

"Hey." he replies and although there's something inside, deep in his chest, shouting at him to stand up, run up to you and kiss your face while he tells you how beautiful you look right now and how happy he is to see that you're still here, he decides against it. "Listen, ____, I'm pretty busy-"

"No, you listen to me." you cut him off abruptly. He looks taken aback and is already opening his mouth to say something, but you're not having it. "Please, just... Let me talk."

Silence looms between the two of you for a while, a staring contest defying each other to back down. When you take one step inside and close the door behind you, he sighs and leans back against his chair.

You move towards him slowly, your lip caught between your lip going through your mind for the speech you'd been preparing the last few days. Your hands are sticky due to the the sugary treat liquifying in your hand. "I know there's no reason you should give me another chance after rejecting you in high school, and there's definitely no reason why you should forgive me for the way I shut you out a few weeks ago. You've been confessing your feelings to me since we were teenagers, and now it's my turn to tell you exactly how I feel about you."

"Jungkook, the truth is... I like you so much. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone. Ever. I said this was just a summer fling, and I was lying. I was lying because there's no way a simple summer fling could make me feel the way you do. There's no way a simple summer fling could make me want not just summer with you, but also fall and winter, and spring and every summer that comes next."

You hadn't realize when your eyes filling up with tears until the sight of him starts blurrying in front of you. His fingers reach yours, his thumb comforting on your skin. "____, it's okay-"

"I'm not done yet." you sniffle, gathering enough courage to continue. "I brought you a lemon sherbet because you said it was your favourite. But you also implied I was your favourite, and I want to keep being you favourite, but now it's already melted and-"

The corners of Jungkook's lips start pulling upward as he tugs you towards him, his heart loudly jumping inside his chest. "Shhh, come here."

He takes the ice cream from your hand and places it on his desk. Then he's helping you onto his lap, your head tucked under his chin and your arms wapping on their own around his neck.

He doesn't care about your sticky fingers or the wet stains of your tears in his shirt. The only thing he cares about is the fact that you're right there, letting him engulf your frame and drown in the scent and warmth he'd misses so much.

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The first day of June has Jungkook sweating and wishing for a haircut. Jungkook usually hates summer. He hates the fact that he has to shower at least twice a day, and the fact that the heat is almost unbearable to sleep in and also the fact that he's easily sunburnt.

This year, however, Jungkook likes summer a little bit more.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you have an appointment?" it's the fact that you're starting to wear those summer dresses he loves so much, and the fact that your skin glows under the sun like glitter, and also the fact that he can lick ice cream off of it whenever he desires.

"I am the appointment." your giggle is almost childlike, playing with Jungkook's heart strings. You shut the door behind you, nearing him. You also seem to always have that flush on your cheeks. Although he likes to think part of it is due to him. He doesn't say anything else as he puts his pencil down and instead turns around in the chair to have you immediately on top of his thighs.

Yeah, he also likes the path your lips trace from his cheek, to his jaw, ending at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. It still makes his body quaver to this day.

"Let me see." he murmurs against you forhear, his hand already working on unbottoning the front of your dress.

"Mijoo hasn't left yet." you whisper back, your smile impossible to supress and the faint whimper impossible to hide when his fingers expose your breast and tug at the titanium barbell adorning the already hardened nub.

Jungkook loves knowing he was the one to do that, and also the only one to play with it. He doesn't hesitate when he dips his head. "As if we'd ever cared about that." he adds, wrapping your sole point in his mouth.

He fucks you on his studio table with your legs around his waist and his tongue playing with both your breasts, the tattoo sketches long forgotten, scattered on the floor as he whispers against your flesh something that sounds a lot like 'I love you'.

[imagine--if]

A/N: What we've all been waiting for, the Riddler preparing to have some alone time with his Hope... enjoy!! 😍

To My Hope; Rat Trap

Words: 1249

As you walk back from the police station, you take in the dark, dirty streets of the city you've spent over two years to try and salvage, to bring hope, quite literally. And you could have been certain that it was starting to work, people were going to get better... but now everything's shattered into a million puzzle pieces, and how to put them back together is a headache to think about.

You try sticking to the shadowy areas of the streets, not wanting Hope to draw too much attention from those still out and about. A small group of teenagers with spray cans in their hands glance at you and their eyes widen a fraction, backing up, the smallest looks of guilt in their gazes. But you look away with a small, distracted smile, just wanting to get back in the safety of your own home. Maybe you can make more sense of things when you're sitting down, alone, and can go through what you know to try to get to what you don't.

A shiver runs down your spine from the typically cool evening breeze, but you find yourself frowning slightly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You look behind your shoulder briefly, greeted by the empty street, and bite your lip. No one's following you. No one's watching you. You're just tired, so walk faster.

Walking past a tall hotel building, the main, run-down double doors open heavily, just as you're going, and to your surprise, there's Edward from the diner, seemingly flustered, his murky green eyes blown up wide behind his glasses. They meet your gaze instantly, and he stops in his tracks, breath stuck in his throat as he stares in wonder.

"Hope," he exhales, an amazed, almost adoring smile on his face only widening as you smile back lightly at him.

"Hi. Are you alright?"

Edward nods eagerly, scarcely blinking. "I- you remember me... don't you?"

"Sure," you agree, "I helped you out with those drunk thugs, didn't I? Have you been alright since?"

"I've been wondrous," he whispers giddily, and you raise a brow in bemusement, nodding slowly with a small smile.

"Well, that's good. I should get going, but-"

"But it's getting late," Edward points out, shuffling a little closer to you, "and I'd hate to keep you waiting. I- I did promise."

You blink, confused. "What do you mean?"

But Edward's stopped talking, his eyes fixed on a sight behind you. Your frown deepens, and as you turn around to face it, a sudden strong grip, like a vice around your chest, pulls you back into him, material soaked with something strong and eyewatering making your shoves and harsh grabs at his arms weaken. Your screams are muffled by the flannel, and as you uncontrollably drop into Edward's arms, you stare up at him in shock, horrified by the look of pure adrenaline and lust in the unlikely captor's arms.

It was Edward. It's always been Edward. How could you have been so blind?

All those obsessive stares at the clips of you on the TV in the diner, the way he said your name. Everything. Edward Nashton, a man who you could have sworn was a vulnerable, normal citizen of Gotham from when you first met and saved him, is the notorious psychopath who goes by The Riddler. And you've fallen right into his rat trap.

But it's too late now, too late now that the darkness of the night is fading into pure blackness, eyes fluttering shut and consciousness fading as Edward cradles you tenderly, his actions not matching his crazed expression.

That's all you can remember. Up until an hour later, when you finally blink yourself awake, groggy from the drug that the flannel was laced with, ears ringing for a long moment.

A muffled, modified voice slowly makes its way to your ears from a room not far from where you are, restraints digging in uncomfortably around your arms and legs, and wound around your middle. It's not duct tape, it's some kind of rope, and you shift to no avail in your seat, eyes open properly now, senses heightened. You can feel that your mask is still on - something that gives you a bit of relief - along with the rest of your Hope outfit, but your phone is on the other side of the room, probably turned off.

Where the hell are you?

The room you're sitting in the midst of is as dark as it is outside, but cluttered with books and papers and random objects piled in a messy but organised manner. A long piece of dark green material is hung up on a wall, an ominous question mark sprayed in its centre. You raise your eyes up to the ceiling in disbelief. You're trapped in The Riddler's hideout.

The nearby voice is growing louder now, and you stay as still as you can, trying to listen in to the raised, angered tone.

"...change now! We've spent our lives... suffering!! Wondering 'why us?' Now they... 'why them?!'"

He sounds deranged, an absolute genius madman, and as you struggle in your bound state, trying not to say anything or make any noise to draw his attention, you hear the sound of The Riddler ending his video, whatever it is, and footsteps coming closer.

There's no point in feigning unconsciousness as the masked man appears at the door, and you can see a hidden smile lighting up his eyes at the sight of you.

"Hi, beautiful," he murmurs dotingly, and you look down at the floor apprehensively. "How are you feeling?"

Violated, you want to say. Confused. I don't want to be here. I don't trust you. I can't.

"I'll get you some water," he says after a moment's silence, "I suspect you're still feeling a little dizzy. I tried to give you as small a dosage as possible to get you here without a fight. It doesn't hurt too badly, does it...? Hold on, angel, I'll be right back."

And then he's gone again, and your stare after him incredulously. Is he that delusional to act so loving and casual after you've just been kidnapped? How can a psychopath like The Riddler really love you? He can't, can he?

But it's proving hard to answer in your head, as he reappears a minute later with a glass of water, his gloved hands hesitating around the ropes.

