#stay tuned anon that might be the next thing i draw for him

[playing-with-dax]

Dax is so cute, I want to peg him :3

Aww, you made him blush 😊

click here to see it happen

[mae-gi-writes]

Yūgen | Sunwoo (The Boyz)

Yugen (n.) a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep, emotional response. 

Requested by anon! In which Sunwoo, the ace of the volleyball team, is curious about what you’re drawing all the time. Until one day, he stumbles upon a drawing of himself made from yours truly. 

Genre: fluff, volleyball player! Sunwoo and art student reader, shy love, softness, and inspired by haikyuu because I have been obssessed with the anime lately TT__TT  A/N: It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve posted here! Slowly but surely, I’m going through my inbox and replying to your requests. Thank you for your patience, stay safe loves, ily all xx 

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Sunwoo wasn't artistically inclined.

But that never stopped him from admiring those that were. He was always so curious as to how just a flick of fingers managed to create a shadow, or how just one glance at a subject made it through onto paper without so much as an effort to remember the details. It was like it was automatically recorded into one's brain, hands already registered to mimic the curves and the folds and the shadows that turned into nothing short of a miraculous piece. So when he caught sight of someone drawing, it always piqued his interest. He stumbled upon you one late afternoon after his volleyball practice, with sweat dotting his forehead and his training bag slung casually over his shoulder. He was about to direct his way to the parking lot upon exiting the gymnasium, only to spot a lone figure huddled upon the bleachers and curled into a ball that caused Sunwoo to frown. Slowly sidling up to the stranger in question and peeking over the railing to catch a glimpse of your face, his eyes are instantly driven to the sketchpad in your hands.

You didn't notice him though, so absorbed in your own world with earphones blocking out reality that a tsunami could've gone unnoticed. So Sunwoo took advantage to climb over onto the opposite bleacher and, after ensuring that your back wouldn't turn to greet him, leaned over the separation to catch sight of a lone figure cartwheeling freely over the page. Woah. You were talented alright. There was nothing else to describe the fluidity of movement you caught with your pencil. It made Sunwoo's breath catch in his throat. He had the sudden urge to know exactly what kind of face hid behind the visual mastery manifesting before his very eyes. After all, there must be other things for them to see rather than the boring literal reality that most people settled for. What kind of imageries were they creating in their heads? What beautiful stories were they crafting? Worlds they got lost in? You moved then, causing Sunwoo to jolt back and scurry away with his heart beating out of his chest, deciding that it was enough spying for the day. After that day, he made sure to seek you out every time after practice although he noticed you never strayed too long in the same place, always moving about like a shadow lingering in the corner, invisible yet omniscient. Sometimes you would find a quiet spot in a patch of sunlight by the tennis courts. Sometimes you'd be found on the bleachers, alert eyes observing every pass, every move, every twist of a body like  camera taking everything in. Sunwoo never approached you. Not that he didn't want to, but he found it awkward to just come up to you and present himself as the guy who'd been stalking your drawings. So he admired you from afar instead, relished in the passion of your dark coffee coloured eyes and in the attentive focus dipping your eyebrows in a soft frown, lips paeted slightly in concentration. "Do you know her?" He'd asked one of his friends from the volleyball team once, during their lunch break as he saw you line up at the cafeteria. Changmin took a peek at your face before he shook his head, "she might be in one of my electives." "Which one?" "I think it's art." Sunwoo forced his face to remain in a mask of calmness as he grabbed a steak sandwich, no fries, "do you know her name?" "Nah. I don't think she's ever spoken in class," Changmin's eyebrows quirk up then, "why'd you ask?" "No reason." Changmin's pointed look defined anything but that.  Although he did have the decency to drop the subject as soon as the rest of the volleyball team joined the table. Sunwoo got his answer a few days later when he practically toppled over you and your drawing crayons. It was his mistake. He'd been leaning too far out from the top of the basketball bleachers, struggling to get even the smidgest glimpse of what amazing piece of art hiding under your jacket sleeve, only for his foot to slip. Down he went with a curse, crashing straight into your body and quickly scrabbling to wrap his arms around your head, a pathetic attempt to cushion your fall as you fell into a heap in front of the bleachers. "You--you okay?" He huffed out, breathless and heart beating like a time bomb. Pulling his arms away slowly, gently, he finally met your gaze straight on and --oh my, your eyes were not coffee coloured at all.  But more of a honey-brown, wide open and framed by soft lashes. Currently dilated in panic. "I'm fine! What--What about you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry--" "No it was my fault," he made a grab for your sketchbook and scattered pens only for his orbs to register the face messily etched onto the paper. His breath caught. For a minute, he could do nothing but stare at the replica of his face made in charcoal. Those were his eyes, his slightly crooked nose. The scowl he wore during his soccer matches. That was him. The resemblance was akin to that of perfection. That was before your hands snatched away the sketchbook before you quickly slammed it closed, cheeks blazing red, "that's-- I swear I"m not a creep, I-- I just do that for practice--" "It's amazing." Your head-- which had been bowed this entire time for fear that anger would be his response -- shot up in surprise, "what?" "It's amazing," Sunwoo repeated. He wouldn't mind repeating it forever, he realized, if that meant he got to see that aforable blush of yours. He reached out with his hand, "can I look at it again?" So you allowed him after some slight hesitation, and if he noticed, he didn't comment. Fingers brushing against yours slightly, he handled the sketchbook with utmost care as he flipped through the pages with child-like awe. He'd seen your drawings, sure, but mere glimpses here and there, a sneak peek, always accompanied with the fear of being found. But now, he could take his time and actually relish in the soft tracings of your crayon, admire the gentle shadings that made up the tip of his nose. You had managed to capture that frown -- the one he used whenever he concentrated -- to perfection and for a minute he swore he'd fallen in love with himself. "You're really good," he murmured, though that definitely banalized the array of praises popping through his head, "you should keep doing them. I mean it." "So, you're not--" you paused, "mad?" "Well I think you'd have more reason to be mad if you knew I was stalking you from before." "What?" Oh Sunwoo, you idiot. Your eyes had tripled their size and you were looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. He lifted his hands as defence, "that sounded so much better in my head. I swear I'm not that creepy, or a stalker, I just--well you're always drawing and I got curious but I can't really come over and tell you to show me so I had to hide and peek and--" You burst out laughing in his face and despite the fact that he was the cause, he couldn't help joining in with a small chuckle, a grin spreading across his features at how alive you looked at this very moment. "You can ask me next time," your grin settled into a soft smile, "I don't bite." "Your words, not mine," he said, tone lighter and teasing. He helped you gather your belongings and as the pair of you started towards the school gates, he asked for your name. "Y/N," you answered, "and you?" "Sunwoo," he noticed the sky was darkening into purple, a sign that twilight was approaching. Usually, he'd be in a hurry to catch the last bus of the evening to avoid the pain of traffic after six. But it was like his body was slowing down on its own to join your pace, as if he was automatically tuning in to the rhythm of your steps. He found he didn't mind. "So why athletes? Any special reason why you like drawing them?" He asked as you reached the gates. "I just like watching the way they move. It's ...graceful," a hand went to rub the back of your neck, "and they come in handy for figure practice." "I mean, we're not that graceful when you're on the pitch ready to get blown away," he chuckled, "but thanks. At least we know we don't play like animals." "Oh god no. The volleyball team's pretty good. The rugby team on the other hand..." you sigh before you shake your head, "that team is nearly impossible to draw." His shoulders shook as he laughed, "well I don't think they aim for graceful. They look like a pack of wild dogs. Even I don't understand how they play." You had reached the said bus stop by then before you spotted your mother's car along the sidewalk, "oh, my mom's here," you turn to him, "where do you live? Maybe we can drop you--" Meeting your mom? On the first day of meeting you? Sunwoo's hands flew up, shaking them wildly in response, "oh no no, that's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow!" Thank god for the bus that pulled up at the right time so that he didn't have to linger longer than he needed to. But he didn't miss the small wave of your hand as you watched him go, the smile on your face warming his heart even when it was one of the coldest winter days of the year. From that day onwards, Sunwoo made it a must to make his presence known whenever you were deep in your sketches, always observing, sometimes silently keeping you company and sometimes getting so wrapped up in conversation that your pens would lay forgotten by your bag as you bantered back and forth about subjects that would've made people throw you looks of concern. It became routine to have Sunwoo's head pop up from behind the bleachers or to see him walk up the path to your special hiding spot, right where your gaze would meet the tennis court. You sketched him more and more, folding your drawings into your bag so that he wouldn't see although the urge to catch his face on paper was a growing addiction you couldn't ignore. Even your friends had noticed his lingering presence, proceeding to prod you with questions reflecting their curiosity. "He's from the vòlleyball team isn't he?" Yeji asked one time during lunch, upon noticing the way the said young man's stare lingered over the back of your head before turning away just as quickly, "do you know him?" "We've spoken once or twice." "How do you know him?" Your other friend, Saeron, nudged you with a wriggle of her brows. You brushed her teasing away, "we bumped into each other and then he saw my drawings." "Oh right, you do sketch athletes," Yeji leaned forward, mouth full of bread, "did you sketch him?" "I did, actually." "Oh awkward," Saeron giggled, "he's handsome though, can't deny that. You gotta introduce us sometime." You mumbled out an agreement even though you sat with them just for the sake of having people around. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate them. You did. But they seemed to speak a language you couldn't quite grasp. You would rather sit in your own silence, enjoy your own company if that made sense. Maybe that was why it was so surprising, that you allowed Sunwoo to linger as long as he wanted to. There was something authentic about the way he reacted to your words, an unguarded expression that made you comfortable enough to speak up without fear of judgment. Spending time with Sunwoo was listening to water trickle down the river. Smooth and free. Peaceful. But Sunwoo seldom knew of your high regards, was not aware of the tiny sketch of his figure in mid-spike that was hidden in the pocket of your school skirt so that you could take a peek whenever you felt out of place or nervous. It calmed you down to admire his composure, even if his expression was a mere mimic that could not replace reality. "Do you have any material in particular that you like to use?" Sunwoo asked one cloudy afternoon, breaking the silence while huddling a little closer to peek at your newest sketch of Lee Juyeon; a basketball star player known for his quick reflexes and adept playing style. Not only was his skill on par with that of a Nationals team, but his looks had garnered him quite a fanbase from the get-go. Sunwoo would've liked to say that he wasn't jealous of the way your thumb gently applied shade to Juyeon's lower lip. But the spike in the middle of his chest proved him otherwise. "I like charcoal the most, it's the easiest to work with," pausing to admire your work, your eyes glanced over at him, "do you draw?" He scoffed, "like a five year old." "Wanna try?" "No way. I'll ruin it. I'm okay with admiring it from afar." You hummed an unknown tune as you pulled back your sketchbook, "how is practice?" "Alright. Could be better. We won a practice match last week so we're kind of taking it easy." "That's good though isn't it?" Your gaze met his. His eyes were various gradients of warm maroon and you wished-- at this very moment -- to paint his features into memory. That was when you realized how close you were. You shuffled slightly back and didn't notice the frown Sunwoo threw you in response, "it is. And I'm happy we get to rest. The team deserves it." "You're pursuing it in College?" Your eyes tried not to linger too much over his lips, "volleyball, I mean." "Depends," he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "if we make it to the Nationals." "You will." "Someone's confident," he chuckled. "Well I'm no pro but even I can tell you're talented, Sunwoo," you peeked at him from behind your fringe, glad that you could blame the cold for your red cheeks when just the intensity and closeness of his entity made you want to squirm, "so if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." It was impossible to keep eye contact after such a confession. You lowered your gaze, glad for your sketchbook that acted as a distraction. It was at that very moment that the paper tucked so neatly in your pocket slipped out, causing Sunwoo to quickly make a grab for it. You made a noise of protest before trying to snatch it back, but the boy only chuckled before unfolding the creased page so that there he was, depicted in all his glory. "Is that--" his voice was hoarse and you took this as your chance to steal it from his grasp, reddened cheeks burning and fingers shaking as you folded it back to its tiny square shape, "is that me?" "Y--yes." "You--you keep that with you?" "I--I do," you lifted your chin up defiantly, though you felt your limbs trembling. His eyes, they pierced your own, piecing together a coherence that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. When he spoke next, his words were a mere murmur. "Why?" "I--I don't know," eyes darting towards the ground, you mumbled, "I just like watching you...play." A pause. Then, Sunwoo shifted a little bit closer. "You like watching me play? Or do you like," he cocked his head, "watching me?" If you were red before then you were probably the colour of a fire engine truck by now. Averting your eyes and turning your head away were instinctive responses due to the blood rushing through your face. "Stop flirting with me," came your mumble. Laughing softly in response, he scooted himself a little closer, so close that his shoulder brushed your back. He leaned over, head tilted to catch your expression. "Cute," his lips broke out in a crooked grin and you swore you felt your heart explode. Flustered, you shoved him away out of instinct but he wasn't having any of that. His hand grabbed your wrists and with a yelp, you were dragged even closer to his chest. "You like looking at me that much huh?" His tone was teasing while his eyes glimmered with playful mischief, "why is that,Y/N?" "You ask as if you don't know," you mumbled out through jumbled words and you were glad he actually understood you. But instead of laughing some more, his features softened into a smile instead as he proceeded to gaze down at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was in your normal behaviour to admire people. Not the other way around. And at this very moment, you felt way out of your comfort zone. "I don't know." Your orbs flew up to his in surprise and what you found in those coffee-coloured pupils made your breath stutter, heat coiling through your abdomen. "It...it calms me down," your whisper was barely louder than a breath but by the way Sunwoo's smile widens to reach his eyes, you could tell he heard you just fine. "I like watching you too," he replied. A strand of your hair caught in the wind and he raised his hand to curl it around the back of your ear, his touch ghosting with sparks wherever flesh bumped into flesh. You felt warm. He didn't pull away. Didn't bother hiding the slight dust of pink in his cheeks either, as he slowly allowed his palm to cradle the side of your face. Gently. As if he feared you might run away, recoil back. But you didn't. Even with your breaths going staccato, even if your heart felt like a wild animal. You calmed yourself down with the knowledge that he seemed just as nervous as you were and suddenly, out of a stroke of boldness, your hand went up to hold on to his, pressing it close to your cheek. His breath hitched. You shivered. The wind blew against your figures, a gentle reminder that the day was coming to an end. You weren't exactly sure what changed that day. There were no verbal agreements, nothing that suggested your relationship had changed. Yet, the subtle touches of his hand against your back, your shoulders, moving your hair from one shoulder to another, complemented by his gentle doe-eyed stare that made your toes curl, these changes were small, but significant. And you couldn't find it in your heart to say that you disliked it. What are we? The words lingered at the tip of your tongue, as bitter as the aftertaste of coffee as you stole small glances in his direction. You were sitting comfortably under a tree that overlooked the tennis court where Sunwoo had decided to join you. He'd fallen asleep halfway through your beginning sketch and was now leaning against the tree trunk, face relaxed and body leaned towards yours, close enough that you could admire his face. Countless hours you had spent tracing Sunwoo's features on paper. Countless times you had imagined tracing his lips with your thumb, wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. Maybe it was just curiosity or maybe you had let him walk into your heart so easily that you hadn't realized it yourself. But if there was one thing you could swear your heart upon it would be that you could no longer imagine every day without Sunwoo's presence at your side. As if on instinct, your fingers took a life of their own as they reached up to push a few strands away from his face. They gently carved a path down his cheek, landing at the corner of his jaw. Dangerously close to his open mouth. There was no denying it. Sunwoo was beautiful. Handsome. Had those features on par to that of a model's. You were so focused on edging your way to touch his lower lip that you didn't realize you had been staring, until you glanced up to see his brown orbs fixated on yours. You froze. Shit. "Like what you see?" He murmured. Then, before you could scramble back and probably run with your tail between your legs, his own hand grasped your own and he pushed himself off the trunk before his head angled towards yours, finding your lips. Soft. Sunwoo's lips were soft. You panicked. Not used to the closeness. The fire that sparked between your lids. But his other hand went to clasp your jaw, holding you close as he kissed your next protest away and unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek. Shivering in his touch, there was no running away from the way his mouth molded against yours so snugly, and you didn’t want to. You found yourself addicted to the sweet pressure of his upper lip meeting your lower ones and soon enough -- without realizing -- you melted into his touch. 

Sunwoo made a noise that sounded like a soft grunt, his other hand lacing around your waist to pull you closer so that you tumbled halfway into his lap. With embarrassment suddenly flooding through you, you let out a squeak that he answered with a chuckle of his own before distracting you once more with a series of kisses that left you gasping.

Your hands, initially balled into fists in your lap, went to rest against his chest and you didn’t realize that you were gripping onto his school shirt until you parted for air. Only were you aware of your compromising position, of the hard ridges of the young man’s thighs, of the firmness of his chest against your palms, of the way he seemed to be so much bigger than you even though he was a lean athlete, meant to be light and as speedy as the wind. 

Breaths coming out ragged, you tried to slow the beating of your heart. Though it seemed to be quite the challenge, given how lovingly, how intense, Sunwoo seemed to be in making love to your neck, nibbling on your pulse point and causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips. 

A whistle blew in the distance.

The soccer team. They’d be crawling up the hill any minute now.

“Sunwoo,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with mixed feelings of desire and embarrassment. You feebly tried pushing against his chest, to no avail. He merely groaned, head tilting upwards to catch your mouth into another kiss. 

“Sunwoo,” you groaned against his lips. But he held on for dear life, one hand clasping the back of your neck, tangled into your locks. The other around your waist, pressing you as close as he could possibly get you to be. 

“Just one more,�� he mumbled in-between kisses, hooded eyes fluttering closed and head slanting to kiss you a little deeper, a little harder.

Your body was on fire. You weren’t used to this intimacy, nor all of the affection he was raining down upon you. 

But it felt good. It felt amazing. Eye-opening.

He finally relented after what seemed like an eternity and you quickly made a move to scramble out of his lap. Though he wasn’t having any of that, grip made of iron as he held on. You looked up to snap at him to let go before everyone saw but was faced with his pout instead, which was enough to bring down your defences. 

“Please,” his pout deepened and your heart practically vaulted through your chest. Cute. Cute. Cute. Stop. Burying his face into your neck, he whispered, “I just wanna hold you.” 

So he did. And thank god the team had decided to take a different route so that you would avoid their imploring, questioning gazes. Though Sunwoo admitted that he’d already known they would go up from the other side of the gymnasium, considering they did that every other week to train their stamina in the process. 

That earned him a light smack on the side of his head, making him whine, “What did I do to deserve this Y/N?” 

“You knew!” You wanted to throw him a glare, but it was impossible when you were busy fighting the grin spreading across your face. 

He grinned back at you, that crooked smile that always resulted in a burst of butterflies roaring through your abdomen. Just like now. 

“So, since you have a drawing of me that you keep staring at every day--” his words died into laughter when you tried smacking his arm, proceeding to cage your wrist with his hand before kissing your knuckles. You squirmed as he continued, “does that mean I can get a picture of you?”

You let out a noise of protest, “that depends,” you mumbled, unconsciously finding refuge in his neck.

Chuckling, Sunwoo grasped your chin lightly to pull you back so that his brown orbs gazed right into yours with a gentleness that had you weak at the knees, “on what?” 

“On what I get in return.” 

“What if I say I’ll take you on a date?” he said wickedly. 

You couldn’t help your smile. 

“I guess that could work.” 

[thefanficmonster]

Inky Memories

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Drug Use (Past), Domestic Violence (Past), Shoplifting (Past)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Tattoos can reveal a lot about a person. What will Y/N’s tattoos, which she has kept hidden for so long, reveal to Corpse? Will it change anything between them?

Requested by Anon. If you’re reading this you know who you are 😊 Thank you for the request, hope you like what I did with it. Sorry if I made it too angsty! And my most sincere apologies for publishing it so late. Enjoy XOXO ❤

“Guys, come on now! I’m not hiding anything!“ I laugh, looking up from the comments to the camera, “You know how much I hate being embarrassed! Believe me when I say these tattoos are EMBERRASSING. I got them while I was either drunk or in my emo phase and I’m not too proud of them.“

I’m currently doing an Instagram live Q&A session that I scheduled last week. I do one every month and it’s my favorite way of connecting with my audience. An hour of chill lo-fi and questions and answers. I get really excited every time I schedule the session. My fans are such amazing people and they are all so supportive, funny, intelligent...I could go on and on about their positive qualities. One thing I’m not too fond of is their persistent curiosity. Here’s why.

