#to being completely fucking deranged in every photo he gives

[synthshenanigans]

Bros on the same wall with the same colors but more insane so like I just HAD to okay

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

a kiss from the moon | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: All these years, all these summers, Jeon Jungkook has loved you. His problem? You have no idea. Mostly because he has always said it far too platonically and thrown up in your lap after saying it. Drunk. Fuck. Oh, yeah, and you're also Park Jimin's best friend since preschool. Shit.

warnings: language; alcohol consumption; pining; JK gets distracted by (your) tits during his quest, typical; non-idol!BTS - purple-haired!Jungkook x sleepy af, noona!reader, ft Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung radiating big soulmate energy; childhood friends-to-lovers

yes, it's JK from the 'Butter' beach photos

--

“I love you!”

You lifted your head out of the mountain of pillows, groggy and hazy, squinting at the moonlight filtering through the floating curtains. The night breeze was warm, drifting in softly with the low hum of cicadas. But what was that other sound? That other sound was familiar, wasn’t it?

You heard your name being shouted, followed by, “Wake up!”

You made a face and stumbled out of the bed, sticking your head out of your bedroom window, your own hair flying back and smacking you in the face.

“Yah! Jeon Jungkook, are you trying to wake up the whole damn neighborhood?!”

“Get down here!”

You put on your best disgruntled expression and peered down at the form on your front lawn, shoving your own hair aside.

“What are you going on about?” you muttered, seeing Jeon Jungkook looking up at you, puffing his cheeks, long wet purple hair fading to gray because of the chlorine from swimming all night at that party Park Jimin had invited you to earlier today, to which you had responded, no thanks, I’m going to sleep all day, I worked three double shifts in a row and I have zero desire to be flung into your family’s swimming pool at this time, but I will acknowledge that your offer is very generous, and then promptly passing out for a good – you glanced at your phone with the pink bunny case Jungkook had given you two summers ago – ten hours and it was still not enough for you to comprehend why your best friend’s best friend was standing on your front lawn yelling at your parents’ house that you were watching for a month while they were in Italy getting drunk on far too expensive wine and eating cheese they probably couldn’t pronounce.

Jungkook was shirtless, clad only in orange swim shorts and sandals like a fucking hooligan. He was clutching a plastic red Solo cup and he threw it at the house, yelling your name again.

“Oh my fucking God, don’t litter, you idiot!” you bellowed back, throwing yourself away from the windowsill and crawling on the floor to your bedroom door like the evolution of mankind, making it from all fours to two legs by the time you got to the stairs – good thing too, you might have broken your neck if you were still disoriented – and you dragged yourself downstairs, yanking your white slip dress straight. Not your choice of pajamas. Your mom’s, who told you to be more ladylike, whatever the fuck that meant, and who also informed you in the same breath that it was your only choice of pajamas since they donated all your clothes from high school.

Awesome.

You go to university and your parents yeet all evidence that they had a child and go vacationing.

Good for them.

You wrenched your front door open and shoved your feet into your dad’s giant brown sandals and clapped your way over to the pink-faced, mildly drunk, shirtless man in swimming trunks on your front lawn.

“It’s two in the morning. Why are you standing here drunk and professing your love like some kind of deranged Romeo?” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “Why aren’t you at Jimin’s?” You spied the red Solo cup and picked it up, whipping your head back to Jeon Jungkook.

He was staring at you with his mouth open.

Charming.

He didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds.

“Alright, fine, let me call my loser of a best friend and tell him to pick up his loser of a best friend, so I can go back to sleep,” you muttered, about to turn around.

Jungkook seemed to sputter back to life. “Wait, um, noona–”

“He speaks! He’s not dead.”

“A… Ah… Um…”

You squinted at him and reached up to knock the side of his head. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

Jungkook blurted out, “I love you.”

His breath smelled a lot like alcohol.

“Yeah, I got that. You also said that when I got you through your Chemistry and World History exams. Both times. You also say that to like, what, six of your guy friends? Don’t get me started on the amount of times you’ve said it and thrown up in my lap right after. Don’t do that this time,” you added sternly, prodding at his chest. “I’ve got one set of pajamas because my mom forgets that human beings change clothes, so throw up on the grass.”

“Uh… that’s pajamas…?”

“Lady pajamas,” you grumbled sarcastically, lifting the lid and chucking the crumpled Solo cup into your parents’ trash can. “Since I’m not lady enough apparently according to my mom, even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure giant band t-shirts are completely unisex but, whatever, it’s just a dress, not a big deal.”

“Um.”

You looked at Jungkook, who looked back at you, who put your hands up and gestured him to say something, who in response rose his hands and flapped them in confusion, giving you absolutely zero helpful communication. The movement reminded you he had gotten his right arm and hand tattooed in the last couple years, the black ink standing out against tan skin. You hadn’t seen him too many times during your university years, too busy completing research papers and staying late nights in laboratories, only to now end up working on hospital software and sitting on your ass all day. Life, eh? These past three days were spent on working through bugs for the next software update and you had maybe lost all social skills as you attempted to unravel lines of code that you stared at for forty-eight out of the past seventy-two hours.

Fun!

“Do you need a cookie? A shower? The Bible?” you offered, waving your hands. “Maybe tell me why you’re here, yes?”

He was staring and you realized you were slightly bent over in your gesture, your breasts firmly pressed into the cups of the slip dress. You straightened and Jungkook’s wide dark brown eyes went back to your face.

“I… I didn’t realize you had come back, noona.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? I told Jimin last week. He said he was hanging out with you and Taehyung. I figured he’d just tell you guys then.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, gray-purple hair flying about. He pointed to the left, where Jimin’s house was several blocks over. “He only mentioned it just now, when he was throwing up in the bathroom from doing eight shots in a row because Taehyungie dared him.”

“…. Maybe he needs the Bible…” you muttered, shaking your head.

Then the realization hit you.

“Did you walk here from Jimin’s and straight up abandon the party?”

Jungkook tilted his head and thought about it. “Yeah.”

You looked around to find the camera and see if you were being pranked, but there was no camera because this life wasn’t purely for entertainment, right? Nah, this wasn’t The Matrix.

Mhm.

“Hah, well, what’s wrong? Are you upset I didn’t go to the party or something? I had three double-shifts this week, I wasn’t going to be any fun passed out before actually drinking–”

“Yoongi-hyung was passed out before drinking.”

“In some ways, I swear that guy and I are the same person,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t go and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really banked on Jimin not being an airhead, but once again he is, so maybe I should reconsider him as my best friend…”

“Noona, I…”

You looked up from your mental consideration of Park Jimin’s pros and cons, the first pro being he punched that ex of yours that cheated on you with some Tinder hookup and that was already enough to stop contemplating, so you blinked at Jungkook curiously, looking into wide brown eyes, long strands of ash-purple floating around his handsome face from the night breeze, brushing against his parted lips, highlighting the mole underneath them, placed perfectly in the center like a kiss from the moon itself.

“Can I take a shower and sleep it off here?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah, sure. You can borrow my dad’s clothes. You should call Jimin though. You don’t want him to panic that he lost you.”

“Y… Yeah, okay…”

-

Jeon Jungkook really thought he could say it this time.

Collected all his courage and ran, ran as fast as he could, couldn’t believe Jimin had neglected to say she was coming home over the summer for more than a day, days without her reminding Jungkook that he was a coward for not saying it when he could have, having lost his most important person in the world because he was too afraid of telling Park Jimin that he was in love with his best friend.

He remembered that smile wearing nothing but a large t-shirt, sitting on Jimin’s bedroom floor, crushing all of them at UNO and cackling as Jimin blew up for ending up in last place for the third time in a row, yelling that the game was rigged, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her tonight.

And he didn’t.

He remembered her saying to Taehyung that she just wasn’t into girly things. They were having this argument over pizza and Taehyung was waving his around saying she should at least try a dress on every once in a while, never know, might actually like it, and her rolling her eyes as she shot back that she didn’t have to do anything just because it was stereotypical for her gender. Taehyung told her to stop using big words and waved his hands, accidentally flinging his pizza slice into her lap, and Jungkook remembered thinking, I should tell her after we clean up.

And he didn’t.

He remembered seeing her prepare to leave for university once again, holding a small package from the internet and handing it to her, a small but practical belated birthday gift, both of them surprised when she opened it, not the matte black phone case he had ordered, but somehow mixed up with a pink bunny phone case that had no business being owned by someone who didn’t like girly things.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order this–”

And she laughed, shaking her head. “That’s okay, I gotta go, thanks anyway, Jungkook!”

The years went by and every year Jungkook told himself, this is the one, and every year he just couldn’t say it.

He thought he could say it now, drunk and furious at Jimin for not preparing him for this moment, but on his way here Jungkook figured that perhaps this was preferred, that maybe it was better that he couldn’t sit around nervously overthinking what to say.

But, of course, the problem was…

He had already said it in a platonic way.

Shit.

He really fucked himself throughout the years.

Jungkook sighed, now wearing borrowed clothes, holding the note of her handwriting as he rubbed his hair with the towel.

I washed your shorts and they’re hang-drying now. You can sleep in the guest room. I left a glass of water and some hangover meds. If you need anything, I’ll be asleep but you can attempt to wake the dead if you want.

He walked down the hall, towel around his shoulders. Her bedroom door was open. He stood outside the entrance, sighing, seeing her sleeping form and her bedside table, her phone sitting on the charger.

His breath caught in his throat as he recognized that pink bunny phone case.

-

“Where’s Jungkook?”

“Probably at her parents’ place, confessing his love,” Kim Taehyung snickered, picking up the beer bottles left behind next to the pool.

“Hah, of course he would leave without cleaning up,” Park Jimin grumbled, pushing the recycling bin along as Taehyung tossed each bottle inside.

“You think he’s gonna tell her?”

“He didn’t even tell me,” Jimin muttered, shoving used napkins into the bag hanging off the side of the recycling bin that he was going to toss into the trash later. “I had to find out from you. I think he’s hopeless. Why does he like her anyway? She’s fun to be around, yeah, she’s good at school, yeah, knows a lot of random facts, yeah, if you get into philosophy with her like Namjoon-hyung does, you begin to question humanity and reality, yeah, but other than that…”

“You hitting on your best friend, dude?”

“I mean, she’s kinda hot, she wouldn’t say no to me.”

Taehyung snorted.

Jimin smacked him in the ass with the recycling bin.

“Anyway, he’s probably just standing in her bedroom creepily watching her sleeping.”

-

Jungkook stared down at her sleeping form.

He looked up, looking out the window into the late, late night. He was tired, and yet he couldn’t sleep, too busy wondering.

I don’t deserve her if I’m not brave enough to say it.

“Jungkook?”

-

You squinted at the large form in your bedroom.

“Why are you just staring moodily out the window?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Is something wrong? Are you hungry? I can make you a snack…”

“Noona, do you know what the worst feeling in the world is?” he asked softly, still looking out into the warm night.

You grunted and scrunched up your face. “Stepping on a Lego?”

You heard Jungkook laugh and you smiled a little despite your groggy state, hearing a little bit of his old self, the younger Jungkook hanging out with you, Jimin, and, later, Taehyung, the four of you getting up to no good. Somehow, in the past few years, he had gotten quieter and quieter, at least around you, but then again you only came home to visit for a day or two before going back to university.

“Have you ever been in love, noona?”

“Yeah, with the red bean popsicles they used to sell at the ice cream trucks, but then they stopped, those assholes, I’ve never been so heartbroken in my life,” you grumbled, remembering the day where the ice cream man told you they were sold out and your young teenage heart shattering.

“I love you, you know.”

Was this a fever dream? Why did he keep repeating himself? You looked over to his back, still looking outside onto the street, the street where you all used to run and laugh every summer, pretending you were surviving in the wild and not in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, sitting around sipping lemonade and complaining about the heat even though you all could have gone inside, lighting sparklers at night and seeing whose would last the longest even though such a thing was only based on chance anyway.

“Is that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” he added quietly.

“The worst thing I’ve ever heard was accidentally hearing Jimin jacking off. Twice.”

Jungkook finally turned around, giving you a disgusted look. “What?”

You placed a hand on your face and sighed heavily, trying not to remember. “For some reason he thinks the bathroom isn’t echoey or something, like, at least do it in the shower, so the water masks the sound…” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Anyway, I would much rather hear you say you have love for me than listening to Jimin getting off.”

“I don’t have love for you.”

You raised your hand from your face and shifted your gaze to him, half-smile lingering on your lips from remembering Jimin’s carelessness. You made eye contact the second the words left his mouth, those brown eyes shrouded in shadows, but still so clear, a little helpless, a little sad.

“I’m in love with you,” Jungkook whispered softly.

Your eyes widened.

A soft breeze swept through the window, lifting the purple-gray strands from Jungkook’s face, revealing his lost, desolate expression.

The cicadas hummed.

A car alarm honked loudly, screeching through the night.

Both you and Jungkook jerked to face the window. You bolted out of bed and you both threw your hands onto the edge of the window, yanking it shut, wincing at the loud noise.

“Ah, jeez… what the hell…?” you groaned, slumping to the ground.

“What’s with people…?” Jungkook muttered, falling to the floor beside you, yanking the towel off his shoulders.

-

“Fuck, I pressed the wrong button!”

“Taehyung, what the hell, turn it off!”

“I was just trying to put the tangerines your parents gave me in my car!”

“I don’t care what you were doing, turn it off!”

-

“Anyway, sorry, you were saying something important and you got interrupted by some dumbass,” you sighed, nudging Jungkook with your shoulder.

“Uh… well, that was it…”

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “What, that you’re in love with me?”

“Y… Yeah?”

You blinked some more.

“Not the, want to go to the arcade and see who can get the highest score in PAC-MAN or go watch shitty action movies and rate the unrealistic plot lines or dare each other to eat whatever expired delicacy is in Taehyung’s fridge, kind of love?”

Jungkook made a repulsed face. “I regret eating that tofu. Don’t think I can ever look at uncooked tofu without gagging a little now…”

You leaned over and caught his eye.

“Do you mean the… want to date and get married and make babies, kind of love?”

His lips parted and the moonlight lit the small mole placed perfectly underneath his lower lip.

A delicate kiss from the moon itself.

Then you realized he was staring at your tits.

You yanked the neckline up a little and Jungkook started, looking back up at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to you in a dress, sorry, I’m being really rude–”

“It assures me that you’re at least interested in the making babies part,” you chuckled.

His ears turned red and he reached up to cover them, trying not to look down. “S… Sorry…”

“So…?”

He chewed on his lip, messing with his earrings with his fingertips. “Um… yeah, that kind of love. The latter kind.”

You lowered your hand. “You’re not messing with me, right? I swear, if this is one of Taehyung’s elaborate ideas to mess with me, I’m going to ki–”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, purple hair flying about. “I’m not joking around. I wanted to tell you for a long, long time, but…” His eyes darted about, panicking a little, before looking back to you helplessly. “You’re Jimin’s best friend, besides Taehyung, and what if… what if you thought I was gross or something and then I don’t think I could hang out with you guys anymore, but then you went to that prestigious university far away and I thought, I’m so stupid, I should have said something, anything, but every time I could even think about it, I didn’t know what to say, nothing seemed right…”

He let out a big sigh and tapped his head against the windowsill, closing his eyes.

“Also, I said it before and threw up in your lap right after, so that kinda fucked me up.”

“Can’t say I was really feeling the romance, yeah.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“I’d date you though. For real.”

Jungkook removed his hands and blinked at you. “What?”

You chuckled. “Why are you acting so surprised? I’m not going to date Jimin, blergh, I’ve known that guy since I was in preschool. I’m not dating Taehyung, I’m pretty sure he’s on a different brainwave than other human beings.”

You smiled at him and turned around to pick up your phone, holding it up.

“I don’t like girly things or cute things very much, but I kept your gift because it was from you and, funnily enough, I think it made me realize that I was rejecting femininity because society puts such a negative connotation on things young women like and because my friends growing up were primarily male, thus I wanted to seem cool or relatable so I rejected stereotypically feminine concepts…”

“… What?”

Now it was a confused what.

“Uh, never mind,” you laughed awkwardly, putting your phone back on your nightstand. “Anyway, Jungkook, you made me realize things about myself, and I love being around you, but I thought a handsome guy like you would want to date a pretty girl, and I’m not really that.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about? You’re the prettiest girl in the world. No one could ever be prettier than you.”

You felt your neck heat. “Yo, don’t inflate my ego when it’s not the truth,” you chuckled sheepishly, waving a hand. “You’ve been drinking anyway. Alcohol makes everyone prettier.”

“It’s the truth.”

Was he drunk or were you drunk? Why was Jeon Jungkook getting closer?

“Would you really date me?”

You stared into those chocolate eyes and smiled.

“Yes, I would.”

And you leaned forward and kissed him.

His eyes widened, staring at you and you closed your eyes, pressing your lips to his, inhaling his scent, memories of hot summers and mirthful laughter filling your head, standing beside Jungkook and kicking Jimin and Taehyung’s ass at table tennis even though Jungkook was doing most of the work, finishing a movie together after Jimin and Taehyung had passed out on the couch on top of each other and talking excitedly about it until you both fall asleep, getting lamb skewers after Jimin and Taehyung went off to eat ramen in a huff, unable to agree on the same meal as a foursome, but it was fine, no, better than fine, perfect even.

Because you were with Jungkook.

You broke the kiss and opened your eyes, smiling at him.

He blinked slowly, looking down at you.

“Noona…”

His hand raised, fingers spreading out longingly. You quickly reached up and pushed it back down.

“Jungkook, I swear, I do want to touch you in a less than holy way, but maybe not when you’re wearing my dad’s clothes, including his underwear, because that’s really fucking weird.”

Jungkook looked down at the brown t-shirt and beige shorts. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“You know, come to think of it, I feel like Taehyung has slowly stolen Jimin from me over the years, so maybe this was fated…” you mumbled, remembering at the moments you had shared with Jungkook were because your other two friends had abandoned you.

“I feel you, sometimes I feel like a third wheel…”

-

“I’m so sleepy.”

“I’ll tuck you in first, but I’m going to get us some water so we don’t die tomorrow morning.”

“Ugh, Jimin, bring another pillow please.”

“Hah, fine, but you’re buying breakfast tomorrow…”

--

masterpost

[amberofembers]

International Herzog Week

A/N: hello! i hope you enjoy this dumb little fic about andrew and his herzog nonsense. 2.6k of fluff, if you’re into that :)

ao3

—

It was the third week of lockdown, or maybe even the fourth – it was hard to keep track of anything related to time nowadays. The days were becoming less discernible and everything seemed to still. The birds still chirped at daybreak but there was a certain quiet that filled the air.

It wasn't all that different from the previous few months and by this time, you had fallen into a comfortable routine at home. The gradual crescendo of your alarm pulled you from the depths of sleep. Unlike most mornings, the sound wasn't jarring but felt more like a gentle tap on the shoulder signaling the start of the day. As you stretched your legs, the duvet crinkled along with your movement and a quiet grumble was heard on your left. Blinking in the sunlight, you turned to face Andrew, whose brows were set in a slight frown as he stirred awake.

"Morning, you," you said softly, your voice raspy from sleep.

No reply was heard from him, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he placed his hand over yours underneath the duvet.

You had gone to bed without him last night, knowing his tendencies to stay up late. He had no fixed schedule to follow and, unsurprisingly, his sleep schedule was completely messed up. Seeing him awake before lunch would be a rare occurrence.

"What time did you go to bed last night?" you asked as you peeled yourself away from the warmth that you both had created under the duvet.

"Four"

"Oh god, your lifespan is steadily decreasing," you chuckled as you draped your legs over the side of the bed.

You padded over to his side of the bed, giving him a peck on the forehead. “You can go back to sleep, I gotta start work soon,” you said gently. He reached out to grasp the hand that hung loosely by your side and his eyes opened to a sliver, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face.

"Morning, love," he said, voice only slightly above a whisper.

"Yeah, morning," you let out a quiet laugh, "go back to sleep,"

“Stay here,” he whined, tugging your hand.

“You know I’d love to,” you huffed, “you’re just rubbing it in now”

You shook his hand off yours in mock anger, letting his hand fall from your grip down to the side of the bed. “Babe…” he pouted. You picked his hand up, giving it a soft kiss before placing it on his chest, “Work awaits, my love.”

As you headed towards the bathroom to freshen up for the day, you peered back into the bedroom. Andrew had rolled himself up in the duvet on your side of the bed, his feet sticking out slightly. Your heart skipped a beat upon seeing his hair messily splayed over his face and the pillow - How lucky you were to be waking up to this every morning.

—

You chose to set up your workstation on the large wooden table in the dining room. There was a study in the house, but the gentle morning light that entered through the big glass windows of the dining room gave it a warmth that was irresistible. Preoccupied with replying and sending out emails and with a few zoom meetings here and there, the morning passed quickly. The initially steaming mug of coffee you placed beside your laptop had gone cold, you realized as you absentmindedly took a sip from it.

“Morning... again” You heard Andrew call out.

You looked up from your laptop, then back at the time displayed at the corner of the screen – 1pm. “Good afternoon to you too,” you said, shaking your head.

His hair was tied loosely in a bun and his glasses were set slightly crooked on his face. He wore a grey sweater that barely covered his torso and a sleepy smile.

“Time doesn't mean anything anymore,” He yawned as he strolled over to where you sat, threading his hand through your hair. You paused your typing, glancing up at him smiling, “imagine if my camera was on.”

His eyes widened comically as he jerked out of frame, “Jesus, that would be awkward,”

You chuckled under your breath, gesturing towards the kitchen “There are some blueberries left, can you finish them before they go bad?”

He nodded in accordance and headed to the kitchen to fix up some food. With the weather deep in autumnal bliss, it was probably going to be another round of oatmeal.