"I didn't have the heart to use duct tape," he clarifies, "and that's really only for the scum of this city. And you're nothing like scum, are you? But I need to know that you won't try to run if I let these loose. I've taken the battery out of your phone for now, and no one can hear you if you scream. I'm sure it won't come to that though, will it, lovely?"

You muster the courage to look up at him, into Edward's eyes that are so full of fondness and awe, and that dangerous, dark glimmer to them clashing with his naturally nerdy look behind it all. You don't want to push it, to push him to do anything else than he's already done. For now, you need to play along. He can't keep you here forever, and so you reluctantly nod, an action to which his smile grows approvingly.

"It won't come to that," you mutter, and just like that, you're free. Free, but trapped all the same.

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[olderjustneverwiser]

The Road That Was Broken (George Weasley)

Welp, here we go again.

This was originally supposed to be a part two to Draw Down the Moon, but I think it can stand on its' own. First, I got the idea from Inuit by Foxing (from which lyrics are inserted at the beginning and end) but then it turned into Joker and the Queen by Ed Sheeran, so idk man. I just hope it's enjoyed like I've enjoyed writing it.

This is a George x reader (platonic to not quite platonic) with mentions of past Fred x reader, so if you're not into that, here's your warning.

images were found on Pinterest and they are NOT MINE!

Warnings: A big Ol' Fred is dead fic, George hates himself because George likes his dead twin's girl, lots of talk of self-hate (nothing related to suicide or self-harm,) lots of tears, comfort, one talk of marriage, yelled curse words, drinking, a shameless use of the 'there was only one bed' trope, and almost kisses.

Also a HUGE thank you to @moresvuheadcanons since she wrote parts of the ending bc she's the g.o.a.t.

It was bigger than me It was bigger than the sea And I'm not waving I'm drowning

It started on a warm summer night fourteen months after you lost Fred. 

Fourteen months after the Battle and you could honestly say you were...okay. Not great by any means, but better than you were before. You no longer had unhealthy dreams of living a life with Fred. Even George seemed to be getting back to his old self. He finally started to smile again and the shop was thriving. The two of you still lit a lonely candle on their birthday for Fred, and sometimes one would still have to comfort the other as they cried, but things were getting better. Your new normal wasn't quite as grim these days.

At least, until you found it. Hidden deep in the dresser you and Fred once shared was a little box covered in smooth black velvet. You had dropped it instantly once you realized what it was, but after you opened it and saw the gleaming silver band inside, you couldn't seem to let go of it. It shocked you how detached you felt, if you would have found this a year ago you would have been an absolute wreck, but finding it now didn't make your chest hurt like you were expecting. 

That's what made you most uncomfortable, the fact that you weren't hurting. It meant that you were moving on from Fred, and that terrified you. 

Which is what brought you to where you were now; sitting on the living room couch, surrounded by a blanket and holding the box in your hands. You were trying to decide what exactly to do with it; torn between wanting to throw it in an ocean or clutch it in your hands until your dying day when George's voice broke you from your thoughts.

"What're you doing up? It's nearly two in the morning," he grumbled, obviously just having woken up himself. 

"I could ask you the same thing, Weasley," you retorted, making room for him to sit next to you. 

"Woke up, had to take a leak, saw the lamp on, decided to check it out," he explained lamely, "your turn."

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to pack some more of his things up. I looked around the drawer and found this." You handed him the open box and he forced a chuckle. 

"I'm flattered, truly, but this isn't exactly my style," he said.

"I just found it, you git."

George closed the box and handed it back to you, "I'm only surprised it took you this long to find it."

"Wait, you knew?"

"Of course I knew! He told me everything he did." You noted the sadness he tried to hide in his voice, "He bought it a couple weeks before the Battle. He was waiting to give it to you after the war was over."

You didn't know how to feel about that, much less respond, so you stayed quiet until George spoke up again.

"What do you think you'll do with it?"

"I'm really not sure," you opened the box again, taking another look at the ring. "It's weird, I don't feel sad. I mean, I feel a little sad I suppose, but I'm okay. I'm mainly surprised, although I don't know why. Guess I didn't think he was planning that far ahead."

George saw the look in your eyes, the sadness and longing shone in them, and he got an idea. Standing to his feet, he reached a hand out, his palm open. "Take a last look, then give it to me."

Your brows furrowed, but you did as instructed, gazing at the ring once more before closing the box and handing it to George. 

"Now close your eyes," he said, and as you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet as he moved around the flat, no doubt hiding the box. The sound grew louder, and soon he asked you to open your eyes and when you did, his palms were empty.

"This way you won't be tempted by it anymore. Now, let's get back to bed, please," he asked.

"I actually think I'm staying on the couch. I kind of don't want to go back there right now." The bedroom you two once shared held too many memories of you and Fred together; while you were able to sleep in the bed most nights, you knew sleep would evade you after your little discovery. 

George weighed his options, craving sleep but also not able to leave you alone like this. He briefly considered offering his bed to you, but shut that thought out of his mind as soon as it came. You were still Fred's, and that would be too weird. No matter how close you two were, it wouldn't be right.

So, he grabbed a pillow and an extra blanket from his bed and joined you on the couch. Once he saw your perplexed expression, he let out a laugh, a genuine laugh that even surprised him. "Didn't think I'd leave you all alone, did I?" 

He proceeded to flick the lamp off and grab the television remote, nudging your shoulder before asking, "scary movie or kid cartoons?"

-

Things changed for the two of you after that night, or at least they did for George. 

The two of you spent the night on the couch, watching silly cartoons on the telly and drinking coffee until it was time for you both to open the shop. That night was the first time since losing his brother that George truly felt like his old self. He'd begun to feel better; better than he had been since May 2nd. Started smiling more and cracking jokes, not expecting Fred to cut in halfway through a sentence anymore. He started to feel and act more like himself, or as much as he could without his better half next to him.

During the weeks that followed, you and George grew even closer, often waking up at strange hours to watch whatever movie was playing at 3 AM or going to breakfast on Sunday mornings. The two of you had even fallen asleep together on the sofa a few times, not wanting to be alone for the night but being too mentally exhausted to stay awake. In the weeks that followed, George noticed that he thought you were beautiful, which he never really paid attention to before. He noticed that he smiled when you smiled, laughed when you laughed, and felt an ache in his chest when you cried. In the weeks that followed, George had begun to fall for you. 

And the more George started to like you, the less he liked himself.

Godric, he was such an arsehole. What kind of bloke falls for his dead twin's girl? The worst kind, that's what kind. He lay in his bed most nights, tormented by the war happening between his head and his heart. Hating himself a little more every time he got butterflies when you smiled at him or whenever he'd stand just a little closer to you at the shop. 

It's not like he had planned this. Never in a million years did he think he'd ever have these kinds of feelings for you (but then again, he never thought he'd ever have to live without his brother.) He tried so incredibly hard to push these feelings down, but every time he did, they'd only grow and crash into him again.

And he'd hate himself just a little more.

But, you were still his best friend, roommate, and business partner and he couldn't lose you as well, so he'd keep them buried. The two of you still had a store to run and lives to live. George vowed to keep things normal between you. These stupid feelings he harbored would stay safely locked in his heart until they eventually dissipated. 

Because they had to go away eventually. He would not be able to live with himself if they somehow didn’t. 

So when he found you in the kitchen one morning, obviously having been up way longer than he had and making breakfast, he decided to do something his younger self would have done. You were playing music through a small speaker on the counter; it must have been muggle since he didn't recognize it, but its funky tune made him want to dance, so he danced. It reminded him of the night of the Yule Ball, the first night you had cried for his brother. It hurt you to see Fred kiss Angelina more than you thought it would, and George hated to see you so upset over it, so he did this outrageous dance to make you forget about what you were seeing. Soon you joined in and your tears dried, and the two of you spent the rest of the night dancing until your feet ached. Merlin only knew why, but he wanted to make you smile like you did that night. 

He moved his legs and arms about behind you in the kitchen, the same way he'd done that night, until you sensed his presence and turned to face him. 

"Care to dance?" He asked in the most pompous voice he could think of, holding his hand out for you to take. 

Instead of making you laugh like he wanted, your face fell the moment the words left his lips. He was about to ask what he'd done when it hit him; a memory filed deep in his brain of walking into the flat and seeing you and Fred dancing barefoot in the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand and enormous smiles on your faces.

George dropped his hand instantly, and muttered an apology before grabbing a piece of toast and turning back to his bedroom.

Yeah, he was a huge fucking arsehole.

-

You and George were treading dangerous waters and you didn't know what to do about it.