Yesterday, while streaming, I got an unexpected pain in my forearm. Instinctively, I lifted my shirt sleeve to see what was wrong, flashing a few tattoos at my viewers in the process. I’ve never mentioned my tattoos to my audience, not even my boyfriend, actually, so to have this much attention on them so suddenly makes me want to hide them even more. People started commenting on them during the stream and I tried to dodge the majority of the questions, but I knew they would be inevitable during the Q&A. If the session hadn’t been scheduled for like a week at that point I maybe would’ve postponed it until the dust settled. 

“I have several. Not only on my arm.“ I only answer these vague questions. I avoid the ones that are asking details like what is depicted with the tattoos and what’s their meaning, bla, bla, bla.

Here’s the thing. I got my first tattoo when I was fifteen at this shady alley tattoo shop and I’ve been obsessed with tattoos since. I made a deal with myself to get at least one every year.

Needless to say, I’m twenty years old and have almost the same number of tattoos. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed of them. And I lied when I said they were embarrassing. I am quite happy with them, the way they look, at least. Each of them represent something different. Unfortunately, they are representative of some dark and depressing times. Times I want only the fewest of few people to know about.

“Yes, he’s here. You can’t see him, but he’s waving. He says hi.“ Corpse is the perfect distraction. My viewers love him just as much - maybe more - as they love me. 

He knows how easily I get overwhelmed by the attention and pressure of thousands of eyes on me and whenever I’m having a hard time while streaming all he has to do is walk in my recording room and just say the most random thing. Recently, his go-to phrase has been ‘Chicken wing’ and it always cracks up both me and my viewers.

Speaking of Corpse, him and I have been dating for over a year now. We moved in together a month or two before quarantine was officially a thing so we have been together 24/7. It’s scary how many things you can pick up on when you spend so much time with someone. That, of course, means he has noticed some of my tattoos. He has asked me about them, like why I cover them up and why am I so secretive about them and I’ve always been vague and indirect with my answers. He’s the sweetest and most patient person ever, so he has never pressed me with the questions, but I’m still hoping to gain the courage to reveal them to him someday.

“Thanks for tuning in, guys! See you tomorrow for my regular stream and next month for a chill hang out like this one. Love you, stay safe. Mwah!“ And with that the live video is done and I can finally breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Now we can order dinner“ I smile at Corpse who is chilling on the couch in my recording room. He looks up from his phone screen, returning my smile. ���Were you recording a Behind The Scenes again?“

He does that often, not only with my Instagram lives but sometimes my streams as well. That’s actually how we revealed our relationship to our fanbases. 

He nods, “Yeah.” He pauses for a second, switching to a sitting position with his feet touching the floor. We’re almost at eye-level now. His arms snake around my waist as he pulls me closer towards him. I take the hint and settle in his lap, my legs on either side of him. “I admire how well you handled the pressure back there. I know how you feel about that topic.”

The small bit of anxiety that has started spreading throughout my chest disappears. He has that calming effect on me. Like my own personal safety blanket that’s with me at all times. “I wouldn’t have handled it so well if you weren’t here with me.” I say as I run a hand through his hair, moving a few stray curls away from his gorgeous eyes.

He shakes his head, making the strands fall back over his eyes, “It has nothing to do with me, Y/N. You are simply an amazing person, that’s all.“ His cold hand cups my burning red cheek, leaning my head down so our foreheads are touching. “Nothing could change my mind about it.“

That sentence causes a small pang in my chest. I feel like a manipulator. I’ve led this man to fall in love with me without knowing the past versions. I realize it’s incredibly manipulative of me to reveal my dark aspects only after we’re head over heels for one another, but I can live with it. If it were up to me, he’d never have to know. He would never have to find out that I’m not the amazing person he thinks I am. I have been broken countless times before and all my pieces are just glued in place. Not all of them are where they’re supposed to be and some of them are on the verge of breaking off. Just like a mirror. You can put all the pieces together but not only will you see the cracks, the shards can fall at any moment. 

My tattoos are to me as the cracks are to the mirror - evidence of my fragility and the many falls and breaks I’ve had throughout my life.

“Are you sure about that?“ I whisper, trying my hardest to engrave every detail of this moment in my mind because, after what I’m about to do, I’m afraid we might never be like this again.

The softness of his curls, his scent, his warmth, the way he makes me feel. I can hardly believe I’m risking losing all of that, but I owe him the truth.

I feel him nod against my forehead. I tense up and pull away so I can look him in the eyes. It’s hard for me to maintain eye contact especially when I’m fighting back tears. I can’t even say I’m about to lose him. I’m about to let him go. It’s up to him if he stays or decides that he deserves better.

No backing out, Y/N.

I grab the hem of my sweater and lift it up, revealing the many ink drawings on my skin. I discard the sweater on the floor, leaving me in only my bra meaning all my tattoos are on display. Not exactly all, I have some on my legs as well, but these are some of the most important ones. The ones which reveal most about who I used to be.

Corpse takes my hands, tilting my arms so he can take a better look at the tattoos that go from my wrists to the bend of my arm. His thumbs caress the tattoo on each of my wrists. “This one... “ I nod to my left wrist, “I got on my friend’s birthday. We both did. They’re matching.“ The tattoo depicts a heart with a keyhole. “She got the key.“

“I thought I had the key.“ He says, smirking up at me.

“You do now.“ I feel the pang again but this time it doesn’t go away. It’s a constant pain - a constant fear. Being scared of something inevitable is the most nerve-wracking feeling. It makes you feel small, helpless, like you’re standing aside watching your life be controlled by a force you can’t see.

Before he can break me even more, I go on, nodding to my upper arm, a little below my shoulder where there’s a rope tattoo that bends around my arm, its ends connecting in a bow, “I got this one after my shoulder healed.”

His brows furrow in concern as he tilts my head for me to look at him, “Healed from what?”

Here we go. Let the cat out of the bag. “Um....well...” I instinctively reach up to touch my shoulder, running my fingertips over the inked rope. “My dad wasn’t a very nice guy.”

I can pinpoint the second his heart breaks. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, I know it will kill me, so I just continue, moving onto the one on my other wrist where the word ‘Shadow’ is written in cursive writing, “This was my nickname in my friend group. I was the only one to never get caught shoplifting.”

The tears are gonna start rolling at any moment so I deliver the final blow, moving onto the most traumatic event, aka the tattoo on my collarbone of a heartbeat turning into a dead line and kicking up again, “This one I got after I woke up from my almost overdose.”

As if on cue, a tear falls from my eye onto his hand that’s still holding mine. My voice remains still, to my surprise, but I know it won’t be long before it too gives and breaks. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see any sympathy or that look like he doesn’t recognize me. I feel like I’ve let both myself and him down.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?“ he asks me in a whisper. He sounds almost hurt. “You know you can tell me anything.“

I see another tear fall, “I know. I just...didn’t want you to think any less of me.“

Again, he lifts my head so he can look me straight in the eyes. He knows how much I struggle with eye contact and how much I hate crying in front of people, he knows how vulnerable I feel when someone’s looking me in the eyes or when someone sees me cry. He also knows that he’s the only exception to that rule. He knows I never feel out of place when he’s around. 

“Think less of you? Babe, you’re a fighter like no other. You picked you life back up. You did all that on your own. You’re a warrior, Y/N.“

I smile through the tears which are now ones of joy instead of fear and dread. “I was a dumb teenager, Corpse. I had no idea what I was doing. I just wanted to get a thrill and feel something other than pain. I know I went about it the wrong way but...” he gives my hand an encouraging squeeze, “And you’re wrong, I didn’t do it all on my own.” I release his hand so I can cup his cheek. His hand comes up to cover mine as I swipe my thumb on his cheekbone, “I met you a month after I left the hospital. The rest you know. I moved to a less druggie populated part of town and I repaired my relationship with my aunt. All that time, I was balancing between the need to relapse and the will to stay alive. After I met you, that balancing act was no longer a balancing act at all. I didn’t even think about my past anymore. I was more focused on what I could be. On what I have to be to deserve to have you by my side.” 

“You will always have me on your side, Y/N. Even when you don’t want or need me there.“ With both his hands holding mine he leans forward, connecting our lips. It’s a short kiss laced with nothing but love and adoration. 

As we lay on the couch, him asking about each individual tattoo I didn’t get to tell him about, everything just seems a lot easier. Like a big area that was previously dark has suddenly turned into the brightest point of our relationship.

“I need to get that key tattooed. It’s only appropriate.“ He says, his finger tracing the heart on my wrist.

“Or an ownership deal for it. That heart’s yours, you know.“ I laugh, lifting my arm to inspect the oldest painting on my body, “It’s your favorite one?”

“No.” he shakes his head, “This is my favorite one.” he leans down and kisses the heartbeat on my collar bone. “I’m so glad it started beating again.”

“I am too.“

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus

[i-cant-sing]

🌗🌗

YN had never liked people staring. No, she just hated deliberate, analytic stares.

It always felt like a piercing knife. Though over the years the pain was dulled, the annoyance still stayed.

She understood why people who knew her would stare at her. It was rare to see a quirkless person bite back.

She understood why people who knew him would stare at Daniel. He didn’t look like what the sensationalized media said a developmentally disabled person would look like. He was tall and lanky. “A knees and elbows” her pop would say. At first glance a stranger might just think he was a shy teenaged boy. But she knew it wasn’t like that.

So yes she understood why people would stare at them. But didn’t mean she had to like it. Especially when they just wanted to stop by the café for some food.

Was it because she had a perpetual “F*ck you” glare in her eyes? Or was it because Daniel kept fidgeting and looking everything with wide excited eyes?

It had only been a day and a half. Now they needed quick food and then rest to get back going. The place was practically empty, only one other customer. With a gentle touch she placed his hand gripping the pinwheel onto the table. Then handed him a box of his favorite markers and a sketchbook. Drawing always got him focused. The menu looked bland as hell. YN always knew what he’d want, but nothing here was to her liking. Looking up, she smiled as Daniel drew a scene from their favorite movie ‘Labyrinth’. Not noticing the waitress walking up.

“Can I start you off with a drink sir?”

“…”

“Sir..?”

Quick to answer YN spoke first. “He’ll have a small chocolate milkshake and I’ll get some espresso.”

“He can’t order for himself?”

Daniel spoke before YN got the words.

“Nope. Don like big menu. YN know what I like.”

Sweet Daniel. Nothing was wrong today for him so far. But could see the way this person was cocking her hip and twirling her pen. Did she always flirt during her work hours? Right as she was going to tell her that was all, the waitress, in possibly an innocent action in her mind, grabbed at the picture Daniel had worked so hard on.

“Oh wow this is-“

“THATS MINE! MINE! I WORKED ON IT FOR ME!”

“Daniel calm down!” YN jumped up to wrap her arms around his shoulders. But when he got into a fit like this, he practically inconsolable. His arms thrashing out as he tried grabbing back. He breathed heavily and his face got sticky with tears and sweat.

Before YN could stop him, three vases on the floor exploded and shattered. The glass windows seemed to tremble.

YN jumped up and snatched the drawing back. Quick to pull out his favorite candy and hand both to Daniel.

He was calm in an instant.

“I’m sorry. He gets very emotional. I’ll send you some cash for the-“

“Get that dumb**s out of here!” That waitress screeched. Logically YN knew she was just scared and confused. But YN heard only that one word and pushed her against the wall. Clutching her throat.

“Don’t you EVER say that again! About him or anyone like him! Now we’re leaving. If I even get a feeling that you told anyone that we were here, I will hunt you down and kill you. Do you understand?!”

When the waitress nodded with tears coming down her face, YN let go. She picked up Daniel and once again they fled off to the early morning. Leaving as the breaking dawn came.

When the police came to investigate what they thought was a break in, no one could explain why the broken vases felt like lightning when they touched it.

🌗🌗

Based off a real experience when some bitch tried to grab my brother’s phone. Anyways, who will the police call? Why did the glass vase shatter? Tune in next time when Moon Anon and Daniel come up with a new chapter.

Please, why do I wanna be siblings with you and Daniel?? Yall seem to be having too much fun😭

Again, very well written. I could like see the whole thing playing in my mind. I have a very good idea who they're gonna call but I don't wanna spoil it 😉

Cant wait for what yall come up with next

[cockasinthebird]

billy filling up steves hole with his cum and then shoves a butt plug in steve

Dear anon, Oh... oh ho ho, this got good, like I am very satisfied with this! Truly a splendid way to... reintroduce lemons to my posting again now that I am free from flag!

Do enjoy~

-

Billy hides his wide, self satisfied grin behind a hand; his elbow on the desk, chin in palm, pretending to pay attention to English class, but he's acing it so why bother anymore?

Steve's squirming in his seat, constantly repositioning himself carefully, face flushed red like he's running a fever - feels like it too, blood boiling and skin slightly sweaty. 

He steals a few glances in Billy's direction every now and then, finding blue eyes piercing into him, tongue occasionally darting out to wag salaciously before licking his lips that curl something so mischievously.

Is it obvious? It feels like it's so impossibly obvious, but no one has said a thing yet, and every other student in here stares blankly up ahead, disinterested and bored as all hell. 

The clock ticks slower and slower, wearing Steve's patience thin, seconds away from shattering. 

He turns to look at Billy again, who cocks a brow, his chest stuttering with a laugh, almost as if he can read Steve's thoughts. Or maybe he just knows him well enough by now that that wouldn't even be necessary to do. 

So Steve shifts around again, the plug keeping him closed rubs at all the right muscles, hitting sweet nerves that scatter up his spine in a euphoric dance, encouraging a moan to search for freedom, only to then get caught just barely before jumping off of his tongue.

He keeps his legs closed tight, hoping it'll conceal the impressive bulge in his jeans. It's gross and disgusting and perverted and shameful, to sit through class with an almost full erection, but that all only elevates the thrill of it, the stupid excitement of danger, a rush of adrenaline that pumps through him whenever he looks at Billy. 

Billy, who didn’t leave after last night.

Billy, who woke Steve up by rubbing his veiny cock between Steve’s thighs.

Billy, who fingered Steve’s slightly sore hole all nice and sweet while cooing and praising him.

Billy, who thrust into Steve from behind as they laid on their sides.

Billy, who right after he came plugged Steve’s ass still full of every drop of his cum.

Billy, who kindly asked Steve to wear it all day, whispering about how hot that would be babe, you walking around with me inside of you, sitting in class ready to burst.

And Steve, who’s been unintentionally edging all day since, agreed all too readily, but Billy has this irresistible charm about him that just turns Steve to butter. A flash of teeth, soft caressing, voice deep.

It’s magic.

When the bell rings for lunch, Steve barely registers it - lost in the vividly fresh memory of this morning, of last night, of the past few weeks. Every one of his classmates stands up, talking loudly, chairs scooting around as they flood out of the room.

But Steve stays. Billy stays. Even as they’re the last people here, they stay.

“Not hungry?” Billy drawls, tapping his foot a few times before turning in his seat, angling open legs in Steve’s direction.

Whose fingers are currently testing the strength of his pencil; thumb pushing against the yellow painted wood. He hasn’t taken a single note all day, staying home would have been more productive in truth.

“I can’t get up.”

Billy laughs, loudly, uproarious, throws his head back with it before running his gaze up and down Steve’s stiff posture. “I don’t think that’s your issue right now.”

And Steve groans at that, at other things too, rolls his eyes in frustration even though he absolutely would have found that funny at the right time. Now is not then.

“Fine, I can’t stand up-” Lips shuts closed quickly as he finally looks at Billy, and sees the clear outline of his thick cock reaching down his thigh underneath too tight jeans. The pencil in his hand snaps.

His own hard dick twitches at the sight of that, at the brief moment of wondering just how long Billy’s been like that, wondering if he’s going to do something about it. He meets with Billy’s excessively lustful gaze, pupils blown till there’s barely even a sliver of blue left. Lips part as Billy ever so slowly reaches down to wrap wide fingers around the shape of his shaft, hissing and groaning cautiously, eyes darting to the door then back to where Steve is caught in a trance.

“I don’t think I can wait till the end of today, princess.” Billy stands up and walks over to Steve in one fluid motion, where he leans closer, raised above Steve still, staring down at him. “I’m gonna need to fuck you now.”

-

Steve probably wouldn’t have even really struggled against the suggestion of fucking on top of his desk in their classroom, door wide open, shutters drawn, the most exposed and illegal it could get. He would have gladly bent over and let Billy have his way with him, finish what he started this morning, get him nice and well fed on every drop of cum his body can contain.

But no, sadly that’s not a risk Billy’s willing to take. Rather he yanked Steve up from his seat, got a good look and thorough feel of his painfully sensitive erection, dragged him through mostly empty halls to the completely empty boys locker room.

His hairstyle gets ruined as he presses the top of his head against the orange tiles, staring down to watch his own hands fumble in their hurry to unbuckle his belt and zip down his jeans. From behind he hears the same tune played with a far more confident hand, as Billy releases himself with a refreshing gulp of air.

Seconds after Steve drops his pants and angles his briefs down just far enough to free his own leaky prick, a hand slaps against the tiles next to his face as Billy leans in to kiss where the collar of his striped polo can’t reach, gentle and soft lips travel up and down Steve’s neck, sending luscious waves of delight washing over him, hushed moans slipping from parted lips.

“Have to be quiet, baby,” Billy whispers, kisses the shell of Steve’s ear. “Think you can be quiet?”

“C-can you?” Steve barely manages with a huff of a laugh, and he feels Billy smile against his neck.

“Only one way to find out.”

And he’s gone - taken a step back. Steve looks over his shoulder to watch him stroke and slick up his fat cock with pre, staring like a hungry wolf at where Steve pushes his ass out to accentuate the shape of it.

“Spread your cheeks,” Billy demands with a tone that almost implies an unspoken ‘or else’. “Show me how full you are.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate- wouldn’t even dream of it, as he presses his face against the icy orange tiles for support as he moves both hands behind, down, a handful of cheek in each as he pulls them apart, exposing the base of the dark purple buttplug that keeps him stuffed, keeps him stretched out, keeps him ready.

When Billy prods at it with one finger it sends electric jolts through the entirety of Steve’s being, sensitive and heightened, he gasps a bit too loud and bites back a moan.

“D-don’t do that, fuck,” he breathes in a heavy sigh.

“Why not?” And Billy does it again, with more intent this time, pressing harder and drawing circles around.

A motion that makes it near impossible for Steve to shut up, fingers digging into flesh with bruising restraint, his lonesome cock spurting and dripping with pre onto the floor. “A-ah- Billy…”

Billy’s chuckle practically reverberates off of the tiles, his self-satisfaction palpable in the bass of his voice. 

“Can’t wait to fuck you so good ‘n hard, pretty boy,” he drawls and runs his fingers along the edges of the flat base.

“B-be careful, okay?” Strings of nerves pull at Steve’s stomach, a heat of embarrassment flooding out into his cheeks at the worry that it might hurt.

Billy’s adventurous, buys them all kinds of fun toys to play around with, dildos and fleshlights and beads and cuffs and clamps, literally anything he can get his hands on, but they’ve never tried this with a plug more than three fingers wide.

But then there’s a calm hand on his; Billy lacing their fingers together where Steve is still spreading himself wide, and it doesn’t exactly calm the storm brewing, but it does close the window to it.

“I got you, baby, I got you,” Billy coos, kisses his way across Steve’s fingers, across the cheek, up to his tailbone before leaning away.

Fingers closing around the plug as he pulls and… it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, it’s more of a strained feeling in the muscle, hints of pain here and there mixing deliciously together with the raw euphoria of it all, so fucking good Steve’s worried for a moment that he might actually cum from this alone, chanting fuck fuck fuck.

“Shit Stevie,” Billy sounds positively awed. “Wish you could see yourself right now.”