Some clinking of spoons on bowls and kettle boiling sounds later, Andrew emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of oatmeal held in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

He placed them carefully on the table, plopping down opposite you. You reached over the table to pull the saucer below his cup over, taking a sip of the warm coffee. The bitter liquid felt rough on your tongue as it flowed down the back of your throat. Your nose scrunched up involuntarily.

“That’s what you get for stealing my coffee,” Andrew teased.

“I’ll never understand the voluntary torture of black coffee,” you grumbled, “at least it was warm.”

Andrew pulled the saucer back to his side of the table. A comfortable silence blanketed the dining room. The clicking of your keyboard and the sounds of his spoon hitting the bowl padded the silence while the muted rustling of dried leaves could be heard through the windows.

“Is there such thing as insanity among penguins…” A voice broke the silence.

You sat upright with confusion, looking over your computer screen at Andrew. He was staring intently at his phone, his brows furrowed with concentration.

The voice that came from his phone went on about insane penguins and something about their certain death. As you listened, you stifled in some laughter. What was this video about? Andrew, on the other hand, seemed a little too invested. You watched in amusement as he replayed certain parts of the video.

“Bit morbid for a Monday morning,” you pointed out.

“It’s Herzog,” he said conclusively as he looked up from his phone

“Her who?”

“Herzog, he’s a German filmmaker.”

“Ah…” you nodded. You still had no idea who Herzog was.

“Look,” he thrusted his phone in your direction, leaving you to look at a lone penguin waddling away into the mountains.

“And here, he is heading off into the interior of the vast continent. With 5000 kilometers ahead of him, he’s heading towards certain death,” the narrator of the video concluded.

“Poor guy,” you said as you looked up at Andrew bemusedly.

“Poor lad indeed.” He sighed.

“Why are you watching a video about deranged penguins?” You chuckled.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “It popped up on youtube.”

“So this is why you sleep at 4 in the morning, huh…”

“No! I was watching American news and ehm… ” He trailed off, his eyes looking upwards in search for words , “...Working.”

“He was a good looking man, that Herzog,” He said as he turned his phone to you, showing you an old black and white photo of a mustached man. You gave him a murmur of assent.

“Thot… Hah!” he huffed a laugh. You stared at him quizzically.

He tried to stamp down his laugh, considering the calm of the afternoon but he was too pleased with his joke. “That… Herzog…. Over…” He struggled out between fits of laughter, “...There”

“Fuck, that was bad,” You offered him smile, “commendable attempt, though”

“No?” He tilted his head forward, looking the slightest bit affronted, “It’s so bad that it’s good, though...”

You shook your head. Andrew frequently made jokes that were questionable at best, and you’d give him shit for it usually, but the smile that was plastered across his face as he thought about his dumb joke was so endlessly warm that any snide remark you had disappeared immediately. His smile had a warmth that filled the room, one that danced over your skin and surrounded you in a tight embrace. You looked at him fondly as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Oh my god, should I post it?” He said, his voice dripping in childlike glee.  

“No!” you exclaimed, “I swear to god, don't do it Andrew”

He raised an eyebrow almost like he was challenging you. “I’m gonna post it”, he grinned. He tapped away on his phone, smiling to himself.

—

Andrew had finished his breakfast - or lunch - and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. He’d taken your empty cup as well, a sweet gesture you took a mental note of - remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today.

As he left the table, you took the chance to check your phone. Scrolling through Instagram, you saw that he had posted a story.

“Jesus christ, Andrew...” you mumbled to yourself, maybe slightly too loudly because you heard him call out from the kitchen.

“It’s good, isn't it?”

“You posted the THOT thing and 20 million videos about the penguins?”

“Yeah, it’s so cool!” He protested, popping his head out of the kitchen door, “and the joy of discovering insane penguins deserves to be shared!”

“Mmm… Morning affirmations with Herzog,” you said, fluttering your fingers.

His eyes widened in revelation, “That’s fucking gold. Hold on, I’ve gotta post that too.” He grabbed the hand towel as he dried his hands briskly.

“Oh no, what have I done...”

“You being a genius is what you’ve done” he looked at you endearingly as he snatched up his phone from the table, “Can I steal the morning affirmations line?”

“Go ahead,” you said, “it’s not that funny though.”

“It’s brilliant,” he beamed, bending down to place a quick kiss on the top of your head. “Think I’m gonna be in the studio today, good luck with work, yeah?”

—

As the day went on, you busied yourself with more work. You would be lying if you said that you stopped to stretch periodically. It was more like forgetting that your body existed for an entire hour while typing in a hunched position until realizing that, wow, your neck ached. You looked at the time - 5pm. As you rubbed your smarting eyes, you decided it was time for a break.

You noticed that Andrew hadn't emerged from the studio yet. He could spend hours on end in that room, either working on lyrics or fiddling with his guitars or humming along to the piano. The studio was one of your favorite places in the house, because it felt so much like him. Notebooks scribbled with odds and ends of ideas strewn on the floor, the thermostat always set a bit warmer than the rest of the house, the sound of music and occasionally his voice filling the room as he tinkered around with ideas.

From time to time, the room would be livelier with musician friends coming over to work on material. You'd stay out of the studio when it got too crowded. Lately, since it’s been just the two of you, the studio started to feel like the most intimate place in the house.

Remember to do something nice for Andrew sometime today, the thought popped back into your mind.

Doting on each other wasn't a typical thing you two would do, it was more small gestures that showed you cared about each other. Those tiny gestures of affection were usually pleasant surprises and received with much tenderness. On one particularly bad work day, you remember how he wrote you a sweet letter and hid it underneath your pillow for you to find it the next morning. When you found the letter and thanked him for it, he blushed a deep red and hid his face behind a curtain of his hair, smiling sheepishly. Thank god, I thought you were going to find that too cheesy, you remember him saying.

Since today was a studio day, you figured he could do with a warm cup of tea. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater down to your palm, you gave your limbs a much-needed stretch and shuffled to the kitchen to make some tea for the both of you.

Precariously balancing two steaming mugs in both your hands, you carefully walked to the studio, trying not to scald yourself with hot tea.

The door to the studio was ajar and through the gap you could hear the faint strumming of a guitar float through the hallway leading to it.

“Can I come in?”

The guitar strums stopped as Andrew chirped, “Yeah, come in! I missed you.”

“I’m only 3 doors down, love,” you said as you pushed the door open with your foot.

“Yeah, but it’s too cold…” His eyes travelled to where you stood in the doorway.

“Tea?” The excitement was apparent in his voice.

You handed one mug to him, nodding, “careful, it’s hot.”

You headed to the small couch tucked into the corner of the studio and set your mug on the table next to it. A wool blanket was draped haphazardly over the couch so you balled it up, using it as a pillow of sorts. He placed his guitar on a rack nearby and stalked over to where you sat, tea mug held tightly in his hands. You shuffled to one side of the couch to give him some space but it still seemed like the couch was far too small for the both of you.

As he sat down, he leaned over and gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, muttering quietly into your hair, “Thank you for the tea, love. Sorry I didn't come out much, I’ve just been trying to hammer out this idea that’s been swimming in my head for far too long.”

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly. Your hand reached out to his face that was placed near your shoulder, stroking his jaw with slow, hypnotic movements. He hummed softly, leaning into your touch.

“What was the idea about?”

“Herzog,” he stated plainly.

“I hate you, Andrew, I really do,” you said incredulously.

“You don't,” he grinned, “but anyway, it was just a riff that begged to be completed. I don't have lyrics yet.”

“About the Herzog thing, though…” He began, “People aren't getting it.” He seemed equal parts disappointed and humored.

“Of course they aren't!” You let out an amused laugh, “I think you should clear it up. Instagram really isn't fit for weird shit, maybe keep that to twitter.”

“I’m off twitter, though.”

“Suck it up, big man,” you teased.

“Okay fine, I’ll tweet about it,” he sulked, reluctantly unlocking his phone, “What do I even say?”

“Happy international Herzog week, folks!” you joked.

“You are too good at this,” he turned his head to stare at you in awe.

“My god, please don't tell me you're using that too…” He stayed silent, reacting only with a sly smile.

“You’ll have to start crediting me for all those punchlines...” you hesitated, “actually, no, don't. They're not that good, it’s better if people think it’s you.”

He chuckled and gave your side a small shove, “I think it’s hilarious.”

“Can you italicize stuff on twitter?” He asked.

“No… Oh wow you’re going all out, huh?”

“Only the best for your joke,” he said, giving you a playful wink.

You pulled yourself closer to him and draped your legs over his, his sweatpants folding underneath yours. The warmth of your bodies meeting gave you an immeasurable sense of comfort and security. One of his hands rested on your thigh while the other was used to type his very complex tweet. As his eyes stayed fixed on his phone, his index finger absentmindedly drew circles on the fabric of your sweatpants. Melting into his gentle touch, you closed your eyes, making a mental note to maybe move your workstation to the studio instead.

[callisto-rants]

Starting a new ✨series✨ that no one asked for! ( ꈍᴗꈍ)

Callisto-Rants presents...

Here's my Two Cents

Where we just throw down our two cents on how we would change a series to make it better, in our own personal opinion.

[You can Block this tag if you're not interested in this series: #Here's Our Two Cents]

Here's my Two Cents

Yarichin Bitch Club.

Ever since I had the misfortune of having that opening theme song stuck in my head because of countless memes and tiktok edits. . . I have wished for days to have the ability to create a time machine to prevent myself from saying. . .

"okay, fine I'll bite the bullet and check out the source material."

Now if you're reading this and thinking, "huh. I never heard of this series..." let me just tell you, GOD I WISH I WAS YOU RIGHT NOW.

No one was going to tell me this BL Manga about a "pHoTogRaPhY cLuB" wasn't completely INSANE? I was just supposed to find out Three Volumes Later??

Now some of y'all who have read the source material might be thinking. . .

"Okay Callisto, get over it it's obviously supposed to be a comedy it's not meant to be taken seriously 🙄"

And to that I say... I mean I guess??? But do we really need all of THAT to make it a comedy?? I feel like you could still have an entertaining comedy BL Manga without 90% of the shit that goes on in that series..... But that's just ✨my two cents✨ take it or leave it.

FIRST THINGS FIRST, here's all the stuff I'd automatically remove from this series off the bat.

💀 The Gang Bangs.

💀 Teacher x Student Relationships.

💀 In fact all instances of unconsensual acts & sexual assault committed in this manga. Throw all of that away.

💀 the fact that the term Bisexual was used as a replacement for the term switch, and had nothing to do with the sexual orientation itself whatsoever.

💀 The High School Setting.

💀 Whatever the fuck Yuri was on.

💀 90% of the hyper sexualized traits these characters had.

Now here's what I'd change to make it better... Basically here's an AU of what if it was actually a normal photography club....

Actually make it a fucking Photography Club. Not a sex club that's in a fuckin HIGH SCHOOL. Hell, you could just throw this in a college setting too, for more mature themes.

Main character, Takashi Toono a college student that's trying to get out of his comfort zone more. So he decides to join the photography club, because he thinks it's not demanding to require anything of him compared to any other club on campus. He knows completely NOTHING about photography, and doesn't have any passion for the art media. His Character growth would be learning to appreciate the art media While learning what it means to him, as well as who he wants to be as he enters the adult world as a young adult.

Yuu Kashima, can stay as Takashi's love interest. Also, I feel like all the members should have a specific style of taking photos that correlates with their personality in some way. Yuu's photography style would be something the lines of Candid photography which is a type of photography style that's main focus is to take photos in the moment or in surprise. Something he has already done when he took that photo of Takashi. I also feel like Yuu would be the one to keep pushing Takashi to love photography, and understand it's more than snapping a photo.

Kyousuke Yaguchi, can stay as the Love Rival for Yuu Kashima and overall keep his personality? It was actually pretty interesting and I liked his Character dynamics with everyone else. Kyousuke Yaguchi can also stay as the outsider that directly / indirectly influences Everyone else in the club. Causing Takashi to explore his feelings and expand his social group, and make him think about what he wants to capture in his photos. Overall the same interaction between Kyousuke & Yuu Kashima with their rivalry and brotherly relationship at it's breaking point. As well as, Kyousuke and Yui's relationship being tense with miscommunication.

Yui Tamura, I imagine Yui's photography style would be more of Adventure (capturing shots in the great outdoors, usually involving extreme sports; mountain-climbing, skiing, kayaking, sky diving, etc) & Sports Photography. Which could create interesting interactions between Kyousuke and Yui. Cue Yui trying to cover up the fact that, every time the soccer club commissions Yui to take some photos of their club activity to promote their club, all of Yui's photos are of Kyousuke playing soccer. Causing Yui to complain to Kyousuke to get out of his shots and that he's ruining them by being in all of them. So, Kyousuke just shouts back "then stop following me around with your camera, DUMBASS". Just imagine Them bickering, because Yui 100% did not delete the photo he captured of Kyousuke getting knocked out by a soccer ball to the face.

Itsuki Shikatani would definitely be in the club, but only because he prefers to have his photos be taken, more than he likes taking photos himself. He would probably be a cross dresser, who enjoys dressing up in feminine articles of clothing and posing for photos. Everyone on campus who doesn't know Itsuki personally, always asks who the beautiful woman in these photos are, the club president and vice President always just says it's one of their cousins that happen to be in town. If Itsuki had to have a style of photography, it would probably be fashion.

Toru Fujisaki. . . This one is difficult only because his Character is purely centered around Yuki's Character. . . So I'm going to take some creative liberties here. . . Probably really insecure about himself, because he feels like he's a wall flower that's really forgettable, that no one cares about. Although, it's mostly because he's shooting himself in the foot by not letting one have the opportunity to get to know him to give him a chance, in the first place. Until, he meets Yuki who makes him realize that not everyone sees him as a wall flower and someone can notice his nicer qualities about himself that he's hiding away. Toru's Character development in this AU, would be for for him to learn to love himself more and try to trust people to accept him. As well as to expand his social circle with the support of not only Yuki, but the Photography Club as well. At first I bet, he would only feel comfortable with Yuki taking his photos and modeling only for him, but over time he'd let the other club members take his photo when he gets more confident in himself. While also, developing his own style of photography, that isn't just "cute photos of Yuri", it would probably be Still Life or Portrait.

Ayato Yuri, okay first. . . I'm still not over the fact that this boy was written like a deranged feral child, that was given access to a pornhub account way too early in life. While being dropped on his head several times, before and after his first words. Anyhow. . . I feel like Yuri would fit the trope of the genius, that no one understands in any capacity. His mind is 10 steps ahead of everyone else and he forgets to slow down and explain what the fuck he's talking about, when he goes into a passionate rant about photography. With endless rambles about golden ratio, gold lighting and blue lighting, and how he needs these specific props, that don't seem to fit the theme of the photo at all to make it perfect. But despite that, his photos always come out beautifully. No one can deny that his methods might be extremely weird, but they always work out way too well to give anyone the opportunity to chastise him. Anyone trying to work with Yuri often leaves the experience with a beautiful photo in hand, but an enormous headache. Even members within the photography club can't keep up with Yuri most of the time either, he's often in his own little world that just makes sense to only him. He can be a eccentric and passionate about his hobby and goofy to not make people feel too uncomfortable with the huge distance he unintentionally places between himself and others when he doesn't bother to slow down for anyone. But, he still has a good heart to make sure everyone gets a piece of art that'll always be memorable to them. Additionally, with that being said I feel like Toru would be the few people that would consistently attempt to keep up with Yuri, when he's a light year away from everyone else in his rambles. Toru wouldn't shut down and show disinterest in what Yuri says when he can no longer keep up, he's always being supportive and encouraging Yuri to continue because he knows it makes him happy to be able to express his passion. And sometimes, Yuri will pause and explain a bit to let Toru keep up with him, because he just truly appreciates someone trying to get closer to him, without making him feel bad. I would say Yuri is a jack of all trades when it comes to Photography styles. There isn't a single style he is terrible at, but he truly excels at Abstract Photography.

Koshiro Itome I think Koshiro would fit the silent type trope, but with a lot on his mind. Always over thinking things, and although he looks calm his mind is always buzzing with 500 things at once. Because, of this the only way he can find some semblance of peace is by going out for a nature walk and letting the environment take his mind off things. He's always worries about deadlines for projects, meeting up with clients face to face for the first time, whether or not a company will like his photos he submitted, if his boyfriend Akemi is okay, what if he doesn't find anything to take a picture of or if he's missing the perfect shot right now, will the club be okay after they all graduate, what else can be learn to improve his skills etc etc. Akemi can always tell when he's actually calm and when he's just zoned out and drowning in his own worries behind his calm demeanor. Luckily for Akemi, he knows exactly what to do to make him feel better, like a life boat to his pleas for help in the vast ocean of his thoughts. Koshiro is 100% the mom friend in the club, always helping newbies out on how to properly take care of their equipment, and the general basics, stopping people from bickering and carrying around a Mary Poppins bag of useful items. "Damn I forgot to bring my infrared lens with me!" "It's okay I brought a spare, here you go." Koshiro's photography style would be Nature & Wild life, cue everyone wondering how the hell he managed to capture a photo of baby bear and it's mother so close up with such clarity with the equipment he has on him. It should be impossible there's no way he could it's just unlikely, but all Koshiro does in response is just shrugging calmly "I just slowly walked up to them, and took some photos and went my way after I was done, they weren't bothered at all." At first no one believes him, until they see the next photo of him petting the mother bear, and within the next photo of him holding the baby bears paw. I like to think Akemi is always bragging at how his boyfriend is basically a Disney Prince, with the way animals just trust him enough to let Koshiro approach to take the photos. Of course Akemi has the proof that his Boyfriend is not making any of these up. With photo evidence he had taken from a incredibly safe distance away, of Koshiro just interacting with wildlife at such a close distance. Because, Akemi was not in fact gifted the ability of a Disney prince, to be doing that shit that Koshiro pulls on a daily basis. I feel like because of this Akemi can be a bit over protective of Koshiro, always telling him to text him before he goes to work and he gets back home, so he knows a feral bear didn't devour his boyfriend in the woods. He tries his best to join Koshiro while he works so he can be at peace of mind that Koshiro is in fact safe, but they both know it's very difficult for Koshiro to focus. When his boyfriend is being incredibly cute how could he remember he's here to take photos of the wild life and not his boyfriend? That and Akemi always accidentally scares away the wildlife, when he accidentally reads the animals body language wrong as any attempt to devour his boyfriend. Akemi will lose 25 years of his life with amount of false alarms, he has encountered in those damn woods.

Keiichi Akemi, Akemi is definitely one of those smug bastards, that has an ulterative motive or an ace up his sleeve. Appearing sweet and kind until you realize it was a facade. But one way or another you find yourself wrapped up in his convoluted plans, where you're either in his photoshoot as a model or you're carrying all his equipment, while he goes from one job to the next. Akemi's photography style would be Wedding Photography & Landscape something he definitely would've picked up from the countless outings he had with Koshiro in the outdoors. Akemi's friends are almost always married or paired up together, and that's no coincidence. This man is a match-making demon, a hopeless romantic who loves to see a budding romance finally bloom. So, he can snag a fat check when they thank him for brining them together and hire him as the official wedding photographer. His intuition is never wrong about the perfect pairings and how to push the right buttons to move things along, without getting directly involved until the right time comes. Something, that will be a pain in Toono's ass down the line as he stays in the Photography Club.

Overall, I feel like this could've been a really nice BL Manga which was a love letter to the art media of Photography. As Toono figures out what Photography means to him and how he wants to use it to express his feelings. "Why do you take photos? What do you want to say in these photos and tell people without the ability of using your words?" I feel like at first Toono, would just be confused "it's just a photo what's so special about it? You take it as a cool momento for something."

But, as time goes on, and he learns why everyone in the club enjoys photography and why they're here, he learns it's more than that. Whether it be to vent something you're unable to express in words, express your love for something or someone, to tell a story, to inspire others, to feel free, to share something with someone. All these different forms of expression, will let Toono figure out what he wants from photography and how he plans on expressing it.

Also instead of the whole "have sex with someone in one month or we gang bang you against your will" dilemma. . . I feel like another suspenseful situation could have been, "Create a photo album, that will impress all of us in one month, or you have to help us all out with our next projects." Which at first doesn't sound terrible, until you remember...

Yui is a thrill seeker, and would probably push you off a cliff to snag a cool photo. Or force you to be his pack mule as you climb up serval mountains.

Itsuki would force you to cross dress and model different fashion styles to make you look like a clown for his own amusement. All the while he revels in your shame, and points out how these colors don't suit you at all, but ignores the fact he's the one who put you in that outfit in the first place.

Yuri is such a wild card that you honest to God don't know what the fuck will happen to you, it'll be like being on an acid trip the whole time. And not knowing what will happen brings you more fear than knowing what will.

Koshiro would probably bring you to a wolf den full of hungry ravenous wolves, and let you accidentally get eaten alive by a pack of wolves. While he takes pictures of puppies, without a care in the world.

Akemi... Akemi just scares Toono, he seems like the safest bet out of everyone else. But Toono knows better to trust that sweet smile. Toono would be safer walking into Satan's house than spend a day with Akemi at work. Whatever he would have planned for them if he were to lose this challenge would not be good for his sanity. He hates how he knows Akemi wants just that for Toono to know he's not going to be safe either. Akemi would probably make him cry with prying questions about his romance life. While hitting too close to home with all his assumptions about him that he can't argue back. It's losing battle from there on out.

The only problem for Toono is Everyone in this club is so different, that it's almost impossible to be able to impress them all. None of them agree, which style is better or having almost anything in common photography style wise. Toono can't just half-heartedly replicate anyone's style either, he's going to actually try and fail miserably to understand this art media better, like everyone else. I think after losing the challenge and spending time with everyone, Toono would come to really like the club and everyone else in it.