At first you thought it was all in your head. The warmth you felt whenever George's hand brushed yours in the shop, or the lingering smiles he seemed to save only for you. It all had to be your mind playing tricks on you and making something out of nothing. Perhaps it was the fact that you hadn't felt a lover's embrace in well over a year that made your heart flutter around George. Or maybe it was a simple, fucked up case of transference. You spent nearly all of your time with George, and since George looked like Fred, feelings you held for Fred for so long were now making their way over to his twin. It had to be that; something fleeting that would eventually go away forever. You didn't think you'd be able to live with yourself if these feelings were anything real.

The most fucked up thing about this whole situation was that you knew deep in your heart that these feelings were real, though. And you were starting to think George felt the same way.

That's what terrified you the most. If you were right and these thoughts were eating George up as they were you, you knew the guilt would be killing him and make him pull away. And you couldn't lose him, too. So you had decided to keep a safe distance from George. He was your best friend and all you had, but this had to be done. The two of you had gotten a little too comfortable with each other in the recent months, and one of you had to put a stop to it before it got way too out of hand. So you started taking the armchair instead of sharing the couch with him and made sure to keep him at arm's length in the shop. It hurt you more than it should have, and you could tell that it was affecting George too, but you kept telling yourself that it was necessary, and once your inappropriate feelings went away, all would be good again.

There was only one problem with your plan, though. Both you and George ran the shop, and with that title came many long nights doing inventory and mandatory business trips, during which you couldn't really keep your distance from George. 

It would have been fine if it wouldn't have been for the stupid hotel messing up your reservation. Your plan was to spend most of your time mingling with other business owners at the conference, spending as much time away from George as you could for the next two days. However when you arrived at the hotel and were informed that you had been reserved for a room with one bed instead of the two you had requested, it became obvious that your plan was not going to work at all.

"How could this have happened?" You asked the poor desk clerk. You knew you must have sounded incredibly rude, but given the circumstances, you couldn't quite help it. "I phoned weeks ago and made this reservation."

"I really am sorry," she responded meekly "I guess whoever took your reservation just...assumed? Unfortunately we are fully booked for the conference, so this is the only room we have." 

You shut your eyes and willed yourself to calm down; you were so exhausted from traveling but now so stressed out. You had half a mind to apparate right back to England, but then George put a gentle hand on your shoulder and you instantly felt better. After saying that you'd take the room and accepting the free breakfast voucher they'd offered as a consolation, you and George made your way up to the room.

The two of you had decided that you would take the bed and George would have the couch that was in the room. You had initially felt bad; the bed was quite big and George would inevitably be uncomfortable on the couch, but he had insisted. It soon became apparent that George would get little to no sleep on the little sofa, though, because even after applying a cushioning charm, you could tell that the cushions were unforgiving on his back. He was still your best friend, and you couldn't let him lay on that thing all night.

So much for keeping your distance. 

"George, just come and share the bed with me." 

Even in the darkness that enveloped the room you could tell George stiffened at your offer. "I'm really fine, don't worry about it."

"You shouldn't lie, it's unbecoming. Now just come on." You persisted. "I don't need you being a grouch tomorrow because you didn't get any sleep."

After taking a beat to think it over, he finally decided to join you, and you shifted in the bed to give him space. Sure, you had to share a bed for a few nights, but it didn't mean anything. You'd still keep your distance, no matter what. You had to, even if it broke your heart. 

The next morning you woke before George did, with his hand on your waist and your face mere centimeters from his, almost as if the universe had pulled the two of you towards one another during the night.

You hated to admit it, but it was the best night's sleep you'd had in months.

-

The second Christmas without Fred was just as awful as the first.

It had started out well enough, with you and George exchanging small gifts with one another. Even with your new habit of not sitting close to him anymore (something he missed more than he would like to admit) the two of you had a pleasant Christmas morning before heading to the Burrow.

Percy had visited for just a few minutes before announcing that he had to leave; still too riddled with guilt to bear to be around his family for any longer. Charlie had stayed in Romania for reasons unknown. It really didn't feel like Christmas at all with half of George's siblings missing. 

Even so, it hadn't necessarily been a bad day. 

Christmas lunch had gone by without a hitch; the food was delicious as always, and all in attendance were fawning over Fleur and her little baby bump. But after lunch came presents, and that was when hell broke loose.

Harry gave Ginny a beautiful new broomstick for her Harpies tryouts, and Hermione gave Arthur a muggle encyclopedia, which he dove into almost immediately. Bill and Fleur received more baby clothes and toys than they could count, and then it was time for Molly's presents; which was once again going to be hand-knit sweaters if the wrapping was anything to go by. George was fine, everything was fine until his sister-in-law opened her sweater and he saw it; a blue sweater with the letter F stitched proudly on the front. 

F

Fred.

George instantly felt white-hot rage fill him and he spoke out before he could think better of it.

"What the fuck is that?"

"George, watch your mouth," his father quickly reprimanded, but George barely heard it. He was too busy staring at his mother who seemed to have been expecting this response. 

"Now, George, Fleur is part of our family and she deserves-"

"I don't give a fuck!" Shouted George. "She shouldn't- it should have been his. I just- I don't- how could you make that? How could you make that knowing that he's not here to wear it?" A tear slid down his mother's face, but he couldn't make himself feel guilty at that moment. All he felt was anger and grief. 

Never-ending, soul crushing grief.

He turned his gaze away from her to his siblings, noting that they didn't seem to be as phased by this as he was. Even you, who sat beside Ginny, avoided his gaze. George felt hot tears stinging his eyes and he left the living room, ignoring looks of pity and the calls of his name. 

He stormed out of the back door and rubbed his face, aware of someone following him but not caring who at that moment. 

"George," you said softly as you reached a hand out to him, "George, do you want to talk?"

"Talk?" He yelled as he swatted your hand away "Sure, let's talk. Let's talk about how my brother, my best friend, is dead and I feel more alone than I've ever felt in my life. Every time I think about him I feel so guilty, and no one understands. Not you, not my family; no one could possibly understand how I feel." You were crying now, but he couldn't stop himself. "Every time I glance in a mirror, or at a shop window, I see him and I hate myself because I didn't save him. Everyone is moving on but I just can't."

He took a breath and realized he'd been crying too. You reached for him again and he didn't stop you this time, allowing you to wrap your arms around him. "I miss him so much," he continued "I miss him so fucking much and I don't know what to do."

You only nodded as he had his outburst, and he felt his anger dissipate slightly while you held him. He felt his breathing return to normal and his tears dry, and in this moment he realized how much he had missed this. He felt a sense of comfort that he only had when he was with you, and having you this close after being so distant for months seemed to help him tremendously. 

"I'm still hurting too, y'know" you mumbled, your voice muffled by his chest. "I know I don't hurt like you do, but I still miss him and carry that guilt."

George felt his heart constrict at your words because of course he knew that, his anger had just clouded his judgment. Now that he had calmed a bit, that anger was beginning to be replaced by a different kind of guilt. "I'm sorry for yelling and saying those awful things."

"Don't apologize, just know that you're not truly alone with how you feel." 

He nodded, allowing your words to sink deep into his brain as the two of you stood there, arms wrapped around each other. You had been so distant lately and even though it took George a while to figure out why, he finally realized that you were struggling with the same feelings he had been. He didn't know whether to feel relieved, happy, or downright terrified when he came to this realization, but right now in this moment, he felt content. 

He didn't let himself think about what his family would say (or Merlin forbid what Fred would say). He didn't dare think about how much this could potentially ruin the best friendship he had. George even tried not to think about the broken road that led the two of you here.

He needed this. He needed you.

"Please don't leave me alone again," he whispered into your hair, more to himself than to you, but the way you shivered at his words told him that you heard him anyway.

-

Today was George's twenty-second birthday. 

It still felt weird to not say Fred and George's birthday, and you suspected that it always would, but it didn't hurt as badly this time. Maybe you were moving on, or maybe time is funny that way; it makes the wounds on your heart less painful and heavy. Always there, but not nearly as awful as they once were. 

Either way, neither you or George felt up to the way the three of you would normally celebrate their birthdays, a raging party with lots of friends, too much alcohol, and mind-numbing hangovers in the morning. You never would since an integral piece of your trio would forever be gone. So, you and George were celebrating the exact same way as last year; splitting a bottle of firewhiskey and reminiscing in your shared flat, alone. No parties with sympathy pats, no toasts to fallen heros, no headaches from too much crying.

The two of you rathered this, anyway. 

George was four glasses in already and rambling on about some elaborate prank they had pulled on Percy years back, but you were only halfway paying attention. You were unabashedly staring at George; the curve of his lip as he talked, his hair; longer now than it had ever been. He was handsome, and not because him and Fred looked the same because George didn’t look like Fred anymore, not really. No, George was handsome because he looked like George, and that revelation made your heart skip a beat.