Steve tries though, looks behind to see Billy staring at his fluttering hole, butt plug shiny in hand, slick with cum and whatever lube might be leftover from hours ago.

“So fucking sexy…”

He can feel cum running out, warm from having been kept inside of him all day, leaking down his balls and thighs. Then he’s full again - three fingers full, as Billy thrusts those digits into him with ease and pleasure.

“God, you’re so wet and loose, princess,” Billy growls as he stands up to press himself against Steve. “Listen to that…”

Billy pumps his fingers in and out, the squelching of it all obscene like he’s fingering a soaking pussy, Steve’s pussy, who has never struggled to keep quiet this much in his entire life, every dive in stopping just short of reaching that perfect bundle of nerves deep in him, it feels almost deliberate.

“Just dripping with my cum.” Billy licks and nibbles and kisses up and down Steve’s neck where he can reach, making the skin there red from abuse and attention. “Think you can handle more? Get all fat on my cum?”

“Y-yes,” Steve whimpers between ragged breaths and nods profusely.

“Yes, what?” Fingers curl at a tortuous angle, like a light punishment that only makes Steve’s dick leak worse.

“Yes, please, I need you so bad, fuck me, please,” he rambles as a response, ready and willing to keep going, anything for Billy.

But the devilish chuckle signs that that’s more than enough. “Hmmm since you asked so nicely.”

The thick digits are quickly replaced with the blunt head of Billy’s cock, eager and horny, gently pushing into the easy and wet stretching of Steve’s ass, watching it reverently where pale hands are still spreading the cheeks wide for him.

When there’s no more hard flesh to offer, Billy keeps moving closer, wraps his arms around Steve and buries his face in the crook of his neck. They stand still like that for far too many seconds, as near as near gets, both of them pushing into each other, as if it would be possible to connect deeper than this.

At the start of it all it was quick and rough and often too dry in their rushing of getting together, but now it’s… this. Whatever this is.

Whatever it means when Billy mutters, “Feel so good.”

Whatever it means when he doesn’t leave after.

Whatever it means when they hold one another like it’s something dear.

Steve’s not the biggest fan of getting fucked from behind - he can’t see Billy, touch Billy, kiss Billy, but the way his steely cock drags against his insides as he starts thrusting gives Steve an incomparable amount of ecstasy, when hands grab on to his hips to control the tempo, push and pull and pound, skin slapping as Billy slams into him.

Choked whimpers is all he can offer up here- all he’s allowed to, and he feels the restraint hurt in his throat, every single salacious little sound fighting for their freedom, the rhythmic movement of Billy’s hips snapping against Steve’s ass only encouraging every rebellious impulse that’s contained within.

But the silence between them now speaks more than words, as Billy himself barely even grunts past hitching breaths. His biggest fear is getting caught, he once admitted, and that only gets him hard. Even brushing fingers at the movies can get him going apparently, which is a delightful little secret Steve discovered all on his own.

“Fuck,” is the first real word to escape him in minutes, as he bends over and places his hand on top of Steve’s where he’s supporting himself on the wall. “I’m close, baby.”

Steve’s almost convinced he could cum untouched, but he’s not patient enough for it, bringing his free hand down to fervently jerk his pulsating dick, utterly soaked in pre cum, yearning for release after hours of being half hard.

It’s become an easy feat by now to match the quick and irregular pace that Billy always finds leading up to his orgasm, Steve’s hand following the pattern with practiced precision, eyes closed and focusing solely on how wet and slippery and glorious Billy’s veiny cock pummels rapidly into him, pounding against that golden bundle of nerves that makes Steve want to cry out, knees going weak, stars glistening behind his eyes.

And when he cums, hot and white into his hand, it’s blinding, the stars exploding like fireworks, raining fiery bliss down upon him, toes curling in his sneakers, biting into his lip till it cracks and bleeds.

Behind him Billy makes a strangled noise; an abrupt and dissatisfying sound compared to his usual roar of a peak, as Steve’s dripping wet hole chokes around every inch of Billy’s girthy dick. Steve puts forth a foot to counterweight the way Billy presses into him with all his force, both hands on his hips now to keep them like this, his forehead pressed between Steve’s shoulder blades as he empties out for a second time inside of Steve’s poor, puffy, abused ass.

Steve’s convinced he can feel it, wet and burning and full. Fuller. Brimming, ready to burst, that if this was a porn vid the camera would angle down to watch it all spill out of him, and he can’t be blamed for the breathy moan that escapes at that imagery. 

“God, princess…” Billy’s voice hoarse and raspy, weak and satisfied. He snakes his arm around Steve’s waist and runs a hand up and down his stomach. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Steve eventually huffs, neither of them truly finding much use for words in the moment.

“Mmhm,” Billy whirs and props his chin up on Steve’s shoulder, tilting his head till their eyes meet. “I’m thinking…”

A chill flees down Steve’s back immediately at that notion, because Billy rarely ever thinks of anything else other than… “What?”

“What if we… plugged you up again?” Billy grins like he’s already won this, like the cat that got the cream.

“Billy, please-”

“Steve, please.”

They stare at each other in silence, Billy still with that same twist of lips, Steve’s… uncertain. He loves the idea of it, but in practice? Today has already been hell on him this way, but Billy…

“Come on baby, please? Keep you wet and full of my cum all day, and tonight I’ll buy you a really nice dinner and clean you up in the shower?” He kisses promises against skin, nuzzling his nose against the shell of Steve's ear. “Light some candles… I’ll be real gentle with you.”

Steve’s not gonna be able to sit right for weeks to come after today, but he nods in agreeance. Because those promises almost sound like a date.

[vs-redemption]

Can I request a Levi x reader modern AU where they are high schoolers second year and someone and the reader both have a crush on Levi and Levi acts kinda harsh on the reader when she gets hurt but only because he really likes her but his action makes her think he hates her so she gives up on her crush you can pick the ending

From Cindy: Thanks for participating in my 500 follower event anon! I’m so biased for Levi. This request ended up being longer than most (almost 1500 words). I also had fun trying to adapt Levi to a high school setting. I hope everyone likes how this turned out!

High School AU - (Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader)

The end of September was a busy time for the teenagers at your high school. After a few weeks into the school year, students were getting back into their routine and hopefully becoming comfortable with the new teachers and classes in their schedule. While the carefree memories of summer faded away, the excitement for homecoming season began to build. As a member of the student council, you were even more aware of the importance of this event. Things had been a little chaotic for you last year since you were just a freshman, but now you were a second year and planned to use the experience you’d gained to make your class stand out above the rest.

A small group of your classmates were already waiting for you when you arrived at school an hour early on the Monday that marked the first day of Spirit Week. It was hard to keep your motivation when you had to wake up and get to school earlier than normal, but you knew it would be worth it when the upperclassmen arrived to find you’d already started without them.

“Good! Everyone’s here!” The next person to show up was the student council president himself. Your groggy brain kick started when you saw that Levi Ackerman was with him. You hadn’t been sure he’d participate in the week of festivities leading up to the homecoming dance this year. He wasn’t even really a member of the student council, and he never seemed all that interested in getting hyped up on school spirit. Last year, he hadn’t even gone to the homecoming parade or the dance even though he’d assisted with all the preparations. It seemed all his efforts were done merely out of a sense of loyalty to his best friend who was the student council president.

“Levi is looking gorgeous as usual,” you hear one of the girls in your group lean in and whisper to another classmate standing next to her.

“I guess,” The classmate shrugs, “if you’re into the whole ‘small, dark and mysterious’ thing.” The first girl slaps her on the arm playfully even though it wasn’t an uncommon opinion of Levi. He mostly kept to himself and didn’t seem to have a whole lot of friends.

“He’s not that short!” she defends Levi. “Anyway, it’s his eyes that get me. They’re so intense. It gives me the shivers!”

“Thanks for oversharing,” the classmate lets out a laugh. “If you’re really that into him though, why don’t you ask him to homecoming?”

“Oh! Good idea!” The first girl claps her hands together. “Maybe I will!”

You try to tune out their conversation after that and listen to the student council president explain the tasks that needed to be done before the bell rang for the first class. In a way, it was nice to know someone else had seen through Levi’s tough exterior, but at the same time you’d also been crushing on him for longer than you cared to admit and the thought of having competition for someone who already felt unobtainable was disheartening.

“Be careful on that ladder!” Somehow, you’d ended up having to hang up a banner above the entrance to the cafeteria with both Levi and the girl you’d heard talking about him outside. It was difficult to enjoy the chance to be around Levi with her obvious flirting and him bossing you around.

“How does this look, Levi?” the girl asks from the side of the door opposite from you where she was holding the other end of the banner. “It is even?” Levi’s sharp eyes flick away from where you’re perched for just a moment as he replies.

“It’s fine,” he tells her flatly and then turns his focus back on you. “Hurry up and tie up your end and get down before you end up falling and breaking your neck.”

You do what he says even though you were starting to get your feelings hurt. It didn’t make sense for him to only nag you about safety when the other girl was doing the exact same thing you were. Did something about you come off as especially clumsy?

“Hey, Levi!” the other girl climbs down from her ladder and skips over to him. “I was wondering if you had a date to homecoming yet?” The boldness of her question throws you off, causing you to miss the last step of the ladder and slide the rest of the way down awkwardly. Thankfully, it hadn’t been that far of a fall so it was more of just a startle than anything.

“Idiot!” Levi was suddenly in front of you, looking intimidating and angry. “I told you to be careful!” He reaches down and snatches up your wrist to look at your hand. You’re surprised to see a small cut on one of your fingers. It must’ve been caused by a sharp piece of the ladder when you slipped. But it was hardly even bleeding, so you had to assume Levi’s extreme reaction was born from his apparent dislike for you. You weren’t sure what you’d ever done to him, but it seemed clear that he would never like you the way you liked him. As you made your way to the bathroom to take care of your finger, you vowed to get over your feelings for him since they were obviously one sided.

The satisfaction of seeing the upperclassmen react to the decorations your class had put up around the school lifted your spirits a bit during the day, but you were still feeling a little mopey when the final bell chimed to dismiss you from your last class. You make your way through the crowded hallway and get a bit of a shock when you find Levi waiting for you by your locker. You hoped he wasn’t there to yell at you for anything else

“How’s your finger?” the question comes out sounding impatient.

“It’s fine,” you reply a little awkwardly. “It was just a scratch.”

“That’s good,” Levi sounded just as uncomfortable as you felt, and you wondered why he’d be bothered to ask over such a small thing anyway. Maybe he thought you were so accident prone that you’d found a way to injure yourself even more over the course of the day.

“Okay,” the weird silence made you want to run away. “I’d better get going now.” You get the stuff you need from your locker and turn to make your escape.

“Wait,” Levi calls you back, but after a few moments of more quiet you lose your patience.

“What is your deal?” you throw up your hands in exasperation. “I’m sorry if hurting myself annoyed you or something, but it was an accident.” Levi raises his eyebrows, realizing he was being misunderstood.

“I wasn’t annoyed,” he explains before averting his eyes. “I was just worried that it might be worse than it looked.”

“What?” Your confusion draws his fierce gaze back to your face.

“I’d rather not see you get hurt at all,” he continues. “That’s why I wanted you to be careful.”

“Oh.” He was still dancing around his true meaning, but you were starting to think you understood.

“So, what did you tell that girl,” You hoped it wasn’t too random to change the subject, “that asked you to the dance?”

“I told her no,” Levi says it as if that should be obvious.

“Okay,” you still weren’t sure about asking him to go with you. He was a tough guy to read, and you didn’t want to scare him away. It was possible that he’d rejected that girl simply because he didn’t want to go to the dance. “Are you going to stay after and help the student council make the float for the homecoming parade today?”

“Are you going to be there?” he asks and you nod your head. “Then yes.” You’re thrown off by the possibility of him attending just to spend time with you, and it seemed he caught even himself off guard with what he’d said because suddenly there’s a slight flush of embarrassment on his cheeks.

“Do you want to walk together?” you say and he quickly accepts the offer. You smile and relax a bit knowing that your first assumption that he hated you was wrong. Maybe Levi was a little awkward about expressing his emotions, but you could deal with that as long as you still got the chance to spend more time with him and see where this new friendship might lead.

[rouiyan]

request : "May I request a first date with jisung? probably a picnic date or something where he and y/n are very shy around each other and they laugh about it at the end of the day"

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐬 — jisung x (gender neutral) reader ✧ established relaitonship, (narration only) ✧ word count : 1.3k ✧ disclaimers : none!

synopsis: pretty flowers, green grapes, a cute boy, etc.

✧ author’s note — it's most likely you don't know but i wrote this request already and tumblr deleted the shit out of it. initially, i was not intending to rewrite it but every time i thought about it, i felt so bad for the anon who requested and i just had to redo it, and better too. so here's me, three hours later and 700 more words than the original, presenting to you this piece, again.

brash cotton cloth rumples between your toes, the yellow-white checker laundered and yet to be stained. it’s been awhile since jisung’s had you all to himself and he must admit, things are different when it’s just you and him.

between your schooling and his job, there isn’t much room for dates, per se, perhaps the occasional study session with him peering over your shoulder or a visit to the practice rooms that has you huddling by the speakers while the mirrors fog up with his sweat. through your months of being by his side, this might as well be considered your first date. and even the prospect of that is enough to allude you into a state of lightheadedness.

you want to thank him though, for his hand light on your forearm two nights prior, eyes mindful and tender as he’d asked you if you’d like to accompany him on a picnic, his phone screen aiding his request with a photo of the very fields, now in front of you, pulled up. he would like to thank you as well, for the endearing smile that dawned upon your features and the soft nod you gave in response, a kiss to the cheek to follow.

the sun hovers just shy of the horizon when jisung, fingers nimble, plucks a green grape from its entanglements and holds it out before your mouth. you let him feed you. both of your sights are held up ahead rather than at each other, and you'd say that it's because of the quaint landscape, though truthfully, meeting his eyes with your own would perhaps send you into cardiac arrest. 

your fingers trace the grass that peers the edges of the blanket, the grass that courses past your fingers, to and fro the fringes of the valley. they billow a muddy green in the balmy wind and the flowers that dare disrupt their passage bloom a soft pink both in the distance and by your feet. your boyfriend hums softly to the music in the background, neither of you are all that wary of each other but you smile softly as the wind begins to pick up ever so slightly and at how he gives a soundless yelp at the paper bag that nearly escapes the clasps of his hands. 

you're still nibbling at the grape as you turn to him, setting yourself upright on your knees. jisung folds the paper bag at its creases and sets it aside, his eyes now on you. his disposition bespeaks apprehension and you let out a giggle, brushing a blade of grass from his bangs and smoothing out the hair underneath with gentle hands. to say he's simply blushing would prove verily inaccurate. his cheeks burn, they sear, they simply wilt at your touch. your fingers soft on his cheeks, fondling his ears, nubbing the scruff of his neck as he looks up at you, his countenance emitting rays of affection that outshine the sun. 

jisung's heart never does cease its rampage in his chest, not for a second, but he overcomes it or becomes accustomed to it well enough, going so far as wrapping his arms around your thighs, tugging you into him as his head dips the fabric of your torso. you let him nuzzle into you until you can feel the hotness of his breaths and the palpitations of his heart, the very palpitations that mirror your own, anything but steady. 

it's confounding, the way you love him. inexplicable in the sense that you feel most at home when he is by your side, that you can list, with full conviction, how his favorite color has changed over the years, that you can estimate the length of his pinkie without looking, without measuring, and that only you know the intricacies of his heart, his mind, his soul. you hold the ability to draw a map of him, if such occurrence is ever needed, and trace his emotions from the moment he wakes until his yawns of sleep permeate the same wakefulness. your love for him is inexplicable in the sense that even then, even when you know him like, not the back of your hand but rather your palm, a little day trip of a picnic is all it takes to revert you until deemed demure.

but one look into his eyes and you know the same could be said for him.

jisung places a quick kiss to your tummy before getting on his knees himself to tidy away the remains of your overdue lunch, flowered dishes and matching glassware clinking against each other as the wickered basket grows heavier by the second. you wish the sun wouldn't be so eager to set, you've always loved the warmth his eyes gave in the reflection of the waning light. dusting the stray grass from your reddened knees, you stand, taking the blanket with you and folding it in half, then quarters, and making your way over to your boyfriend to sling it from the handle of the basket. 

he takes your hand in his as the two of you make your way down the trodden and soiled path, back to the main street, the bus stop, where car honks and whizzing motorcycles are quick to replace the song of birds and the whistle of wind. though its sound does not, the bitter lash of the wind persists and jisung tugs the picnic blanket from its hold and drapes the unsullied side face down on your shoulders, his unoccupied arm thrown around your figure to keep it in place, to keep you by his side, to keep you close.

in a few minutes, the bus will arrive, and jisung will smile to himself as he watches your nose wrinkle at the fumes it excretes, a hand coming up to fan away the fetid odor. moments after that, the automated door will breach open and jisung, an arm around you and an arm hoisting the basket's weight, will awkwardly step up into the bus sideways, eliciting a laugh from you. some more minutes after, the laugh will have turned into light conversation as you recollect how jisung had spilled half a carton of apple juice, how he'd forgotten to bring napkins, how the wind had blown your carefully styled hair until all the work that had gone into it reckoned disheveled and in vain. within the next thirty minutes, you will have fallen asleep on his shoulder, head bobbing in tune with every speed bump and break at a stoplight. a little under an hour from now, when you wake from your boyfriend's incessant rambling about how you'd arrived at your destination, the air that the two of you breathe will no longer be withheld by prolonged silences and ungainly stares and instead the usual, comforting ambience.  

but for now, jisung's arm stays tight around your frame, to keep you by his side, to keep you close.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — i kept the end as similarly as i could to the original because i loved how it came out in conjunction with the title. if you are reading this for the first time, i'll have you know that i was absolutely livid while rewriting it, like at every single typo i made i was ready to obliterate the keyboard entirely. feels better after finishing it up though and a big fat apology to the anon, but i hope that this makes up for it. i love you to bits and pieces <3]

[tedesquire]

We do need more fics/headcannons for our favorite cherub, Bill! Maybe it could involve him figuring out how to ask the reader out? Or going to see a concert with him? Or anything spicy 🌶🥺

When It’s Love

[This may not be exactly what the dear anon had in mind but it’s what I felt inspired to write. Obviously you can request another Bill/Reader if you want something a little bit different!

I was definitely inspired by Pride and Prejudice, Emma, the above picture, Van Halen, and one scene in “10 Things I Hate About You” (Mod Olivia)]

_______________________________________________________________

Study hall was as lively as ever. Cheerleaders sat in the back to expose their peers to the unpleasant smell of nail polish and snapping sounds of gum. Papers rustled as the jocks passed notes back and forth with crude drawings and curse words. Every so often Ms. Ritcher would loudly clear her throat, tipping the edge of her cat-eye glasses and letting her milky eyes glaze over the classroom to make sure no one was speaking or getting up to any mischief. 

Despite these distractions, you found yourself in your own little bubble, eyes rapidly racing back and forth as you read.  

You enjoyed your copy of Pride and Prejudice so often that the edges of the pages had started to fray and the spine was one drop away from crumbling. 

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” You mouthed the words, sighing forlornly. Your eyes fluttered shut and you pushed the book against your chest. Your heart seemed to ache, as if you were looking at the words for the first time.

You shook your head and opened the book once more to continue, unaware of the eyes that lingered on your figure.

“We’re still on for Friday, right? I looked at the TV Guide for this week and Eddie Van Halen is scheduled to appear on Letterman. It will be most triumphant!” Ted Logan slyly whispered to Bill, his eyes trained on Ritcher’s figure to make sure he wouldn’t be caught. Bill’s brown orbs didn’t leave your face, particularly interested in the way you were biting your bottom lip.

“Uh, yeah.” Bill whispered, not fully knowing what Ted had just asked.

“What would you think if I grew my hair out like Van Halen? It might help in our conquest to get him on lead guitar.”

“Mm-hmm.” Bill mumbled. 

Ted’s brows furrowed and he let his gaze stray from their teacher to look at Bill directly. He knew if Bill were paying more attention he would have acted more excited.

Much to Ted’s amusement, his friend had once again taken up his recent pastime of staring at you and tuning everyone else out. He decided to press Bill’s buttons, an impish grin forming on his face.