And that's my ✨two cents✨ on how this story could've been better if it didn't focus too much on the whole pwp aspect.

Take it or leave it.

[batarella]

I Don’t Hate You - Part 3 (Jason Todd x Reader)

OKAY LEMME TELL YOU ALL I’VE NEVER POSTED ANYTHING THIS LONG. AND I’VE NEVER SMILED SO MUCH WHILE WRITING A SINGLE FIC IN MY LIFE. IT’S 2K WORDS LONGER THAN THE COMMANDER FINALE. TALK ABOUT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

REMEMBER WHY JADE WEST WAS SO ICONIC IN VICTORIOUS? READ ON!

WORDS: A WHOPPING 7404 WORDS FOR A SINGLE PART OF A SERIES WARNINGS: NEVER HAD THIS MUCH FLUFF IN MY LIFE

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

Hands flat on Ms. Peterson’s desk, you flashed the brightest fake smile you could. She looked up from her computer, probably the fifth round of solitaire for the day, and cocked up an eyebrow. She did not at all look amused at you storming in.

But you’ve been in the library for twenty minutes and this woman has not given you anything to do to keep you in here.

“Listen, Ms. Peterson. As much as we just love hanging out in this outdated hellhole, I’d rather we go home than just sit here and do nothing for the next hour and a half.”

Her shaky hands didn’t flinch. And she turned her attention back at her screen.

“I’m told to keep you in here for another eight weeks. I’ve had this job for fifty years and I’m not about to lose it to two whiny brats.”

“She’s the only whiny brat here, Ms. P.” Jason rested his elbows on the desk and leaned over beside you. “If you let us out, it’ll be our little secret. C’mon.”

Obviously, that sort of trick works for Jason more times than it would for any ordinary person. But Ms. Peterson was not the one to charm with. And she had the same, dead look in her eye when she turned her head at the young man.

“Sit. Down.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t care. Just get your asses on those chairs and sit. Oh look! A person in need of service. There’s your job. Go do it.”

Only one guy was standing behind you. You snarled at him, eyes narrowed. You were almost growling beneath your breath which made him visibly stand back. Jason looked at him over his shoulder with less fear factor but with the same annoyance.

The sight of you both made him almost piss his pants.

“Uhm,” he gulped. “Can you please show me where sci fi books are at?”

You cocked up an eyebrow, glancing at your nails before nudging Jason with your shoulder. He grunted at you, giving you that same ‘I really fucking hate you’ look on his face he’s practically embedded onto his own skin by now. You shrugged, looking back at your nails. Then Jason stood straight and held the guy by the shoulder.

“Go through that aisle. Third shelf from the right.”

“He asked you to go with him, Todd.”

His glare on you was really starting to show. “He can find it himself.”

The poor guy gulped and viciously nodded to agree with Jason. He walked away, making sure not to catch your eye. You lifted your elbows from the librarian’s desk and spared the old lady another snarky look, to which she didn’t even bother to notice. Both of you sitting back on the empty table, Jason placed his arm crossed over the other on the surface and leaned his head over to at least try having a nap. His hair was all sprawled out. You, on the other hand, leaned back, head hanging on your neck, and closing your eyes hoping time would fly by faster that way.

It didn’t.

Two weeks. It had been two fucking weeks. And yet, you were far from being halfway through this macabre series of events. Why couldn’t you have just punched that Maxwell kid in the face? Or threatened to murder him in his sleep? Anything else would have been better. Anything that would’ve landed you in an entirely different situation than to be stuck here with an old woman stricter than a Belle Reeves prison guard.

You could either look at the windows out the library, find a book and actually read one of them (though if they had any more of Poe’s you’d likely get your hands on them).

Or just stare at the eye candy in front of you.

Your smirk was less obvious when you glanced over the veins on his large, muscled arms, folded on top of the other with his skin stretched. His thick, black hair that was long enough to cover most of his forehead, now sticking onto his arm. His neck that was long and thick, his thin shirt and how even more lean muscles would pop out when he’d unintentionally flex. You often caught sight of his stomach when he’d reach over a shelf that was at the top most level, and the ‘V’ shape on his skin was more than eminent enough for you to picture. He wasn’t absolutely huge, especially since he was just 17. But he was definitely fit.

You wouldn’t mind looking at that for a while. Not until he starts talking, anyway. For long minutes, that was what you did, then you got bored.

The tip of your boots kicked his shin under the table. He jumped up, startled, almost growling at you with dark bags under his eyes.

“The fuck do you want now?”

“Someone’s a bit angsty today,” your evil little smirk ticked off another of his nerves. You could tell. He let out a large sigh, started leaning back against the back of his chair, then spread out his arms behind his head to stretch.

Ooooooh shit. There is was. The veins.

“I didn’t sleep last night.” Jason finished stretching and went back to lean against the table. “You done gawking?”

“Cute.” You scrunched up your face to mock him. “I’m bored.”

“And what am I supposed to do with that?”

“Help me sneak out of here.”

“Two weeks here. You think I haven’t tried sneaking out once or twice? That woman’s got the eye of a fucking hawk.”

“Is there any other way out of here?”

“I doubt it.”

Your groan was indefinitely long, stretching the back of your neck when you opted to reach for your phone.

“I’m at three percent.”

Jason took out his own phone. “Mine’s at five.”

“That blackout from last night reach your monster mansion, too?”

He snarled at you and rolled his eyes. “Bruce has generators to power up the whole place when we need it.”

“Then why are you at five percent?”

“Because I’ve been tinkering on this sorry little fucker the last thirty minutes.” He held it up with just his fingers. It had a cracked screen. It looked too old to even be used. “Battery drains faster than my patience.”

“Can’t your new rich dad buy you another one?”

“He did. I don’t wanna use it. Just doesn’t feel like mine.”

“Ah. You're one of those guys. ‘My parents are rich, not me’ kind of dudes. You’re all the same kinds of annoying.”

“I don’t act all high and mighty, for your information.”

“I’m just saying,” you raised your arms up. “If I were you’d I’d at least enjoy his wealth. It’s stupid if you don’t take advantage of things you clearly already have.””

He silently shook his head and looked to the side like you wouldn’t understand even if you tried. Scoffing, you turned away, and you caught the eye of Maxwell, who had a sling on his arm still.

“Holy fuck,” you reached for your bag. “I can't believe I fucking forgot.”

“What?”

Pouring out the contents, you mumbled. “Help me with this thing and I swear I owe you a huge favor.”

“I think watching you wallow in your pain would be more worth my time.”

“That sounds more like my line. You’re taking after me. Good. And I’d say likewise if I wasn’t so desperate, Todd.” You started pouring out pieces of paper, a bottle of glue, and a pair of the largest scissors Jason’s ever seen.

“Is that-“

“The scissors that sent that guy to therapy?” You pointed at Maxwell. “Yes. Yes they are.”

“Jesus.” He took it from your hands. “No fucking wonder.”

“Stop ogling and help me.”

“What the fuck are you supposed to do?”

“Remember the project that kid spilled his coffee on? This is it. I finished it that day and now I have to do it all over again. They gave me another two weeks to do it and I completely forgot about it until now. I’m supposed to make a stained-glass kind of picture. But with cutting pieces of colored paper.”

Jason took the paper you had on the table.

“These are all white, black, gray, and one sheet that’s dark red.”

You shrugged. “I like working with those colors. Now help me. I wanna do this.” You pulled out your phone and showed him a saved photo of one you’d like to copy. He almost jumped out of his seat when you suddenly showed him a picture of a deranged clown with a big red nose, a smile much larger than half his face, and eyes dark and dwelling enough to give him nightmares.

“I wanna know what type of dark shit you’re on.”

“It’s just a clown.”

“I am not helping you on your little art project.”

“Please.” Your hands were down, your eyes widened but not the threatening kind. And your voice, it was definitely the softest he’s ever heard it. Twitching an eyebrow like he was watching your every move, Jason didn’t flinch.

He looked at the clock. Then back at you with his eyeballs rolled all the way around.

“You’re lucky I literally have nothing better to do.”

You propped your shoulders up and gave him a black piece of paper and a pair of scissors. “Great. Cut these into the shapes I drew here.”

A disgruntled groan and a sharp snatch from your hands, Jason looked just as cranky as you usually were. It was amusing. He glared at you and you just smiled back. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Shut up and get to work.”

Your eyes lingered a bit longer on him, even when he’d started to fiddle with your too-large scissors, and you rolled your eyes with a bit of a smile.

“What’s making you so grumpy today?”

He didn’t bother looking up at you. His brows were all scrunched up as he cut the black piece of paper.

“I told you. I didn’t get to sleep last night. I was… out. Why are you grumpy all the time?”

You squinted your eyes at him then went to work. Carefully, he went through the first paper and gave you the shapes you wanted. You set aside your own batch and you took out the larger, white paper on which you’d glue it all on.

“Okay. Give me the shapes.”

You took out the glue and started pouring it on the paper.

“You’re doing it all wrong.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“You clearly don’t.” He snatched it from you and started wiping the glue off with his finger, spreading it around. “I can't believe I’m fucking doing this.”

“And what are you doing exactly?” you snarled.

“Pouring the glue in will make it all sticky. You should’ve traced over the outer lines so it wouldn’t crumple.”

“I know that.” You took the glue away from him again, then placed the shape onto the paper. “One down.”

“Fucking kill me now.”

“Keep cutting. I’ll handle the glue.”

“Do it right, then.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. He started again with your scissors and went back to snipping off the pieces of paper. Gluing the shapes one by one, you started taking out a red marker and traced the outlines to mimic the flow of blood.

Jason stared at it, then at you, eyes wide with disbelief, then went back to his scissors.

“Excuse me,” a girl went up to you. A freshman, you could tell. “That lady told me you could show me to the young adult section?”

“No. Go away.”

You kept with your glue, not even looking at the girl who just stared at you awkwardly. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep, long sigh. “Go down that aisle. Fifth shelf. Down the very end.”

“Uh. Thanks.” She walked over to where Jason was pointing at. You still didn’t look up from your work. And instead, watched on as Jason continued with cutting the shapes. “You need to chill.”

“Finish those up. That’s the last one.”

Jason rolled his eyes even more, angrily cutting through the pieces of red paper the size of the clown’s big red nose. He dropped the scissors onto the table and just continued to watch you gluing the pieces together with way too much glue.

He gave you no warning before grabbing the glue bottle from you and the shapes, stretching his arm out so you can't reach them.

“TODD.”

“YOU’RE RUINING THE WHOLE THING.”

“NO, I’M NOT.” You cursed with his name and stood up from your chair, reaching out with your arms all the way to him while he desperately wiped off the excess glue for your sake. “GIVE THAT BACK.”

“SIT DOWN.” He cried back at you.

You heard the shrillest shush Ms. Peterson has ever made, before you went back to fumbling with Jason. Your table was at the far end, and she was no longer at your line of sight. He held your wrist, wiping off the rest of the glue, then finally handed the bottle back to you. Putting the shapes onto the paper, you groaned when you slumped back on the chair.

“It looks horrible,” he tried to stifle a laugh.

“Fuck you.”

“At least you’re almost done, right?”

“You put the glue on the shapes then, genius. I’ll paste them on.”

Grumbling with his deep voice, he took the glue bottle and swiped the shapes back over to him. Using thin, barely visible lines, he was so stingy with the glue you wanted to tear your hair out.

“That won't even stick to a fly trap.”

“You want your work to look all crumpled? Go ahead.”

“Just put a bit more.”

“I have the fucking glue bottle,” his eyebrows were raised. “You sit there and wait for me, then you stick them yourself. Start with this.”

He slammed a shape onto the table and you took it, careful not to hit your fingers with the glue. Biting into your gums, you wondered how you’ll be able to handle yet another eight weeks with his kid.

Your bickering didn’t even stop there. It went on, and Jason had to cut even more shapes to make up for some that were far too small. He was practically yelling at this point, and you weren’t about to get yelled at and not respond.

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO CUT THEM, DINGUS.”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE RIGHT FUCKING SIZE.”

“I GAVE YOU THE PATTERN. YOU ONLY HAD TO FOLLOW IT.”

“WELL I WOULD HAVE IF YOUR SCISSORS WEREN’T SO DAMN BIG.”

“THEY’RE THE BEST PAIR IN EXISTENCE. YOU JUST CAN'T HANDLE IT.”

“I THINK I CAN HANDLE A PAIR OF SCISSORS.”

“THEN WHY CAN'T YOU CUT BETTER THAN A FUCKING SEVEN-YEAR-OLD.”

“’CUZ THEY DON’T HAVE A FUCKING PARROT SCREAMING AT THEM EVERY FIVE GODDAMN MINUTES.”

The silent yelling didn’t stop. At the end, your voices were too loud that Ms. Peterson would’ve eventually shushed you for the last time and probably throw her slipper at you. Thankfully, she’d gone out to the bathroom and you were left alone.

Everyone else had left. It was almost 5 pm, and you refused to go if your project still wasn’t finished.

“This. Is. The worst day. Of my entire life. And I used to live in the streets.”

“You're not going anywhere. Stay.”

A deep, agonizingly painful groan. He slumped onto the table and buried his face into his arms. “Why can't you just kill me?”

Another set of long minutes, with your attention directly at the glue and scraping off the excess to make it look presentable. It didn’t actually look that bad. The second set of cut shapes were just the right size. Jason didn’t bother looking up. He might have even fallen asleep with you being silent for the longest time since you got there.

No one was left in the library, and it was just starting to get dark.

“Aaaaand THERE.” You placed the finished project onto the table and clapped your hands together in a grinning happiness. Jason, on the other hand, looked as good as dead.

“You may go.”

“You owe me fucking big time, kid.”

You smirked at him when he violently pushed his chair back, grabbed his backpack and went out for the door. You took your time, especially since going home late didn’t seem like such a drag anymore when Dad moved back in. You carefully slipped your collage into your folder and slung your bag over your shoulder.

Jason was still standing in front of the door, hand frozen on the handle you pushed him away and turned it, only for your hand to come at an abrupt stop and the sound of gears halting its turn.

“Where the fuck is Mother Goose?”

“The bathroom-“

But she wasn’t at the bathroom. Unless Ms. Peterson took her large purse and computer along with her to the toilet, she probably wasn’t in there.

“Are we-“

“There has to be a key here.” Jason rummaged through the librarian’s desk. Every drawer he could forcefully pull out, he did.

You pulled out your phone, which was a dead 0%, the image of a drained-out battery staring back at you, and that’s when you started to feel the panic slowly rise. You rushed to the library’s telephone, but you couldn’t even hear a dial tone. The phone was off. Jason’s phone was probably just as dead.

You rushed to the lights to turn them on, but nothing happened.

Fuck. Another blackout. FUCK.

“No key,” he rested his hands on the table. “Shit. FUCK.”

You only stared at each other, feeling that panic start to settle in when you realized you were out of options.

“M-Maybe. Your dad will come pick us up?”

Jason shook his head. “The last time I ran away for the night, he said he wasn’t gonna go around Gotham to pick me up anymore.” He looked at you. “Your parents?”

“Said the exact same thing.”

Your back hit the wall, and you slid down with your head up in the ceiling. Both silent. None of you even said it out loud.

Jason looked like he wanted to scream.

-----

You laid on your back, flat against the table, with just your arm over your eyes to shield it from the light posts outside the window on the driveway. You tried to drown out Jason’s fiddling with his lock pick and the door handle. Two hours had passed, and you’d barely gone by the evening.

“That’s not gonna work.”

“You have a better option, Lydia Deetz?”

You clenched your jaw and sneered. “You’ve been at it for an hour.”

“I’m almost through this.” He kept with his pick, a hairpin he found on the ground which he spent another hour looking for. “Juuuust- THERE!”

You shot up from the table, feet landing enthusiastically onto the floor and you sprinted to Jason’s back. “Here’s to freedom.”

Too eagerly, he turned the handle and pulled the door with a victorious grin.

Only for his hand to jolt at another abrupt stop. The door wouldn’t budge, only peering open through an inch. The grin on his face was immediately lost, and he almost feel out of his feet when you violently pushed him away, pulling on the door yourself and failing.

You could see the deadbolt, but something outside was holding the double doors from opening, no matter which one you pulled on.

“That batshit crazy old witch,” you growled. “Fucking chain locked the door.”

A loud, frustrated groan from Jason as he threw the hairpin to the ground like he would’ve a knife. “WHO CHAIN LOCKS A LIBRARY?”’

You walked away from the door, going back to the tables so you could bend over and stuff your face into your hands. Jason was even more of a mess.

Your dad started his first big fight with mom since he moved back in last night, just when you thought they’d finalized the divorce, he squirms back in. And your room was never far enough to drown out their screams.

That night you wished you were somewhere else. And you ended up somewhere even worse.

Jason was sitting on the floor, back flat against the wall, and his eyes were shut close while you laid back down on top of the table.

“I’m hungry.”

“The fuck you want me to do about that?” Jason kept his eyes shut.

“You got any food?”

“No.”

“Don’t you have something in your bag?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“You think you can stab me with those scissors? ‘Cuz I feel like choking on my own blood right now.”

You rolled over so you were laying on your stomach. Craning your head up to look at Jason, your chin resting on your fingers, you grinned. “I’d rather not spend the night being stuck with your rotting flesh. I’ll kill you in the morning.”

Jason screamed into his hands. “We are not gonna be stuck here until fucking morning.”

“Either you die tonight still in denial or we actually try to survive. Now do you have anything in your bag or what?”

He didn’t give in to picking out his bag without leaving you a dark glare. The sky was completely dark by now. And the only light source you had were three lamp posts outside the window. The power was still off, which meant it was going to be this dark the whole fucking night.

“Would you look at that?” He took out a small protein bar from his smaller pocket. “Forgot that was there.”

You jumped off the table again. “Great. I’m starving.”

You walked too fast to Jason, who immediately stood up and hold you by the shoulder, raising his hand away from your reach. “Ey. Mine. From my bag, remember?”

“I don’t have anything in mine!” you reached and tried to push him, but had no luck against his strength. “Come on!”

“I have way more body mass than you. I need this.”

You pursed your lips, glowering at him even when you knew he still wouldn’t budge. He kept pushing your shoulder from him until you backed away reluctantly.

“WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO EAT?”

You whined and grunted with your back hitting the wall. Jason stepped away facing you and opened the protein bar, took a large bite that left it with almost a third of the whole thing left.

“You know. That thing with the scissors stuck into your neck doesn’t seem like a bad idea anymore.” You grumbled.

Chewing profusely at the bar, he folded his one arm over his chest and smirked while watching you silently grovel in annoyance. You leaned on your side and made sure he wouldn’t hear your stomach starting to growl.

“Fine,” he groaned. “Here.”

A little over a quarter of the protein bar left. Jason handed it over to you and you gritted your teeth.

“There’s barely anything left, you bile-headed twat.”

“You want me to finish it?”

Snatching the bar away from him, you cursed under your breath right before you gobbled up what was left of the snack. It did little to nothing to make you feel less hungry, but at least you weren’t going to die.

“You're welcome.”

You threw the wrapper onto the floor and went back to sitting on the table. “Got anymore bright ideas?”

“Maybe if you’d help, I’d actually be able to tolerate you.”

Jason walked over to the classics shelf, pulled out a book and did the same as you. He swung his legs over on top of the table across you, bringing his knees up so he could rest his elbows on them. He then opened his book.

“You're reading,” you bit your gums. “You’re actually reading at a time like this.”

“What else are we supposed to do in a fucking library?”

Your hands met the surface of the table behind you and you threw your head back. “We have at least until the power comes back on. GOD, this place in insufferable.”

“Never mind the helping. You shutting up would be enough not to drive me insane.”

“And you're less of an ass when you're not a grouch, dickhead.”

“I’m ignoring you now.”

The vein on your forehead started to throb. You weren’t tired yet, and you wouldn’t be able to sleep at this hour even if you tried. You rolled around the table, desperate for any position that wouldn’t drive your limbs numb.

You jolted when you heard Jason curse.

“This fucking lamp post’s too dim. Can't even see shit.”

He set the book aside, laid down on his back and watched the ceiling with you.

“How did we even get locked up?”

“Maybe if you didn’t keep me captive with that stupid clown project for three hours we wouldn’t be in the mess.”

“So it’s my fault now? You're the one who fell asleep!”

“How could you have possibly missed the time? You know the library closes at five!”

“I didn’t fucking know that! I leave before that old witch does every time!”

“Just-.” Jason shut his eyes. “Can we stop screaming for ONE SECOND? Especially since we’re gonna stuck here the whole night?!”

The mocking noise you made was almost inhuman. Jason didn’t bother snarling back.

You saw a car pass by, the headlights shining through the window for the shortest moment. You kneeled on the table and waved your arms around.

“HEY. GET US OUT OF HERE!”

The car kept moving, and the headlights passed through the whole of the window until it left. You slumped back to lay down and groaned. “Fuck everything.”

You grabbed your bag, rummaging through everything inside just to find anything to do or anything that could possibly help you. Nothing. Not even a fan to cool you off when you started to feel the temperature rise.

“Did you call the number I gave you?”

You licked your teeth. “I used the piece of paper you gave me as a bookmark.”

Jason lifted his arm off his head. “No shame in asking for help.”

“I told you, I’m not being fucking abused.” You started picking on the leather of your boots, tracing along the creases of where your toes folded. “I don’t know what the hell made you think I was.”

“It doesn’t have to be actual physical abuse,” he sat up on his elbows.

“You really wanna make us feel uncomfortable? Why do you come to school with bruises all the time?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m not gonna fucking tell you, Y/LN.”

“Fine. Then let’s not talk about this.”

You had that usual condescending tone, but you didn’t sound like you were on the verge of lashing out. You sounded like you were pleading, even. Jason bit his lower lip. “Okay. What do you wanna talk about? It’s too early to sleep.”