You had finally admitted the truth to yourself, you loved George. Not in the brotherly way that you had done for years, but truly, honestly loved George in a way that made your heart ache. You didn’t know when it happened. Sometime between long nights on the couch and shared cups of coffee. Getting rid of engagement rings and crying over Christmas sweaters. Comforting each other through hard times and celebrating all that there was to be happy about because he still had his family and you still had each other. 

You had stopped trying to keep your distance from George after Christmas, you knew it was futile. Your feelings for George weren’t transference, or fleeting in any way. They were there, lighting a fire in your heart you thought had long been extinguished. 

You could only hope that George felt the same way you knew you did. 

In your reverie you failed to notice that George had stopped talking. His glass of whiskey was on the counter; forgotten about and he was staring at you. His gaze seemed to cut right through you, and briefly you wondered if he was going to lean in, if he was having the same internal struggle you currently were. He was impossibly close; when had he shifted so close to you? The question left your mind as quickly as it came because you couldn't even care why or how this was happening, only that it was.

You could see the gold flecks in his amber eyes and smell the cinnamon on his breath. His gaze left yours for just a second, only long enough to glance at your lips then back to your eyes and the action made your heart race. When was the last time you felt a rush like this?

Probably when Fred-

You willed your brain not to think about it; you wanted to be fully in the moment with George. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as he cupped your jaw, and all you thought of was George. 

It didn't scare you as much as you thought it would, nor did it make you feel as guilty as you probably should have.

He offered you a smile, just a small one as a silent question of 'Is this okay?' And you nodded, just once, and he leaned in. 

But just as you closed your eyes George yanked his hand away and you felt him jump. When you opened your eyes, George was no longer millimeters from you. He was standing at least a yard away from you with a hand in his hair and his eyes wild.

The moment was gone and you felt your heart drop.

"What, what the hell are we doing?" He sputtered.

"George-"

"No! No, this isn't happening." He shook his head furiously and ran both hands through his hair, a nervous habit he'd had as long as you'd known him. "This is fucked, you and Fred, oh fuck."

The guilt you expected sill wasn't there, and you briefly wondered what that meant. You tried to go to him but as soon as you took a step, he took two away from you, clearly adamant about keeping distance between the two of you. 

"George, it's okay. It's okay to feel this way and it's also okay to be scared." You tried to reason with him, hoping the confidence you faked would be enough to keep him from spiraling. 

He shook his head "No, it's not okay. I cannot believe we were stupid enough to even allow it to get that far." He took a breath. You could tell that he was going over everything that just happened in his head, trying to figure out exactly what went wrong.

Too bad the two of you had different ideas of what went wrong.

"I think I just need to sober up," he finally said. "Yeah, I think we just need to be alone and sleep off the alcohol. That’s it."

Twist the knife a little deeper, George. 

"Can we talk about this?" You asked, voice beginning to shake from the emotions you were desperately trying to control. 

"There's nothing to talk about." He was almost to his bedroom door now, trying to get as far away from you as he could.

Please don't leave me alone.

"George, please let's talk-" You started, but it was too late. He had already stalked back to his room and slammed the door. 

The two of you didn't speak for weeks after that.

-

The Weasley family was together for the first time since the battle. Although, it was really their fault that it had been two years since they had all been in the same room. 

Percy kept making excuses for why he couldn't come to family dinners on Sundays, and Charlie had only been back to England once since that night. George showed up as much as he could, but the whole family would never be together again; hearing his mother use the term "whole family" made George sick. Fred wasn't there, so there was no way the whole family could ever be together again.

The first Weasley grandchild had been born just days prior, however, so Charlie portkeyed over, and Percy couldn't find an excuse to skip out on meeting his niece. So the whole Weasley clan was here at Shell Cottage to meet little Victoire.

Well, all except Fred, but George couldn't think about that. 

You were even here, which George was thankful for. Seeing his family and you pass the tiny bundle that was Victoire around took George's mind off worrying about the shop and even made his ever growing feelings for you move to the back of his mind. He was grateful; family get-togethers made George uneasy since he'd never been to one without Fred until after the battle, but this one felt as close to normal as they could possibly feel now. He attributed this new found calm to you; just you being there next to him brought a sense of peace he thought he had long lost, even after the awkward encounter you'd had a few weeks ago. He had been adamant that the moment was a fluke and that it would never, ever happen again, but after weeks of replaying it over in his mind, he realized that he wanted it to happen. He had finally admitted to himself that he loved you, but that new revelation would have to wait until the both of you were ready to face it, so he made up his mind to make this day about his brother and his new daughter. 

He had stepped away from the living room to get a moment alone, but when he returned you weren't there, and something in his gut told him to look for you. Even after the horrible mess he made on his birthday, you were at his side, which he appreciated. The two of you hadn’t talked about the almost kiss, mainly because he didn’t know how to say that he was sorry, that he made a mistake and he shouldn’t have run away. He should have given in to the feelings that he knew were there. 

He should have let himself be happy for the first time in two years.

You weren't in the sitting room where the family was, so George checked the backyard and dining room, to no avail. His next stop was the kitchen, where he found Charlie sipping a cup of coffee. Charlie turned where he heard his brother enter, and muttered a quick, "She's on the beach."

Perplexed, George looked out the window, and to his surprise he saw a figure about 20 yards away; just a dark shape against the horizon, but undoubtedly you. 

"How did you know I was looking for her?" George asked.

Charlie grinned. "You're not as covert as you think you are, little brother. Something happened between you, I can sense it" He paused, taking a sip of his drink. "No one would blame you, y'know. Not even Fred." His smile dropped as he said Fred's name and he turned serious, which was rare for Charlie. 

George was stunned, though. Charlie had been in England for two hours and already he had seen right through George. "You don't know what you're talking about," George argued weakly.

Charlie shrugged, "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. But I meant what I said; no one would blame you or her. Not mom, not me, and definitely not Fred. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that something's there. You both lost a lot, and now you have the chance to gain something." He stood, patting George on the shoulder before walking back to the sitting room. "Just think about it. And for what it's worth, I think she feels the same way."

It took George exactly two seconds after Charlie left to leave out the back door and make his way towards you; his brother's words repeating in his head. As he got closer, he was able to see your hair blowing in the wind and your arms wrapped around yourself, and it made him wish he had brought you a coat. Once he finally reached you, he noticed you had been crying; you tried to wipe your eyes with your shirt sleeve before he could see your tears, but the red around your eyes made it obvious. You had tried to hide it, though, which told George that you probably didn't want to talk about whatever was bothering you, so instead of asking what was wrong like he wanted to, he opted to keep it light.

"Y’know, there's a little baby girl in there that's way more interesting to look at than the sea," George joked, not really knowing what to say. Things had been strained since his birthday, and he was determined to slowly start making it right.

You nodded, still sniffling "I'll be there in a sec, I just had to get out of there."

“You’re missing him today, aren’t you?” His tone serious, but soft.

“Well, yes, but not as much as I thought I would. And also more than I thought I would. It’s messy and I feel horrible for feeling even the tiniest sliver of happi–” you stopped yourself before you could say it, but George knew what you were thinking. Saying it would change everything. How could either of you be happy, after all that had happened? 

George looked down at his feet, attempting to hide the guilt washing over his face. The last thing he’d wanted to do was upset you, and then he’d gone and mucked it all up. Again.

You reached out for his hand, an instinctive gesture. When he looked back up at you, you spoke again, seemingly choosing your words carefully.

“I’m not saying I’ll never be happy again, or that I shouldn’t be. I’m just…learning how to hold happiness next to all of the grief and loss I’m still feeling and probably always will.”

Bumping your side against his, you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I’m glad I have you to help me through it, though” you said. "And I think I just need time; we both need time to figure this out, but we will, because you deserve to be happy, too. He would have wanted that."

George felt his heart beating in his chest and tears burning his eyes, and he fought to keep tears from rolling down his freckled cheeks. There was no need for you to specify what this was, you both knew that these feelings were real and that they weren't going away as easily as you both thought they would, but maybe they were never meant to be fleeting.

“Don’t get all emotional on me now, you’ll ruin the moment” he said, unable to stop himself from adding levity to the moment. With a small snort, you squeezed his hand and the two of you remained outside, watching the waves crash against the shore.

Oh, pure heart's peer caught me gawking Your hair in the wind, such small lonesome hands I think I was meant to keep you warm

[wornoutmouse]

Fun fact: demon slayer starts in 1912 and ends in 1927(or at least that's when the Tashio era ends). Using that math Tanjiro (as long as he kept his health good) would very well be alive today at the ripe age of like 78 if my math is correct since he started as 13 in the series. (My math probably wrong asf)

Power imbalance, power bottom reader, knife play,  blood but not blood play...