“Actually, I think it would be most foolish to try and copy Van Halen. Perhaps I should shave all my hair off?”

“Sounds good, man.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I mean, who even likes Van Halen? Kind of a has-been, right Bill?”

“Oh yeah.” A glimmer of fondness grew in Bill’s eyes as he watched your brows knit in concentration.

“Y/n’s pretty hot. Do you think she’d say yes if I asked her to prom?”

Bill nodded, ears perking when he heard your name. He mentally repeated what Ted had just asked him, letting the true weight of his friends words hit him. A blush crept up his neck, finally meeting Ted’s gaze.

“Staring at y/n again, hm? You’re lucky she’s always reading or she might think you were a creep.”

“Shut up, Ted.” Bill hissed.

“Keep it down, gentlemen.” Ritcher’s gravelly voice interrupted the quiet atmosphere, causing their conversation to end.

After a few moments, Ted deemed it safe to speak once more. “Bill, we’re about to be the biggest rock stars San Dimas has ever witnessed. Why don’t you talk to her? The fall formal is coming up.” He suggested, nudging Bill’s side eagerly.

“Ted, if you have not been made aware, Y/n is notorious for turning men down. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You never know if you don’t ask!” He encouraged, trying to stay upbeat as Bill frowned. He opened his mouth to argue when the bell interrupted. 

Ted quickly sprang up, giving Bill no time to follow. The taller boy pretended to trip against your desk, causing your thermos to hit the tile loudly. He muttered an apology before turning around, gesturing between you and Bill.

The impact of the thermos caused you to snap out of your reverie, and you were surprised to find people exiting the classroom, heading to their next period. 

“Hey,” A soft voice called to you. You turned to meet the owner, only to be met with your thermos. “I apologize for Ted’s behavior, it was most heinous.” You accepted the bottle, finally looking up to see your classmate, Bill. 

“I didn’t even realize he had knocked it over, it’s alright. Thanks, Bill.” You smiled politely, grabbing your bag and starting to head out the door.

Your smile made Bill’s knees wobble, and now that he had your attention, he was not so eager to lose it. “So, uh, what’s in the thermos?” He asked, trailing behind you. You slowed down, letting him fall into step with you. 

“Oh, this? It’s tea. Green tea with lemon.” Bill blinked in surprise. 

“Are you sick? Granny Preston seems to drink that when she’s under the weather.” He tried not to seem too desperate in continuing the conversation with you.

“No.” You chuckled under your breath. “I just like it. It’s also good for your vocal chords.”

“Most excellent!” His grin did well to cover the panic he felt inside. “So um, I noticed your book. It’s uh- it’s my favorite.” You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you.

“You like Pride and Prejudice?” Your humorous expression faded as you noticed Bill blushing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy who’s read Austen novels willingly.”

“That’s where you’re wrong!” Bill lied, heart racing erratically. “I love Austen. He’s one stellar dude, dude.” You shook your head, approaching your next class.

“Austen isn’t a dude, dude.” You tsked. “Jane Austen is the author of Pride and Prejudice, your favorite book, as you claimed.” You gestured to your class. “This is my stop. I’ll uh, see you later Bill.” 

The smile Bill so proudly wore a moment ago faded, replaced with sheer embarrassment. The beginning bell rang, signaling class had started. 

He blew it. The one chance he had to talk to you and he had managed to make an absolute fool of himself. 

His cheeks were still stained red as he strolled into History class, late, much to the annoyance of Mr. Ryan. Ted beamed at him, excitedly leaning forward as Bill sat down.

“Dude! How’d it go?”

“Shut up, Ted.”

-

Bill huffed for the third time in the past twenty minutes, prompting a look from Ted.

It had been an unusually quiet lunch, Ted slightly freaked out that Bill was reading a book that was neither assigned in a class or a textbook. 

After the disastrous conversation that occurred between you and Bill, he had asked his stepmom to drive him to the library, mumbling a lie about an English class assignment to prevent her from asking any questions. He was now in possession of Pride and Prejudice, but the only problem was, he was having a hard time understanding what the hell was going on in the book. 

“What does it say?” Ted asked, hoping he could help but knowing he probably wouldn’t be able to provide a satisfactory answer. 

“The book keeps mentioning this place called ‘Netherfield’, which is confusing since the book takes place in this town called Meryton, I think, so it can’t be another city, can it?” Ted shrugged, slightly embarrassed he could not help his friend. 

Ted surveyed the cafeteria, finding you tucked in the corner reading, as usual. An idea formed in his mind and he stood, making his way over to you.

Bill was too busy trying to re-read the paragraph he had been trying to decipher for an hour to notice Ted’s absence at first, but upon opening his mouth to complain again and not seeing Ted’s friendly presence, he searched frantically for the familiar figure.

“Oh no, Ted you moron!” Bill huffed, cheeks heating as he watched the interaction between you and Ted. You seemed skeptical at first, but soon your eyes found Bill’s, prompting him to turn away once more, praying for Ted to return.

“Can I sit here?” You startled Bill, who jumped at the sound of your voice. He avoided your eyes, clutching his book tightly.

“Are you sure you want to?” You took that as the closest to a yes and plopped beside the blonde. Ted was nowhere to be found.

“Ted told me. He said your dad was a hard-ass and wanted you to get caught up on some summer reading list. You were just trying to ask me to help you interpret the book and I made fun of you, I’m sorry.” Bill looked lost. His dad was certainly not a hard-ass by any means. In fact, he bet that his dad wouldn’t care if he had to repeat high school just as long as he stayed out of him and Missy’s way. Realization seemed to dawn on him. It was merely a ruse Ted had made up to get you to talk to him. 

“Oh um, yeah! My dad is strict, most abominable. He wants me to read this, but I’m having trouble understanding some things.” This entire book, he had wanted to say, but held his tongue. “I noticed you reading it and thought you would be willing to help me.”

“Yeah!” You nodded enthusiastically. “P&P is one of my favorite books of all time. Jane Austen writes so perfectly, I feel as if I’m in the story itself with the way she paints the scenery.” You continued to coo, and Bill felt his nerves start to melt away.

Ted stood at the back of the cafeteria, out of plain sight to watch you and Bill, a smile overtaking his boyish features. 

Bill so owed him a slurpee. 

-

“So, why is it you like Jane Austen so much?” You and Bill had been spending every lunch period together for the past week and had finally decided to meet up after school at a park not too very far away from San Dimas High. 

At first, all your conversations had been about Pride and Prejudice, but as you started to spend more time with the boy, you found yourself oddly entranced by his weirdly polite mannerisms and goofy grin, and thus your conversations ranged from your favorite music, to plans after high school, and whether or not Ms. Richter needed new glasses. 

The California sun seemed to be suiting him well, making his curls seem as if they were crafted from liquid gold itself, but if anyone were to ask, you could very well say you didn’t seem to notice. 

“Well, it’s not just that I enjoy Jane Austen and her works. I love everything about the 18th/19th century.” You put down your copy of Emma to fully meet his stare.

“Pardon me, but I do not believe they had indoor plumbing dating back then.” Bill mischievously grinned and you laughed, playfully rolling your eyes and nudging his elbow softly.

“Okay, okay, almost everything.” You inhaled deeply. “I mean mostly the whole… aesthetic of it all. The gowns, the gloves, the candles, handwritten love letters, wax seals, the ascots, tall hats, the stocking the men wore, the balls- oh! especially those. I mean, we have the stupid formals and all, but I can’t very well wear a gown to those, can I?” 

“The tea?” He offered, admiring the passion you held.

“The tea!” You confirmed. “And back then, true love was so rare, y’know? I mean, Jane and Bingley were in love with each other the minute they met at the ball but they didn’t get married for so long! And take Darcy and Elizabeth, or Knightley and Emma! Their love wasn’t at first sight but it grew and grew until the men couldn’t stand to stay silent about it any longer. Nowadays men consider peak romance to be a night on the beach with a towel and a few beers.” Bill watched as your nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“Every single guy is looking for their Molly Ringwald or just another pretty face. No guy is interested in a “Elizabeth Bennett”. At least, not ones our age.” You sighed. Bill nodded in understanding.

So that’s why you rejected every guy who asked you out. You wanted romance and you deserved it! 

Bill’s heart beat so loudly in his chest he was sure you could hear it through his ribcage, swallowing thickly as he tried to come up with something to say other than, “I think I’m in love with you”. 

“Wouldn’t that be something though, wearing a ballgown to a school dance.” You snickered, too lost in your own amusement to notice Bill’s eyes glazing over, a most excellent plan forming in his head. 

-

Loud, thumping bass and whirling neon lights seemed to overtake your every sense. You were currently standing in the middle of the gymnasium, half your classmates dancing wildly, the other sending you strange looks. 

You had told yourself you weren’t going to the formal, content to rent a few VHS’s from the local Family Video and spend a night by yourself, but that was before you received the letter.

Upon opening your locker the other day, you were surprised to find a white dress of Italian crape over a white satin slip stuffed carefully inside. Silver thread laced the bodice and the bottom of the slip with a silver ribbon tied around the waist to match. 

A slip of paper was pinned to the fabric, reading:

“O fair one.

Join me at the Formal.

I will be waiting.

Love, 

Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

You had no idea who could have sent it and debated about staying home anyway, but your curiosity overtook you. Surely someone who had put the time and effort to notice your interest in the regency era and buy you a dress was worth facing ridicule; however, you were starting to get impatient.

You managed to convince your mother to borrow a pair of her pearls to accompany the dress and spent two hours styling your hair the exact way you wanted to. The only exception to your outfit were the modern silver shoes you wore, but you felt beautiful nonetheless.

You looked around the gymnasium once more, straining your neck to find anyone wearing a suit, or at least a button up, for heaven’s sake, but to no avail. Perhaps it was time to cut your losses and head home. 

You turned towards the entrance, disappointment creeping into every pore when you noticed a man stepping into the gym nervously. 

You first noticed the freshly-polished, ebony shoes, eyes trailing up to the cream stockings that ended just below the knee where matching black knickers began. The man wore a plaid, crimson vest underneath a warm, brown waistcoat. A ruffled, ivory button up and matching cravat were the last ornaments he wore, and you found yourself speechless. 

Your eyes finally met the face of the man who had won you over. This time it was your turn to blush, the rich, familiar eyes taking in your figure as they had done so many times before. 

“Bill…” You whispered, finding yourself at a complete loss for words.

“You can call me William, if you’d like. Just you though.” He smiled, extending his hand. 

“I can’t believe you did all of this… for me… I-”

“You deserve it. Every bit of it. I know your expectations of guys are pretty low and rightfully so. You don’t need to change who you are or what you like to please anyone else but yourself. I think you’re pretty radical the way you are and uh... I’ve liked you, for a while, actually. Ted told you about some summer reading list when the truth was I just wanted to read Pride and Prejudice as a way to talk to you.” Your blush deepened, truly taken aback by the confession. You never believed that anyone would be able to offer you a night like this. 

“So… perhaps that wasn’t as romantic as Darcy’s confession and all but I stand by it. And now I only have one question to ask you: May I have this dance?” His hand was still outstretched towards you. You slid your palm against his without hesitation, letting his arm wrap around your waist.

Of course the tune of “Girls on Film” by Duran Duran wasn’t a slow song by any means, but that didn’t stop the two of you from slowly spinning around the wooden floor. Your eyes couldn’t seem to leave his and you couldn’t feel the ache in your cheeks from your wide smile.

Later on in the night you two were able to jump and headbang to classic hits, because you didn’t expect Bill to change who he was for you either. 

You found yourself extremely fond of each curl of his that bounced from his forehead, the glint of happiness in his eyes, and each smile he sent your way. You were convinced that neither Jane Austen herself or any of the female protagonists she created were ever as happy as you were with Bill that night.

FINIS.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Peter and MJ, coworkers who barely know each other's names, but could draw each other's faces from memory, get stuck in the elevator together at the end of a work day

Thanks for the prompt, Anon! I started writing the fic for this so fast haha

Overheard at the Bugle

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: M Word count: 5394

Summary:

Peter's having a late night at the office and finds out he's not the only one working overtime right before he and the new reporter, Michelle Jones, get trapped in the Bugle's unreliable elevator. He just needs to handle this situation calmly and not do anything to give away his secret identity. It'd be easier to focus on the task at hand if his enhanced hearing wasn't picking up something very unusual coming from the voice recorder in Michelle's bag.

Peter tries to keep a low profile at the Bugle―he doesn’t need anyone giving a second thought to the guy who turns in crisp closeups of Spider-Man week after week―but he didn’t realize he’s invisible. He’s gotta be for the custodial staff to start shutting the lights off on his floor as he’s still sifting blearily through the emails that arrive every five minutes; they’re all stamped with Sent from J. Jonah Jameson’s iPhone. Almost in the dark, Peter snaps his laptop shut, shoves it into his messenger bag, and sprints for the elevators. He’s not scared of the dark (what kinda hero would that make him?), but after lights-out comes locking the doors and he’s not keen on spending the night here. Though his apartment might not be much, it’s his escape from work.

He skids around the corner to find the glow of an elevator that’s just closing.

“Hold it!” Peter shouts, shooting his hand out to part the doors as a frantic tapping comes from inside.

“I was pushing the button…” a woman explains as he steps in.

She turns her head and a spill of wavy brown hair is pushed aside to reveal the face of Michelle Jones. Peter swallows. His gaze goes from her startled brown eyes to her finger, now slipping off the Doors Open button.

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, “this thing can be temperamental sometimes.”

“Right. Ground floor, I assume?”

“Yep.”

He moves off to a respectful distance as she presses the button to take them down and the doors close. His heart’s hammering. Though he’s heard the confident tone of her voice plenty, she’s never specifically spoken to him. Nor he to her. Luckily, the walls of the elevator have an intentional burnish with the scuff of wear on top, so there’s no chance of her catching sight of his stare in their reflections. Peter doesn’t mean to, it’s just that she took her hair down. She mostly wears it twisted and pinned at the nape of her neck and probably just shook it out when she got into the elevator, heading home. He gets it. He has his tie jammed into his bag, collar unbuttoned, and sleeves cuffed up to his elbows. Nobody gives a shit about dress code after the boss is gone, especially if they’re working late with no guarantee of overtime pay. Quit looking at her, he thinks, and snaps his gaze down to the floor. He can still smell her shampoo, courtesy of the enhanced senses.

“Sorry about the lights,” Michelle offers, turning her head enough to address him, but not enough to meet his eye because he’s standing beside and slightly behind her. “I let one of the custodians know I was on my way out a few minutes ago. Thought I was the last one left.”

Peter frowns. That’s weird. Not what she says, but that, when she speaks, he thinks he hears an echo. My one-on-one exclusive with Spider-Man, it says, in the voice of the reporter currently sharing the elevator with him. He opens his mouth to ask Michelle if she hears it too and catches himself. That’s a habit he broke years ago, when he realized there are way more things other people can’t hear and it only risks freaking them out and exposing himself to reveal that his senses are more animal than human.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds distractedly.

The first thing to know about Spider-Man is that he’s not a nine-to-five kinda guy. Without regular business hours, he joins me for this interview in my Brooklyn apartment on a Friday evening. The red suit is predictable; the rap he gives my living room window to announce his arrival smacks more of cheeky showmanship. This reporter has to wonder whether, for him, finally submitting to such an in-depth, sit-down conversation is a type of performance. Surely the man behind the mask knows his audience is rapt for any details on the life of a figure who, despite his status as a trusted friend to all, is so much a mystery to this city’s inhabitants.

Ok, what? Peter’s brain is spinning like a frisbee. He’s never given the kind of interview Michelle’s disembodied voice is describing, and definitely never given it to her. He’s never been to her apartment, doesn’t even know where she lives, and certainly isn’t eager to invite questions in some sort of exposé. Maybe what he’s hearing are just the notes she’s preparing for a future interview. Did Jameson assign this? He’s certainly nosy about Peter’s alter ego, but the tone of the piece is more curious than their boss’s usual style―scathing, obstinate, malicious. She sounds intrigued by Spider-Man, not like she’s luring him into a trap.

The elevator jolts. It grinds. It halts. Michelle makes a sound of distress and taps Doors Open. She looks at him over her shoulder, face worried but also… flushed? Maybe she gets anxiety attacks.

“It’s alright,” Peter tells her, one foot in Spider-Man’s De-escalation Mode. He raises his hands in hopefully a calming gesture and her eyes dart to them, gliding over his bare forearms. Crap, does he seem threatening? He lowers his hands.

“I know it’s alright,” she assures him. “I just… who wants to be stuck at work?”

Michelle gives him a slight smile to accompany her joke and he returns it.

“Got a story to work on?” Peter asks.

His motive is partly to understand the narration he heard (which is still going on, a murmur beneath their much louder voices), but also to focus her on something besides the fact that the elevator is not moving.

“Just filed one actually, so, you know, theoretically free for the weekend.” She makes a phonily excited face that emphasizes how very not-free they are.

The continued jokes are a good sign that she isn’t overly alarmed. He’s still stumped about the story though. As she pulls her cell phone from the large leather bag over her arm, Peter tunes into the background noise. With the elevator silent, that’s just the recording of Michelle’s voice.

‘…later than I thought you would be,’ I inform him. He makes his excuses and where I would normally be annoyed by a failure to be punctual, I find myself charmed by New York’s man in red. I wonder where his adventures have taken him tonight, if his actions have prevented violence, saved lives. If his mere presence has inspired onlookers and comforted those who have lost faith in our traditional systems of stagnant courts and killer cops…

There’s no way Jameson can be aware of the spin she’s putting on this. Spider-Man’s no hero in the eyes of the editor-in-chief, just a menace, a pest, a cockroach climbing up the pantleg of the people who are supposed to enforce justice. That’s not the only thing that’s confusing. Peter’s fairly hung up on the fact that she’s conducting this interview like he’s there. Could just be her process. Playing the whole thing out to get a feel for however long it might be, where small talk might hypothetically cut into her list of prepared questions.

“No service,” Michelle huffs, tucking her phone away again. “You?”

Peter, startled, gets his phone out to check, though he already knows this elevator is a dead zone. He shakes his head. Frustrated, she moves her hand to jab the Help button. The one meant to connect the rider with 911.

“Don’t bother,” he coaches when she pushes it a second time after nothing happens. “I think that thing’s just for show.”

“Oh yeah?”

She’s arch, irritated. Peter stays calm, knowing it’s not really meant for him. People can get testy in stressful situations. Being trapped in an elevator is one of those. Not for him. For him, a stressful situation is a bullet graze or leaping from one office tower to the next and realizing in midair that he’s out of webs. Trapped in an elevator is a relaxing start to his weekend in comparison.

“Jameson never lets anybody inspect it. He’s a control freak, scared of spies. He thinks somebody’s gonna bug the elevator,” he clarifies to Michelle’s raised eyebrows.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, have you met him?”

She exhales a laugh at that.

…invite him to get comfortable, I’m surprised at him choosing a seat at the opposite end of the couch I’ve just sat down on. I’d intended the chair across from me and think that should be obvious to him. Perhaps it is. The mask doesn’t make him the easiest man to read.

“So we’re just fucking stuck because Jameson’s scared of, who? Reporters from other papers? The CIA? Edward Snowden?”

A tingle goes down Peter’s spine when she swears. She’s commanding. Does she know that or is working under Jameson putting her qualities in the shadow of his, wielded for domination and intimidation?

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” he says.

“This button’s never worked?” Michelle checks, leaning her knuckle into it to keep it depressed. “This is a major safety issue. Imagine there was a fire right now.”

“You should call somebody and report him.”

He can’t help being playfully sarcastic and thinks, for a second, that she’s going to bite his head off for it by the way her eyes flash. Then he thinks he might not mind. Then she laughs and he tries to take a normal breath.

“What do we do?” she wants to know.

What do they do? What do Peter and the woman he’s eyed across the office since she arrived at the Bugle two months ago do? Forced together by unhealthy work hours and a broken elevator? He shifts from one foot to the other.

“Hope the custodian decides to watch for you to leave the building and comes looking when you don’t.”

“I hate that plan,” Michelle informs him.