You brought your knees up to sit cross legged and you leaned in on your elbows.

“Wanna play a game?”

Jason drummed his fingers on the table and sighed. “What?”

You scooched closer to him and swung your legs over the edge of the table. He did the same and faced you. “Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Just give me your hand, Todd. Don’t be a pussy.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Then give me your hand.”

Jason snorted, leaning his elbow over his lap and giving his other hand over to you. You took it, smiling at him, then gripping firmly onto his wrist. “Make a fist.”

He fisted his hand and you could see a few veins pop out on his arm. You started rubbing the outside of his fingers. His eyes scrunched up, watching you. “Open your hand.”

He opened it, then you lightly slapped it with your own palm. “Fist,” you said again. He breathed and pulled it again to a fist. You repeated your first action with a growing smirk. “If I come out of this with one hand left-“

“Shut up. Open again.”

He opened his palm. And with a single finger, you tapped onto the center of his hand, then released your grip on his wrist.

Jason widened his eyes, amused. “It tingles.”

“I know right.” You folded your arms.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“That’s a secret.”

He then reached out his other hand to you. “Do it again.”

You laughed and snorted before grabbing his wrist, rubbed his fingers the same way you did the first time. Jason leaned over closer to look at your movements, and his nose was all scrunched up like it would when he was focused on a book. The corner of your mouth lifted, then you tapped his hand with your finger and let go.

“What sorcery is this?”

You shrugged, leaning back and folding your arms. “You have any tricks of your own?”

“Yes I do,” he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “Hold out your hand.”

You did so without hesitation. Jason held your fist, then looked straight at you. “Pick a finger and don’t tell me what it is.”

“Okay?” Your ring finger. Easy enough.

“Look straight into my eyes. Don’t look down.”

You rolled your eyes slightly to the side, licking the inside of your teeth, then did as told.

He was looking straight at you, not even trying to blink. A smirk formed on his lips, and his eyes had that same flick of a glare, but there was a little shine on them from the dim lamp post. You shook your head while still maintaining eye contact and felt his other hand start toying with your fingers.

“It’s your ring finger.”

“Huh,” you shuffled closer to him. “Do it again. I wanna watch your hands.”

“No. You have to look straight at my eyes.”

“Fine. Just do it again. I’ll pay more attention.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and you both tried your best to hold back emerging bursts of laughter while he continued to toy with your fingers and trying not to blink.

“You're not choosing a finger.” He said.

“Not true. You just suck.”

It was true. You forgot to choose a finger. The middle finger this time. You shifted your focus, but the way he’d try to hold back a laugh made you choke. “Stop laughing.”

“I’m not.” He so was. You felt him touch your fingers, moving around them one by one. “You’re trying to look for movements.”

“Nope. It’s the middle finger.” He kept at it. Over and over, with you refusing to admit he read your mind.

His hands started feeling warmer each time. You didn’t know you noticed.

-----

A bustling, screeching noise of a cart being hauled around the room for the past ten minutes. You’ve been here for five hours. You were tired, starving, and sweating. You covered most of your face and ears with your hands, but the cart’s noises just kept going.

You shot up from the table. “DUDE. STOP.”

You normally had more insults to scream at him, but at that point of the night, you were all out.

Jason kept going and ignored you. Starting from one end of the library, he pushed the handles of the empty cart, accelerating it with his feet. When he gained the momentum, he placed his feet on the metal and rode it across the room. “Real mature.”

“Don’t be an old hag.”

He accelerated again from the opposite end, then climbed on. Jason went faster this time and just narrowly missed a shelf.

“There’s another cart right there if you have the balls to join me.”

You placed your weight on your arm, watching Jason sprint from one end of the room to the next. With a loud grunt, knowing you wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, you jumped off the table.

You emptied the cart from the remaining books and pushed it to Jason’s side, who waited for you just by the shelves. “Jump when it speeds up.”

“I know what to do.”

He laughed. “Race you to the other side.”

You gripped on the handle firmly, watching the end of the room, the one lined with heavy bookshelves, and readied yourself. “GO.”

You sprinted the two carts and grabbed on with your life as you sped down the large enough room, feeling the air slightly cooler when it was rushing past your skin and hair. You laughed playfully, stopping just before you hit the shelf. “I win.”

“Are you kidding me? I was waiting for you.”

“One more lap.”

“You’re on.”

Again, you sped past the room. You held onto one side of the handle too hard and accidentally hit Jason’s cart, both of you almost tumbling to the ground. “I call foul!”

“It was an accident!” you laughed, then took the cart again to finish the lap. He caught up with you and you no longer stopped in between, continuously sprinting and jumping onto the metal all across the room. You rode past the shelves, the narrow aisles, narrowly missing the books. You almost hit the tables with the carts and you definitely hit the wall too hard when you stopped too late. Jason was trailing right beside you, then he went about his own route.

That’s when he purposefully hit the front your cart with your own, throwing you off on the ground. “FUCK”

He laughed too hard. “Come on. I have another game.”

Holding his hand out to you, you grabbed on and he pulled you up to your feet. You stood close to him, both of you still laughing. And you were staring too long at his face being close to yours. You pulled away from his lingering grip, looking at the ground.

Setting his own cart aside, he pulled on yours, settling it between the aisle of the shelves. It went straight through the longest path down the room, and you’d have to be lucky to miss the shelves. “Hop on.”

“Todd, if you throw me out the window-“

“Come on. Don’t be a pussy.”

You felt the rush, and you liked how free you felt rushing through the air. You climbed into the cart, grabbing hold of the edges and focused on the end of the room.

Jason leaned in to your ear. “Don’t scream.”

“JASON.”

He was incredibly strong, pushing you in the cart like you weighed nothing and sped through the room faster than he previously had. The cart was growling and was so ready to break apart, but you never felt that kind of thrill since you last rode a coaster. You definitely screamed, a high-pitched shriek you know Jason must never mention to anyone, ever. But you were also laughing your stomach out when Jason turned you around, sped to the other end again. And this time, his feet jumping onto the cart.

You threw your head back, laughing, then you caught a glimpse of his face flashing the brightest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

Your laughter came to an abrupt stop when he stopped the cart too late and crashed against the shelf. You both stood still, watching it toppling like an unsteady jenga tower.

Holding your breath, you heard books fall to the floor, then the shaking mellowed down and you released your breaths when it finally stopped. Turning to Jason and falling into the cart laughing, you clutched at your stomach. “JESUS CHRIST.”

“Not funny!” he cried out, but even he was stifling a laugh. He walked over to the front and placed the books into the cart with you. Some fell on your lap, and you took the books from him and placed them to your side.

“At least we have something to do now.”

“Yeah. Especially since you put these books in the wrong shelf. These belong over there.” He pointed to a shelf nearby.

“Let’s fix it then,” you said, still not moving from the cart. He placed all the books from the floor onto you and moved the cart to the corner.

“You’re heavy.”

“Shut up. From now on, we shelf books this way.” You took a book from your lap and gave it to him, who placed the book in its right place.

“Top shelf,” you smirked.

“I know where to put them.” He took it from your hand and shoved it in place. You didn’t have many books to begin with, but even after that, he continued to push the cart, with you still hitching a ride, and you walked around the library to just look at all the books.

“Everything’s in the right section.”

“Because of me. You made a shit ton of mistakes.”

You threw your head back, looking at him. And from that angle you could see his glare turn into a smile. You leaned against the back of the cart, your head lightly touching his arm.

When you’ve managed to tour the whole library, you sat up.

“You're turn. Get in here.”

Jason wanted to laugh at that. “You’d never be able to lift me.”

“Watch me try.”

You hopped off the cart, pushing him aside from the handle. He shook his head, but eventually climbed on like you had. He was bigger than you, so he looked a lot more uncomfortable with his knees folded way up and his arms barely fitting inside the cart.

He was really heavy. But you managed. Pushing the cart slowly at first, Jason leaned in to the left side to steer you off. “Jason!”

“I see stray books. Go over there.”

You pushed the cart with whatever might you had. When you reached the desk, Jason took the books you previously set aside and placed them on his lap. “Braille,” he said. “These go all the way to the back.”

“I can handle this. I’m a big girl.”

You pushed the cart, eventually gaining speed, but it wasn’t nearly as fast as when he’d pushed you around. You reached the far back, with two sharp turns that nearly killed your back, then stopped with a loud breath.

“You're right. We should do this more often.”

You were panting by that time, and Jason handed you the books to place on the shelf. “Chop chop.”

-----

Two fucking am. The power was still out. Jason was definitely going to call the electricity company when you both get out of here. You were sat cross legged on one side of the long, narrow table, fiddling with your sleeves since you couldn’t sleep. He was laying on the same table but facing the opposite way, closing his eyes and feeling the beginnings of light slumber. His back was going to kill him eventually, but when the rush from that cart fiasco died down, he was so awfully tired.

Jason laid his head on his arm, closing his eyes as tightly as he could.

Then a warm, soothing melody started to buzz through his ears, a tune he’s never quite heard of before. His eyelids suddenly grew softer, feeling the humming song vibrate through him.

Where was it coming from?

He slowly opened his eyes, trying to find the source. Jason craned his head up to you, with your back turned to him, and realized you were the one humming.

You turned to him, and he went back to closing his eyes, pretending to sleep. “Jason?” you lightly asked, not enough to wake him if he was actually asleep. You turned your back around and crouched over to relax.

He wasn’t sleeping anymore, but he kept closing his eyes. A little while later, with you thinking he wasn’t conscious, he heard you actually start to sing.

 You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere

Maybe we make a deal

Maybe together we can get somewhere

Anyplace is better

Starting from zero got nothing to lose

Maybe we'll make something

Me, myself I got nothing to prove

 Then you paused. Your voice was so soft and light, he never would’ve have heard it if there was anyone else in the room or if he wasn’t awake. You never would’ve sung if you knew he was, though.

You had the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard in his life.

 You got a fast car

I got a plan to get us out of here

I been working at the convenience store

Managed to save just a little bit of money

Won't have to drive too far

Just 'cross the border and into the city

You and I can both get jobs

And finally see what it means to be living

 Your voice was low, a beautiful, vibrating low. An alto. And there was that deep, breathy growl when you reached the lower notes with ease. A light vibrato at the end of the vowels, and there was that drowsy, slow feel to it that just made it seem like you didn’t make that much effort at all. At some points, you whispered the words, like your everyday screaming never affected your vocal chords at all.

There was a tug at his chest, his face started to burn up. He was wide awake by now, and there was that thudding within him that was too hard to ignore. And it worsened each time you breathed out the end of the verses.

You managed to finish the song, and by then, he was a mess.

You didn’t sing anything more, no matter how much he wished you would. He ended up fighting his tiredness, just in case he’d miss another song.

But right before he drifted to sleep, he realized he’d been smiling his cheeks off.

-----

Twelve hours.

You were stuck in the library.

For twelve fucking hours.

Both of you shot up from the table the moment you heard the chains outside the door clink to the ground. You and Jason raced out the door, and before the security guard could totally open it, you violently pushed it aside and raced out into the wide-open space of the driveway outside the gates. The poor guard looked puzzlingly at you. But since he was too old to care or even ask about what happened, he shrugged it off.

The cool air felt heavenly against your skin, and the bright sun, smiling back at you against your face. You spread your arms out and took in the breeze as much as you could. Jason was fanning himself with the collar of his shirt, raising his arms up the same way you were. “AHHHHH.” He screamed. And you did the same. The frustration went out the window as fast as you’d ran.

“FUCKING FINALLY.”

“THAT IS NEVER HAPPENING AGAIN.”

“NEVER.”

You faced the sky, still taking the deep, fresh intakes of air. Jason placed his hands on his hips and ruffled his sweat covered hair.

“Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Agreed,” you said. “Not even Ms. Peterson.”

“Not a single soul.”

You both faced each other, raising your brows, no longer from a glare or out of annoyance. Your body felt light. Your chest felt lighter. You were smiling.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Kudos to us for surviving.”

A high five. And you both laughed, still feeling that flush of relief flow throughout your limbs. No one was in school yet. It was Saturday, though. No one but a few of the faculty members were going to show up.

But the sky looked pink, mixed with a bright yellowish orange. The driveway never looked so clean, and the breeze was so wonderfully cold, with the autumn leaves still floating on the grass and the roads, you just felt happy. Your lingering gaze on Jason helped with that bright smile.

As if twelve hours in the library was nothing. As if it wasn’t torture at all.

As if it was, in fact, the most fun you’ve had in a single night in a long, long time.

“Walk safe.”

“Bye, Todd.”

Walking towards opposite ends of the sidewalk, hands on your sides and not in your pockets like you usually would. You couldn’t stop grinning.

Sparing one last glance behind you, seeing him get on his motorcycle, you turned to the corner of the street.

-----

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-------

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH PLS TELL ME YOU ENJOYED THAT CUZ I CERTAINLY DID

THE SINGING SCENE IS REALLY INSPIRED BY LIZ GILLIES (REMEMBER THE READER IS BASED ON JADE WEST) SO THE FAST CAR SINGING SCENE WAS ACTUALLY INSPIRED BY THIS VIDEO

Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive  @lucy-roo  roseangel013bf @ loxbbg  reclusive-chicken-nugget http-cherries shadowsndaisies 

[bubblyani]

Bail Out: 05

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi Chapter Series

Chapter 05: “No Fun”

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault.  However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne,  surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your  choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 8500+

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Swearing and Slight Violence 

Author’s Note: So glad I could finish this on time. Now I’m impatiently working on the next part. When you read it, you will know why. Thanks again for the wonderful response. Enjoy!

Chapter LIST

The rapid sound of gunfire, infused with blood curdling screams, certainly forced your heart to beat right out of your chest. The beating, increased without any prior announcement shocked you, as if the live, blood pumping organ might literally fall out of your flesh vessel. The scene you witnessed, was never expected but only imagined in modes of fiction. Be it novels or films. However, when you truly got to taste it in the rusty reality, only then did you realize the gravity of its horror. And only then at that fateful moment, did you genuinely fear for your precious life.

Just when it seemed trouble had finally set you free.

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(A Few Days Earlier)

Allison Hughs was your quintessential fun-loving, living in the moment party girl with complete control over the pace of her existence. Apart from all that, she was also a loyal friend, blindly following you to the ends of the earth in ranting.

“SHE DID WHAT?”

Her inquiry was loud and dramatic, to which you nodded. “Yep” you replied, “She straight up went there…”

Safe to say, the ‘She’ that was being mentioned here was none other than Clara Bennett, the Consultant who slithered her way into Wayne Enterprises, solely to make exaggerated inspections on HR Operations, and to make your cooperate life a living hell, drenched with self-doubt and insecurity. It certainly traveled up a notch when she proactively invited you to take part in a Basic HR Crash Course, that was mainly designed to New Recruits. Simply because she assumed that you would find the Course ‘helpful’ to your own line of work. The fact she indirectly implied a trace of incompetence in you caused so much embarrassment.

“The hell is that bitch’s problem though?”

Allison kept inquiring, as she wiped off the milk from her lips, “Seriously…” she muttered, standing by the opened refrigerator in her pajamas.

“Yeah” you continued to nod, as you stuffed a spoonful of cereal into your mouth, “..and Lillian…being my senior since day 1, didn’t even treat me this way” you added, with a full mouth.

Already dressed for work, little did you expect to see Allison awake and engaged while you had your breakfast, “I look like a fucking joke…”you muttered, after finally gulping the food down.

“Hey!”

Allison cried, pointing her index finger at you, “Don’t you dare give up” she said with seriousness, standing before you, “You need to stand your ground and carry on with dignity…” she continued, her tone quite similar to a heroic speech, “Make Lillian proud she left you in charge…” she added, putting both hands on the table. Leaning forward, she took a closer look, “This will be good for you…” finally as her voice grew soft, she flashed a soft smile. You could not help but look at her affectionately, as you exhaled deeply.

“Talking to you makes me feel so much better…” you admitted. Pleased, Allison stood up straight.

“That’s why I’m your hype man, Sweetie!” she said, turning towards the window, “Watch out Gotham! The Bruiser is here to SLAY-”

“HEYYY!!-” your shushes exited along with your embarrassment. Your friend covered her mouth quickly.

“Sorry, Sweetie….” Allison whispered, taking the hands away, “But it just sounds so badass…” as her tone grew normal once more. You shot her a deranged look.

“Do I look like someone who deserves the name?” you inquired. “Well…” she said, folding her arms, “…the fact you punched that guy is a good enough reason…”

Shaking one’s head with a chuckle, you watched her head to the bedroom with a maniacal laughter. The sudden vibration of the table forced you to look down at your phone. The chuckling stopped, permitting your pulse to quicken with liberty. Rubbing your neck nervously, you proceeded to read the text from the only sender who was capable to send you through an emotional wild ride: Bruce Wayne.

Sorry, long night. Good Morning!

Pausing for a few seconds, you exhaled loudly as began to type:

No worries. Hope your day goes well, Mr. Wayne.

Being an appropriate response, you sent without hesitation. Long night?, could it possibly truly mean a hectic night of crime fighting and city saving in disguise? A strong urge suddenly arose to pull up the search browser on your phone, and type in the words: Batman. And what appeared first in the results certainly made your eyebrows rise with curiousity.

“Ali….” You yelled loud enough for her to hear, “You’ve heard of a website called… ‘Where’s the Bat’?

“EH?”

Her response was equally loud and echoing, “Oh yeah…” she added, whilst you opened the web page, “…Matty was talking about it sometime back…” she continued, “Some nerdy site about The Batman…”

“Damn!”

The word abruptly left your lips as your eyes widened. For you were treated to such a sight, “Ali…get this…” you said, proceeding to read the description of the page, “Welcome to ‘Where’s the Bat?’ Your Online Resource for all things Batman: Gotham’s Caped Crusader…” you squealed excitedly,  “Ha! It’s a freakin’ fan site! Oh! Oh!” you exclaimed as you continued to read out loud:

“… reliable sources from our very own admins and enthusiasts all over Gotham City…” with a whistle, you nodded, “These folks are not kidding around, huh?” you muttered, letting your finger slowly scroll down, “And they have posts on almost every appearance he made in the city…” you said out loud, yet it seemed that Allison was never interested. 

The Website backdrop was in black, but encompassing a very beautiful design concept. The immaculate detail was beyond believable. Detailed posts on possible weapons owned, vehicles, fighting styles and costume, Photos ranging from Low Quality to High, even blurry videos by camera phones, it was certainly a network of information. Your eyes widened when you saw the recent post title: 

Batman and The Bruiser?

“What the-?” Muttering to yourself, you clicked on the article.

“…also known as The Bruiser (Click Here for the Viral Clip) was spotted nearby when a group of muggers had reportedly attacked her. According to the anonymous source, Batman had arrived right on time. A clip of the incident may not be available, yet we did manage to find a small clip as he escaped the scene. And according to Gotham PD, the Caped Crusader had appeared once again to The Bruiser’s aid the night after. As much as we feel sorry for the bad luck The Bruiser attracts, we could only be nothing but envious of her opportunity to meet the Dark Knight twice. And some of us could not help but wonder: Could romance possibly be in bloom between the two?”

“What?” Nervous chuckles were all you let out as you whispered, “Hah! In your dreams, fanboys…” you uttered, closing the browser, “Batman would never go for a woman like me” you said, almost dropping the phone by its sudden vibration. For a reply was received.

You too. Stay out of trouble :)

“And you stay out of my head” you said to yourself, putting the phone back on the table. Covering your face, you could only groan with frustration. Ever since that evening at the hospital a mere week before, casual texts from Bruce Wayne began to appear on your phone, starting off on the very next day:

Couldn’t thank you for running that errand for Fox.

The errand, meaning the black box that Mr.Fox entrusted you with. A small yet long box which was quite light. The very box that granted you access to his penthouse and to the friendship with Alfred Pennyworth.

Just doing my job, Mr.Wayne.

You remember replying that day at office. It was not exactly necessary for him to thank you this way, yet his action was commendable. He did not hesitate to quickly respond:

Much appreciated.

Just when you thought it was the end, he greeted once again two days later. During an important meeting, for example:

Hi there! Is Ms.Foster enjoying the gift?

Once the meeting wrapped up, you made sure to respond :

Very much, from what I know. You’re making motherhood very easy for her.

You would be lying if you did not look forward to write him back. The manner your fingers tingled was quite evident. 

That’s a relief.

Clearly with his corresponding reply, he displayed quite an interest in conversing with you, by finding meager excuses to obtain your response. Yet, a part of you wondered what his actual intentions were. Be professional, a phrase that lingered in your head always. A warning, more like. As much as the desire to carry on the message thread was strong within, you did not reply back.

Two days passed, and surprisingly you were dying with curiousity. Could it be that his intention to communicate had finally gone? Or could it be that you were finally missing him? Forming a clever excuse to obtain his signature, you liaised with Jessica, only to find out Bruce Wayne was currently on a business trip in Singapore.

Intoxicated with impulsiveness, your thumbs grew stubborn as they formed a message on your phone:

Heard you’re in Singapore. How is it?

“Shit! Roaming Charges!”

You sighed, your palm slapped over your forehead. Putting the phone away to enjoy the view of the bus ride, you sincerely hoped he would never notice. But to your surprise, the phone vibrated instantly:

Loving the Food here.

Despite roaming charges, he was kind enough to reply. And that touched you very deeply. Then again, money was never an issue for a man of his stature. him. However, you were not Bruce Wayne. Still, a few extra dollars seemed nothing compared to the inner secretive joy you indulged in as you replied: 

Not surprised. The Bakkwa over there is to die for.