He hated you.

Your very being irked him more than anything he'd ever experienced in all his centuries of living. You were clumsy, boisterous, and played that arrogant music all throughout your home while walking around half naked. Well in Muzan's opinion you were half naked, he couldn't even begin to describe his disbelief at the trend of exposing skin. 

It didn't help that you had that insignificant filth running through your veins. At first he was unsure, after all this was a completely different country than Japan, not to mention your darker skin and coiled hair. But no, he could smell and recognise the Kamado blood running through your veins just as strongly as it had run through all your ancestors. 

Completely undiluted. 

At the very beginning when you first moved in, you  came to his home. Knocking aggressively on his front door already getting off to the wrong start. When he opened it, you slipped past him and walked into his living room barely even saying hello as you put poorly decorated sugar cookies on his obsidian coffee table. "This is a nice place you got here Mj." 

Muzan's eyes twitched, that joke had long since gotten old since he moved to America. 

Now that you were closer he could definitely smell, the century old stench of rivaling bloodlust simmered just below your onyx skin. At any moment he expected you to attack him in some way or form. "Anyways I'm here to say hello neighbor, my name is Y/n and I'm your new best friend!"

Your happy attitude also agitated him to no end. Even though the knowledge of demons had dwindled down to only a few select families, even basic humans were wary of him as their baser instincts made them aware of his dangerous origins. This fact had long since forced Muzan to only prey on the elderly to survive. You had stayed a bit longer babbling about some nonsense that Muzan never acknowledged as he watched you from a good distance.

"You know you really got to add more to your wardrobe than 1963 suits." You walked from the back of his home, an area that he didn't even notice you wandered to. Finally getting bored, you open his door bidding your farewells. 

Just before leaving you stop and with a cheeky grin say, "If you ever need anything just come on over. We Kamado's are known for our kindness." 

Since then he'd been on edge around you. The point of relocating was for him to keep a low profile but now it seems he'd have to come face to face with an old nemesis reborn. 

Muzan snapped out of his thoughts with a flinch as he pierced his hand with his nail. He watches the dark blood well up from the wound and drip down his wrist. In the end this world had long since lost its hostility dwindling the average human incapable of basic combat. Giving you were no doubt a great descendant, Muzan failed to see you as a true threat.  

But one can never be too sure

🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢

You heard a knock on your door, soft and hesitant. "I don't think I'm expecting company." You checked your watch and peered out of a nearby window. It was at least 8 at night, you were braless wearing sweats with a red T-Shirt and on your way to bed.  In the back of your mind you visualize your two grand-uncles Inosuke and Zenitsu coming over to make you spectate their fights. For two old dudes they still had enough strength in them to do hip breaking nonsense.

You open the door shocked to see your next door neighbor standing before you. For once he wasn't wearing a suit that cost more than your house. His attire was still expensively dressed but in a more casual sense, that being a black dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up displaying his pale skin. "Can I come in?" A dazzling smile you had never seen before practically blinds you as he walks past you into your home.

When Muzan walks in his eyes immediately dart to the clear as day Nichirin Blade sword displayed recklessly on your living room wall above your couch. "You like it?" A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, "Got it from my grandpa, he says it's really special but I feel like he's exaggerating. You know how old people are." Muzan shakes out of his stupor. "I don't quite understand what you mean by that, however I do know that it's much more wise to listen to your elders than ignoring…..It could save your life."

Muzan replicates you and puts a hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. This was it, he'd go in for the kill and it would be over, the amount of blood he'd pump into you would be enough to watch you meet a satisfying end of combustion completely untraceable if the police were to get involved. How he wishes he'd be there when your poor grandfather walks along your remains splattered on every surface in your living room. Unable to do a thing as he's finally in his last stretch of life. 

The beauty.

Muzan's finger only twitches in the slightest before pain sparks from his own neck. "The thought of you coming into my own home unprovoked and at night no less, was the most obvious sign one could ask more." You had his hand gripped so tight your veins popped while your other hand held a small pocket knife that burned  brighter than any Nichirin sword he'd ever encountered. He didn't understand, he was quick enough to kill even the best of the ancient Hiroshima. So how did a little foreign girl like you get the upper hand?

It was embarrassing and almost laughable if any of his pillars were alive to tell the tale.

You press the blade harder before bringing your other hand to caress Muzan's cheek,  "Did you think I'd be just an ignorant descendant of an infamous hero?" You clicked your teeth disappointingly. "How naive, you've really become lazy after all these millennia huh?" You walk forward, pushing Muzan back with seductive strength. He allows you to push him into your couch,  I say allow because at any time he could have stopped you.  

Muzan is most definitely not holding me at gunpoint right now. 

The knife never wavers even as you climb into Muzan's lap, pressing it even closer against his jugular. "You do know getting beheaded will not kill me, and I doubt this petty little kitchen knife will get the job done in the first place." Your lips draw into a smirk and you press the knife closer as you trail it down his chest, "That may be true but it's gonna take one hell of a time for you to grow back." Your hand jerks down, popping his shirt buttons open.

Muzan watches with interest, your eyes light up as more skin becomes exposed. The tones of your dark skin contrast strikingly as you caress his pectoral with the tips of your fingers. "For a 1,000 year old grandpa you look decent." Still threatening his life with your blade, you kiss him. It's deep and carnal. Your lustful desires being made known as you grind in his lap. The flesh of your ass snuggly hotdogs the forming outline of his cock. "I've always wanted to be with a demon. You've had to of become a real freak after living this long!"

When you pull away Muzan's thin lips are pink and a bit swollen. He is out of breath despite needing none, "You have a lot of nerve for a mere human." With your free hand you loosen the belt of his slacks, only standing to pull them off, pleased when Muzan voluntarily raises his hips to aid you. 

Don't get him wrong, he was still planning on killing you and ending your wretched bloodline once and for all, he just needed his mind to clear itself. Your scent, your confidence, strung him along like a puppet. His hands grip onto your ass cheeks like a lifeline. Molding them between his fingers, even giving them a shake through your sweats. His nails elongate and puncture the thick fabric as if it was nothing more than a spider web. 

Your sweats are tugged off completely leaving your lower half nude. Muzan moves his hands to hold your ass again but your blade politely makes itself known. You are out of breath and clearly flustered. "Watch yourself, demon, I'm the one calling the shots, don't forget that." Muzan bites his tongue with sharp glare. He raises his hands in surrender, "Of course." 

Muzan can feel your wetness against his leg and it's driving him insane. "Hey…" red eyes refocus on yours, "You ain't got any diseases do you? And you can't get me pregnant right?" Muzan smirks hands enclosing around your ass despite your protest. "I can, however it will cost a lot more than doing it once." The odds didn't seem in your favor but you were in no position to stand down and grab a condom and Muzan knew it.

You curve the blade towards his chin, "If you are lying and give me some ancient unknown disease or I find out you have superman sperm, I will kill you." Muzan links his lips, "Wasn't that the plan from the beginning or have you had a moment of level headedness?" Your wrist is quick and precise, cutting a thin slash along his jawline., not enough to scar and it barely even bled, but the threat was clear.

You grab Muzan's dick and use your thumb to attack the underside with fast strokes. Said man doesn't react outwardly, the only sign being his eyelids lowering by a fraction. "Were you always this well endowed or did you adjust this part too?" Muzan was not amused by your insinuation. Deciding to once again display the true power imbalance this situation had, he loops his arms underneath your large thighs and lifts you just enough to thrust his cock against your hole. 

From there he let's go, making you plop down on his length, making you yelp and allowing him to lean back with a relaxed sigh. You were so warm and tight. Now even though I explained what had happened with great detail,  keep in mind that in reality it all happened within a fraction of a second. 

Your large and in charge persona was cracking.  You gripped Muzan's sides tightly as your pussy spasmed around his girth. "F-Fuck it's too….." you trail off not wanting to give Muzan the credit he was truly due. 

It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings all the while Muzan and his dangerous jaw swayed in the crevice of your neck. A viper playing with its prey. The blade is back against his neck once again making his cock twitch. If he were human this would be a dangerous feat.  Your grip never slacked nor lessened against his neck, slicing into a growing wound that dropped dark blood down his chest and to his abdomen. 

His dick stretched your pussy and made it weap on each downstroke. Muzan's hands grip onto the cheeks of your ass with gritted teeth.  Your insides gripped him ever so slightly.  Sucking him back in as if he belonged there.  He felt used and it felt good.  His black ringlets stuck to his face from sweat and his red eyes grew in intensity. 

He couldn't see much of your body, hell he could barely even touch. In the back of his mind humorous thoughts such as how he knew Tanjiro would lose his sanity if he knew his granddaughter was being bedded by the man he despised. But the more you bounced, the more you squeezed, the deeper you cut into his neck proved that you were truly the one in charge. 