“Go ahead and come up with another one,” he invites earnestly.

She turns so she’s facing him and lets her back slump against the wall of the elevator. She shrugs to ease her bag off her shoulder. The strap tugs a little at her emerald-green blouse before it slides down her arm. She sets it on the ground by her feet. It looks like she’s doing what he suggested. Now it’s just Peter and her quiet voice, which he can tell is coming from the bag. Michelle must have a recorder in there. Probably thinks she shut it off, but the volume’s just really low.

‘…when you’re out there?’ I have to inquire of him. At his easy laugh, I shelter behind my coffee cup, taking a slow sip. ‘Lonely?’ Spider-Man repeats. ‘In a city this size?’ He’s being coy now. I’m certain he knows what I want and it’s the dare implicit in this exchange that prompts me to press him. ‘Not lonely for just anybody,’ I begin…

Crossing his arms, Peter rests against the back of the elevator, trying to be subtle as he tips his head to the side to hear more. He’s getting into this story now, even if it’s not real. For the first time, he’s starting to see how Spider-Man might be a pretty compelling guy. He likes this person she seems to think he is; he’s more interesting coming from her lips. Of course, not as interesting as she is, with her leading questions and the agenda she’s voicing for her recorder if not for the man she’s interviewing.

“Have you worked at the Bugle long?”

His gaze twitches over to Michelle’s face when she speaks.

“Since right outta college. Why?”

“Just wondered if this had happened to you before,” she explains, waving her hand at the elevator’s useless panel of buttons. “And I knew you were here before me.”

“You did?”

He shouldn’t sound so breathlessly hopeful. Obviously, she knew he was here first. Michelle could’ve noticed him one time in the past two months and seen him do anything to indicate that he’d been here longer―escape Jameson’s office just before he could get roared at, jiggle the plug to make the coffee machine in the breakroom work. But Peter does sound that way because of her tone. She says it like an admission and she breaks eye contact.

‘…you don’t want one?’ He declined my offer of coffee once, but I think he may change his mind now that we’ve warmed up to each other a little. Spider-Man twists and I can feel him regarding me from behind those large white eyes. ‘I’d have to take the mask off to drink it,’ he points out. I promise that I’m not trying to blow his cover, just be hospitable. Besides, I counter, he doesn’t need to expose his whole face. The mouth will do.

“So, has it?” she counters, ignoring his question.

“Has what?”

“Has it happened to you? The elevator shutting down?”

“Oh, uh, once or twice, but it was always in the middle of the day and there were a bunch of other people in the elevator with me, so it didn’t go unnoticed long. Jameson hassled me for missing meetings while I was trapped though.”

“It’s not like you could help it,” Michelle says.

“True, but…” Peter shrugs. “I learned to take the stairs.”

“Bet you’re wishing you took them tonight.”

He laughs.

“Not really. I mean, uhhh…” The sound drags out embarrassingly as he can’t manage to pull his gaze away from her surprised face.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, saving him. “I think you’re keeping me saner than I would be alone.”

Right. That’s all. Which is enough, really. He’s glad to be of service, especially if that service is helping her not totally lose it.

“No problem.”

‘…because I can do more good if I’m an anonymous symbol,’ Spider-Man tells me. His body language has changed, shifting forward with the urgency of his words. ‘But some people must know,’ I say. ‘Your real identity can’t be a secret from everyone.’ ‘No Spider-Man is an island?’ is his clever rejoinder. I agree with absolute sincerity. ‘Even the strongest person needs to let others get close to them,’ I insist. Where he’s tugged his mask up, his mouth shifts from a wry grin to thoughtful softness. I find my gaze lingering there.

“Any ideas?” Peter asks, feeling hot.

The temperature inside the elevator is moderate, but Michelle’s words, as she draws him deeper into her story, are making him surreptitiously flap his collar to encourage air down his shirt. He’s starting to feel like this is something he’s not supposed to hear. Alright, it’s likely that nobody was supposed to hear it if these are just her rough notes before composing an article. Whatever. What Peter’s realizing is that maybe nobody’s supposed to hear this interview ever. The questions are too personal, too human-interest for the kind of paper they work at, and the way she depicts her responses is… intimate. Full of sensory details. It’s as though he’s in this apartment with her, sipping at her coffee, staring at her down the length of the couch. A Friday night, her voice said, and tonight’s one of those. How would Michelle Jones feel if she knew she was spending an evening with Spider-Man right now?

“I think the custodians would’ve made some noise by now if they knew anybody was in here and if they haven’t realized we’re missing, then I’m not sure anyone else will. I don’t know about you, but I live alone. I probably won’t be missed tonight because my friends will just assume I’m working and turned my phone off. I’ve been considering,” she goes on, “that we’ll either have to climb out the top and hope we’re close to the doors aligning with one of the floors or get these doors open. Either way, we need something to open the doors. Personally, I didn’t pack my crowbar.”

Peter stares at her in awe for a minute. She really did come up with a plan. Several plans. He knows he can help―he doesn’t need a crowbar to part the metal doors―but he can’t just wrench the doors open with his bare hands and act like it’s no big deal. He’ll need an explanation, which can’t be the truth. Revealing himself at the Bugle? To a Bugle reporter? Seems like the worst possible scenario. He doesn’t think Michelle is anything like Jameson in her motivations or basic moral compass (fine, he doesn’t know her, but that’s the sense he gets), and yet, she works for him. It’s her job to give him something fresh, something captivating, and he’s just not sure that her fascination with Spider-Man would be enough to make her want to spare Peter Parker the nightmare of his identity being splashed across Monday’s front page.

“Me neither.”

“This isn’t sustainable,” she mutters. He looks at her with concern. Louder, she adds, “If I get restless enough to climb through the ceiling, promise you won’t look up my skirt when I ask you to give me a boost.”

“Promise.”

Michelle assesses his face and he tries to appear his most transparent and trustworthy. Gradually, her eyes move away from his, but he’s still watching her and sees her stare at his throat, then his chest, and down. Whoa, Peter tells himself. Not a good idea. This woman might be a little hung up on Spider-Man, maybe even has a crush, but you and him are two different people.

Meanwhile, on the recording: …switch it off for him, holding the voice recorder up so he can clearly see that I’ve done it. ‘There,’ I say, ‘no one’s listening now. It’s just you and I.’ ‘So I’m supposed to feel closer to you without it?’ Spider-Man asks. ‘Don’t you?’ is what I want to know.

“Screw it,” Michelle decides a minute later, standing up straight. “I’m getting us out of here. Can you pick me up?”

Peter drops his messenger bag in an instant.

“Yep.”

He watches while she kicks off her black patent high heels (maybe picturing her pressing one of those bad boys into his chest), then they both tip their heads back and examine the ceiling panels.

“Front corner, maybe?” she suggests. “Just so I’m as close as possible to where the doors will hopefully be and I don’t have to wobble around up there in the elevator shaft.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees.

They cross to the appropriate corner and he bends his knees, locking his fingers to offer her a step. She grabs his shoulder for balance and lifts her foot, about to place it in his braced hands, then pauses.

“I’m Michelle, by the way.”

“Peter.”

“I know.”

He’s baffled and flushed as they shake hands, but he can’t dwell on it because her fingers are digging into his shoulder right before she presses her foot into his swiftly repositioned hands and hops up. She gives a small shriek as her body wavers before steadying herself with her palms against the ceiling. Peter drops his gaze. He can tell by her knees that she’s crouching slightly and he’s not glancing any higher than that. Her skirt falls to just below her knees and, as they lean into each other to keep her up, he ends up with her thigh pressed against the side of his face, the black fabric of that skirt under his cheek.

“You got me, right?”

“Right,” he says, careful not to ramble and divulge how little effort bearing her weight requires.

“Ok, I’m going to try to get a grip on this panel and slide it open.”

“Sounds good.”

Peter is looking straight across at the wall. He is not looking higher than her knees. He has no thoughts about the scent of her skirt and no theories on whether the lavender comes from her fabric softener or lotion that he’s also not imagining her rubbing into her skin before she got dressed for work this morning. She sways in his grip and he braces his arms more firmly, unable to do anything about her leg against his face. Michelle grunts and her body heaves as he hears her shift the ceiling panel. Her toes curl around his fingers. He exhales in relief; if she can figure this out without him needing to call on his super-strength, awesome. She goes home with a sense of accomplishment and he goes home maintaining his secret identity.

“Ok,” she calls down. “It’s open. Lift me higher.”

“Higher,” Peter mumbles to himself. Then, to her, “Uh, I might have to, um, hold your legs. But I won’t look at anything, I swear.”

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

Her voice is wry and he chuckles.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Michelle says.

With a bounce of his shoulders, he hoists her up. For a minute, he keeps hold of her foot, but then one of his hands clutches the back of her calf while the other cups her heel. Her weight pulls away from him as she hauls herself up through the ceiling.

“Is there a door?” he asks.

“It’s dark… Can you get my phone? It’s right inside my bag.”

“Ok, hang on. Literally,” Peter adds.

“Ha ha,” Michelle responds dryly, but when he gently releases his grip on her, he finds that she’s able to hold herself in place with her elbows. Her legs dangle and he hurries.

Their conversation and the rush of the action they just took concentrated his senses. Unfortunately, he’s now holding her work bag open and the sounds from her voice recorder are pouring out louder than ever. Still too quiet for her though, at this distance.

‘…didn’t think a suit that tight could hide much, but I’m still pleasantly surprised.’ ‘What, this?’ Spider-Man teases. I abandon my coffee cup and push my reading glasses up into my hair as I set my notes aside to lean in. He might as well have a web stuck to my chest. His awareness of his own physicality is evidently as precise afterhours as it is while he’s on duty because he skims a hand down his abdomen, appearing to almost accidentally hook his thumb in the band of his boxers. ‘You want the real scoop?’ he asks me, prying the elastic away from his skin provocatively. The taste of coffee is still thick and rich in my mouth when I encourage him: ‘Go on, Spidey. Don’t stop there…’

Peter almost drops the bag.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah! Yes. Mhmm, I’ve got it.”

He returns to Michelle and wraps one arm around her legs. With his other hand, he lifts the phone towards her. Her fingers clasp his, then locate the phone and take it from his grip. He holds still while she turns on her flashlight and has a look around. So, Michelle doesn’t have a little crush on Spider-Man. She’s hot for Spider-Man. Which means she’s hot for Peter, in a way. Except not, he reminds himself, because you’re just her silent co-worker. You’re never going to―

“FUCK!”

“What? No. What? What is it?”

“The next door’s way too high,” she says. “We must be almost lined up with one.” She taps him on the head with her phone and he slips it into his pocket for safekeeping as he prepares to help her down.

“We’ll find another way.” Will you? he asks himself.

“Quick question.”

“Uh huh?”

“How do I do this?”

He’s holding most of her weight now and, pressing a hand to flatten her skirt against her leg, chances a peek up at Michelle. Her head’s still through the ceiling, arms still braced over the open panel. What would definitely work would be her just letting go and him catching her in his arms, but maybe that’s too much faith for her to put in a random guy from work. Although he’s capable of lifting her, catching her falling body is a completely different thing. As with their escape in general, they don’t have a ton of options.

“Just let go slowly,” Peter coaches. “I’ll adjust how I’m holding you and you can sort of slide down my body.” The awkwardness in his tone garbles the last part.

“I can what?”

Dammit. She’s waiting to come down. He clears his throat.

“Uh, slide down my body?”

Her anxious laugh disappears into the elevator shaft.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” he hears her hiss to herself. To him, “Yeah, ok. I’m coming down now.”

“I have you.”

Peter’s counting on the giddiness of being returned to the ground from a height to distract her from the too-skillful way he maneuvers his hands on her. Making sure her skirt never gets rucked up, not placing his hands anywhere truly unforgiveable. He holds her hips, not her ass, and turns his head so his face doesn’t wind up in her crotch. He’s really gentleman-ing his butt off when the recording in her bag calls out, ‘Harder, Spider-Man!’

His hands slip. A second ago, his head was level with her stomach and now his face is buried in her chest, the cup of her bra pressing back against his temple. Immediately, Peter tilts back from his shoulders.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry―”

“I’m ok, I’m good,” Michelle protests as they wriggle together to set her down. He forces her phone back into her hand.

“Your skirt was slippery…”

“I know. You did great, Peter, seriously.”

“…and I heard…”

He shuts his mouth fast, but her flustered expression dissipates as her probing gaze finds his eyes.

“What did you hear?”

Peter pushes at his sleeves and refuses to answer. Her powers of deduction don’t rely on him at all. She whirls to her bag, crouching and dropping her phone in to extract the voice recorder instead. Holding it to her ear in investigation, Michelle probably hears the words By the time he has me on all fours, I can tell that Spider-Man’s on board with my remark on the importance of letting someone be close to him at the same volume he does standing three feet away. He’s basically plastered himself to the opposite wall. She looks about as mortified as he figures he’d feel if he made a recording of a very personal fantasy and someone listened to it. Man, should he have just told her at the beginning? There didn’t seem to be a way to handle it well.

Michelle stops the playback and puts the recorder away. The elevator is abruptly quiet without the whisper of her voice. All the while, Peter’s staring at her, seeing what she’ll do. The most probable conclusion for her to come to is that he heard a single sound, a blip, and has no clue what the recording contained. The way she stands, leaving her bag on the floor, seems to confirm this. But she doesn’t look over at him.

With a sigh, he decides to do what Spider-Man would do and put the person in need first. What Michelle Jones needs from him is a way out of this embarrassment, and this elevator. Peter walks to the doors and stamps his hands to the metal. First, a little compression to get a good grip and then… Scrunching his face with the effort, he puts his back into it, forcing the doors apart. Next, he does the same thing to the outer doors, separating them to reveal a darkened hallway. The floor’s about three feet higher than where he’s standing inside the elevator, but that’s nothing for someone to scramble through and head for the stairs.

He steps away to let her go first. She doesn’t move.

“Should we talk about that?” Michelle asks, pointing at the doors, after what has to be a full minute of her studying him.

“I… work out? A lot. I work out a lot,” Peter says with more conviction on every try.

“And about this?” She grabs her recorder and waves it at him.

“You… use that to, uh, keep track of your ideas.”

She steps up to him and, without dropping her gaze from his face, reaches out to touch his wrist. Her fingers move from tracing his skin to ringing his web-shooter. He wears them to work pretty often, but always covers them with the cuffs of his shirt. Which he rolled up. Because he thought he was alone. There’s no reason for her to know what they’re for though, right? They could be medical alert bracelets, or just jewellery. It’s not like they’re branded with ‘Spider-Man’s Web-Shooter, 1 of 2.’

“You wanna talk about these?”

Peter opts out of replying.

“I know what they are,” she says. “What they’re for. I’ve researched you, looked at a lot of video footage and photographs, many of which I think you took, which seems equal parts fucked-up and brilliant. I noticed them right after we got stuck.”

“I have… a severe peanut butter allergy,” he says unconvincingly.

“Bummer,” Michelle shoots back, unsympathetic. Yeah, it was a terrible lie, but he’s gotta at least be able to say he tried to deny her accusations.

“It is, it is a bummer,” Peter agrees, nodding. He licks his dry lips to wet them. “Sometimes, I have such a craving for a PB and J and I can’t―”

She leans in and gives him a quick kiss.

“I’m… confused,” he admits.

“I know who you are,” she begins. “You don’t have to say it out loud, on the off chance somebody really has bugged this piece of shit elevator, but your severe peanut butter allergy bracelets, in combination with how you opened those doors, are pretty good evidence when compared with my research. So, if I take my supposition as fact―”

“Peanut butter…”

“Save it. If you are who I strongly believe you to be, then you were able to hear god knows what on that recording. Which I am an idiot for forgetting to erase or record over. Meant to do it last night… ugh, anyway. The important thing is that you heard it and you didn’t bolt through those doors the second you got them open. Why.”

When Michelle’s on a roll, he learns, her questions come out as demands. He quits trying to sneakily unfold his cuffs in a way-too-last-ditch attempt at concealing the truth.

“Ladies first?” he tries.

“I’m not going to use what I know. I promise you that. You’re a good person and as far as I’m concerned, your secret’s your secret. You do a hell of a lot more for this city than Jameson does with the trash he prints, my own contributions obviously excluded. Now I’m the only one held over a barrel here, Peter. You heard what you heard. Tell me why you stayed.”

“You needed me.”

“After you got the doors open.”

Peter thinks. Not just about whether or not to speak, but if he’s ready to say what he’s about to say.

“I needed you. It’s like what you said in the story―I mean, the recording. I don’t let many people get close to me.”

“Why would you let me be one of those people? It took being stuck together before we even had our first conversation.”

“A good feeling, I guess,” he explains. “Plus, you’re kinda my dream girl and I just found out that, at least on the physical side of things, you’re really into me. Like, really into me.”

“You can shut up about that now,” Michelle says.

“Why? You didn’t. You had so much to say.”

“Hmm, maybe I like Spi- I mean, that guy better when I’m speaking for him. Fortunately for you,” she says smugly, “I’ve thought Peter Parker the photographer was cute since the day I started working here.”

“That is news to me.”

Michelle wraps her arms around his neck, smirking as she leans her body against his.

“I was getting around to telling you. Are you surprised?”

“It’s a real scoop,” Peter acknowledges as his hands feel out the lithe shape of her back through her blouse.

“Oh my god, you heard that part? That part? How could―”

He more or less molds his mouth to hers. She more or less gives him a tour of her Brooklyn apartment before they spend the night in bed together and rise to a hot cup of coffee.

more clichéd tropes and prompts

[thetwoplayergays]

During quarantine, my dad and I have been taking long drives and visiting some of the nearby forest-y places, how do the RFA and MC spend their time together?

Speaking of, I hope everyone out there is having a safe quarantine, including you anon (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ ♥ I hope this satisfies what you had in mind! I had to write it twice cause I deleted the first draft...

RFA during quarantine

Yoosung 

His first instinct when he thinks about being stuck inside for the next few months isn’t how he’ll be spending it with you...

No, instead his first instinct is to turn on the computer

LOLOL ALL DAY EVERY DAY BABYYYY

Of course, with the increase in players and traffic to the site, the game appeared to be getting a lot more maintanance than it usually would, which annoyed the blonde boy.

“I’m meant to be doing a raid today MC! What am I doing to do now....”

“...Well for one you could do something with me?”

“Oh yeah!”

After finally tearing him away from his computer, the two of you decide to be productive during this time and learn a couple new skills!

First week: Cooking.

Of course, it would be easier to learn about such a thing if the supplies in the shops weren’t extremely limited, causing you both to have to make up substitutes as you went along.

You almost burnt the kitchen down twice in one week

You gave up with cooking after that

It wasn’t entirely a bad thing, you even got Yoosung to invest some of his time into your favourite games, which to your pleasant surprise he seemed to genuingly enjoy!

A few weeks in, he found an old guitar from high school in storage.

Worst. Discovery. Ever.

“Yoosung no...”

“YOOSUNG YES”

The next few days were filled with the sound of out-of-tune plucked strings overlapping the various youtube videos Yoosung was ‘learning’ from.

“Hey MC, I think I can finally play Hey There Delilah!”

“That’s wonderful honey...”

Zen

This man was SO EXCITED to spend lockdown with you and immediately started to plan all the wonderful things you two were going to do together.

The beast certainly had a few ideas as well

It was domestic bliss for you two

You couldn’t get your hands off of eachother for even a minute

You did everything together - eating, sleeping, showering etc.

The RFA commented on how suffocating it was, but neither of you seemed to mind.

It only solidified the knowledge that you two were destined to spend the rest of your life together.

A few times, Zen had caught himself almost calling you his wife, causing him to immediately hide his face away from you in fear of you commenting on his sudden blush.

There was a downside however. 

Zen’s routine was in shambles

Products were sold out left right and centre, food shopping was even worse, it was driving him crazy.

You found yourself having to remind him that a break in his rountine wasn’t going to be the end of the world and that you loved him regardless, even if he got a pimple or two.

Don’t even go there MC

You found yourselves cooking together more often too, showing Zen how to prepare more meals that were normally out of his diet range.

Of course, it wasn’t like he could resist your cooking anyway.