He did not reply. He did not do so for a day and two. You grew worried, if he was really knee deep in business, or literally knee deep in trouble. But the next morning, you were finally assured of his safe arrival back to Gotham, especially when you found a gift at the door. A Gift which came in the form of a beautiful red box full of Bakkwa, the Chinese sweet dried meat, one of your favorite treats. You did not miss the handwritten note inside:

You’re right. It IS to die for. - B.Wayne

Chuckling with happiness, you were only compelled to quickly text him a grateful reply:

The Bakkawa enthusiast sends her Thanks.

To which you finally received a reply this morning as you indulged on your cereal:

Sorry, long night. Good Morning!

Groaning in frustration seemed rightfully reasonable for you. Stressing out seemed rightfully reasonable as well. Who would not, when there was a storm that brewed inside of you. A storm of emotions that contained the sticky quality. The adhesiveness that was stubborn to the core. For if you look at the situation in it’s entirety, this was not your average instance of a man and woman forming a textual habit in order to know one another. You were an acting Head, informally socializing with the owner of Wayne Enterprises. Being in HR, you could already feel the weight of unprofessionalism heat on you. That guilt which already seemed to haunt you subtly. Thus, not responding further seemed logical, yet it certainly was a hard pill for you to swallow. 

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“You sure you don’t want anything? Coffee or Tea?”

You asked Officer John Blake, ushering him to his seat as you sat down. He shook his head.

“I’m good, Ma’am” he said with a smile. Smiling back, you were drenched with guilt. A week earlier, the police officer had requested to meet, yet with your unexpected work load, you reluctantly had to send him back the previous time. Forcing him to wait so long for a week was something you knew you would go to hell for. But John Blake did not judge, or as it seemed from his expression.

“Didn’t know you were running a tight ship here .” He said, looking back to witness the bustle in the main hall outside.

“Well, the Head’s on Maternity leave so…I’m stuck here, hehe…” You answered nervously, “Once again I’m so sorry Officer. You said it was something urgent?”

“It’s about the two attacks…” Blake said, capturing your attention. “Now I’m sure you’re probably wondering if those are simply coincidental or something more…”

“I honestly have been afraid to go down that rabbit hole, but yes I did wonder…” you replied. Looking sideways, he finally turned your way as his lowered his voice:

“I have reason to believe Erik Henderson may be connected to this…”

The image of the mocking man, and his bloody nose flashed before your very eyes. Given his anger, it could be a high possibility. Yet, you were in disbelief.

“What gave you the idea?” You inquired with curiousity. Blake kept his police his hat on his lap securely:

“The men who attacked you, the ones we arrested…” He said, to which you nodded in acknowledgment, “They were bailed out the very next day by-”

“-Henderson’s Legal Team?” You asked blankly, for you were still in disbelief. Blake nodded.

“I may be wrong” he said, “Bailing the people who attacked you, it could also just be a power move, maybe to scare you off…” he added, leaning forward, “So far we cannot be sure…” He continued, “But I think it’s best for you to keep an eye out-”

Your eyes suddenly darted towards the phone screen. For an email just appeared in your personal inbox with a title:

“Job Offer for General Manager”

Eyes widening, you were certainly not expecting that. Quiet for a few minutes, you found yourself staring at your own table, for you were confused beyond all measure with everything you just heard and saw.

“I’m sorry...” Blake began, shaking you from your thoughts, “ if I’m causing you any discomfort-”

“No…it’s alright” flipping the phone downward, you shook your head with a soft smile, “I just…all this was just so unexpected. Didn’t think there would be any possibility for anything like this, that’s all” you said, smiling even more, “I appreciate the information, Officer”

Truthfully, you were nothing but grateful to the man. Perhaps it was because he was the arresting officer who was in charge of that fateful night. Nevertheless, he was nothing but kind to you. Blake grinned widely.

“The Precinct still thanks The Bruiser for Common’s Coffee” He said, to which you were genuinely surprised.

“Oh! I’m glad-”

“BOSS!”

Greg’s cries forced both of you to look to the door. Distress never looked good on Greg. Giving a heavy sigh, he began:

“ I’m sorry to keep doing this but…” he said, “Clara’s gone off the rails!”

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As he made his way down the Lobby through the crowds, John Blake made his careful observations, fascinated by all that he glanced upon in the Wayne Tower. “Officer Blake!” Stopping in his tracks, John turned upon hearing a familiar voice. He smiled.

“Mr.Wayne…” He addressed,  “Didn’t expect to see you here” Smartly dressed in a pinstriped three piece suit, Bruce Wayne stood before the much younger man with a reciprocative smile.

“Well,” he began “You can’t just play hard….so…” Nodding in acknowledgment, Blake held on to his hat. With the silence between them growing longer, John began to speak:

“I’m actually just coming down after meeting one of your Senior Managers” He said, which caught Wayne’s attention.

“Who is…?”

When Blake provided him with the name, Bruce nodded nonchalantly. “Is this anything to do with the Henderson case?” He asked, suddenly growing serious. Surprised by his knowledge, the officer nodded.

“Yes….” Blake added. But then again, there was nothing to be surprised of. Given Wayne was in the hotel when it all happened. 

“How did she take it?” “Surprisingly pretty well” Blake said, as he began to walk alongside Wayne ,“But she seems to have her hands full today, doesn’t look too good” he sighed, involuntarily empathizing with her. And given Wayne’s subtle yet concerned expression, Blake realized he was not alone there. Finally reaching the exit, the officer was compelled to do the unexpected:

“Since you were a witness to the incident,..” he began, making Wayne look at him, “ I think it’s probably best that you also know…”

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You have always put your trust in Lillian Foster. That trust had lasted throughout your time in Wayne Enterprises without forsaking you for a mere second. Thus, you were certain she did the needful in approving the Revised Policies and Regulations before taking her leave. For you had personally witnessed it.

However, when a company email from Clara Bennett to Lucius Fox claimed HR was seemingly incapable of carrying out their operations under the current leadership, you were not surprised to find your anger making an appearance.

And the embarrassment you had to face when she even went so far as to copy you and your managers in to that said email. Professional was nowhere near this behavior. For this was simply child’s play. The panic all your department staff went through was understandable. Especially when they worked only to their very best.

“You wanted to me see me?”

Clara asked, as she entered your office. Raising your head up, you threw a cold expression her way: “Close the door please” Your tone was stern. Looking around, Clara furrowed her eyebrows. “But aren’t you supposed to-” “I’ll take my chances, Ms. Bennett” You interrupted her, lips forming a tight smile. With an uncertain nod, she closed the door shut, before taking a few steps towards you. Slowly getting up from your desk, you quickly walked over to her. It was now or never. “We saw that little email that you sent to Mr. Fox.” You stated, to which she did not flinch. Scoffing, your hands rested on your hips, “I know how things work: When people mess up, even after many warnings, they get complained about to the superiors…” you said in a matter-of-fact tone, “But…” you paused, as you were on a dire attempt not to explode, “how can you expect us...” Surprisingly you felt emotion trickling in, “...to take this lying down when you DIDN'T PERFORM EITHER OF THOSE ACTIONS?” With your voice surprisingly getting louder than expected, Clara found herself folding her arms in defense: “Look, I get it...” She said, her smile suddenly faded,  “You don’t like me snooping around” You scoffed in disbelief, “Ms.Bennett, this is not you snooping around. This is you desperately finding excuses to make US LOOK BAD” you stated loudly, “I mean…What exactly on the policies and regulations are you complaining about?” You inquired. And to your surprise, Clara grew quiet before she finally answered:

“I just...” she paused, as if she was seeking excuses,  “...don’t understand why the Policies couldn’t be circulated if they were revised” Your jaw dropped in disbelief, “What are you talking about??They were already revised and circulated” you answered with certainty, appalled by the childish games that were being played. “Well…” pausing again, “I don’t see them in the Public Folder”she said stubbornly, to which you sighed, rubbing your temples, “ And according to my sources, It’s Paula Yang’s  responsibility, am I right?” Though authority was rife in her tone, you could sense the menace that lingered invisibly.

“Ms. Bennett...” you gritted through your teeth, taking your hand away, “Paula is on bed rest after breaking HER LEG...from a biking accident last weekend” you burst out, “...if you looked up on our employees with the SAME ENTHUSIASM you did on our work, then you would probably know that” you spat, fuming with anger,  “But If you expect me to deprive her of her paid leave, JUST SO she could just limp over here to UPLOAD SOME POLICIES to a server? then you’re sorely mistaken! ” You cried out, panting.

Subtly shocked at your response, Clara stood silently. Given her reaction, it was quite evident something disastrous would soon follow. Your threw your hands up in defense.

“Fine” you said, “If you prefer to pin this error on me, please do. But… not the department” you said, as your voice grew soft , “...please” you breathed. Closing her eyes for a few seconds, Clara opened them once again, shooting you a stern glance.

“Do you know…what I was told about you before I came here?” She posed a rhetorical question, to which you rightfully did not answer to, “An unprofessional thug, with anger issues.” She said.

In all your years of working at Wayne Enterprises, this was the far from what you had ever heard from anyone. The silence ruled over the atmosphere for a few more seconds.

“So I came in with a mission...” Clara went on, “...to tame you. Or to rile you up enough to expose who you really were” she said harshly. Folding your own arms in defense, you took a deep breath:

“Well,” you began, “I believe I was angry For the right reasons. So no regrets here” you answered with confidence. Whatever consequence that may follow, you were not aware of, for your justified rage may possibly have outdone yourself this time. You only wished Lillian would forgive you.

“But…” Clara paused, “...from the way you stood up for your employees and your department…,” she said, as her expression softened, “ I guess… I was badly misinformed.” Confusion took over you for the next few seconds, as she looked straight into your eyes before taking in a deep breath:

“I’m sorry!” Your eyes widened, “P-Pardon?” Sighing, Clara reluctantly rubbed the sides of her thighs: “I’m sorry…If I insulted you in any way” she said shyly in a low tone, “Honestly speaking, no matter how much I tried to deny it, everything seems to be running smoothly” She added. 

Relief quickly washed over you. Leaving you questioning reality all the sudden. “ I would gladly leave you all alone but..,” Clara smiled, “I’ve been contracted here for a while. So, I hope we can all cooperate together till I leave. Maybe a fresh start?”

Extending her hand to you, she presented a genuine smile. A smile possibly carrying hope to gain your trust. Sincerely impressed by her bravery, you smiled back: “Sure, Apology accepted” You said, shaking her hand, “I really appreciate it, Ms.Bennett”

“Clara, Please.” She insisted, “Ms.Bennett just pisses me off even more”

Chuckling together, you nodded, “Okay, Gotcha”

The phone rang loud to your surprise. Giving her a friendly wave, you quickly moved to your desk in a cheerful manner, growing even more cheerful upon seeing the extension on the phone screen.

“Mr. Fox!” You answered, as you sat down, “How can I help you?”

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Since the fateful day she first laid eyes on him in his glorious return to Wayne Enterprises until now, Jessica would certainly never not blush whenever Bruce Wayne politely greeted her. Upon seeing her red face, he stepped into Lucius Fox’s office, walking over to find the CEO on the phone wearing a smile on his face.

“Don’t worry about it.” Fox said over the phone, “So you’ll come? Perfect…” He smiled, nodding at Wayne as he finally appeared in his eye line, “Hope to see you then” He added, hanging up the phone.

“I have to admit…” Fox began, ushering Bruce to sit, “… seeing you here every day at Wayne Tower is a happy surprise” He said. Bruce smiled.

“Everything alright?” He asked the CEO, “The Audits aren’t happening till another month or so..”

“No…” Fox shook his head, surprisingly impressed, “ I was actually wondering if you would…like to join me in the Company Dinner, this Thursday night. It’s a little gathering I normally do with the Heads of Departments...” he continued, glancing upon Wayne’s confused expression, “...to form a closer bond and… give them morale” He said, tilting his head. As much as the sentiment was kind, Wayne sighed with exhaustion.

“Mr.Fox, you know very well how I rather be stuck in the basement than go to that…” he said, slowly getting up, “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass”. Offering a polite smile, he turned around to make his leave. When opportunities to make a choice were given, he would certainly rather choose to not wear that mask in public. It tired him.

“She’s coming too”

Bruce froze, the moment Fox’s words reached his ears. Turning to him, he raised his eyebrows.

“She?” He began, “You mean…she?” He asked, highly emphasizing on the said pronoun, for both of them knew the person being discussed.

“Yes” Fox said, “Just got off the phone with her as you came in” he added, “I just thought you would like to know” with nonchalance, he casually put on his glasses.

Silently nodding, Bruce turned back to resume walking. Only except he halted once again, just to spin back around smoothly.

“Thursday…what time?” He inquired with genuine curiousity.

Being a man of his age, Lucius Fox could not help but smile at his response.

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Being the workaholic, Lunch Breaks was nothing short of special for you. The moment the last bite of your delicious meal reached your lips, it was off to work once again, giving you ample time to finish your tasks. But this Wednesday, you cast that usual habit away, taking the luxury you rarely took during this entire decade.

Just to decide on a dress.

With your lunch on the desk and Allison on speakerphone, your eyes moved back and forth from two beautiful dresses on the website. With Mr. Fox casually inviting you to the Company Dinner, all you longed to provide was a good impression. Most women in your position would feel greatly pressured and stick to a salad just to fit into the dress. However, you were far too greedy to ignore the great Spaghetti Bolognese that was on the table before you.

“Sweetie, You know I love you, So why won’t you fucking listen to me?”

Allison’s echoed out loud, as you stared at the screen with concern. “Cause it’s a crazy idea, that’s why ” you said, stuffing pasta into your mouth, “Better go with the black one…” you said with a full mouth, pointing at the long sleeved black dress, “It’s tame, and I can just blend in with crowd” squinting, you attempted at imagining yourself in the outfit.

“Boo! BORING”

Allison’s response was quite obvious.

“Hey!” Clara’s whisper reached your ears, urging you to find her standing by the door with a smile. Ever since the intervention, the atmosphere underwent a surprising change, and all was well with the both of you. It was quite unbelievable how cooperative she had become. “I’m sorry but...could I borrow a twenty?” She asked politely in a whisper, all in order not to intrude your call. “Sure…” You whispered back, reaching into your bag to grab your purse, “Hah! Lucky you, that’s all I have” You grinned, fishing out the only dollar note as she headed over to take it from your hand.

“Hey!  Hey! Sweetie, Did I lose you?”

Allison’s voice brought you back to the phone call. “No! No! You didn’t…Sorry! Argh!” Groaning in frustration, you looked back at the computer screen, “I don’t know what to do, Ali…” You muttered.

“What is it?” With her still standing there, Clara finally asked out loud. She genuinely looked concerned. Embarrassed, you pointed at the screen.

“No it’s just…” you paused, “I have to go to this Cooperate Dinner thingy tomorrow, and I don’t know what to get…” you added, “…the Black or the White”.

Silent for a few seconds, you stared at Clara as she rubbed her chin with seriousness, while making a careful observation at the screen. Finally, her fingers snapped loudly.

“The White One…” Confidence oozed out of her voice as she replied. Looking back at the dress, you took a deep breath. V neck on the front along with a low cut in the back, the pure white silk evening gown certainly possessed the potential to be a show stopper.

“I mean…Why be afraid to stand out?”

Clara’s words, they rang in your ears so loudly. Pointing at the dress, she continued: 

“Wear this, and No one will be able to take their eyes off you” The manner in which she uttered, you were suddenly filled with enough power to head out to the battlefield. Her words, they were simply invisible embellishments to the dress, making it the armor and the secret weapon. It simply became powerful. And finally, you were convinced on which dress to finally purchase. Lips forming into a warm smile, you thanked her inaudibly.

“YAY!” Allison cried out on the line, “Whoever just said that, I agree with you” Chucking, Clara cleared her throat and looked at your mobile phone.

“Hey there…It’s Clara by the way…” she said to Allison. You suppressed a huge grin as you imagined Allison’s surprise upon hearing that.

“Oh…YOU’RE Clara?…” she said, pausing, “Well I like how you think, Clara” she said happily afterwards. Relieved by the sight of both your best friend and your new friend being acquainted, your eyes moved back to the beautiful dress. 

“Wear this, and No one will be able to take their eyes off you”

Clara may be right. But you were a simple woman, and your wishes were just as simple. Little did anyone know how your heart simply longed for just one person to indulge your presence for the entire evening. But the possibility of that, was just your wishful thinking. You could only hope for the evening be as successful as imagined. As long as it had the perfect touch of jazz piano playing in the background.

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With notes played with the fluidity of a free flowing stream, the jazz piano music was certainly better tonight than it was that Friday evening weeks ago. With tonight, you only hoped to replace the horrid memory of violence that linked the genre of music with an evening more refined. For tonight, you were no violator, nor a drunkard. You were merely a lady in a beautiful, silk dress.

Walking through the Lobby in your silver open toe heels, you came into the realization of how the dress simply became you. Contrary to your fears, it embraced your curves effortlessly, while the material was kind to you, caressing and cooling your skin.The dress itself contained a sense of assurance you would most likely receive from a trusted friend, some good Samaritan, kindly whispering positive affirmations. Fashioning the outfit with your Mikimoto pearls, you felt you were prepared enough.

You were punctual, fortunately. Lillian would have been proud. When you arrived at the reserved table, the other Heads were just about to take their seats. Cold, curt nods were passed on to you the moment they caught sight of you. Lucius Fox, however was humble enough to smile widely upon seeing you.

“I appreciate you coming in tonight…” He stated, as he politely ushered you to your seat, which granted you access between him and Head of Legal, Ted’s Boss, “This is usually Lillian’s gig” he said.

“Yes I heard,” you agreed while sitting down together, “And she does it flawlessly”

“I think you’ll be able to hold off your own” Fox assured, quite impressed by your appearance tonight. You smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Fox” you nodded, looking at him, until he suddenly rose from his own chair. 

“Ah! The man of the hour”

He said as  he looked ahead, “…so glad you could come, Mr.Wayne” 

The mere mention of that man’s name made you turn forward in a flash. Bruce Wayne was simply Suave incarnate. He certainly brought forth great depth to his presence everywhere he set foot on. You swore the airways inside began to dry out as your breath was taken away in secret. However, that breath was quickly stomped and discarded recklessly when you realized he was no alone. With a beautiful woman on his arm, he arrived at the table.

When that strong, sour feeling came over you, you were mature enough to admit it was simple jealousy. Yet then again, the playboy lifestyle certainly was demanding. The flashing smile Bruce wore slightly disappeared , when his eyes met yours from the corner of the table. With your sour jealousy stewing you, it was a sheer relief that he took his seat on the other far corner.

“Really Mr .Wayne, This is such a pleasant surprise” Mr. Kline, Head of Accounting mentioned with joy.

“Well, Mr. Fox is getting better with power of persuasion, I suppose ” Wayne said, looking at Lucius, “So...” rubbing his hands together, he smiled, “What are we all having? My treat...” 

To everyone’s delight, the night certainly started off on a positive note. According to the trusted word of Lucius Fox, Sushi was the prime choice of food on every single dinner . It was the shared interest with all the Heads by coincidence. Thus, becoming a tradition.

Fortunately for you, you knew your way with Japanese cuisine enough to save your face. Wine and Sake were in abundance in the table, leaving most of the Heads and Wayne’s date quite excited with intoxication. It was certainly a surprise for you, to see the Heads break out into wide smiles and childish attitudes once the alcohol entered their systems. They did not speak much with you, which you were fine with. You were the new one there , after all. But with Fox next to you, you felt a fatherly figure watched over you. You listened to him with earnest, which was not so difficult with his charismatic voice.

You also longed for a distraction. A strong distraction from Bruce Wayne’s eyes secretly claiming ownership over you the entire time. Could he be watching Fox? Or you? You honestly did not know. As much as your inner heart jumped for Joy by the thought of him watching you, confusion ruled supreme.

The turn of the conversation topic from Work to Sailing suddenly tempted the Heads call Mr Fox over to the other side, forcing him and Bruce to change seats instead. His date did not even notice, as she was busy engrossed in her phone. Though you were at your element, calmly eating your maki rolls in silence, your heart beat increased in an instant when his presence nearby was confirmed. His aura gently murmured a greeting of affection, urging you to look up from your plate. Covering your mouth, you politely swallowed the food. With the others engaged in their own little world, it seemed that you and Bruce were suddenly left to yourselves.

“Thank you again for the Bakkwa”

You began, clearing your throat “…it was heavenly” you said, smiling whilst flashing your full red lips. Smiling back warmly, he leaned forward to the table.

“I don’t wanna brag but...” he paused, “I found that store all by myself” He said softly, as it was a dramatic secret. Eyes widened, you played along: “Oh! I find that hard to believe” You said, chuckling.

“Ask me the address, I dare you” He said blankly, making you chuckle harder. Nodding, you generously accepted his kindness. Be it text or face to face, talking to Bruce Wayne symbolized pure joy to you.

“Well, well, well…”

An eerie voice, a voice that haunted your intoxicated memories, and a voice that caused the hairs of the back of your neck to stand. It was a voice you knew well. So bloody well.

“Isn’t this a surprise?”

The entire table looked over to find Erik Henderson. With a gracefully beautiful and age appropriate woman standing beside him, Henderson was as smug as he could be. “Mr. Henderson...” Fox said. Henderson looked right at him. “Lucius...” He uttered, without casting a single glance at Bruce Wayne. The sight of him brought a sense of fear to you. According to Officer Blake, he could very much be responsible for all the attacks you were victim to during the past few weeks. The possibility was high. Thus, the intimidation was justified. Funny how the intoxicated group of Heads managed to maintain their frozen states for a few seconds. As if their buzz was killed right off.

“Well,..” Henderson began, maintain his unimpressed expression,  “I wish you all have a pleasant evening” He stressed , slowly turning to leave. “And You!” A gasp left you the moment he spun back to point his index finger at you with such ferocity and anger. With bated breath, you wondered if time froze. Until he suddenly smiled at you. “You behave now...” He said mockingly, chuckling with power as he finally left the table. With the awkward silence taking control, embarrassment injected itself into you. The way he spoke to you was certainly disrespectful. So much so, your right hand quickly clenched into a tight fist , forcing you to revisit the trauma even now by his cruel words. All your anger, centralized into this fist.