"Oh God you're so deep!" Your deep almond eyes shut themselves with pleasure. Muzan could feel your legs shaking with exertion at the same rhythm your pussy twitched. His balls felt tight after having no action in over a dozen years. "F-Faster." He has no care for your blade, only wanting to cum and feel the sweet ecstasy he knew your creamed pussy would provide. "Come on human, go faster." Muzan locks lips with you, gaze hardened and intent on proving some sort of point.

Tossing the knife you wrap your arms around his neck pulling his head closer. Red eyes target brown ones as his hands take a stronger grip on your ass. He uses his strength to bounce you. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass is just as disgusting as it is sexy. Your nipples rub against his through your tank-top making you both moan. The feeling blood stains your shirt making you shiver from the cool wetness

The couch you rest on bangs against the wall behind you the faster you both go. Muzan's feet are planted firmly in the ground, his fangs further elongated. He looks feral and it is in this moment where you get a glimpse of the horror many people felt when he took their lives. "Focus little Kamado, you wouldn't want to disappoint me now would you?" 

Muzan's hips meet yours, spreading the tempo. Your juices coat his lap before finally you tense up completely into a cramp inducing stance as Muzan impaled you on his cock one last time. "Ahh.." Muzan empties himself within you with a relieved sigh. 

Maybe the Kamado bloodline could go on.

[pheonixrainbow15]

Drawsadoodle and Spendco Elephants

Quick note: I just want to say that I'm not hating season 3a, nor any of the characters, in any way. I really enjoyed the weird adventures and new characters we met this half of the season. But I will be critiquing this first half of season 3a in this post so yeah :/

In episode 19 "The Dinner," After a somewhat awkward dinner outside the plantar residence, our cast of characters walk inside to play frog pictionary.

After 1-2 turns, its Sasha's round. She opens the note, and smirks as she confidently doodles a simple tree. She steps back and showcases her regular drawing to everyone.

But for Hop Pop, unfamiliar with the concept of trees, his mind immediately goes to the fall of toad tower. He is interrupted Polly, who mistakes what is supposed to be the leaves as the explosion caused by the boom shrooms. Sasha is set off by the way they recount the events of reunion.

Finally, Sprig decides to bring up the moment when Sasha let go of Anne's hand while they were dangling off the crumbling tower, sending her down to what would've been her inevitable death.

That was the last straw. In an action of anger, motivated by the pain that boils back up in her mind, she picks up the drawing board and throws it at the wall behind Anne and Marcy. The tension is at an all time high, the elephants running around in broad daylight.

This scene from The Dinner reaffirms to the audience that the event that took place a few months back still provokes an emotion, it still lingers in the back of our characters minds. These characters had a long lasting effect from the events of toad tower, and it can't be mentioned lightly.

~

Fastfoward to season 3, episode 10. Its been around a month or 2 after True Colors: the unforgettable season 2 finale that shifted the tone of a mostly slice-of-life show.

In order to increase the radius of the portal for Anne and the Plantars to go through, the Plantars and the Boonchuys take a trip to Spendco in order to find all the ingredients for the Portal Pie.

While Anne is distracted by her phone, her father surprises her with a toy sword from a nearby display. He challenges her to a "duel," to which Anne ultimately accepts. After a bit of back and forth, Anne bests her dad with the help of the combat skills she's learned in Amphibia. But just as she apologizes to her father for pushing him to the ground,

SHHEEN!

Anne yelps in shock, as a long, plastic sword enters between her arm and torso, catching her by surprise. The cold chill ran throughout her body due to her mothers antics. Even the sword itself is coated with cheap, bright yellow paint, that some would compare to fire.

Maybe that struck a cord. Maybe she felt the urge to cry or scream or punch someone in the face. Who knows?

But in a blink of an eye, Anne shakes it off. She yells out in a comedic voice, "These parents are the worst!" She dramatically falls to the ground laughing along with her parents, brushing off the glimpse of a haunting scene.

It has been 6 episodes since she last mentioned her name, and even then, it was only brief and meaningless. In the episodes of season 3 that we've gotten so far, this 40-second scene is the most explicit reference to an event that would shake anyone to their very core. And Anne laughs it off like its a hilarious joke.

~

I'm gonna say it again: I don't think season 3a is bad, nor do I think Anne or any of the other characters are bad either. I find a lot of comfort in this show, especially 3a. And I like to give credit to the show for a lot of its writing decisions that allow for the audience to form a genuine bond with most of the characters that we get time to understand.

But it was somewhat disappointing to see season 3a fall short in its ability to connect with our characters current struggles. I am mainly talking about Anne's character moments after True Colors, as well as all our other characters who didn't get enough time to process what happened.

The drawsadoodle joke was made to change the tone in order to properly address the fucking angst elephant. The spendco joke reminds the audience of the other shit that went down and proceeds to mock the audience that waited 10 episodes for the show to at least acknowledge that the elephant is there.

Spendco's elephant being the emotional toll that Marcy's death had on Anne. They did it for Sasha and Anne, which showed their individual development post-toad tower, and created real suspense and tension for when they reunite. They didn't do the same for Marcy and Anne though, which resulted in 10 episodes where it doesn't feel like Anne emotionally develops at all.

In my opinion, that's the biggest problem in season 3a. And it could've been so easily fixed, it could've made season 3a a lot more impactful. But season 3a is now set in stone, and that's why this is the weakest arc of the series.

[claitea]

I love your second chance au so far!! Do you have any other info on it?

! i do indeed!! its pretty much a completed au actually, its timeline is complete, i just didnt have plans to release it All in drawing form since just the parts i posted seemed enough

volo in the present day is a librarian. its a simple quiet job where he doesnt really need to interact with people too much, plus his obsession with research translates into a general love of books so he'll often stay after hours when he's supposed to have closed up just to read. he's still very good at the whole fake nice guy act so his few co-workers love him and think he's the best senior the library's ever had but he's sitting there like "they don't know i tried to end the world once"

i havent thought about his team much but i imagine to lower suspicion and not draw attention to himself he strays from using the same pokemon as cynthia. he's already been asked if he's related to her a few times and he's just had to try pass it off as a coincidence so people stopped asking. he keeps using the togepi line though they're his lil buddies and he adores them actually

the au's timeline is simple. volo gathers together emmet, barry and dawn to go find a way to reach hisui to bring back ingo and lucas so that volo doesnt have to keep seeing their names pop up and get reminded of how he Failed so bad at his original plan. its just salt in the wound to keep seeing lucas's face after volo vowed all those years ago to keep trying to meet arceus, but he still hasnt succeeded 200 years on.

at first, volo tells them barely anything. he doesnt even explain why he knows ingo and lucas are stuck in the past. so combined with his grumpiness around them they all initially distrust him, especially emmet who's just become a cool uncle and was trusted to protect barry and dawn. this trio's general cheeriness eventually rubs off on even volo and he cant help softening up after a while of traveling. thats where the guilt sets in for him, really slowly, he doesnt even realize he's getting too attached for his own good until its too late and now suddenly he's starting to develop Empathy again. so eventually he'll at least say he's from an ancient sinnohan lineage that granted him immortality and thats why he knows where ingo and lucas are. hard to believe at first but also dawn remembers that one story about the immortal guy in kalos so like. this might as well be happening

they find a way to timetravel eventually, they track down the lake guardians to (safely, unlike team galactic) summon dialga. a little before he lets them go to hisui, its been so long since they started travelling and the guilt's chipped away at him so much he comes clean. admits the whole past ordeal with giratina and why ingo and lucas were taken was because of him - ingo was direct interference since it was his rift that pulled ingo through, and even arceus itself was forced to call the only person strong enough to stop him, lucas, into hisui. he expects them to hate him after that and was fully ready for it but, while they're shocked and angry, they... still want to be friends with him. they've come to understand volo's changed for the better since his hisui days, they've travelled with him long enough to know that for sure and its not just volo being really good at the happy chirpy friendly facade. they dont forgive him for past deeds, i mean can you really excuse trying to wipe out the Entire Universe, but they at least give him a much needed second chance (roll credits)

emmet, barry and dawn get to reunite with ingo and lucas, everyone goes home. from there i was actually tossing up two ways volo could go: one becoming a researcher again, maybe moving to other regions to help out there. the other becoming a pokemon trainer, pokemon journeys are all about broadening your horizons and connecting with others so volo could benefit from it probably. also cmon he has three friendship evolution pokemon, even if he used to call himself a "wielder" he probably actually cares about his pokemon a lot very deep down. maybe emmet even invites him to be a special guest final opponent on the multi trains with him sometimes.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Abominable Part 1

Pairing: mage!Peter Parker x mage!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, murders, possible gore in the future chapters, pretty dark story overall.