Whenever you two got a little too stir crazy, he would take you on motorbike rides through the city, more often than not resulting in you two at the top of a mountain stargazing.

It turned into a weekly tradition, one which you both promised to keep up even after quarantine.

Jaehee

You would think that the lockdown would give Jaehee the break she so desperately needed, right?

You would be wrong.

With the cafe closed, this girl threw herself into her work just for something to do

Much to your dismay.

It took a lot of persuading for her to get up from the computer and spend time with you during the initial first few weeks, but it was definitely worth it.

This girl was also extremely prepared to the lockdown before it was even announced.

Sanitiser? Got it, she had spare incase the cafe ran out

Masks? No problem. She had many still in storage from the days she would force herself into work even whilst sick

Again, much to your dismay

You suggested that instead of doing mindless work on her computer that she could help you with a different project you had in mind.

“A project? Whatever could we do in a time like this?”

Redesigning the cafe!

It was something the two of you had talked about many times before quarantine, but had never gotten round to going through with it.

You both took it upon yourself to fill your day with physical and mental labour, pushing around furniture, painting the walls, coming up with new bakes and sales to draw the customers in etc.

It was hard, but it was so worth it.

During the evenings, you two would bundle up together on your sofa and pick a set of movies to watch before bed.

One of you always fell asleep before the end- not that either of you would mind.

Jumin

Out of all of the RFA, he was definitely the closest to breaking the social distancing rule

The idea of not seeing you- touching you- for an unknown amount of time was driving him crazy.

Mr We-shouldn’t-move-in-together-until-marriage was certainly about to rip that view right out of his head just for the chance to kiss you again.

He distracted himself by constantly checking up on you.

“Do you need food? I can have one of the guards stop by a local shop to grab- what do you mean everything is sold out? Can’t they just order more?”

“Jumin no-”

You had to teach him about video calling so he would stop asking for selfies every ten minutes, disputing his claim about how he ‘was already missing your beauty’. 

It went about as well as you might imagine it would...

“Press the little video icon to turn on your camera- no the other one. It looks like a small- NO JUMIN THAT’S THE MUTE BUTTON.”

When you did eventually get it working, he was more than thrilled to be able to talk to you face to face again. He even looked up how to take screenshots on his computer so he could save them.

“You know MC, this platform has a lot of potential uses...”

Down boy its only been a week.

At first you thought just video calling him was enough to satisfy his need to see you, hoping he would stop complaining about ‘missing your touch’.

That was until Driver Kim showed up at your door.

“Mr Han has asked that you pack your bags ma’am. It seems he is rather fond of the idea that you spend this quarantine with him instead.”

Of course he does.

You are thankful though, you missed him more than you were willing to admit. 

Saeyoung

This boy spends his life indoors anyway, he barely registered the lockdown announcement when it finally came.

But when you brought up the idea of spending quarantine with him instead of in your own apartment, that’s when his interest finally peaked.

He picked you up in one of his babies, grinning from ear to ear as he helped you with your small bag of things. 

“Operation 707 and 606′s lockdown extravanganza - COMMENCE!”

To no one’s surprise, he had hacked into the shopping network the moment he knew basic supplies would become sparse and ordered everything you both would need to come straight to his doorstep.

Which in his eyes meant a dozen boxes of Dr Pepper and Honey Buddha Chips. 

“Saeyoung.....”

He would often complain to you about being an ‘essential worker’ because he was still hacking even in the lockdown, but you quickly shot him down.

“MC! You’re so mean! I’m doing this for you! Reward me!!”

The only reward he got was a pillow to the face

When he wasn’t working, the two of you spent your time playing games and watching movies mostly, with the occasional prank call to Yoosung sprung in if you were extra bored.

As much as he joked around about it, Seven was genuinely thankful that you chose to spend such a delicate time with him instead of alone, and made sure to remind you of it at least once a week.

Sometimes he’d go out of his way to cook you your favourite meal, sometimes he’d run a special bubble bath and light some scented candles for a relaxing night, sometimes there were other things too-

But he was genuinely happy to spend every day with you like this, it reminded him of how lucky he was to have you in his life.

Jihyun

Jihyun was concerned at first about the lockdown and his career as a photographer.

Where was he going to go now? Where would he find his inspiration?

His questions were thankfully answered when you walked through the door.

The two of you started a small project amongst yourselves to try and spread some positivity in the community involving V’s photographs.

You’d find inspiration around the house you shared and create these elaborate photoshoots between the two of you that you would share online, encouraging those at home to do the same.

It actually became rather popular, so the two of you continued it.

Your personal favourite entries were the photographs from Jumin as he tried to capture Elizabeth in all her glory but failed miserably.

It was the effort that counted though

When you weren’t taking photos, Jihyun was constantly entertaining you with various activities and puzzles, leading to your weekly board game tradition which was one that you very much enjoyed.

Living in the countryside, you were lucky enough to be able to spend your exercise out in the wilderness with your boyfriend, mindlessly cloud gazing and discussing what the future could possibly have in store for the both of you.

You made sure to spend this time making Jihyun feel as loved as possible too, showering him with little gestures of gratitude for his efforts in keeping you sane during this scary time, which only made him fall in love with you more.

Saeran

Stuck.... inside...?

For months???

OH HELL NO-

Saeran was not about that lockdown life, and immediately went into a grump only you were able to drag him out of.

“Saeran it won’t be so bad! I’m sure it’ll go by in a flash!”

“....You’ll stay with me for it?”

“Of course.”

The two of you slowly get into a comfortable rhythm with eachother, with the you both making sure to give each other space if the other felt suffocated or emotionally drained at any point.

You find yourselves searching around the house for anything you could possibly use to entertain yourselves, eventually stumbling upon a pile of old jigsaw puzzles you had forgotten about.

And thus a tradition was born

Both you and Saeran discovered your love of jigsaws during the quarantine, finding them to be both mentally stimulating and emotionally relaxing at the same time.

Plus, the satisfaction of finishing one you had been working on for the last few hours was extremely satisfying to say the least and quickly became one of your favourite activities to do with Saeran.

You ended up asking Seven if he could do you a favour halfway through the lockdown when your boyfriend had had a particularly hard day, and low and behold, a whole box of ice cream appeared at your doorstep a week later.

“...MC how did this get here?”

“Must have been a miracle darling. Now, how about a movie night, hm?”

[ubemango]

commission 5: otiyr!hoseok

note: for anon who was so kind to help me back in November! I am so sorry this took so long to get out v_v;;; ........... I hope you enjoy ;_;!!!!!

note 2: U kno when person A be like *super tough on the outside AND has no Knowledge of baring themselves to someone AT ALL AND!!!!!! IS SOFT TO ONLY ONE PERSON BECAUSE THEY THINK THEY CAN BARE THEMSELVES TO THEM* and then person B be like *I am the only person they can bare themselves to so I try really hard to get them to come out of their shell ONLY IF THEY WANT TO this is a healthy relationship I like to poke at them sometimes, it’s fine*? Yea this is that but make it more pine-y. Best friends to lovers? It’s more likely than you think!

Coach Park blew the whistle. Obviously this meant that practice had finished, but Hoseok was convinced it’s what called upon the bad omen.

The hockey team’s time at the rink ended right at 3pm. This gave Hoseok exactly ten minutes to shower, three minutes to fend off a nagging Yoongi for practice again the next day, and twenty seconds to realize he had one minute to reject Soojin if he wanted to make it to class on time.

He had no idea how long she’d been there. She sat like a flower, right at the edge of the bleachers, cardigan wrought so tight around her shoulders as if to fend off the tundras. He wondered if she was waiting for Jeongyeon—the figure skaters got the rink for the next three hours now—and that is when he made the fateful mistake of catching Soojin’s eye right when he was about to slip through the exit.

“H-Hoseok!”

First, the freeze-up. Hoseok adjusted his gym bag for the sake of fidgeting; he didn’t even get the chance to pretend he didn’t see her, creep away unnoticed. She’s fast, anyhow, hopping over the bench and standing shy in front of him just as he’s turned around.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Hoseok nodded, only slightly pained. “Needed something?”

Behind her, Hoseok watched Jeongguk coming up, wiggling his eyebrows at him right as he passed by and out the door. Flaunting that exit like it was meant to encourage him to stay just a little longer. Hoseok felt threatened. Soojin took no notice.

“Yeah… it’s—well. How are you?”

“Fine.”

(Soojin most likely had no idea he had class at 3:15.)

“Oh! That’s… good. Well—I don’t want to keep you for long, and I-I know… i-it’s kind of sudden, but. We’ve been talking for a while now and I just—wanted to ask if you wanted to—just—hang out, someday. Like go out, or whatever.”

Ah, Hoseok thought sadly, I’m going to die, right here.

The first response he considered was to refute her claim that they’d been talking for a while—Soojin had offered help with chemistry homework when Jimin wasn’t available for tutoring anymore. He wasn’t aware that discussing the halogenations of alkanes over text qualified as the talking stage. That made him feel weirdly old.

Something else he considered: she was very pretty. He could admit to that. Soojin had eyes like raindrops, small ears with moon-shaped studs. An easy gait except for when she was nervous—and she looked very, very nervous.

Soojin was a nice person. Soojin deserved a nice answer.

“I don’t want to,” he said, which was not a nice answer.

He realized this the second Soojin’s gaze dropped to the floor. It reminded Hoseok of those sparkly cartoon girls, the teardrops that teased, never fell. She wouldn’t cry. No one ever cried for him like that.

“Ah—sure, that’s… fine.”

Hoseok never prided himself for being curt. He was just consistent at saying the wrong things, he remembered you saying, and he had lecture starting in less than a minute. Combine all these together, mix in the inability to read a situation properly, and you got the everlasting unease of being Utterly and Ridiculously Fucked. He felt very pained now.

Hoseok watched Soojin fidget again, shifting her stance. Contemplating that exit Hoseok just wanted to go through.

He was supposed to say something now.

“You can delete my number, if you want. I don’t mind. You don’t need it anymore, right? Since we already handed in that assignment.”

She was quiet. Slowly, Hoseok watched her face transform into what he could only guess was unabated anger. Her nose scrunched.

Then she slapped him.

Hoseok, holding his cheek (which did not ache at all, Soojin wasn’t strong like that), watched her stomp out, shoving the doors open with an animosity he didn’t think she had.

He was most definitely going to be late for class.

.

.

.

The astrophysics study commons is a quaint, aggressive space. There’s posters of Saturn and chalkboard lining the walls with confusing equations scribbled in white and at least five people arguing about velocity in the corner farthest away. This is where people find answers and actually make sense of situations. Hoseok  discusses his tragedy here for this exact purpose.

You sit back in your chair, playing with your slide rule. “She text you after?”

“Nope.”

“Did you want me to give my opinion?”

“Sure.”

You slap him.

“What—!” Now Hoseok has had plenty of time to dwell on his follies last night. But a second time? He wonders if he actually deserves good things in his life. He rubs at the poor spot on his cheek. “You didn’t need to resort to violence!”

“You’re so stupid!”

It’s not unlike you to tell it as it is. He’s known you for seventeen years now, the nicest thing you’ve ever said to him was back in fourth grade when you’d called him a good co-parent of your pet caterpillar. “Damn.”

“I mean you’ve always been bad with these things but I didn’t think you’d do something like that.”

“Like what?”

“Be a complete asshole,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t think it was that bad—“

“You told her to delete your number!”

So it was a bad move. He recognizes this. “It’s not like I don’t feel bad.”

The silence lingers as you catch your breath, watch him pensively. Something about the speed of light is being discussed in the background. He feels weirdly exposed.

“I want to try something,” you say finally.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow at you. “What.”

You stare at him blankly. For a second he thinks you’re going to slap him a second time, but instead comes—

“Hoseok, I really like you.”

The coldest, startling feeling runs up his spine. He reflexively says, “That’s disgusting,” and comes to the conclusion that the universe hates him.

“See! You can’t just say that!” You squawk.

“Why not?!”

“What if I had secret feelings for you that had been festering for years and you broke my heart?!”

“Do you?” Hoseok says, slightly alarmed.

“Wha—would you be mad if I did?”

“I would be mad if you did.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying. You’re so mean about feelings.” He watches you focus on the chalkboard behind his ear. He briefly remembers drawing a loopy spaceship on it. “Look. I’m gonna pretend to be a girl confessing to you, and I want you to be more—sentimental. Okay?”

This is the weirdest thing about you. For someone so annoyingly logical about science, you still somehow kept in touch with romance. The dewy-eyed. Everything Hoseok didn’t know. He remembers junior year and the slow dance with Yubok, and how he accidentally fumbled his knuckles against her back—too low, she’d whispered harshly—and how you’d come back from hiding behind one of those big planters near the entrance, looking sparkly and gentle, mussed up, and somehow he knew you were having the best night of your life, and he’d just accidentally ruined his. He remembers that he has never been cut out for this.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok sneers, thinking about how the universe loved you.

“Too bad,” you say. “I’m gonna start. Hoseok?”

He might get smacked a third time if he doesn’t comply, so he replies, “Yeah?”

You feign shyness. Casting your eyes down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I-I… Well, I just wanted to… tell you something.”

“Sure,” he says.

Your timidness slips into anger in a blink. “I said be sentimental!”

“What—did you want to tell me?” He tries again, shrinking.

“I think—Well, I think you’re really cute—and—“ you cross your arms, and he so badly wants to yell at you to stop— “and… I was wondering. If. You wanted to grab coffee sometime?”

His answer rolls down his tongue too fast for him to catch. “No,” he says flatly, and instantly he flinches to block your slap against his arm.

“Hoseok!”

“I can’t take this seriously.”

“But I want you to be in tune with your feelings,” you whine.

“I’m plenty in tune with my feelings,” he argues. “And I’m feeling invaded right now.”

“There’s a good two feet between us right now.”

“You’re breathing in my direction, it’s enough.”

You ignore this, and reach for his hand lain flat on the table. “How does this feel?”

Surprisingly, the first word that comes to his mind is safe. But that is not a safe response. “Feels—like you’re holding my hand?”

“Ugh. Just—look into my eyes,” you urge next.

“Okay.”

They don’t curve into softness like Soojin’s does. Your gaze is hard, strikes him so hard it’s almost mortifying. Then your hand squeezes his. He discovers that he likes it.

“I really like you, Hoseok,” you say, oozing sweetness in your voice. Subdued, something you were not. Hoseok wants to throw up. “So please just consider me, okay?”

He nods, speechless.

You revert right back to your previous stance and let go of his hand. It’s almost like a betrayal. Hoseok wonders why his heart is leaping. “So how was that?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” he spits.

“I’m helping you. Look. Let’s make it a thing! I’ll teach you how to be romantic and all that stuff.”

“I’m not trusting the expert of Tiger Beat romance, thank you very much.”

You ignore his quip. “You’re a good guy, Hoseok. Soojin might’ve come on a little too strong and so did you but—really! You’re a good guy! Who deserves love and stuff because it’s just nice to have!”

Hoseok sighs. It’s not that he hated the idea of being in love, he just couldn’t help but be unavailable. Pre-occupied. He said things he didn’t mean. You know this about it him.

“Fine.” And before you can cheer, he adds, “But don’t… tell anyone about this.”

“But the big scary hockey man getting slapped by the tiniest person on campus story is so—“

“Don’t push it,” he says.

“Whatever.” You snort. “Yes, fine, it stays between us. Yay! Okay. Tomorrow I have a study group so we might need to meet up two days from now, let me check my schedule…”

You grab your planner from your bag, scanning the pages. Hoseok has the vaguest feeling that he’s in trouble.

[franeridart]

Anon said: How are those doodles?? Your "doodles" are a million times better than any of my finished drawings (i love them btw they are so f*cking cute!!!!)

AHHHH THANK YOU!!!! They really are doodles though haha 

Anon said: What are your OCs' names?? They are so cool I'm in love with them ♡♡

If you’re talking about the four in the latest original art post I made, then they’re Chris (with the undercut), Josh (with the long hair), Max (with the scarf) and Leo (with the eyepatch)!! I’m so so happy you like them, they’re old enough to be part of me by now so seeing them liked is always such a warm feeling!!

Anon said: Do you take prompts/suggestions? Sorry I don’t know your policy but would you consider drawing Bokuro ft jealous!Bo? I’ve always headcanoned that Kuroo is really popular with both boys and girls because of his confidence and effortless charm; whether he’s oblivious to this attention despite his intelligence or aware of it yet ignoring it is anyone’s guess~ I always look forward to your art and recently got into Haikyuu!! And damn, I do ship Kuroken too but you have me addicted to Bokuro now *_* ||  Aah finally got the FAQ open (blame mobile tumblr for being a bitch), and yup my last ask is def a suggestion and I hope you’ll consider using it~ Somewhat unrelated, do you regularly add stuff to your red bubble? I love your Kiribaku art but I’m a huge fan of Momo (&Todomomo) and Kuroo (&Bokuro), is there any chance you have something in the works with them up for sale soon? Thanks

GOSH thank you so much for liking my old hq stuff enough to ask for more!! I’m not sure if I’ll get back to drawing bokuro soon, honestly? So I can’t promise that if I’ll go through with the suggestion it’ll be soon, but I’ll definitely keep it in mind for when the mood strikes!! And about the shop, I add to it whenever I feel there’s enough stuff piled up to? Though I plan to start adding more often than that from now on - I don’t really have anything for momo and kuroo to add on rb that isn’t already there, but as soon as I’ll have more of either of them I’ll remember to put them up! Thank you so so much for the interest in buying from me!!

Anon said: Ok but that Kirishima art was absolutely amazing

THANK YOU!!!!! 

Anon said: Hi! First I really really love your art and I make this little muffed scream every time I see your stuff pop up on me feed. You’re amazing!! Second, can I ask how you do shadows? I can never make them look right or lay across my character correctly. Yours always look so amazing

Thank you!!!!!! I actually used to have that same problem with shadows? However much I kept track of where the lightsource was and the shapes I was working with it always looked wrong, somehow - the way I fixed it was by adding more shadows, actually. If you’ll pick any of my colored pieces you’ll see I don’t really put down lights all that often, which means the base color ends up being my light color too, and everything else is just shadows getting darker the further I go from where the light hits the object I’m shading - generally, I use a soft tool like a brush or a marker to very roughly put down where I want the shadows to go, and then using the same tool I smudge and darken it till it looks right to me. I can’t really explain it any better than this? But I have a small tutorial for how I do this in my art tips tag, if you wanna give it a look!

Anon said: I come back to look at your art almost every day, especially when I’m feeling down; so I’d just like to thank you for posting your beautiful art for all of us to experience. On behalf of all of your followers, Thank you! :,)))

Anon you’re gonna make me cryyyyy!!!!!! ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; thank you so so much, both for this ask and for liking my stuff to begin with! <3

Anon said: Your anatomy is so so so so good! And don’t even get me started on your colours! Perfection

GOSH I still have a long long way to go, but thank you so much for thinking so!!! It makes all the effort feel worth it! ( TT^TT)<3

Anon said: I love everything about ur art! from the sketches to the full colored pieces, it's the highlight of my week whenever you post! I was actually wondering where you get the ideas for clothes! I always see the variety and was wondering if you came up with them or are they from somewhere ^v^ keep up the amazing work!!

It’s a mixture of both, actually! I like to look at clothing, both irl (on people I see, or stuff in the shops I visit, or even pics and movies and tv shows!) and drawn too - in anime and illustrations and manga and cartoons! I look at them and try to remember how they’re made, and then when I draw I think about it all and come up with my own by mixing stuff I liked from all those things - unless I see a piece of clothing that’d work just right as it is on a character, in which case I just draw it either as best as I can from memory or, if I have it, using a ref! It’s one of the things I find the most fun when drawing, I’m glad to hear you like what I come up with!! Thank you so much!!!

Anon said: Thoughts on KiriTodo? Because I. Am. Hooked.