But that anger suddenly vanished into thin air, the moment you felt Bruce’s palm rest over your fist. A literal warmth spread across every cell on your being, as his palm comforted you, and empathized with you more than ever. A few seconds of that sent you to a level of peace you never visited. The fact that a man such as he was with his inner conflicts could still heal you unexpectedly, it was magic to you. Finally looking at him, you nodded with gratefulness, leading him to take his away politely.

With silence still in charge, you were guilty of your past actions ruining tonight’s occasion as well. “Maybe it’s the alcohol but...” Kline slowly began, “...that Henderson’s face always reminds me of an…animal…” he remarked, breaking the ice, “l can’t place which one exactly...” He struggled, snapping his fingers away to remember. “A Bat?” Another Head inquired. “YES!” Kline yelled out loud, causing others to finally laugh and feel the comfort take center stage once more. Letting out a sigh, you were relieved to let them converse and make merry. You were occupied enough, recovering from Bruce’s sudden touch. “...and speaking of Bats...” Kline slurred out, “That Batman fella...” “-He comes up every time…” Fox yelled towards your direction with a sigh, while the others clapped in glee. Being so popular, it was no surprise that many consider Batman to be a celebrity of his own right. “-wonder if he ever has any off days?” Kline sniggered, red in the face with sake. “Ha! Like paid leave, you mean?” “And don’t forget insurance! Boy! that man needs a big one” “Hahaha!” “Mr.Wayne! Mr. Wayne!” Kline yelled at Bruce, “Any idea about him from the grapevine ?” He inquired. “What?” Bruce asked, “…that Looney!?!” He added with an amused smile, “Eh! Not interested” he replied with an unimpressed tone. “Why?” It seemed that everyone was curious. Even you were. “Because...” Bruce paused, “Well…he’s a Looney! That’s all….” he laughed, shaking his hand in the air with dismissal. His carefree laughter infected the others, except you. As you were too occupied observing him, you could not even focus. He may have not worn the cowl, but he was certainly wearing his mask. Noticing your stare, Bruce turned to find your face filled with a soft smile.

“You really don’t mean that about the guy, right?” You murmured softly. And all the sudden, that carefree expression of his slowly melted away to reveal his true form, unmasked. “No” Calm and collected, he shook his head with a gentle smile. A sudden urge to embrace him was birthed in you for some reason, it was certainly out of your control. “Hey! Lillian’s Backup!” You jumped upon hearing Kline call you out loudly. With all eyes on landing towards your direction, you quickly sat up straight, “What’s your take on him? The Batman?” Kline inquired informally. “Oh!” Pleasantly surprised, you were speechless for a few seconds. What were you to say really? “I -I rather not say...” you admitted, as you found yourself chuckling shyly. “Eh!” Kline muttered, seemingly unamused, “She’s no fun”he claimed,  “…not like Lillian now, is she?” The others hummed together in agreement. They may have gotten lost in their own world of conversation once again. Yet, the words Kline blurted affected you deeply. “Well….” You sighed, “Nothing I haven’t heard before”   “What is…?” Bruce’s inquiry made you look at him. Placing both your elbows on the table, you took a deep breath as you kept a brave, fixed gaze at him:

“You’re.. no… fun”

You said, in a low yet strong tone as you emphasized on every word with pain, “…that one”

“I find that hard to believe” Bruce said. He did not flinch. Instead, he accepted your stare and held on to it firmly. Even with the golden lights you were still able to make out the beautiful hazel green eyes of his up close. His gaze, it was as powerful as anything physical. As if his eyes could caress the back of your neck, brushing the loose hair from it, leaving nothing but shivers on you.

Finally breaking free from it, you sat back with a chuckle.

“Well” you began, “…you obviously haven’t met my ex”

You watched his eyebrows furrow the moment those words exited you. Taking a huge sip of wine, you pressed your lips together.

“He said I fall too fast....” you began, “or care too much...or something”

Revisiting that dark period in your life was akin to walking a thousand miles backwards, just to get your heart pricked by sharp, rusted nails. The mere image of it forced you to gulp more wine.  

“Well, Where is he now?”

Bruce asked softly. Taking a third sip, you looked back at him:

“You mean after he cheated on me?” You asked, chuckling sadly, “…He flew off somewhere…with his new girlfriend” you said, sighing “Apparently I was too predictable and doesn’t play hard to get”

“Then…” Bruce began, “…what about you throwing punches at Henderson?”

“That?” You widened your eyes, “Oh that’s just the whiskey”

Laughter ensued, breaking the tension between the two once again. Truthfully, you felt much at ease right then.

“I bet you don’t have that problem, playing the field and all” You said, holding on to your wine glass. Bruce smiled.

“Ah! Getting too attached doesn’t help anyone, I guess” he answered. And for some reason, you could empathize. Now more than ever.

“True...” you agreed, looking at him. However, that warmth you carried for him was also enlarged, and suddenly emotion overpowered logic.

“I know this is the corniest you’ve heard always….” you paused, “…but when the right person comes along...it’s so worth it” you continued, taking a deep, shaky breath, “…even if your heart gets broken into millions...billions of pieces”

Your eyes locked onto his with every word you uttered, and to your surprise, he did not look away. For a moment, his gaze on you translated into deep belief. For a Moment, his gaze dismissed every other occupant in the restaurant,  except you. For a moment his silence proved that anything was possible.

Until you realized, never was life that easy.

“But like I said…” You added, blinking away the heavy stare, “... it’s not your problem” You said, fiddling with your clutch purse mindlessly.   “Actually I-” “Whoops!” You sniggered when the clutch purse dropped out of your hand. Laughing together, you both found yourselves bending down to search for it.

“Let Me get that-” Bruce volunteered, as he spotted the purse, grabbing it for you.

“Thank you” You murmured shyly, reaching out your hand to take it.

The mere act of a clutch purse being transferred from one hand to another never felt this intense. A circus act commenced inside your stomach all the sudden. The manner you found yourself blushing, certainly proved his effect as a whole. The warmth of his palm earlier, it brought protection and comfort in the time of danger. However, the slightest brush of his fingers just now, it birthed confetti of butterflies, causing the internal circus to go berserk.

As he looked you up and down, you prayed he did not notice the red on your cheeks. For this man had such power over you, it was sheer chaos. But a beautifully, addictive one.

“Your Dress...” he breathed, making your own breath shake, “You look very-” “Bruce!” A seductive voice emerged out of the blue, as you realized it was his date walking over to his side. Being one of Gotham’s most well known supermodels, she exuded beauty with her tall and thin frame and brunette locks flowing down her shoulders. Wrapping her goddess-like arms around his neck, she whispered a few words to him before heading over to the restroom area. Compared to her, you felt like a little cinder block. “She’s beautiful...” you muttered hoarsely, looking down at your wine. You heard him sigh uncomfortably. “Listen...” Bruce began, causing your heart to long for hope, “I-” “Would you like anything else, Sirs?” The emotional roller coaster unexpectedly finished its ride when an over enthusiastic waiter’s loud voice caused everyone in the table to look up. “No, Thank you...” Fox said, slowly getting up, “Actually, I think might head home now” “And I will join you” You said, standing up in a flash, “Ladies, Gentleman...” you nodded to the Heads, “...Mr. Wayne” Giving him a slight nod, you turned to follow Lucius Fox. You dared not turn back to see his face. That would just show weakness. Just walk away, it was the right thing to do. The longer you will linger, the stronger your attachment will be. The stronger your need to love him will be. And what would be the use of strengthening that existing love, when the odds were always in the way?

Seduced by the women with the highest standards of beauty and power, you obviously must seem like nothing for a man such as he. You were simply charity, the employee in need. Perhaps your ex was right, You really were no fun.

Besides, being jealous was never your right, not especially when you did not even pour your heart out. And when you would not even consider doing so, being tied to morals, ethics and rules?

And if he even had not shown you his own heart, what gave you the right to be angry with anyone, except yourself?

You asked yourself, why were you wasting your time?

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

Allison’s eyes grew wide with excitement the moment you arrived home.

Clutching onto her bowl of popcorn, she watched you close the door and lean against it to look back at her. Though her hair was in a messy bun, she still managed to pull off ‘homely cool’.

“So...” she began softly, “How did it go?” Silent, You took a deep breath, not knowing where to begin. “Well-” “-Did you make Wayne cream his pants?” Allison cut you off with glee, seemingly over excited. Jaw dropped, your face contorted with disgust. “Ali! …ewww” You exclaimed, seeing her perverted expression and suggestive eyebrows. Truthfully the thought of it brought some laughter soon after. You felt calmer. “Well, did he?” Allison was persistent. Pushing yourself from the door, you began to take off your shoes, “Well…” You paused, “I think he liked what he saw” you said smiling shyly. “Yeah?” Her excitement still intact, as you sat next to her.

“I think so…” you said, reminiscing those precious moments his blessed eyes watched only you, “…but…” you paused, “it doesn’t matter…”, Sighing, you shook your head frantically, “…cause he was with a Supermodel tonight so...” “Supermodel? Sweetie, I’m sorry” laying her head on your shoulder, Allison sighed in response. Patting her on the lap, you got up. Just like that, the little giddy excitement between two women suddenly crashed and burned upon knowing they were hopeless going against a supermodel.

“Hey! by the way…” Allison began, “…did you give money for Mrs. Hernandez’s going away party?”

You froze.

“Shit!” You cried out, “ I forgot!”

Mrs. Hernandez was one of the lovely tenants in the apartment building who will be moving out this week to go live with her son. All tenants were supposed to pool in for the going away party, today being the deadline. Opening your purse with haste, you groaned. “Damn it! I don’t have any change...” Of course you did not. Not when you gave away your last note to Clara yesterday. With the current use of cards and e-payment, you rarely used cash these days.

“Me neither, Sweetie” Allison replied, mindlessly staring at the television. You sighed. Transferring the money will not do as it wont be convenient for the others. And being a bad tenant was the last thing on your mind.

“Screw it!” You said, “I’ll just go get some now”   Running to your room, you proceeded to change.

“Cool…” Allison uttered quietly, until she remembered, “By the way, can you also get milk?”Allison yelled to your room,  “WE’RE OUT ALREADY!!”

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

If wearing an elegant dress brought out the glamorous woman in you, then leggings and an oversized black hoodie brought out the homebody. With the hood over your head, you dug your hands in the deep pockets whilst standing at the line for the ATM. What was taking so long?

Almost 11pm, yet the neighborhood was bustling more than usual. In fact, it fascinated you. Younger folk in higher numbers lingered hanging about by the Bodega. You wondered if a party was taking place somewhere nearby, as most of them wore clothes with a similar vibe. Some danced to the loud music that played, some drank sitting on the pavement, while some lined up in front of you in the ATM line. Was it a party? Or a flashmob? Or were you suddenly intruding the filming of a music video? It simply seemed so unrealistic. Could it be the sake and wine were forcing you to imagine all this?

Then moment your phone started to ring, you knew you were not imagining. Not when the phone vibrated in your hand, not when the name of the caller caused you to breath deeply.

“Mr.Wayne?”

His breath over the phone sent shivers down your spine so subtly. Attraction was indeed a strange phenomenon.

“Hey! Did you go home okay?” 

He asked. Nodding, you looked around.

“Of course.” You replied, “Mr. Fox was kind enough to drop me straight home”

“Good. Good,” As he muttered in a rush, you heard him exhale, “ Listen, can we talk? ”

Nervousness took you over with a sudden burn in your face. What must he wish to say? Was he attempting to confirm what you already dread about? Was he fully acknowledging your desires to be futile and hopeless? You kept quiet as he continued:

“About tonight…I really-” he paused, “Where are you?” The loud cheers of some of the younger folk interrupted the conversation. Amongst the crowd, a lone figure walked over to the middle of the street.

“I’m at the Bodega nearby my place” you replied, trying to be nonchalant with him. However, somehow that lone figure standing managed to capture your attention, "Huh! Strange...”

“What is it?”

Your eyebrows furrowed the moment the figure turned to face your direction. Familiarity was quite strong in him. “There’s this guy here…” you said, “… who looks just like-”

You froze, “Oh no!” You breathed.

The moment the figure effortlessly pulled out a portable machine gun from his oversized long coat, it clearly dawned on you on who he really was:

“Mr. Slender?” You muttered to yourself.

Pointing the weapon upwards, loud and rapid shots were fired, causing panic amongst the public. The shock forced your hands to lose control, almost dropping your phone to the ground.

“Hello? Hello?”

You heard Bruce loud and clear, yet you were not in the right state of mind to respond. The chaos, certainly forced your heart to beat right out of your chest. The beating, increased without any prior announcement shocked you, as if the live, blood pumping organ might literally fall out of your flesh vessel.

“EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND, NOW!”

Mr.Slender bellowed, finally revealing his masculine and controlled voice. The public, including those inside the Bodega made their way to the ground. With Mr. Slender’s reinforcements inside the building, it was made sure no one were to reach out for law enforcement any time soon. Just when it seemed all had complied to his command, one obstinate young man rose up quickly.

“Hey man!” The man cried out, walking over to him, “Be cool…Be-”

“I SAID ON THE GROUND!”

Blood curdling screams erupted from the crowd when Mr.Slender brutally fired at the man, sending him flying back, falling on to the ground like a bloody piece of meat. Given the continuous reactions from the people nearby, he was certainly dead. Emptiness and fear swallowed you whole upon witnessing this.

“DON’T EVEN THINK OF BEING STUBBORN!! ”

Mr.Slender yelled out, brandishing his gun around, “MY DEMANDS ARE SIMPLE...”

He continued, “I’M LOOKING FOR ONE PARTICULAR PERSON…” he said, “AND I WILL NOT LEAVE…UNTIL THAT PERSON STEPS FORWARD!!”

Scenes such as these, they were never expected but only imagined in modes of fiction. Be it novels or films. However, when you truly got to taste it in the rusty reality, only then did you realize the gravity of its horror. And only then at that fateful moment, did you genuinely fear for your precious life.

Especially when the person he was looking for, was you.

——————————————————

Chapter 6 HERE

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[wongxiexie]

No matter what

Pairing: Kim Jongdae (Chen) x Reader (ft. EXO members) Genre: Angst, Mafia!AU Word Count: 1.654 words Warnings: Death, Graphic depictions of violence, Language Note: The photo’s from Chen’s Star1 photoshoot.

“Teleportation,” you grunt.

“What?” Jongdae asks shakily, his movements hurried and panicked as he tries to cover your gaping wound with his hands. He appears as if he is about to combust from the pressure when he sees blood still flowing through the gaps between his fingers.

“I--,” a pained cough escapes your parted lips. “Fuck, that stings like a bitch,” you groan when you open your eyes, blinking in irritation because of the sweat trickling down your temples.

“Invisibility,” another cough. “Ability to stop time...” a groan. “Whatever the hell it is we need to get outta here, that’s what I want.”

You curse again when Jongdae presses too hard on your wound, causing him to apologize right after.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cries repeatedly. “I’m gonna get us out of here,” he says desperately but lowly, as if he’s trying to convince himself and not you.

“Those motherfuckers are too loud,” you grind out, hating the dominant sound of continuous gunshots that mark the death of every single one of your men. Even in your endangered state, the anger is still flowing off of you in waves. “I’m gonna fucking kill that mole, don’t you worry your pretty little head, Dae,” you hiss. “I’ll chop the head off that traitor myself.”

“I don’t care about them!” Jongdae shouts while tears stream down his face, and he has to angle his whole body closer to you just to be able to hear you.

The gunshots are getting louder and you’re sure the enemy is fast approaching. You wonder how many are still alive from your side, but if you have to hazard a guess, you’ll say not much because your best men are all in an overseas operation for the apparently false intel that mole gave you.

‘If only Chanyeol and Sehun were here,’ you think bitterly.

If thoughts could kill, then Kyungsoo would already be dead, and in fact, he’d be dead a million times over. You’ve always thought the kid was sketchy, but you didn’t think he’d have the balls to actually go against you like that.

Well, you realize he is part of that rival mafia all along which proves that he does have balls, the same mafia that the infamous Byun Baekhyun leads. Fuck, you’ve kept yourself away from your former lover for so long, even moved countries and continents just to avoid him because even though you are headstrong and stubborn, you aren’t stupid enough to deny power when you see it.

He can wipe out a country if he so desires and you know it. He knows that you know it too.

But the shivers that crawl up your spine aren’t for you.

You can imagine it already, the bloodthirsty eyes of his men flashing through your mind. Those lunatic Kim brothers, Minseok, Junmyeon and Jongin. You had a run-in with them a few years back and what you witnessed was on the opposite end of the spectrum of pleasantry. And can you even forget Baekhyun’s most trusted hunter, Zhang Yixing?

They kill without a second thought and without any remorse, but what truly frightens you is how they torture their captives. They enjoy it. 

Every. Single. Moment.

They get a high out of hearing their victims beg and let out harrowing cries of agony, and they thrive on it.

You aren’t thinking of yourself right now, in fact, your own safety isn’t even on your mind. You’re starting to lose consciousness, but you fight on because you have an important job. You have to save Jongdae.

You don’t care what will happen to yourself, but damn every soul on every dimension if you let them hurt Jongdae, the one person who had foolishly shown you what that blasted accursed thing is. 

Love, is it?

Whatever.

The point is, Jongdae’s safety is paramount. Fuck anything else, you think. You know it’s your fault, though. You shouldn’t have dragged him down this damned path with you. He’s too good to experience the horrors that your world carries.

Jongdae is still frantic, trying everything he can to save you, and as you look at his face, you grimace slightly when you see the frown that seems etched on his face.

Shame that it’s going to be the last expression you see on him.

Even with all the grim thoughts, however, your dark undeserving heart warms at the sight of him thinking about you and only you, that even amid everything, you are the only one on his mind.

Jongdae stops panicking and locks eyes with you. He feels as if calm has washed over his entire being when he sees you just looking at him with the most gentle smile he has ever seen on you.

He cups your cheeks and gives you a full kiss on the mouth, giving into his desires. You respond immediately, tearing up at the strong emotions Jongdae tries to convey through his kiss.

Closing his eyes, he rests his forehead on yours and tries to savor what he thinks is his last minutes with you.

A loud explosion sounds within the room, with Baekhyun himself bombing the heavy door to get to you. Jongdae jumps at the sound and diverts his attention towards the commotion, but you don’t even flinch when the door gives in, having already heard their rapid footsteps up the stairs moments before they brought the door down.

You place your hand tenderly on his cheek, enjoying the few seconds of just holding Jongdae, with him kneeling over you while you lay there bleeding to death.

But you’re not going to die soon, no. Baekhyun won’t let you die yet.

You bring Jongdae’s stare back to you as you smile at him, wishing with all your frozen heart for him to understand how much you really love him, and what lengths you will go to just to protect him.

You won’t let anybody hurt the only person you ever really cared about.

Baekhyun stalks through the door wearing a smile that tells you a thousand things that don’t even need to be said, and just as he says your name...

“I will love you forever, Kim Jongdae,” you give your one and only true love the final words you want him to hear, and a beautiful smile overtakes his features even with all the things happening around you.

And then--

*BANG!*

You let the gun fall from your hand the same time Jongdae’s lifeless body lands on yours.

His body is still warm, you think. He’s always so warm.

You hug his body close to you and you place a kiss on the top of his head. “I told you, I won’t let them hurt you,” you whisper to him.

You won’t ever let anyone hurt Jongdae, and if death is the only way to ensure he won’t experience any pain, then you will gladly bear the responsibility of his life with your own two hands.

“My, my...” Baekhyun’s mocking voice reaches your ears, obviously finding the situation amusing. “Didn’t know you had it in you, love.”

You sneer in disgust at his attitude.

“Such a shame, though,” he clicks his tongue. “I would’ve loved to have the opportunity to break every single one of his bones before he begged me for death.”

He stands before you and kicks Jongdae’s body to the side, causing you to growl in anger. “Imagine what Jongin could’ve done to him,” he says with an almost deranged smile. “Or Minseok,” he laughs, “My god, imagine how Minseok could’ve sliced him open without letting him die!” 

Kneeling over you, he holds your chin with a harsh grip, keeping your eyes locked with his. “Wouldn’t like that so much, would you?” The grin he wears sends shivers running down your spine.

You cough, already starting to faint because of the blood loss. “In your--,” you say with a wheeze. “--fucking dreams.”

Spitting blood at his face, you let a weak smirk touch your lips. “I would never let you and your men lay your filthy hands on him.”

Your vision starts to blur and you welcome it with open arms, but Baekhyun’s cold voice reaches your ears before darkness overtakes you completely.

"I’ll make your life a living hell, love.”

——

"Healing.”

You sent a non-committal grunt towards his way, prompting him to continue.

“If I were to have a superpower, I’d like to have the ability to heal.” This time, you turned towards him and raised your brows. Setting down the gun you were cleaning, you faced him fully and took in the smile on his face.

‘He always has a nice smile,’ you thought to yourself. He looked like a cat and you couldn’t resist the urge to pinch his cheeks.

“Why healing?” you asked him, releasing your hold on his face as he massages the area your pinched. “You’re so lame.”

“Ah wae!” he gave you his signature whine. To be honest, you used to hate that sound because it grated your ears horribly, but now? Now, maybe you hated it a little less... maybe even liked it... a bit. Just a bit. Although you’d never tell him that. Ever.

“I want to be able to heal so I can cure you of anything!” The smile never left his face, but you saw the slight tinge of wariness that graced his features when he tried to subtly eye your gun.

You snorted. “Lame.”

He whined loudly again, but this time he did so with a grin that stretched from ear to ear when he saw the small upward tilt to your lips.