Words: 1543

Summary: An investigator of the Mage's Association, you are sent to discover the mystery behind a series of murders before more sinister events take place.

P.S. This was inspired by The Garden of Sinners particularly. I loved it dearly when I was a teenager.

To avoid any confusion, the reader is neither good nor bad due to the nature of her profession. Peter is an adult.

____________

Stepping on a platform with a vintage Samsonite briefcase in your hand, you looked at the people standing aside, most of them waiting for other passengers to leave the train. Although you knew the face of a magus who was supposed to meet you, it was hard to recognize him in the crowd, and you stared at all those people in front of you, clenching the briefcase’s handle. You hated waiting.

Of course, Lord Pierce wasn’t too happy with your arrival: the old fool thought he was untouchable even after a series of murders and an unnatural magic activity in Tombra that got the Mage's Association alarmed. You remembered the revulsion in Mr. Stark’s voice when he talked of Alexander. The old aristocracy, Lord Pierce was an outstanding magus who had long abandoned practicing any decent magic and instead preferred to exploit the strength of his numerous successors. While he still had some friends in the Association, Stark hated him greatly and was happy to remind him who was in control.

Naturally, Pierce knew why you came to Tombra, and the conversation between you two didn’t go well. You didn’t hide your intentions: you were the Investigator of the Clock Tower, and your job was to figure out what was happening in that megalopolis where Lord Pierce resided proudly. It meant you were going to be a great disturbance and a possible danger to many aristocratic families under Alexander’s protection. 

It wasn’t surprising he chose the most useless assistant to help you find out the truth. His name was Peter Parker, and he was class D+ magus who attended neither Clock Tower nor Atlas Academy. His role was to slow you down, you thought and sighed. 

Suddenly, you saw a familiar face when a young man hurried to you, his cheeks red, sweat running down his face: apparently, he was late. You snickered, looking at his formal attire - his black tie was so long as if he stole it from his father.

Once he was close enough, the young man stood tall, at attention, waiting for you to say something as he stared at you with awe and horror.

“Lady Ragna of the Clock Tower,” you named your rank coldly, and your companion nervously bit his lower lip, acting exactly how you expected of him.

“Peter of Tombra! Pleased to make your acquaintance!” He sounded too excited, and his hands were trembling a little, although he tried hiding it.

Gods, what was he good for in a situation like this, unless he possessed some extraordinary powers not stated in his file? Well, now was the time to discover that, you thought as you narrowed your eyes at the young man.

"Your primary magecraft?"

"B-bounded fields and healing!"

Nothing spectacular there, but bounded fields could be of use to you if you would ever be attacked while performing magic.

"Elements?"

"Water and wind!"

This was better: magi controlling more than one element were still rare, and the boy could make a nice apprentice if he were to be send to the Clock Tower. Besides, with Tombra surrounded by a river, a liquid manipulation skill Peter definitely possessed could be valuable, too.

"Magic circuit composition?"

"N-normal?"

"Any familiars?"

"None."

He was clearly feeling like a mouse in front of a snake, his face getting even more red with every second, and you found the situation rather funny.

"Your motto?" You stared him dead in the eye.

For a second Peter looked horrified, his mouth slightly open as if he were to say something, but you heard no sound coming from him. Then, as if struck by lightning, he gibbered with fear, "Live p-proudly?"

Oh boy. He really thought you were being serious when you talked rubbish with a stony face. If anybody was to talk about a personal motto, even the most pretentious magi of the Clock Tower would burst out laughing.

Rolling your eyes skyward, a gleam of deviltry in them, you smirked, "It was a joke. Don't ever use a motto, it's a terrible idea."

"Thank goodness! I thought it's something high magi of Clock Tower have." The next second Peter made a sigh of relief, and then the both of you laughed loudly, making other people on the platform throw glances at you.

Although you realized the young man had much less experience than you, you still felt he would be fun to have around. If he could make your life a little easier, you would accept his help.

Moving away from the platform and soon passing through the station's hall, you went straight to the city streets instead of catching a taxi. Peter hurried after you, still perplexed at your refusal to let him carry your bag - you guessed he expected you to boss him around, and it made you chuckle. What Pierce was doing with young magi here if Peter had such an impression about higher-ups?

"Lady Ragna, I was informed that the cottage where you chose to stay is in the suburbs. Did you decide to change it?" He asked, seeing you walking to a completely different place.

"No, it's the same cottage. If you wonder why we aren't driving there right now, I'd prefer to patrol the streets tonight to get to know the city. We can discuss the details of the job in the meantime."

You walked away fast, not looking at your companion anymore and watching the night city instead: you had never been to Tombra before, but many magi from the Clock Tower were born there, and their talk about the city always made you a little jealous. Born in a small town to a simple human woman who knew nothing of magic, you always wished to know what it was like to grow up in a true magic society like the one in Tombra, a home to many noble families, albeit smaller and less significant than those living in the capital. 

The city looked exactly like you imagined it: giant grey buildings stood besides the streets, and while they didn't look particularly pretty, you loved those countless neon signages and bright posters that were shining even in the darkness of the night. The streets were busy with tourists admiring the city, couples walking out of the fancy restaurants and cinemas, and young people, recklessly snooping around some nightclubs and bars, trying to get in despite the security glaring at them and requiring them to show their ID cards while the kids pretended they forgot them. There was also a small marketplace with colorful food trucks and booths, offering both local and international cuisine, and you blended into the crowd immediately, taking some crepes and then buying takoyaki - Peter, following you like a puppy, looked shocked.

"I can't do my job on an empty stomach," you smirked and handed him some takoyaki.

Funny enough, he accepted the second you showed the plastic plate into his hands, eating so hungrily as if he had been starving the whole day.

"Well, now since I feel a bit better, let's talk business," you motioned the young man to follow you, and turned to a narrow alley, leaving the noisy market that was going to be full of people for at least a couple of hours more. "Do you have any idea why I have been sent by the Association?"

Licking his fingers, Peter looked somewhat shyly at you, probably afraid he would say something silly, "From what I understand, the reason is some unnatural magic activity the Association couldn't trace, and the involvement of its user in several murders."

"Correct." Crossing the alley, you scratched the chipped paint from an old building in front of you and looked at your fingers, furrowing your brows. "To be precise, the reason why the Association didn't leave these murders to a human police is the method how these murders were carried on. Whoever did it pretty much sucked the soul out of victims' bodies."

Peter frowned, staying still while you kept examining the concrete wall in front of you, drawing strange symbols that started glowing immediately as you finished them.

"It may sounds funny, but the ritual necessary to prevent the soul of a dead person to come back to Akasha is known only to a couple of magi, and each of them is considered a great danger to the society by the Association. This alone is a threat, but Mr. Stark's other concern is the indefinite nature of magic practiced in Tombra. It is likely that the magus responsible for the deaths is planning something much more sinister, and we can't allow this to happen."

Finding what you were looking for, you nodded to yourself and moved further, Peter walking right beside you with a concerned expression on his face. He was probably surprised you didn't need his guidance, but you spent the last three days memorizing Tombra's map.

"Do you mean that the souls of victims can be combined to become a power source for some... dark ritual or something?" He asked nervously, licking his lips.

You smirked, turning to him and pointing to the wall of the next building that started to glow subtly as you got close, "Exactly, Peter."

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx

[dontcallmecarrie]

I love your TWIFFON fic. It's great and I bookmarked it by chapter 3. I just hate what the MCU did with the Avengers. I hate that fics that portray Team Cap as backstabbing idiots who trusted a HYDRA agent (HYDRA!!! The organization Steve literally fought against!!) can be interpreted as /correct/. Where is the found family we were promised in Phase 1? Where is the team we were promised in Phase 2? Why can't the MCU writers write /all/ their characters in understandable ways?

I’m glad you liked it!

And yeah, that...is basically the entire reason I've long since given up on the MCU. I mean, the cracks were there early on, in retrospect, but you can really tell when the writers just. Stopped caring about anything other than ticket sales.

If you've read my rants before, apologies for retreading old ground but to sum up: the thing I can't quite get over is the fact that the MCU had so much potential. All the early effort towards continuity, the way the characters were introduced and dynamics were starting to be established— but later writers not only go out of their way to stamp on all of that, but they also have the audacity to act like it's a good thing.

All that time and effort for creating a universe adjacent-but-not-quite to the comics, down the drain for some cheap laughs and a few ticket sales.

Look: for me, the mark of a good movie/tv show/whatever is rewatchability, the journey along the way. Random plot twists thrown in for shock factor? Yeah, sure, you can do that, I guess, but...so could a five year old. And probably pull it off better than some of the MCU's writers, tbh.