I like it!! I don’t actively ship it, since my only actual ship for Kirishima is kiribaku, but I like the look of him with todo, aesthetically, and their friendship is highly entertaining to me, which means their potential relationship in a romantic setting is too - and, as we’ve seen with my very random dip into the non-existent kirijiro fandom, that’s more than enough for me to decide maybe I’ll wanna go and draw for them, one of these days haha

Anon said: Haven't seen KiriSero or KamiSero Fusions yet! Got some ideas for those? (Filling out the Bakusquad pentagon XD)

I really never got around to drawing those, did I! That’s actually surprising, hadn’t you pointed that out I’d have never realized - I’m not doing fusions anymore right now, but maybe I could make an exception for these two............ if the inspiration strikes, why not!

Anon said: Did you see the newer bnha episodes?! Miritama made it feel like a shoujo... (In a good way)

THIS IS SO OLD OH GOD sorry I didn’t get around to answering this sooner!!! The miritama relationship is really wonderful, isn’t it? They make me cry so much, soft warm boys, so in love............. TT’’’TT <3<3<3

Anon said: This whole year has been a trainwreck for me and your blog was one of the few things that stayed constant, so thank you for being my favorite spot on the internet. Hope you keep drawing and I love your art so much!

AH, THANK YOU! I really really hope I’ll keep on drawing too!!! I’ll do my best 💪💪

Anon said: Some days I’ll just sit in bed at 2 am and be like “I need a hug” and then I read ur blog and it’s like a safe mental hug. So thanks for that.

That’s!!!!!!!!!! so sweet oh my god!!!!!!!!! ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; I’m so glad my stuff can make you feel warm like that, anon!! <3<3

Anon said: So it says you don't do requests in your faq does that include commissions as well

Not right now!! Maybe sometime at the beginning of next month, ✨Stay Tuned✨

Anon said: Hellooo hope you are having a good day. It's always so fun to scroll through your blogs and enjoy your art 💕💕 Idk if it's a little weird to ask but I also love your old aokaga art and I was wondering if you had any interest left in that fandom or would ever consider drawing for it again? xx

Gods, I really don’t know? It’s been so long since I’ve last engaged with anything related to knb........ I still do love the ship though, so, maybe? I really have no clue, I might though!! Thank you so much for liking even such old things from me!!!!

[tsukaramachi]

Lovesick Valentine (Amir x Reader)

(The lovesick valentine for this year is Amir requested by an anon)

Gentle waves brush up against your ankles as the water climbs up onto the shore. With your hands behind you back, you admire the view of the open ocean. The clear blue skies up above you with the vast ocean beckoning you with its tranquil surface. The sand is soft underneath you and the sun’s rays caress your skin like a thin blanket. 

You always loved the ocean since you were little. Many find it enticing with the many mysteries and wonders kept down below and others fear it for how it can change any moment. But for you, it’s just always on your mind like nothing else. 

It’s charming and beautiful, yet alluring and vicious. Which is why you love it so much.

You feel arms slowly snake around your neck as you’re pulled into someone’s embrace. Looking up, blue gentle eyes look back lovingly at you. Amir’s fingers tenderly brush against your cheek.

“I see that the ocean is taking your attention away from me once again, my dear.”

“Ah sorry Amir...” you look back towards the sparking blue water, “It’s just that I’m always drawn back to it.”

While you stare at the water with your mind up in the clouds wondering what could lie in the ocean. You fail to notice the forced smile Amir kept on as he looked at the sea with you.

After spending some more time watching the water drift. Amir proposed for the two of you to go to into town. While the thought of leaving the beach pained you. The opportunity to go and see the various shops along the docks is a rare occasion for you. 

You didn’t like going into town. The busy crowds and, the exuberant shopkeepers, and the overwhelming amount of people in a big area made you feel sick. Before, you didn’t have anyone to go shopping with. You had no one to wait for. No one to browse with and no one to keep you company. But that was before you learned more about the ocean.

Now that you’re older, it’s been quite a long time since you went into town. You never needed to before for how your family would have others run errands in town and so you mostly stayed in your room or be escorted to the beach by Amir. But maybe, you’ll have fun like the others now that you have him by your side.

As you walk along the docks, you cling close to Amir. The various voices filling the air is a bit too much for you. It makes your stomach churn more when the voices of others reach your ears. You’re not used to crowds and loud sounds, so it makes you feel dizzy. You close your eyes and hide your face into Amir’s white sleeve.

You can hear him chuckle, but it’s quickly muffled. Opening your eyes again, the voices aren’t as overwhelming and they’ve become more manageable. A small smile graces your lips as you continue to walk forward with Amir as his hands stay cupped over your ears. It’s much better this way. 

As you continue to look around, out of the corner of your peripheral vision. Dazzling blue, green, and white catches your attention. On the planks of white wood, you can see the colors projected on its surface. Looking up, you can see differing sizes of bottles hung up with rope along the opening of a small shop. 

Inside, you can see that there’s various treasures within. The wooden carvings of dolphins; turtles; whales along with crates full of assorted colors of seashells draws you in. You head towards the shop and Amir follows you closely behind. 

As you take a step in, you feel the pressure on your ears release. The sounds around you becoming more clear, you feel relief wash over you as the sounds from outside are subdued. 

“It seems that no one fancies this place.” Amir steps next to your side, a pleasant smile up on his lips.

You nod, “But I do.” taking a look around the shop, you explore the items littered across the shelves up on the wall. A ship in a bottle, a painting of a might kraken emerging from a sea of storms, and dried up chunks of coral. Inspecting each one, the smile on your face spreads as you can’t help but feel like your back at the beach. But as you continue to explore the store’s goods, a cheery voice breaks through to you.

“Find anything interesting?”

A young man greets you. Black hair, tan skin, and ocean blue eyes catch you off guard as his face is centimeters away from yours. Startled, you take a step back. 

“I uhm...” it’s a struggle to figure out what to say. You start to feel nauseous in the pit of your stomach as your palms begin to sweat. But the fear holding you ceases as the young man calls your attention to a clam shaped box in his hand.

“Ah I’m sorry miss... here, please take a look at this!” he winds up a golden knob in the back of it. With care, he opens it up to reveal a small sun and moon. The two gracefully twirl around another in the center to the sweet tune that emits from the box. Behind them, a picture of the ocean’s wonders. Black silhouettes of fish flow around colorful coral as white jellyfish are scattered about. It’s painted so delicately and the details are distinct despite being so small. 

“This music box is one of my favorite items from the shop. I’ve never seen anyone so immersed in the shop before so I thought you might like it!” the man says cheerfully as he hands you the music box. The music still playing, you feel yourself drawn to the box.

But before you can touch it, the top is shut making the music abruptly stop. You snap out of the trance you were in and see that Amir has his hand on the top. 

The young man looks confused “Excuse me sir but-” 

With closed eyes and a small smile, Amir cuts him off.

“I’m sorry but it looks like it’s time for us to leave. My lady has had quite enough troubles to deal with today.”

You feel yourself be pulled back by Amir’s arm and his hand rests firmly on your shoulder. He bids the man a good day and ushers you out to the front door. When you look back, you can’t take your eyes off of the music box in the man’s hands.

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

It’s been a couple days since your trip into town. After leaving, Amir has had you kept in your room. But you don’t mind for the big window facing towards your beloved ocean is always open. 

A few knocks come from your door and Amir walks in. With a hand behind his back, he walks over to you and sits next to you on the soft sheets. As your occupied staring out the window, he pulls you into an embrace. 

“You know my dear, it’s Valentine’s day and I’ve gotten a surprise for you.” he pulls back and hands you a sky blue box encased by a white ribbon topped with a white bow, “To show my love to you.” 

You take the silk ribbons off and open the top of the box. Your eyes shine as you take out the clam shaped music box you saw from the man before. Brushing your hand over it, the smooth texture soothes you. Turning it around, you wind up the knob in the back and face the music box towards you. 

The top opens and the same small sun and moon begin to twirl, but a horrible twisted tune creeps out from the box. Your brows furrow as the music grows louder. It sounds ominous and the lullaby like tune is replaced by a rotting melody. The sun and moon begin to slow down and stop in place, but the haunting music continues to play. 

You feel uncomfortable by the music box. The sick feeling from before arouses in you and you cover your ears. It feels hard to breathe and your head feels dizzy. But before it can utter out another sickly note. Amir closes the box and tosses it onto the floor. With a swift graceful stomp, he brakes the box and the music stops.

The sick feeling is still present within you. It’s hard to think and you don’t like the strange feeling in your chest. 

As you continue to hold your hands over your ears. Amir briskly walks over to the window and closes the curtains. Your once bright room is now dimmed from the lack of sunlight. With a small shut of the window, Amir goes over to you and wraps his arms around you. Gently rocking you back and forth, he continues it for the next ten minutes as he hums a small lullaby of his own to you.

It’s the same tune he always hums to you when you feel ill and it never fails to calm you. After you feel better, you free your ears and listen to what he has to say.

“Oh I’m so sorry my dear. I knew that small shop we visited enchanted you. So I went back and bought you that music box from the young man. Ah, but it seems like it’s gone bad hasn’t it? How silly of me to buy such a wretched thing.” Amir says as he pets your hair softly.

“Forgive me my dear. If I had known that it would croak out such an ugly tune, I would’ve gotten you a better present...”

A frown hangs on Amir’s lips as he lays his head on top of yours. No longer feeling sick, you now feel troubled by his sad expression. You don’t wish for your dear playmate to feel sad because of something so small. Nuzzling your face into his chest, you hug him back and hum him the tune he had sung to you earlier. Rocking back and forth like the oceans waves, you try to comfort him the only way you know how. 

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

“How adorable you are my dear...” brushing his fingers against your cheek, Amir cradles you in his arms. You had fallen asleep while you comforted him and seeing you rest peacefully in his arms is the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“I wonder what you’re dreaming about my love...” he looks up at the white canopy with a smirk across his face, “I do hope it’s me. The thought of something else invading your mind is quite annoying, but I’ll keep those thoughts at bay for you.” 

Looking down at you, he smiles as he thinks about how you’re his alone.

“Oh my dear sweet love. I’m sorry I have to expose you once again to those unpleasant bottom feeders.” He chuckles out a low sickly laugh, but it doesn’t wake you.

“Ah I love you so much (Y/N). You know, I’ve always been jealous of your adoration for the ocean. You find anything about it fascinating just as much as how I find you intoxicating. I can never get enough of your pleasant scent. I’m drawn to your form where ever you go... but I hate how you look at the ocean as if you’re in love.”

He grits his teeth.

“You always gaze at it so longingly...yet I’m right here. Don’t you know I was made for you? I exist only for you but the ocean seems to always clog your thoughts.” 

Holding you tight, his form begins to tremble.

“Why must something so endless cloud your mind? I’m unable to get rid of it like I did with the others. But maybe that’s the charm I see in you. As you fall more in love with the ocean’s mystique. It makes me want to make you mine even more. My body, mind, and soul are all for you yet you choose not to explore them.”

He sighs as he stares down at you.

“I try so hard to make sure that you only enjoy the things I know that are suitable for you. I can’t have you being drawn to others and it helps that you’re slowly getting used to it. Ahaha~ you can’t help but rely on me when those ugly feelings begin to creep in, but I love it so much. I just can’t get enough of you and knowing that you need me more just makes my patchwork heart overflow.”

Leaning down, he inhales you scent.

“One day, one day (Y/N)...I’ll make you sink down into something more wonderful than the ocean’s depths. I want you to drown in this love that I harbor for you. So that you can never escape and no matter what happens, you won’t reach the surface. It excites me to think that one day this will happen and when it does...”

He leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead.

“We’ll be trapped together and forever. Soon my love, you’ll be bound by the red strings that draw me back to you~”

[robinskey]

In My Mind (Steve x Hopper! Reader)

Request: Steve Harrington x hopper!reader where the reader has mind reading powers?

A/N: I was trying to find a way to connect the reader to the MKUltra experiments (like maybe her mom was an unknowingly pregnant test subject, like Terry Ives), but the timelines didn’t add up. So the reader is the daughter of Hopper and his ex-wife and older sister of the late Sara Hopper. I like the way it turned out, so hopefully you do, too! Thanks for requesting, anon. :)

Any text in italics are the thoughts of others.

Warnings: Some language (it’s all Stevie Babey’s fault, though, so you can’t be too mad about it)

“Are you excited for your first day of high school?”

The words are spoken by your father, who’s driving with the wheel in one hand a cigarette in the other. A thin haze of smoke clouds both the air and your esophagus. Usually, you’d chide him for his unhealthy vice. This time, however, you let it slide; he needed the nicotine to calm his nerves.

When your dad initially offered to drop you off on the first day of the new semester, you resisted. After all, you had your own car, and, considering you’d been able to navigate the big city for most of your life without incident, you were pretty sure you could find your way to Hawkins High. (Besides, as you’d told your father, “the new kid already starts at the bottom of the food chain, even without her daddy dropping her off.”) 

If you were any other moody teenager, you probably would have insisted on driving yourself. In fact, that’s what you were about to do when you felt an overwhelming wave of guilt and disappointment wash over you. The emotions weren’t your own; they belonged to your father. Yet, the feeling was strong enough for you to sense without even trying. Dad plastered a fake smile on his face, but his disheartened thoughts bounced around your head. 

God, you idiot, she’s a senior in high school. Of course she doesn’t want her old man around when she’s trying to make new friends. You’ve already missed your opportunity to be there for all her “firsts”.

“Actually, you know what? It might be nice to have a chauffeur,” you said. 

You’ll never forget how wide he beamed.

Thus, when he refers to the start of your eighth semester of high school as your “first day,” you happily play along.

“I’m excited for a fresh start,” you say, watching as the car passes by a frost-covered field. Despite the bitter cold, the sun shines down on the earth. Bright white patches of snow glitter in the light.

“Me, too, kid.”

Your father’s uncharacteristically quiet tone draws your attention to him. He stares back at you with glimmering irises. You don’t need to tap into this mind to know exactly what he’s thinking-or, more precisely, what he’s thinking about.

***

Once upon a time, you had been relatively close with your father. Your mother worked long hours at the office, trying to climb the corporate ladder, so you saw him a lot more often than you did her. He helped you and Sara with your homework and coached your softball team; the two of you were certified daddy’s girls.

Then, tragedy struck: Your sweet little sister was diagnosed with cancer. Despite their best efforts, the doctors couldn’t save her. Sara’s death wounded your mother deeply, but it destroyed your father. The deep depression into which he fell led to the dissolution of their marriage. 

Because your father was barely in a state of mind to take care of himself, let alone another human being, your mother received full custody in the divorce. You stayed in New York with your mother, and your father moved back to his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana. His decision to leave felt like abandonment when you needed him most.

The two of you spent five years without seeing each other in person. You rarely even spoke over the phone, unless he drunkenly dialed you or you called him-which, after he repeatedly answered with slurred speech, you eventually stopped doing. He missed holidays and birthdays, only occasionally sending a card in the mail, which often arrived several months late, and never invited you to visit.

All that changed in the fall of 1984, when your father invited you “home” for Thanksgiving break. He even offered to pay for your flight to Indiana. Hoping to mend your relationship, you agreed, headed to the airport after school, and arrived in Indiana that same day. Your father was waiting for you at the gate with a cheesy grin and a container of your favorite candy. After a tight embrace and a waterfall of shared tears, you spent the next few days catching up on five years of lost time. He introduced you to El, showed you around Hawkins, and took you to all his favorite places to get a bite to eat. You quickly understood why your dad had wanted to return to this little town; at the end of the trip, you didn’t want to leave it. 

“I want to move here,” you told your father on your last night in Hawkins.

“You can always stay with me.”

He didn’t realize you were seriously you took that offer until you called him a few weeks later.

“You actually want to come live with me?” he asked, shock evident in his tone.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Don’t you want to wait until graduation?”

It sounded like your father didn’t want you to move. But, as Dad later told you, he wanted you to come to Hawkins more than anything. He just wanted to make sure you were thinking things through-that this was actually what you wanted, not what you thought you should do. 

“I’ll stay here until the end of the semester,” you said, “but I don’t want to miss out on another six months of time I could spend with you. I can finish my senior year in Indiana.”

“If that’s what you want.”

It was what you wanted. 

***

At least, it’s what you thought you wanted. The way your stomach twists into a pretzel shape as you pull up to the school makes you doubt your conviction. You ramble about your fears of being accepted as you gather your belongings.

That’s when a firm hand lands on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re going to kill it today, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad.” You press a quick kiss to his cheek, then hop out of the car. 

“And remember,” he says with a pointed finger, “if anyone treats you poorly, take note of their name. They may need to receive a visit from the Hawkins Chief of Police sometime down the road.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smirk tugs at your lips. 

“Bye, Sheriff!” you call over your shoulder.

As you walk into the school, you swear you can feel a hundred sets of eyes boring into your soul. Anyone else would have been be able to dismiss it as their own paranoia. However, you could hear the thoughts of your peers even louder than their whispers.

Who is that?

Was that the Sheriff’s car?

Where did she come from?

The rapid-fire unspoken questions continue for the rest of the day. When the bell rings for lunch, you start to panic. If there’s one thing more terrifying than starting in a new school where you know no one, it’s walking into a high school cafeteria when you have no one to sit with. 

Thankfully, a curly-haired girl from your homeroom spots you in the hallway. She invites you to her table with a friendly grin that makes you feel instantly at ease. You chat as you make your way through the lunch line. 

After you get your trays, Nancy leads you to a corner of the cafeteria where two guys are already sitting across from each other, making casual conversation. The one facing you has pale skin and terrible posture. He greets Nancy warmly and smiles at you politely. After his initial reaction of who the hell is this, his thoughts turn more positive: Another girl for Nancy to befriend. That could be good for her.

“Y/N, this is my boyfriend, Jonathan,” Nancy says, taking a seat next to him.

That’s when the second boy finally turns around.

Big, brown eyes lock onto yours. They’re framed by thick, dark lashes. Other than a few freckles, his rosy complexion is blemish-free. And that hair-his mane is composed of fluffy brunette curls that simply defy gravity. 

You’re really glad he can’t read your mind because you can’t stop thinking about how you’ve never seen a human so...pretty. 

Luckily for you, he’s thinking the same thing. 

Damn, she’s gorgeous. Why have I never seen her before? Oh, shit-I’m staring. Come on, Steve get it together. It’s just a girl, and you’re-you’re King Steve Harrington. 

“King Steve Harrington”? Does this guy really call himself that? You chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. Steve licks his cotton-candy pink lips nervously.

God, how is she that beautiful?

“I’m Steve,” he says. “Steve Harrington.” 

“I know,” you blurt out. 

Steve tilts his head at a slight angle, confused as an untrained dog being told to sit.

“I, uh-I know your name’s Steve,” you say, which is true. “Nancy told me.”

Did I?

Before Nancy can ask her question out loud, you gesture to the empty spot next to Steve.

“Can I sit?” 

Steve nods, scooting over a bit to make room. Your arm brushes his as you slide onto the bench. Your skin burns, and you’re not sure if it’s due to your own flustered attitude or the heat radiating from Steve. There’s half a beat of silence; even the internal dialogue dies down for a moment. Then, Nancy and Jonathan launch into a discussion about the fourth-period pop quiz. You quickly tune out of their conversation and into the thoughts of the boy next to you.

How long do you have to know a girl before you ask her out?

While no bullies will be receiving a visit from your father, you have a sinking feeling that the sheriff will be having words with a particular student at Hawkins High in the near future.

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[themadlostgirl]

On The Precipice

*A protective boi*

Prompt: Y/N gets trapped on a ledge and while she flies to freedom Peter falls for her.

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

---

I was between a rock and a hard place it seems. Literally. I was wedged between a boulder and a tree hiding from the Lost Boys. This is my life. Running from wild boys and wondering how in world I ended up in this situation.

When I was taken to Neverland I thought that I was doing a good thing. I was keeping my little brother from being taken away from his family. Not mine. The only reason I was there was because he refused to leave the orphanage without me. The parents had money and I was close to being able to be on my own so they took me too. They were kind. Loved my brother. Liked me. Treated us well.

Then the shadow came. It reached for my brother. I chased it off with a candle but it came the next night too. I was able to deter it again but I only seemed to make it angry. I knew it would come again and so I hid my brother in the closet and let it take me instead.

Now here I was. Trapped on an island and used as new toy for these boys to play with. It was like a hellish version of hide and seek every day. So far I had been able to elude them. I didn’t want to know what happened if they ever caught me.