“But you love me,” he teased before standing up to go to the kitchen, most likely to retrieve himself a snack.

“Yeah,” you whispered, and you knew he didn’t hear you.

“I love you, Kim Jongdae,” you stared at his retreating form. “And I’ll do absolutely anything to protect you.”

[artlessictoan]

ao3 req for femme sak/butch tema where they’re at a con and tema is a cosplayer with a big fuck off weapon. gotta admit, the biggest difficulty was who the fuck they’d be cosplaying as since it turns out I’m not familiar with many gigantic weapon wielding characters in any of the things I watch or play.. I was sorely tempted to have them cosplaying as themselves for a while there.

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

This place was too loud, and crowded, and she was sorely regretting wearing an outfit with quite so many frills and petticoats – no matter how cute she looked in it, the heat of a thousand bodies packed together in a poorly ventilated hall was just not worth it.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, what was the point in dressing up, I don't think anyone's even looked at me since we got here.”

Naruto was still waving goodbye to the kid who’d asked to have her picture taken with his particularly campy take on Aquaman, though her words quickly had him giving her a Look out of the corner of his eyes, a knowing smirk plastered across her face. “Your ego is showing,” he sang.

She was definitely not pouting. “Easy for you to say, how many photos have you been in so far?”

“Yeah, but I asked to be in most of those.” He had to jog to keep up with her long strides, but he still managed to throw out several compliments to some of the other cosplayers they passed by.

“Exactly! How are you so confident just walking up to complete strangers and asking that?”

“You just gotta be more like me,” he said, and it was a testament to their friendship that he knew exactly what she was going to say in response to that, because the second she opened her mouth, he interrupted her. “Loud and with absolutely zero shame!”

Well, she wasn’t going to argue with that.

Together, they navigated their way around a large group of very excited teens clustered around an artist’s stall, her friend still nattering at her side, “It's your first time at a con, of course it takes some getting used to, don't be so hard on yourself.”

He was right, annoyingly, but she’d always been something of a perfectionist and she’d put so much time and effort into her elaborate cosplay – hours of researching patterns and materials, practising various sewing techniques before she ever even touched the base dress she’d managed to discover hidden in a charity shop after almost two weeks of searching, hell, she’d even had to learn how to dye cloth in order to get the perfect colours for her grand idea – just a little appreciation of her work would be nice.

“I’m pretty sure no one is impressed with me,” she said, pulling at the ruffles lining her bodice, “I’ve seen at least six other Princess Peaches wondering around and they’re all way more convincing than I am.” And by convincing, what she really meant was slender and delicate.

Both things with she was decidedly not.

Naruto clearly saw her reasoning, because he was quick to try and pull her out of it. “You’re exaggerating!”

“No one wants to take a picture of a buff Princess Peach.”

“Hey-” he grabbed her gloved hand and pulled her away to a relatively quiet area, his voice and expression deadly serious “-you look amazing and I won’t hear another word otherwise, buff femmes are a gift to the world and you should be proud.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed him back with a snort. “I know that dummy, I’m not feeling sad, I’m just pissed that no one here has any taste.”

Indeed, her body was another thing she worked very hard to perfect and she was absolutely not ashamed to show it off. Though it did make finding an equally – if not more – strapping butch who’d treat her like the princess she absolutely deserved to be a little difficult. She was a simple girl, with simple tastes, all she wanted was a handsome woman who could bench Sakura’s not inconsiderable bodyweight.

“You sure you’re not just sulking, because you’re not the most popular girl in town?”

“Do you want to get punched? Because that right there is the kind of talk that will get you pun…” Her voice cut out in a breathy gasp.

Samus Aran herself was casually waltzing down the aisle.

Sakura grabbed Naruto's arm for support, as every hopelessly gay bone in her body crumbled to dust.

His asking what was wrong went completely ignored, she could only stare at the vision marching between tables, the crowd instinctively parting before her, like minnows before a shark, all eyes turning to follow her strong, confident strides.

“Daaaaamn.” Naruto had apparently followed her hungry gaze, because he let out a long, appreciative whistle. “How long do you think that getup took to make?”

Unlike the handful of other Samus cosplays she'd seen today, this was the character as she was meant to be, fully armoured, shoulders wider than a bus, legs for days, well over six feet of pure Warrior. Her hand cannon was somewhat… exaggerated – compared to canon at least – but honestly, that just made Sakura's throat even drier.

And, just when she thought all air had long since vacated her body, Samus pulled off her helmet and the dark face with a roguish smirk and mess of blond curls pulled into a chaotic ponytail that was revealed stole the lingering gasp she didn’t know she still had in her.

“Hey. Sak. Sakura. Oi.” She vaguely heard the words coming from somewhere to her left, but could not bring herself to look away.

A rough hand slapped across her eyes.

“Hey!” she yelled – well, tried to yell, breathless as she was it came out more as a wheeze than anything even slightly intimidating – and whacked Naruto's hand away.

“Oh, good, you're still alive, you were starting to turn purple there, I was worried I'd lost you.”

Her glare was half-hearted at best, but it was probably a good thing he'd reminded her that she still had many important bodily functions that really shouldn’t be put on hold just because a pretty girl walked by. Though, now that she was thinking about it, she really wanted to sneak another peek at the vision of Raw Amazonian Energy that had left her in such a state to begin with.

The woman was now chatting to a very convincing Bayonetta, her wide grin showing off white teeth and crinkling her slightly crooked nose – it looked like it must've been broken at some point, but Sakura was very much into the rugged look, so frankly it just made her all the more mesmerised.

“You should go talk to her.”

She blinked out of her trance once more, as her head snapped around to stare at her best friend. “What? No. No way. How?”

Naruto, bless his heart, just smiled and said, “Walk up and tell her you really like her costume,” as though that wasn't such a monumentally impossible task that she wanted to weep just thinking about it.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“C'mon, it's not that hard," he said, dropping an arm across her shoulders. "I bet she gets it all the time, there's nothing to be embarrassed about!”

Sakura dug her heels into the floor as he gently, but determinedly, tried to push her forward. She might’ve had more success if she weren’t wearing such dainty pumps. “Exactly, she's probably sick of it and I should just leave her alone and admire her silently from afar.”

Naruto, bless his heart, looked at her like she was the stupidest person alive.

Honestly, she couldn't really say that she wasn't.

Before she could distract him by pointing out the stall selling ninja gear at the opposite end of the alley to where Samus was waving goodbye to Bayonetta, he was shoving her firmly in the direction of the beautiful thief of her heart, despite her legs’ adamant refusal to cooperate with his wishes.

“No, no, Naruto, don't you dare do this to me, I will end you, I will slit open your stomach and strangle you with your own intestines, I will-”

Her deranged muttering came to an abrupt halt when her friend carefully lifted her by the arms and threw her into the poor, unsuspecting woman’s chest.

The way she was caught wasn't half as suave and romantic as every period drama she'd ever watched had led her to believe it should be and the armour the woman was wearing was apparently made of steel, if the painful clanging of her forehead against it was anything to go by, but they both managed to stay standing and a deep, husky laugh was quickly washing away all memories of pain and embarrassment. And quite possibly her own name.

“Woah there, Princess,” a warm voice cooed softly, as Sakura finally managed to blink her vision back into place and stand up by herself. “You alright?”

She then made the terrible mistake of looking up, into the intense green eyes staring down at her, light curls of hair framing her strong, striking face like a halo – and that just had to be what she was, an angel, no earthly being had any right being so perfect – at which point she lost all higher brain functions. Perhaps she managed to make a strangled affirmative noise, because the woman gave a relieved smile and took a small step back, though her hand lingered against Sakura’s waist, ready to support her if needed.

“That’s good, the crowds can get a bit wild here, huh?”

Her mouth must’ve been acting on autopilot now, because she was speaking, before she even really processed the question, “Oh, it wasn’t the crowd it was-”

Naruto.

Flicking her gaze all around her, she searched for the tell-tale blond spikes of her best-friend-turned-worst-enemy, but, alas, he had melted away into the throng of people surrounding them, forever lost. Which was probably a smart idea, because when she next saw him, she was going to destroy the idiot.

“Never mind,” she said, giving one last glare to an innocent bystander, who very quickly turned around and started walking back the way they came, “just a friend being a dick.”

The woman’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but she quickly shrugged it away and lifted her ludicrous hand cannon to rest in the nook between her exaggerated shoulder pads and her neck. “Well, even if it was a bit violent, it’s nice to meet you; name’s Temari.”

Sakura just barely managed to stutter out her own name, before her eyes decided that this was the perfect time to greedily drink in her elaborately realistic cosplay while she was up close. The longer she looked, the more awed and – in the subtle way of a fellow creative witnessing a masterpiece – somewhat jealous she became. “That costume is just… amazing, are those actual LED lights or is it just glow paint? And how’d you work out the joints in the armour?”

“Not a damn clue! My brother’s the artist, I just model some of his work for him-” she flicked a glossy business card out of a small, hidden compartment in her arm cannon and held it out to her “-he does commissions if you’re interested.”

Well, shit. There went any hope of a common interest.

While Sakura was trying not to pout at the words ‘Black Ant Costuming’ and come up with a graceful escape route, Temari snorted. “And in return for doing all his advertising for him, I got him to make me a Samus costume, because no one else has the figure to do her justice.”

The wink she gave was at once both shamelessly theatrical and utterly devastating. Sakura was pretty sure that her brain had just melted into a puddle of love-struck goop and was no longer controlling her body’s actions – it was the only excuse she would accept for the breathless, swooning giggle she let out in response.

“Th-that you do,” Sakura said, only half aware of what she was even saying anymore.

Her extremely besotted state was probably clear to everyone in a ten-meter radius, but Temari had the grace not to point it out directly.

No, her eyes were too busy scanning up and down Sakura’s own outfit. “Not that you really need Kankuro’s help, you look super cute already.” Apparently Temari didn’t notice the blood rushing to her head fast enough to explode it, because she barrelled on without a care for her heart’s wellbeing, “That dress… are those the lesbian flag colours, or is my bi ass just reading into things again?”

Shit, she was definitely making a weird face by this point. “I-I wasn’t expecting anyone to notice-” she said, her voice sounding a million miles away.

Temari leaned down a little, the golden-brown skin of her cheeks turned just slightly red and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “You know, I actually ship Samus and Peach real fuckin’ hard, and you are straight-up adorable, mind if we take a cute shippy pic together? Just a hug is fine if you’re not comfortable wi-”

Sakura had spent many years trying to smother that loud, aggressive, unrestrained side of herself under layers of shy, demure femininity. How well it had historically worked was up for debate, but, now, in the face of a gorgeous woman who ticked every one of her boxes – and several she didn’t realise she had, she thought, once more eyeing up the oversized weapon Temari waved about with ease – her carefully constructed façade was immediately thrown out the window.

“NARUTO!”

All around her, people jumped, even Temari flinched and took a step back. Just as she was getting ready to yell again, she saw a familiar face peek up from behind an artist’s table; she knew he wouldn’t have gone far when there was the opportunity to watch Sakura fail at flirting to enjoy.

She pulled her phone out of her purse and threw it at him. “Hurry up and get over here, you’re taking pictures of us.”

Just barely saving her phone from an untimely meeting with the cold hard ground, he clambered over the table he was hiding behind, apologising profusely to the poor vendor whose stock he was rearranging.

Sakura paid him no mind, spinning back to face a slightly bewildered – but very amused – Temari. “Hold me bridal-style while I kiss your cheek.”

A single brow raised, before that smug grin that had so captivated Sakura in the first place returned and she was effortlessly hoisted in two strong arms. She was so thrilled to be there; she didn’t even think to complain about the hard plastic covering them. Especially not when Temari whispered in her ear, “As you wish, my Princess.”

---

[stormecloudyy-blog]

Amor Proibido viii

Well, here is part 8. I was having some problems because I did not want this to turn to shit. I have poured my heart and soul into this series so far... so I hope you like this part since it is probably what I have been building up to since I had the idea.

But the planets all aligned When you looked into my eyes And just like that The chemicals react - Aly and AJ

And I'm not tryna ruin your happiness But darling don't you know that I'm the only one for ya? -Shawn Mendes

The declaration of love causes the next big commotion to break out. Landon seems to have forgotten his nose is still bleeding and he backs up for a moment before he takes a full running leap at Shawn. He pushes his entire weight, causing Shawn to take a few steps back and stumble catch his balance.

“You fucking asshole!” Landon screams, pulling his fist back ready to hit Shawn in the face. “You fucking think you can come here on the most important day of my life and take away my fiance? I am not going to let some fucking little ass boy try and take away the bitch I have invested so much fucking time into. This is my fucking fiancee. She belongs to me, and I am not going to let you fuck up the shit I have worked for.”

His words catch me off guard, the utter venom and contempt pouring from each locution falling from his lip. His eyes are so dark, and he seems completely foreign from the man I thought I was going to be marrying. Landon has constantly be very self absorbed, but I have never heard such horrible utterances before. 

Shawn reaches down since he has the height on Landon, grabbing his fist and twisting it around so he pushes Landon’s arm behind his back. His face turns red from the pressure he is exerting on Landon as he pushes back. “What the fuck did you call her?”

I walk over to the pair of them and try to get between them. “Both of you need to stop this. Everyone...” I gesture at every single person in the room staring at us, my family, friends, and co workers, just gaping open mouthed at this spectacle unfolding like we are living some fucked up soap opera. Okay, just me living it but still. “...is staring and this is not the way to handle this. We are adults, and we can have a nice conversation about this in private. Obviously this is not going to end the way we all thought it would, but we need to-”

Before I can finish speaking, Landon has gotten free from Shawn and gets right into my face. He smirks at me with the most contempt I have ever seen and hits me across the face with an open hand, causing my head to spin to the side for a moment. I cry out, placing my own hand on the red spot and trying to stop the tears from falling. Anger and embarassment flow through me. Landon has been intense with me at times, but never to the point where he would hit me in front of all of these people.

Thomas and Elena step in, my aunt completely freaking out because Landon hit me. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she screams, looking at Landon before she pulls me against her and looks at my face to assess the damage. “You are the ugliest, nastiest person I have ever met. I warned Autumn to not marry you and now I can see why especially. You only know how to utilize ugly words and wreak havoc everywhere you go.”

Shawn is looking at me, like he wants to say something. He is just standing there, seemingly shocked and angry by Landon’s behavior. I can see him taking deep breaths so he doesn’t hit him again.

Thomas is apologizing profusely to everyone, acting like they are not whispering and staring open mouthed at all of the drama. He says, “We are dealing with some family problems at the time, so if you would all just step outside so they can have some privacy, there is plenty food and beverage for everyone to enjoy outside in the yard. We even have some great music lined up. Please everyone follow me,” he says with a dramatic flourish, thrusting open the doors to the patio and guiding everyone outside. He closes the door behind him with a click.

Elena holds up a hold before anyone else can speak. She looks at me then at Landon before stopping on Shawn. “You sure know how to walk into someone’s home and make an impression, Shawn.” He tries to speak, but she holds up her hand once more. “None of this is any of my business in a manner of speaking. Autumn is a grown woman. But you need to know you should probably handle your declarations of love a little bit more... carefully.” Her eyes bore daggers into Landon. “You... you need to get the hell out of my home. You will not disrespect Autumn ever again. I have dealt with you for long enough. I don’t give a flying shit about your broken nose. It is not my problem. Get out before I call the police and file charges on you for hitting Autumn.” She literally pushes Landon out of the door, slamming it in his face.

“And you...” she points at me. “Grow the fuck up. Clean up this mess and make sure you know what you are doing. I want you to be happy, but you circumnavigate your choices poorly.” She examines my face, feeling all red and swollen. “Make sure you put some ice on that.” She kisses my forehead before leaving me alone with Shawn.

Shawn steps close to me, placing his hand on my chin and looking at my face. He frowns, placing fingers tentatively against the area where Landon hit me. “I am really sorry he hit you. I didn’t mean to cause your fiance to...” he trails off, not sure what to say. 

I burst out laughing, not sure how else to handle the flurry of emotion going through me. I am ready to cry and scream, also kind of scared what is going to happen when I have to go home to get all of my stuff. The laughing sounds crazy and deranged, like I have lost mind. Which I clearly have since I am not married and Shawn is standing here. 

Shawn’s eyes widen, not sure how to react to me at all. He just stares at me for a long moment... eyes stopping when he sees the necklace resting around the my neck. “Autumn...?” he questions, fingers reaching out and gently touching the charm.

“Hey, you,” I say with a small smile. “I was wondering if you were actually going to show up like you said you would.”

“I told you I was going to be here,” He replies with the sweetest smile, despite the issues going on. “The press is going to have a field day with  this, you know?” He reaches down to press his fingers along my collar bone and smirks at me.

“Everyone already knows about us, just so you know,” I retort, taking his hand and kissing his fingers one by one. I need to know he is real and isn’t going anywhere. My emotions are all over the place and I need something to calm me down.

He widens his eyes in mock horror and shakes his head at the very thought. “There is no way anyone knows about us, Autumn. No one would ever post any of this online at all. Not even the girl who was filming on her phone.” He leans over and kisses me gently, his lips lingering against mine as though he is still trying to accept he is really here and that he actually stopped my wedding like we are in some fake ass movie. 

“Why are you so against there being an us?” Shawn questions me after kissing me once more. He reaches over and pulls me closer to him, circling his hands around my waist.

“Because you know the reasons, and I am not going to mention them right now,” I reply automatically, knowing there is nothing stand between us but still hesitant to just jump into something with Shawn right away.

“You know how I feel about the subject, and I am not going to let it go until you finally give it some kind of acknowledgement,” he sighs and gives me his best smile. He knows I am going to just give into him because he knows how to get under my skin, but it doesn’t mean I want to deal with the consequences right this minute.

I move closer to him and press my head against his chest. “This is a lot to deal with it, believe it or not. You literally just sabotaged my wedding.”

The moment I finish speaking, Shawn closes the space between our lips and kisses me with all of the force he had been holding back. Our mouths collide beautifully, his lips knowing just the right path to follow and how to get his tongue to probe against mine to elicit those sweet little moans I can’t help every time he kisses me like that. His hands slide up my shoulders and into her hair, tangling through it gently and deepening the kiss even more.

I suppress  in the moans the best  I can, but some still managed to fall from my lips. His tongue brushes along the bottom of my lip, followed by a gentle nibbling of his teeth. Without really thinking, I stand up and pull him along with me towards the upstairs of the house so we can be completely alone, away from all those people I see trying to peek through the window. Including my cousin still filming and snapping photos on her phone.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs against my lips, wanting to check if this was really what I want.

I stare up at him with an incredulous look, almost wanting to smack him for asking such a question. I just nod my consent and guide him towards the bathroom, keeping my ears open to make sure there are no sounds minus us. Shawn does the same, eagerly leading me into the bathroom and slamming the door close and locking the door with a flourish. 

My heart hammers in my chest as I  keep my gaze on him, not wanting to let on I am actually kind of nervous about what is going to happen.We have had sex before, but this is another level. He just came here and stopped my wedding. My entire family is downstairs waiting to see what is going to happen, and I am locked inside the bathroom of my childhood home with Shawn Mendes. He steps closer to me, placing his lips on me and brushing his fingers along the top of the dress where my chest peeks out just slightly. With a devilish grin, he reaches down and rips the fabric so I am standing there with the dress coming off my chest, exposing I wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. I let out a laugh as his eyes widen at the sight, never growing tired of how appreciative he seems every time he sees me unclothed. 

“You are beautiful,” he tells me with a smile, his hands snaking to my waist and tearing off the rest of the dress so it is just a fluff pile at our feet. His hands cup over my breasts appreciatively for a moment before he follows suit, taking off his charcoal colored button down and tossing onto the growing pile of garments at our feet. I grin at his perfectly toned body, recalling the way it feels to run my fingers over those perfectly chiseled muscles as I had done many times before. He spins me around so I am looking up at him, his face plastered with the most cheesy grin I have ever seen. 

“Are you going to heal the ache of jet lag I am suffering from?” he teases, his voice deep with want.

Nodding with vigor, I place my hands on the waist of his jeans and pulled them down quickly. He takes off the rest of his clothes and tosses them with my ruined dress, hands never leaving my body as I turn on the shower and wait for the water to be just right. Once it seems like it won’t be too cold or scalding, I pull him in with me and kiss him beneath the jet of the water. I can’t stop smiling and pressing my lips against his. Just Shawn actually being here is more than I can even have hoped for when I woke up this morning. 

He slides an arm down to my hip and turns my around so he is backed against the wall while I stand in front of him. Pleased with himself, he begins to trail kisses down my neck and along my collarbone. His lips are gentle and know very well what they are doing, stopping to press featmy light kisses along my neck while nipping at the skin along my collarbone to leave marks. He keeps whispering about how much he wants my, reassuring my that I was always going to be the one he wanted more than some random plethora of pussy.

I roll my hips against his, skin glistening with water beads as I try to make him ache for me. Pressing myself against his member, I can feel him grow harder just from the brief contact of skin. It makes me even happier to know I can have such an impact over the infamous Shawn Mendes.

“Yes, oh my god…” he moans, growing harder as I slowly pumped my hand up and down his length. I keep my grip gentle but firm, increasing the pace to gauge more of a reaction from him.

I keep the pace steady, watching the way his eyes closed in pleasure from just my touch. Wanting to give him more, I am ready to drop down to my knees when he stops me. Shawn takes my hand away, instead snaking his own between my thighs and slipping two digits inside of my wet folds. He just slides them in and out for a minute to get me wetter before moving his thumb up to circle my clit, causing the sensitive flesh to swell even more. I bite my lip to hold in the screams, knowing it would get us caught if I dared to be too loud. Shawn continues his ministrations but also adjusted himself so he was standing behind me, fingering me to the point where I believe I am  going to just completely lose myself before he had even entered me.