The example I like to use is the Princess Bride. Absolutely no one watches it wondering how it's going to end— but its dialogue and plot means that 35 years later, people still remember Inigo Montoya's introduction.

Look me in the eye: when's the last time you rewatched a Marvel movie? [Not counting Black Panther, everyone involved in that one actually cared about the end product and it showed.]

...it's why I rage-quit the MCU, after Endgame. I'd been gritting my teeth for a while before then, but that's when I looked around and decided that if the writers didn't even care, why should I? The draw of new characters isn't appealing enough for me to have to deal with the writing anymore.

I have a very limited amount of time and energy; if I don't enjoy something, I just leave.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Selfish Part 2

Pairings | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader (kind of?)

Warnings | angst, crying, swearing

Word count | 1669

Summary | y/n and Bucky struggle to deal with Steve's selfish choice

A/n | I'm thinking of writing a part three? Let me know if you'd want to see that!l

Masterlist | Part One | Part three

"Oh god," Bucky groaned the second he entered y/n's room, lifting his arm to cover over his nose teasingly as he walked in, "you know I love you, Doll, but it's starting to smell as if something's died in here." Bucky over exaggerated, pacing quickly to the windows and pushing them open.

The man let out a long sigh when he finally faced y/n after she made no response. He was so used to her quipping back to his and Sam's jokes that the past week felt as if y/n was gone, too. And in lots of ways, she was.

It had been a week since Steve left, and y/n hadn't moved much since. Bucky had sat down at a table three times a day with her, refusing to leave until she finished her meal and a cup of water. But apart from that, she'd done nothing but stare into space.

As much as he was still grieving, Bucky was used to this. Losing people, that is - not his best friend leaving him and their girl for someone they loved 70 years ago. No, he was out of his area of expertise on that one. But Bucky was used to losing the people he loved. And by now, he'd managed to cut his dazed and broken phase of grieving to a few days, so by now he was only really upset at night.

That's when he would cry into his pillow, feeling more and more alone. Sam was still running missions; just because aliens had invaded didn't mean any human threats had warned off.

It'd been him and y/n for a week in the compound, and it was now that Bucky realised that the girl hadn't even been capable of washing herself. Yikes, she was taking this bad.

"C'mon, Doll. You gotta shower at some point. Or I could run you a bath?" Bucky suggested, huffing another long sigh when y/n looked straight through him. Bucky's jaw clenched and he carded a hand through his hair, blowing out a deep breath before putting on a kind face.

The next thing y/n new, she was sat in the shower. She vaguely remembered Bucky throwing her over his shoulder and walking swiftly to the bathroom, telling her how she still needed to look after herself even though Steve was gone.

God, those words hurt. As in that Steve was gone, of course. Although Bucky telling her she needed to actually clean herself every-now-and-then because she smelt like somebody had died stung a little, it didn't hurt her.

The water pricked at her skin, slates of chilling droplets pelting down on her. She'd been sat there long enough for the water to run cold and her thoughts to run dry.

The only thing y/n could picture was Steve's lifeless body. His eyes void of life, that amused sparkle that'd glint beneath the baby blue when he'd tease her, make a joke, burnt out into emptiness. The bright smile that used to grace his lips when he'd see y/n the fist time after a mission, no matter the length, gone.

She'd also thought about how he died. Did Thanos murder him himself? Had he been saving someone? Did one of Thanos' cronies get to him? Did he fall, or get crushed? The possibilities were endless, but one thing was certain: Steve was gone.

A soft rasp of knuckles against the bathroom for momentarily pulled y/n out of her daze, her red eyes shifting upwards for a moment as she followed the noise with her sight through the steamed-over glass shower door.

"Doll? You haven't drowned, have you?" Bucky's gentle voice sang from the other side. Y/n could physically feel her muscles relaxing at the sound of his thick voice, her mind relaxing, too. Although she hadn't spoken in days, it didn't mean she didn't want Bucky to talk to her.

No, it was quite the opposite, really. Y/n was thankful for Bucky's mindless chatter and conversations, his caring questions and constant check-ups. It grounded her, gave y/n a reason for still being here if someone wanted her company.

Sighing, the girl pulled herself to her feet. She stumbled out of the shower, having to poke her head back in and turn the water off after forgetting initially. She picked up the fluffy towel that Bucky had left folded up for her and patted herself dry before wrapping the cloth around her body. Y/n ran her fingers through her now-damp hair before heaving another sigh.

"She's alive." Bucky smirked as y/n stepped out, clutching the towel to her chest. He was perched on her bed, facing the bathroom door with his hands bracing the edge of the mattress. "I thought you'd never come outta there, it's been over an hour, doll." Bucky explained as she hastily walked over to the drawers on the other side of her bed, pulling out a pair of panties and some shorts before tossing them to the bed.

She bent down more this time, pulling a t-shirt from one of the lower draws and throwing it to join the other clothes on the bed without really looking at what it was. She let the draw shut with a snap, turning to the bed and picking up the panties.

Bucky kept facing away, wanting to give y/n her privacy as she pulled the clothes on under her towel. Bucky could sense y/n still the second she reached to grab the shirt, her hand stilling mid-air.

"You okay, doll?" Bucky mumbled, not wanting to turn and face her incase she was still not fully dressed. Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat thickly, her mouth becoming dry as she hummed.

"Mm hm." It was short and cut off, the affirmative noise the closest she'd come to speaking in a week. She turned around again, pulling out another shirt before putting it on.

Y/n walked around the bed again, patting her wet hair between the towel. Bucky's eyes followed her the whole time, cerulean blue watching closely as she dumped the towel in the hamper.

"Do you want me to leave?" Bucky murmured as she climbed into bed, his weight pinning the duvet down on one side. Taking y/n's silence as a yes, Bucky moved to stand up.

"Wait." Y/n's voice was a meek thing, disjointed and hoarse from its only use for seven days being sobbing against her pillow. Yes, the one that still smelt like Steve. "Can you-" y/n took a breath as Bucky looked at her, a happy glint to his eyes. "Would you stay with me? Tonight? I don't know if I can be alone again..."

Bucky's lips tugged into a small smile, the super solder clambering into the bed beside y/n. He nestled in beside her, pulling the girl to his chest as he laced his hand with hers. Their intertwined fingers lay over his chest, his metal arm wrapped around her shoulders.

For a moment all that could be heard was the soft whirring of the metal plates in his arm, and the controlled breathing of the two people.

"Bucky?" Y/n asked, swallowing her fear as she looked up at him. Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, playing with y/n's fingers as he waited for her to speak. "How did- h-how did Steve...you know, die?" Y/n bit through the building tears.

Bucky felt his stomach drop at her question. He didn't expect that right now. Eventually, yes. But not whilst they were curled up on her bed. The words seemed to get stuck in his throat, sticking to his skin as he tried to pry them out.

"I-" he couldn't lie. He couldn't. It would be cruel, to do so. She loved Steve, so she deserved to know the whole truth. "Y/n, Steve didn't- he didn't die." Bucky grated through gritted teeth, tongue like a weight in his sandpaper throat.

"W-what?" Y/n mumbled, eyes widening with shock, fear, hope, anger. She sat up, turning around in his grip to face Bucky. A scowl had settled across her features, plaguing her gorgeous eyes with a hue of hurt. "Then where is he?"

Bucky sighed, his eyes sliding closed as the words fell from her mouth.

"Bucky. Where is Steve?" Y/n spat, her tone morphing into something harsh, something unlike her. Bucky swallowed thickly, but it seemed to do nothing. Y/n watched as his Adam's apple bobbed, arms coming to fold over her chest.

"Steve left, doll. He's not- he's not coming back." Bucky breathed, his face dropping into his hands.

"What do you mean?" Y/n whispered, voice cracking with a bubble of pain. "Why isn't he coming back?"

"Because he left to be with Peggy, okay? He left us, y/n! For some fucking dame that he loved over 70 years ago!" Bucky had finally snapped, his own tears collecting against his flushed cheeks now. Maybe the grief hadn't quiet passed.

Y/n's face dropped into one similar to the day bucky first told her Steve was gone. But, the subtle hint of difference was menacing; this time, rage fuelled her emotions.

"I-I don't understand, why would he-?" Y/n couldn't bring herself to finish her question, the answer already dancing around in her mind.

"I don't either, doll. I miss him, and yet I hate him for what he did. To me, to you, to us." Bucky's voice was barely above a murmured mutter, eyes downcast as he picked at the hem of his shirt.

"I-" y/n opened her mouth before closing it, a croaked sob interrupting a hiccup as she fell back into Bucky's embrace.

Steve, her Steve, had become a selfish, selfish man.

Part Three

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