“How did you fit in there?” My heart jumped into my throat at the sudden voice. Up above me was Peter Pan. It didn’t matter where I hid he always managed to find me.

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed at him in a whisper.

“They passed you a long time ago. You can come out now.” he said.

While I was still skeptical about the leader of the Lost Boys and self-proclaimed ruler of Neverland I knew that he wasn’t lying. He never let the Lost Boys know where I was. As cocky and cold as he could be he was still the only one here that I trusted, as little as that was.

I shimmied out of my hiding place and pulled myself up into the tree next to Pan.

“Tight fit?” he smirked at my scraped arms.

“That obvious?” I wiped at the bleeding cuts.

“Here,” he waved a hand over my arms and the cuts closed.

“Thanks.” I muttered.

“Still don’t like it here?”

“What part of being chased by a pack of boys is supposed to be inviting?”

“It’s...fun.”

“Fun? Is that what you’ve been calling the terror and fear for my life?”

“It’s not like the boys would hurt you.”

“What are talking about? What else would they do to me? Have a tickle fight?”

“It’s a game.”

“I don’t like that game.” my hands started to shake, “The things they say when they’re hunting me...it doesn’t sound like a game.”

“What are they saying?”

“Stuff…it doesn’t matter.”

Pan placed a hand on my shoulder, “Y/N--”

“I think we missed her.” The sound of the boys returning silenced us. “How is it she keeps getting away?”

“It’s that stupid head start you give her.” Another one of the boys said.

“It adds an element of challenge.”

“Well I’d rather just have her already.”

“I think we need to start searching at night. Find where she’s sleeping and get her then.”

“That’s a coward’s way of doing it.”

“Like you don’t want to get your hands on her already. Girls have softer flesh. There’s a lot you can do with it.”

“And what do you plan on doing with it, Vick?”

“You know what, man.” the boys laughed.

Pan’s grip on my shoulder had gotten tighter. “Vick...”

“Pan!” the one boy, Vick, pointed up at the tree we were in, “You got her! Care to toss her down to us?”

A whirl of wind engulfed me and next thing I know I wasn’t on the tree branch but inside a treehouse. It was nicer than any treehouse I had ever seen before. A small bed in one corner, a tiny table littered with papers and pencils, stained glass windows that cast the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. Above us little glass vials and dreamcatchers hung form the ceiling.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“My treehouse.” Pan was pacing around the room, “As long as you’re up here no one will find you.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you care if they find me or not?”

“Cause you’re one of us. They shouldn’t be doing that--saying that--I thought it was all in fun. Not this…I’m gonna fix this. You just stay up here and don’t touch anything.” with that he was gone again.

Okay. That was strange. But at least I was away from those boys.

What did Pan mean by me being one of them? I was a prisoner here. I’m not one of those little monsters.

I know Pan said to not touch anything but after a couple of hours of being up here I started poking my nose into everything. The papers on the table was a mix of logs and drawings. Under the bed was some extra clothes of his. I was shaking out a tunic when a little pouched dropped to the floor. Now what was this?

I opened it and inside was a bunch of greenish sand. Fairy dust. I heard Pan mention this stuff before. Among other uses, it could make someone fly. You needed belief to make it work though.

This could be may way out of this hellhole. I stuffed the pouch in my pocket for later.

Pan returned later that night with a bowl of food. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Thanks” I took the food, “Where have you been?”

“Trying to get some sense knocked into the boys. Apparently they did not know that they weren’t supposed to be hurting you. Now they’ve turned it into this whole thing and I need to wrangle them in.” Pan collapsed on the bed.

“You really don’t need to be going into all this trouble. I can handle it myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to be handling it. You’re a Lost Girl. You should be having fun with everyone. Not fearing them.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“What?”

“That I’m one of you? You stole me here. I am literally hunted everyday because they see me as something to hurt. I am not part of this world. I don’t want to be.”

“Sit.” Pan pointed to the space next to him, “Why do you think you were stolen?”

“Because that dumb shadow of yours tried to take my little brother. He had a good life so I let it take me instead.”

“If your brother liked his life so much then why did the shadow come in the first place?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The shadow is drawn to people in the same way people are drawn to my pipes,” He held up the pan pipes, “Have you heard me play before?”

“Yeah. I hear music every night. I didn’t know it was you.”

“It is.” he started to play a soft tune, “Did you know that this pipe is magic?”

“How?”

“It can only be heard by lost children. People who feel unloved. People who don’t think they have a place or a home. People who are lost. It’s those type of people that my shadow finds.”

“But my brother loves where he is. Loves his life.”

“Did you? Did you love where you were?”

“The shadow…”

“It wasn’t there for your brother.”

“That doesn’t mean I belong here.”

“It could.” his eyes were boring into my very soul. “We just need to get the boys under control first.”

“Thanks. But I’m not holding out hope.”

“Just stay up here for now. I’ll take you out when things are safer.”

“Pan--”

“Non-negotiable. Stay.”

He blinked away and I sighed. I left the treehouse and stared down the tree. I was much higher up than I had thought. I couldn’t even see the ground from this perch. Climbing down would be suicide. Guess I’m staying here.

It wasn’t all bad. Pan had brought me some stuff to keep myself entertained and always remembered to bring plenty of food with him as well. His visits to me became more numerous as the days went by. Not just to drop off food or things to do but he would stay to talk with me. Mainly he would vent about the Lost Boys but after he was through with his frustration the conversation would turn to more pleasant topics.

I even started referring to him as Peter as was a wish he expressed one day when he was teaching me how to play chess.

Eventually he was coming to the treehouse to simply relax in my company. I’d be sitting on the bed reading and he would come to lay down in the spot next to me. One of my hands flipping the pages of my book while the other played with his hair. It was almost domestic.

“Peter?” I closed my book. “May I ask you something.”

“You know you may.” he shrugged.

“When can I leave the treehouse?”

“When things are safe for you.”

“When will things be safe for me?”

“When I can convince the boys not to harm you.”

“And how much longer will that take?”

“As long as it needs to.”

“But Peter--”

“No!” he snapped, “Why are you so determined to get out of here? We have fun, don’t we? It’s not bad up here.”

“That’s because you can leave. You don’t have to sit up here for hours at a time by yourself waiting for something to happen. I may be safe but I am going stir crazy. Can’t I leave for just one afternoon? Surely if you’re with me then none of the boys can harm me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It really is though.”

“No. My answer is final. You are going to stay here where you are safe and that is that. Understood?” He fumed.

“Not like I have much of a choice.” I muttered and stalked out of the treehouse and sat down on the large branch outside.

“Y/N,” Peter followed after me, “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just don’t want to take any chances.”

I refused to answer him.

He sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “I’ll be back with dinner.” With that he was gone.

I can’t. I cannot keep doing this. Every time I bring up the option of me getting out of here he refuses. No more.

I’m not staying here anymore. I am not some little pet bird that Peter can keep in a cage to play with when he likes. If he hasn’t gotten the boys in line by now then I fear I may stay in this treehouse forever. I pulled the pouch of dust from my pocket. I could fly away from all of this. Go somewhere and start a new life far from all of this.

There was no real room to fly here in the trees so I’d have to climb down and find an open spot to take off. If this worked at all that is. My descent down the large tree was terrifying and more than once I thought about returning to the treehouse and freedom be damned but soldiered on.

I nearly cried for joy when I saw the ground and relished the feel of solid earth below me. Now I just need to get to a clearing. I moved quickly but deftly through the jungle. Pushing myself into the shadows of trees any time I heard a noise. After all these weeks of practice I had gotten rather good at hiding.

A tune started to drift across the breeze and drew my attention to it. Peter…

Without thinking I started to head towards the source of the music. The hypnotizing melody putting me at ease and drawing me closer. Then it stopped as abruptly as it began.

“I didn’t think that would work.” A voice from the trees called. My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized it wasn’t Peter playing the pipes this time.

Vick emerged from his perch and smiled sinisterly down at me. “I hate to have to pickpocket the leader but desperate times call for desperate measures. And you have been missing out on all the fun, darling. You must have had a really good hiding spot this time.”

More boys started to reveal themselves from the shadows. “I’m afraid that we’re not going to give you a headstart this time though.”

I ran. I turned tail and ran as fast as my legs could go. The boys whooped and hollered behind me. By making some sharp turns and throwing myself into quick hiding spots I was able to keep ahead of them for a time. They were too close this time. It was taking everything in me to keep moving. I can’t keep this up much longer.

I turned my head for one moment to see if they were gaining on me. My foot hit air and then nothing else as I fell over the side of a cliff.

My hands scrambled across the rocky face of the cliffside cutting my arms to shreds and probably fracturing if not entirely breaking my bones altogether. I landed hard on a small ledge, barely enough room to keep myself balanced but at least I wasn’t falling anymore. I wasn’t even aware that I had stopped until I calmed down enough to notice I wasn’t hurtling to my doom. I squeezed myself as close to the cliff wall as best I could. Every part of my body hurt. My arms were already their own mess but the landing had shaken me to my core and my legs were throbbing from the impact.

A few feet from where I landed I shrieked as another body went sailing past me and fell into the sea below. Was that Vick? I would have enjoyed that more if it wasn’t for the fact that it could have easily been me if I hadn’t hit this ledge.

I stared up the cliffside and my vision tunneled. The top was so far up. Even if I had any remaining strength trying to climb up would be suicide. Looking down wasn’t any better. The waves still loomed far below, crashing against the sharp boulders scattered around.

What do I do? I am in no condition to climb. Climbing up the cliffside is impossible and continuing downward is certain death. No one up there would be looking to rescue me either.

Am I...am I going to die out here? This is not how I am going out! If I’m dying it is going to be by the hands of a sworn enemy that my brothers in arms will murder so to avenge me and that is that.

I took a deep breath and looked at my situation more carefully. Can’t climb. Can’t fall. Can’t call for help. There was only one other option. I felt in my pocket and breathed a sigh of relief when I felt the small pouch of fairy dust still there. I can fly out of here.

All I have to do is believe. That’s what Peter said anyway.

What if my belief isn’t enough? What if I jump and all I do is fall? If I do nothing then I’ll die anyway. Even now I can feel the ledge holding me starting to give way under my weight. I need to do this now.

Slowly I found a hold on the rocky wall and pulled myself to standing. More of the ledge crumbled away. My toes poking over the precipice of the ledge. I opened the pouch and took another deep breath.

“Here goes nothing.” I said. I poured out the fairy dust and jumped.

~~~

This was bad! This was so very bad!

Peter had gone back to the treehouse to see Y/N and his blood went cold. She was gone. He felt for her presence and found her just in time to see she was being chased by Vick. Before he could stop him he watched with horror as she stopped looking where she was running and went tumbling over the edge of a cliff.

“Y/N!” He ran to the edge and saw that she had stopped falling several feet below. Too far down for him to be of any help. With his reserve of fairy dust from his treehouse being pilfered there was no way for him to get down there either.

“Hey, Pan, can you believe that clumsy little thing--” Vick’s words were cut off by Peter’s hand wrapping around his throat and throwing Vick over the side of the cliff. He should have done that at the start and then maybe the boys would have fallen in line sooner. The others scattered like frightened sheep which was the first smart decision they had made all night.

Peter was devising a plan with a pulley system and some long vines when he saw Y/N start to stand. What was she doing?

“Y/N!” he shouted but she couldn’t hear him that far away.

Then she jumped. The scream was caught in his throat. Too intense to let free.

He watched helpless as she fell once again. Then there was a spot of green against the dark blue of the ocean. It started to grow bigger as it rose slowly at first then shooting up into the air. He knew what that was. “You sneaky little thief.” Peter smiled.

Y/N rocketed up the cliffside sending Peter rolling back from the edge as she narrowly missed colliding into his head. He could make out the distinct sound of wild laughter as she flew higher and higher into the sky before zipping out across the island.

“I love that girl.” He spoke aloud and chased after her from the ground. She was going to need tending from that fall.

[kingwallywest-blog]

Guys like us don’t get the girl.

But sometimes they do.

P.S. Cannot send enough thank yous to the anon who told me about the wayback archive. I was able to find this fic! It was one of my first WA fics. I forgot how much I loved writing it.

Maybe it’s the reality check he needs. Maybe he should let Iris live her life and he can quietly step to the side, as both Barry and the Flash (Caitlin’s advice also lingering in his mind too often). Maybe Iris doesn’t need him around as much anymore.

So he avoids her for a few days, just to see if she notices.

Of course Iris notices. She’s not happy about it, either.

And like that, she draws him back into her life after only a four day separation. There’s a sense of relief that he feels when he concludes they’re two peas in a pod, yin and yang, two sides of the same coin. Practically joined at the hip, and she doesn’t need him around - she wants him around, which is all the more satisfying.

Even if they only remain friends, he’ll love her. Even if she stays with Eddie, he’ll be in love with her. Even if she decides to continue down the dangerous path of being an investigative journalist, he’ll support her. Protect her, though Iris has shown him one too many times during their lives that her left hook is finely tuned (“Don’t let my small arms fool you, Barry. I’ll knock him out cold if he picks on you again!”).

Barry finds himself unable to stay away; he doesn’t want to stay away but Caitlin keeps giving him these knowing yet disapproving looks when he returns to the lab with what she describes as a “dumb, love-struck smile.” He pointedly ignores the rest of her rant about how he’s sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, that, in the end, he’s making it harder for both himself and Iris.

(He also pointedly ignores how right she is, and that sinking feeling he gets every time he’s reminded.)

* It’s Christmas night when Eddie proposes to Iris, with both Joe and Barry in company.

And between the three of them, Barry can’t tell who is more surprised.

Iris, a hand covering her mouth and her eyes unwavering from Eddie’s.

Joe, speechless and frozen, and maybe even a little confused.

Barry, with the breath knocked out of him and heart breaking loud enough for Joe to hear.

Joe’s hand reaches for his shoulder and gives him a hard squeeze, a gesture that Barry would usually take great comfort in, but now feels like heavy bricks weighing down. Then Joe turns and plays the role of excited father.

"Barry, there’s champagne in the cooler. Do you might grabbing it?" Eddie asks him, a blinding smile on his face that is noticeably missing from Iris’s - maybe still in shock - and Barry does what any best friend would do.

He congratulates her and her fiancé.

* Barry’s sort of glad Caitlin is refraining from saying “I told you so,” but she’s also been too busy with her own problems to really rub the salt in his wounds.

Like the fact that the man she had been mourning for a year is back from the dead. As some torched resemblance of a human being no less.

All of Central City is shaping up to be a cliché comic book, featuring meta-humans, time traveling, and all-too-complicated love stories.

Figures he’d be the star of it.

But all of what’s happening with Ronnie and his mother’s murderer gives him a decent distraction from Iris. Barry isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved that she hasn’t talked to him about the proposal yet. It seems that they’ve both been keeping their distances from each other.

It’s probably best that way, he tells himself. Because soon she’ll be Mrs. West-Thawne.

* “I can’t marry him.”

Iris barely steps into his apartment before she’s rambling off.

"I can’t do it! I should have told him the night he gave me the ring. But he looked so happy! What right do I have to take his happiness away like that? And my dad, God, my dad! Barry, did you see his face? He was going to cry from joy! What kind of terrible daughter would I be if I took that from him? He’s probably already named all of the grandchildren he thinks Eddie and I are going to have, but we’re not - “

"Woah, what are - "

" - because I don’t love him." Iris takes a deep breath, and Barry can see the tears brimming in her eyes. He marvels at her ability to have kept everything bottled up for that long.

Then he begins to worry.

"Iris," Barry begins carefully. He’s unsure of where to begin, as his brain is still trying to process her confession, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. "Do you want me to make coffee?"

There’s a stillness, and then Iris laughs, a hiccup getting caught in her throat that makes Barry laugh too, until she’s nodding through her tears and he’s pulling her in his arms.

"My coffee isn’t that bad," he mutters into her hair when she’s quieted down after a few minutes, and he’s fully prepared for the punch she gives his chest.

Iris is smiling at least, so he finds himself smiling back. He cups her cheek and traces the wet trails on her face with his thumb, drying what he can.

"If you don’t want to marry him, then don’t. No one has ever told Iris Ann West what to do," he says, which pleases her plenty if by the way she sighs and leans into his touch is any indication.

"This is why you’re the best man in my life," she tells him. Barry tries not blush or stutter, but he knows he’s failing.

"Because I give good advice or because I’m not even mildly annoyed that you were banging on my door at 5:30 on a Saturday morning?" he teases.

"Oh my god, is it really that early? I am so sorry - "

"It’s okay." He means it. "I’m glad you’re here." So very much means it.

He thinks that when she looks up at him this time, it’s different. He can’t quite place why, but there’s a gleam in her eyes that he’s never seen before.

At least not directed towards him. And he can get lost in that look for days, he knows by the way it fires heat through his body, one nerve at a time.

Barry clears his throat and takes a step back. “Let me get that coffee started.”

"Yeah," Iris blinks up at him, seemingly as unsure about the last few moments as he is. "Good idea."

In the kitchen, during the couple of minutes he had to himself, he wonders if these are the kind of changes Felicity was talking about.

*

Barry decides that these are definitely the changes Felicity was talking about.

They’re subtle changes, but still…changes. Like how Iris looks at him; that same one from the other morning in his hallway, as though with renewed interest. How she acts around him; she’s touching him more, and while Iris has always been one for physical contact, there’s something almost - sensual about it now. Fingers grazing, close personal space shoulder-bumping, her hand lingering in areas he knows defined muscle has formed.

Barry thinks, and he could potentially and disastrously be overthinking it, that Iris is even flirting with him. And to be honest, he’s not sure how to respond to it.

"This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, dude. Super hot girl that you’ve been in love with is acting on mutual attraction! What’s your problem?" Cisco gapes at him during one of their ping pong games.

"My problem," Barry hits the ball back to the other side, "is that I’m not good at these kinds of things. Flirting and being charming and - I’m just not the guy who gets the girl."

Cisco rolls his eyes. “You’ve flirted with her before. Do I need to remind you of your guys’ rooftop days? Please don’t make me remind you of your rooftop days.”

"You’re forgetting that I went to her as the Flash. The Flash is much cooler than I am, trust me."

"The fact that you’re referring to yourself as an alter ego is slightly alarming," Caitlin comments from the corner where she’s piecing together the map of Ronnie’s possible whereabouts. "I’ve told you before, you are incredible and amazing with or without the speed, Barry. And Iris knows that."

Barry puts his paddle down, smirking at Caitlin’s back. “Someone’s changed her tune.”

Caitlin glares over her shoulder and it promptly shuts him up.

*

Any doubts Barry may have had about Iris’s intentions is cleared when Joe approaches him with a smile too giddy and curious for any cop or father to have.

"What’s going on with you two?"

Barry doesn’t know how to best phrase that Iris is seemingly reciprocating the emotional, romantic, and sexual feelings he’s ever had for her so he grins and says, “Progressing one day at a time.”

Joe pats him on the back. “You two were made for each other, Barry.”

Barry is starting to believe it.

* The words sort of tumble from his mouth by accident.

Iris had tried to surprise him with a homemade birthday dinner, and he was alarmed to find his front door unlocked that he completely startled her when she was lighting the candles on the table.

The table caught on fire…

…and then dinner burned while they were putting the fire out.

That’s when he tells her, in his moment of slight panic. “I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

Barry’s half-expecting Iris to get mad at him or get away as soon as possible, but she smiles and closes the space between them.

"I know. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out."

He’s about to tell her that she shouldn’t be sorry for anything, but she presses up on her toes and pulls him down for a kiss.

All else melts from his thoughts when she glides her tongue against his lips.

Barry can’t remember what happens after that, oddly enough, but then Iris tells him the next morning it’s because he passed out and hit his head pretty hard.

Totally worth it.

* “This came in the mail today,” Thea says, handing Oliver the envelope. “Looks like a wedding invite.”

Oliver pulls the gold trimmed letter open and feels the corners of his mouth spreading into one of his rare smiles.

We are delighted to invite you to the wedding ceremony of Bartholomew Henry Allen and Iris Ann West.

…

…

…

P. S. I got the girl.