“Bend over and hands against the wall,” he whispers against my neck breathily, removing his fingers one by one and slowing his thumb over my clit. I do as I am told, placing my palms firmly against the wall of the shower and bending over so I am completely exposed to him. Shawn’s  one hand firmly grips my waist while the other spread my legs a little wider. When he seems content with my position, he grips his length in his head and teased my entrance momentarily before slamming into me. “Good girl,” he coos.

“Holy...oh…” I whimper, still not used to his size after all of the times we have been together.

“You like that?”

“I do, yes...please...more,” I plead, wanting to feel him thrusting inside of me.

He rolls his hips against mine, letting my walls adjust to his length inside of me. I can feel how tight I am around him, but I still want all of him. After waiting a few moments, he places the rest of his girth inside of me and began to thrust. He starts out slow at first, rocking his hips against my own before deciding to quicken the movements.

He lets out a few curse words before finding his rhythm, moving quickly and efficiently to get deep inside. His long fingers trail along my waist and settle at my hips, holding tightly to keep me against him.

I hold onto the wall, pressing back against him to create more friction. “That feels...holy fucking god!” I cry out as he found the right spot, causing my to be unable to contain myself much longer.

“Be quiet!” he hisses at me, smacking my ass to try and keep my silent.

“But Shawn...I..” I scream again as he hit the spot, my eyes closing in pure pleasure and wanting to feel more of what he had to offer.

He stops thrusting and pulled out of me, spinning me around to look into my eyes. “I told you to shut up,” he admonishes in a low tone before pressing his lips against mine and pressing me back against the wall.

I stare at him, not sure what he is going to do when he lifted me with ease and entered me again, resuming the rocking of his hips as though it had not been momentarily interrupted by my inability to keep quiet. He moves faster and goes deeper, his eyes closed in concentration.

“I think I am going to cum,” he tells me, his movements growing messier as he inches closer to reaching his peak. I wrapped my legs around his waist, allowing him to get even deeper. He slams his hips against mine, finishing with a moan and my name on his lips. Taking a moment to ride out his orgasm, he pulls out  and drops to his knees.

He places a hand on my ass to move me closer and spreads my thighs to allow him full access. With one hand gripping my hips and the other against my mouth to muffle my screams, Shawn hovers over my clit before licking and sucking roughly to help my reach my own peak. His tongue swirls around my clit, moving at various speeds.

I bite down on his fingers, doing my best to contain the moans threatening to emerge. His hand stays cupped around my mouth as he continued to use his mouth on me, never stopping the pace. He nibbles my clit and licks it gingerly, causing me to finally be able to feel the release in my walls. I let out a moan against his hand, feeling myself give into the pleasure as he eagerly licked it all up. I fall back against the wall, trying to catch my breath as he stands and licks his lips with the most deviant look in his eyes.

“Not bad,” he chuckles and turns down the water so it was just a light stream falling over us. I just stared at him with wide eyes, running my fingers through my damp hair and try to find the words to explain what had just gone down. I can feel my knees still shaking and the area between my legs was sore, but I was also feeling quite euphoric at the same time. It never fails to astound me the way Shawn can have such a variety of impacts on me  just from the physicality of our relationship alone.

Rolling my eyes after I had managed to regain my composure for the most part, I reply, “I have had better.” It was a lie, but I didn’t want to boost his ego too much.

His face falls as he places a hand over his mouth to look at me, not speaking for a few moments. “You don’t mean that,” he informs me in hurt tone. “You just say things like  that to push me away.”

I shrug my shoulders as though my heart wasn’t breaking at his words. “Whatever makes you feel better, Mendes.”

He takes his hand away from his mouth and really looked at me,“Stop this bullshit already.” He lifts my chin with his hand and stepped closer.

“I am not doing anything.” I refuse to look him in the eye.

He sighed and kissed my gently. “Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult, woman?”

“I don’t do that either.”

“Yes, you do. But I love you anyway.” He grins at me.

I hold my breath. “You ruined my wedding dress.”

“Good thing you aren’t getting married, then, isn’t it?”

Everyone has gone home. The ruined wedding dress sits pushed in the corner of the bathroom, an eyebrow raise from my aunt stating she will not be asking me any type of probing questions about how the dress ended up in tatters and why the bathroom was all steamy when she came inside to see what was going on. The pile of wedding gifts will have to be returned. Some of the food was sent home as leftovers, and the rest Shawn has been eating since he told me he won’t be leaving until he convinces me I should come spend some time with him in Toronto. 

He picks up a fork and sticks it in the wedding cake. He takes a bite before saying, “I am not saying you have to quit your job. What would you do all day then? Never did I say give up your whole life for me. All I said was that I will not go back until you agree to come stay for a few days. I am sure your boss will give you off work once you tell him of the trauma you suffered at the hands of Landon.” He makes a face at mentioning the name. “And then you can just come see the city and then go back to work. That is literally how long distance relationships function, Autumn.”

I roll my eyes at him for the hundredth time. “We are not in a relationship, Shawn. We are not anything. You just showed up at my house and stopped my wedding and now you want to make all of these plans like this is the most normal thing in the world. There is a lot of fucked up shit that just went down. Do you not realize what would happen if I just decided to say fuck it all and be with you? Do you?!” I demand, placing my hands on the table to emphasize my point. “You would be seen as the guy who managed to snag an older woman and you would be applauded. I am going to be called a slut the world around because I cheated on my fiance with you, and then you showed up to stop my wedding. I am always going to seen as the villain in this story arc. No matter what.”

He snorts. “The more you deny it, the longer I am going to tell you we are. And who cares what anyone else thinks. You and I are adults. I love you. You love me. I get this whole thing is pretty fucked up, but at least we are going to be happy. Just like I told you when we met, all I want to do is be happy like everyone else. I don’t give a fuck about anything else. I am not perfect and neither are you. But I want to make this work. Because I want you.” He takes another bite of cake. “And I vote we do not get this kind of cake when we get married, it tastes kind of stale and too sweet.”

Incredulous, I stare at him as I try to process the words that just came out of his mouth. I don’t even respond. I just stare at him for a moment before I look over at the clock on the wall. “It is getting late, and there is no way I am going to be able to go home tonight to get the rest of my stuff. So is there anyway you would mind if I just maybe... like stayed with you in Toronto for a few days until the drama dies down?”

Shawn grins at me, standing up to walk over and pull me into his arms. “I would be okay if you stayed with me forever, Autumn.”

He presses his lips against mine in the most perfect kiss.

“I love you, Shawn Mendes... even if you are just a famous kid singer...” I tease.

“I love you too. You are the happiness I have been searching for.”

I kiss him back, never wanting to allow my heart to belong to anyone else but Shawn.

So this is what happiness feels like.

[tiggymalvern]

A snippet for #BottomHannibalDay

I don’t have a specific fic for BottomHannibalDay, because I was far too occupied writing my magnum opus, but I heartily support the concept :-) So have an extract from a chapter I published yesterday, and thank you to @feyestwords and @cannibalcuisine for the idea!

“You were entirely perfect today, Will, and wholly of your own volition, planning and enacting all of your own desires.” Hannibal leans closer, pressing his lips briefly to Will’s cheek, and his voice is a whisper barely heard above the spray of the water. “You are everything I ever dared to believe you might become.”

Hannibal might be the most genuine person Will can imagine – once he’s decided to be honest he holds nothing back. Will withdraws just enough to fix their eyes together, staring into expansive twin brown depths either side of a blurry nose. “You want what you see,” he teases.

“I always want anything of exceptional beauty,” Hannibal agrees. He sinks down onto his knees, reaching for Will’s cock, and Will pushes him back, and tugs at his chin until their eyes meet. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he tells him.

Hannibal tilts his head, blinking slow and lazy. “Make it worth my while,” he says.

Will grins at him, with toothy intent. “Don’t I always?”

“I concede you apply admirable effort,” Hannibal says, and Will grips him at his bicep and pulls him to his feet and out of the shower. He tows him from the bathroom and backs him down onto the bed, still dripping with hair plastered across his forehead.

Will crawls over him, aligning their bodies and settling his weight, the hair on Hannibal’s chest brushing against his nipples, their cocks side by side in the damp heat between them. Will flexes his hips, once, twice, slowly, enough to feel the friction as they rub and press against one another. Sometimes he likes to come this way; it reminds him of that first afternoon, when they were both so desperate for this, clinging to one another too completely both physically and mentally to think of anything beyond it.

Nostalgia isn’t his primary motivator right now.

He sits half way upright, taking both of Hannibal’s wrists and pressing them to the pillows, stretched above his head. Hannibal lies boneless and smiling, his cock the only part of him hard, and he lets Will do exactly what he likes. “Does it feel good, to hold me down, to control me?”

Will shakes his head, because it does, he’s feeling fantastic in more ways right now than he can begin to count, but that’s not why. “You feel good. Always.” With Hannibal, he can take control or give it over into his hands, and there’s no distinction, only the flow of mood and moments back and forth between them. He’s still holding Hannibal’s wrists, and he leans in to suck on the lobe of one ear. Hannibal turns his head to make it easier, and Will drags the sharp edge of his incisors over the soft skin instead. “Does it feel good to let me?”

“I’ve been encouraging you to react by instinct today, to respond to your nature,” Hannibal says. “This is what you’re feeling now, and I’m amply disposed to accommodate you.”

Will grins down at him, because he wasn’t expecting an open admission, and he doesn’t need one. “I think I can make you be very accommodating.”

Hannibal stares up at Will, serious and unhesitating. “Yes, you can,” he says, and everything below Will’s diaphragm flips and drops away into fire.

Hannibal suggested a few days ago that Will would let him do anything, and Will immediately denied it. The truth is more complicated than that. The list of things Will wouldn’t let Hannibal do is significant, but the list of things he wouldn’t forgive Hannibal for if he did them anyway barely exists at all.

With Hannibal, it’s different. He looks up at Will now in unending devotion, waiting, and he really would let Will do literally anything, because Will understands the representation of himself in Hannibal’s head.

When Hannibal met Will Graham in Jack’s office, he saw a tiger in a cage, and he immediately wanted to set it free. If that tiger had grown institutionalised, if it preferred to stay in society’s confinement where it was warm and well fed, then that was all the more reason to drag it out to see the wild by force and show it what a predator should be. And if the tiger turned around and bit off Hannibal’s arm after he yanked it into the world of tooth and claw, well, that’s what tigers do.

To place new restrictions on the magnificent creature he unleashed would be as blasphemous as the original caging, so Hannibal sets no limits on Will’s actions, none, and the power in that knowledge is exhilarating, terrifying, and arousing to the point of derangement.

“Then I’ll make you,” Will tells him, and he shifts both of Hannibal’s wrists into his left hand, the other reaching for one of the many pillows arranged like a magazine photo at the head of the bed. His grip is purely symbolic – Hannibal could certainly break free if he wanted to, but he doesn’t and he won’t, and they both enjoy the game.

He pushes the pillow beneath Hannibal’s hips, his lover lifting immediately to help him, and then he takes the lubricant from the nightstand, popping the cap one-handed.

He’s not bothering with foreplay – they’ve been soaping each other’s bodies in the shower for almost half an hour, and that was more than enough to make Will eager. It will be enough for Hannibal, as the flushed state of his erection testifies.

He maintains his hold on Hannibal’s arms, using his teeth to gently press on the tube, squeezing the contents over the fingers of his free hand. He flicks his head to let the tube drop to the bed beside them, and rubs his slippery fingertips around Hannibal’s entrance before pushing them inside.

Hannibal exhales long and slow, flexing his spine, his eyes locked with Will’s as he twists on his fingers.

Will raises his eyebrows at him, but he says and does nothing more. If Hannibal wants to put all the work in, Will sees no reason not to let him.

Apparently Hannibal does, because it’s not long before he comments, “I thought you had plans to ‘make me’. I’m noting very little indication of it.”

“Right now, it seems I’m making you squirm,” Will says with a sharp edge of amusement, but he bunches his fingers together and presses them deeper, and Hannibal’s eyes blink slow and his mouth opens in a circle of softened lips. He’s stunning, stretched out taut all through his arms and torso, the lines of his muscles pulled into stark definition, his cock hard and glistening for Will, his feet pushing down to lift his hips for him, and Will wants more now than the game.

He releases Hannibal’s wrists when he grabs for the lube and smears it at the head of his own cock, but Hannibal leaves his hands there among the pillows anyway. He’s never unaware of how he looks, clothed or naked, and Will sees the glint of it in his eyes while he waits and watches.

Will’s out of patience, and he’s done with waiting.

He lifts Hannibal’s legs over his arms and he presses in, a single smooth, sliding push, his eyes closing and his lips parting as the tight heat spreads to wrap around the whole length of his cock. There’s very little resistance, Hannibal relaxing for him, deliberately, consciously, wanting Will there, and it’s only at the end that there’s the barrier of the second ring of muscle. Will maintains the pressure until that opens too, and he slips in the final inch.

It’s amazing every time, the physicality of this, of nudging his way into someone else’s body, having them stretch and give for him, just enough to let him be there, enough to cling around him when he stays. Will holds himself all the way in, letting himself fully feel it in the surrounding blackness behind his eyelids, the intimacy of so much skin and muscle and damp heat. And when he opens his eyes, there’s Hannibal, and a whole other level of connection forged in their gaze, love and need and total understanding, and Will withdraws himself half way before pushing back in slowly to experience it all again, and again.

Hannibal’s legs tighten at Will’s shoulders, his ankles hooking round to emphasise the pressure. “Don’t hold anything back, Will. Whatever you feel, whatever you might need, you should embrace it and release it all.”

Will completes his stroke, measured and steady all the way in to the exquisite, gripping warmth of Hannibal, and then he pauses to glare down at him. “Can you not turn sex into a therapy session?”

Hannibal widens his eyes with the faintest hint of a smile, imperious and entirely unapologetic. “I wouldn’t, if I were sufficiently distracted.”

Which is an appallingly obvious way of goading Will into doing exactly what he just told him to do. Hannibal can be so goddamn annoying. He’s not even pretending to be subtle. Will’s half tempted to fuck him excruciatingly slowly and drag it out forever just to make a point, but that’s not really what he wants to do, not this time. “Then let me distract you.” He dips and turns his head, pressing his lips to the soft, haired skin inside Hannibal’s calf, and then he nips down with his teeth, hard enough to cause redness and bruising. Hannibal inhales sharply, his muscles clenching down around Will’s cock in a way that’s absolutely perfect. And Will knows how to set about making him do it again.

Will’s aware Hannibal wasn’t new to being fucked before this relationship – he’s endlessly curious and a hedonist, he’s probably tried a dozen things sexually that Will wouldn’t even consider. But he’s certain that with Will is the first time Hannibal’s let himself be fucked without some ulterior controlling motive, indulging the sheer enjoyment of it because he wants it.

Will wonders if Hannibal’s ever been able to truly lose himself in sex, or if he’s always been focussed on securing the mask, clinically assessing what his partner might be seeing in him. Whatever his history might be, Will takes enormous delight in fucking Hannibal out of his head, out of his guileful thoughts and into pure, visceral lust, and it delights him more because it’s so damn hard to do it.

Hannibal rarely lets go completely, and never easily.

Will sets a pace he knows he can sustain, moderate and steady with a little extra push on the stroke in. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think,” he tells him, and then he leans in close by his ear to clarify. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think about anything but me.”

“That’s a considerably easier goal.” Hannibal’s trying for casual, but he has to snatch an inhale half way through the sentence, and his eyelids twitch every time Will presses deep. Then his gaze fixes on Will and he removes one of his hands from the pillow to settle on Will’s bicep, and he says open and honest, “I find such is my state of mind with surprising frequency.”

Will’s own breath hitches then, as it does whenever Hannibal makes these transparent declarations of his love. And he knows the feeling in himself, when they’re twined together and everything’s Hannibal, his skin, his lips, his eyes, his intensity and focus, and it’s almost surprising that they have a life outside of a bed. He has a part of himself buried within this man, his lover, his love, and not just in the current, literal sense, because they’ve been dug deep into one another for years, and there were never any barriers that could stop it.

Will shoves into him, a little faster this time, a little harder, and it quivers through both of them. His head is alive with desire, his own lust tangled together with the black of Hannibal’s pupils and the arch of his spine, and he pauses long enough to drag his incisors over Hannibal’s forearm, leaving brief indents that glisten damply as they fade. Hannibal jumps beneath him, a whole body twitch that Will feels everywhere, but especially round his cock, and Will fucks into him again, Hannibal’s eyes exquisitely wide, his focus starting to scatter. Will sets his mouth to that same patch of sensitised skin, this time gripping flesh, seizing and tightening, and Hannibal stiffens beneath him, his breath breaking; Will clenches firmer, then pulls gently back, the skin scraping slow over the edges of his teeth, and Hannibal shudders and writhes everywhere except where Will’s holding him, his arm absolutely still and his fingers clamped into Will’s shoulder.

Hannibal isn’t the only one left with bruises when Will bites.

This is the one part of their love-making that isn’t reciprocal. Hannibal licks and kisses and sucks on every inch of Will’s skin, and as far inside him as he can get his tongue, but there’s never any hint of teeth.

It’s not Will’s kink, but he wouldn’t be averse to trying it, and honestly he’s not found anything yet that Hannibal can’t make him turned on enough to enjoy, but Hannibal doesn’t go there, and Will understands why. Because Will loves enticing and pushing Hannibal beyond his own control, and if Hannibal started using teeth, he couldn’t be entirely sure each time where he’d stop.

Will laps and sucks thoroughly over the welt he’s left, feeling Hannibal relax and soften against and around him, and when he pulls back from his skin, Hannibal’s eyes have fallen closed into the sensation. Will smiles and resumes fucking him, measured and methodical, working Hannibal up towards his edge again, watching his breathing deepen and quicken, adding teeth for a brief surge of intensity, then stopping everything but gentle contact to ease him back away again before he gets too close.

It’s a cycle Will sometimes wants to draw out forever, seeing and feeling Hannibal responding to him so easily, Hannibal utterly unguarded and letting Will control his pleasure, letting himself be tuned and played like his own instruments. But Will’s entirely human, and his cock has limits independent of Will’s intentions, and eventually he has to let it all go, and just fuck Hannibal and not stop. Hannibal shivers beneath him, and Will pushes faster, and Hannibal says, “Yes, like that,” huffed and clipped, bringing his other hand down from the pillow and applying it to his own erection. Will fucks him, and sees the heaving of his chest and the arch of his throat; he feels the rise of Hannibal’s orgasm hot in his own head, and he scratches his nails from Hannibal’s collarbone sharp along the length of his sternum, and Hannibal gasps out a short, inarticulate noise as he comes.

Hannibal’s fingers grip into the bruises he’s already left in Will’s shoulder, and his muscles squeeze around Will’s cock, and Will’s still fucking him, still fucking him and wanting him like he’s never wanted anything, panting with how much he needs it, until finally he crashes through into his own orgasm, shaking and pulsing and all the way inside Hannibal.

And when it finishes, he’s there, still with Hannibal, and he wants to kiss him, so he does, and it’s soft and slow and beautiful how their lips move and their noses brush. They stay that way until Will’s cock slips loose, and then he pushes off and flops to lie alongside Hannibal, sprawled and wholly content. Hannibal extracts the damp pillow from beneath him and discards it from the bed, rolling onto his side to face Will.

Hannibal looks at him like he’s the only person who has genuine worth in this entire world, and it’s an intrinsic truth, because as far as Hannibal’s concerned, he is. It’s intoxicating, and Will’s fully aware it’s not a healthy mindset to let himself get drawn into, but the base reality is that nobody will ever love him, desire him, revere him the way that Hannibal does. The two of them are bound in a unique appreciation of the other that society can’t ever understand, and sex is one of the times it’s laid bare between them, exposed blatant and raw.

Will’s twenty minutes out of the shower and he’s already layered in sweat again, his cock sticky with lube and come, and he doesn’t care about any of that; he’s draped beside Hannibal, feeling the touch of him and the movement as he breathes. “I think you wore me out,” he says, smiling gently into his skin.

“Then rest.” The affection carries in Hannibal’s voice too, and Will’s head settles between the pillow and his lover’s shoulder, and Hannibal’s not moving, not leaving the bed to clean the residue from himself or the sheets, he’s staying with Will.

[lowat-golden-tower]

Out on a Limb

Haha... so this is Yandere's chapter. Do I even need to warn you about the impending blood and violence and deranged-ness? It's Yandereplier. Shit's gonna get a little real here.

Oh, and a small warning for animal abuse threats. No squirrels were actually harmed in the making of this chapter.

@alcordraws and @angstphilosophy, sorry for this. X’D Though I bet you’ll enjoy it too.

AO3 Mirror

Chapter 9: carving for senpai

"He loooves me, he loves me not. He loooooooooves me, he loves me not."

King was roused from a late afternoon nap by the sound of a voice. It was far, far too close to the tree and he was honestly surprised his subjects hadn't woken him sooner. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked around, fearful something might have happened to them.

Thankfully, they were all gathered nearby, perfectly safe and sound. Though the fact they all appeared to be watching something perked his interest. It was odd for them not to be panicking or going into a frenzy at someone so close to their nesting boughs. Maybe that meant the interloper wasn't a threat? Then again, they'd been freaking out over Artiplier, and he hadn't proven antagonistic. Just weird. King was still trying to sort out that particular encounter.

Heaving himself away from his preferred nest of overlapping branches and leaves, King shimmied out to his usual perch when it came to dealing with those on the ground. The squirrels parted and made space for him, but otherwise didn't tear their gazes away from the mop of bloody crimson bobbing along below.

Oh God. There was only one ego who'd kept that color throughout all of Mark's hairstyle transitions.

Yandereplier hummed happily as he plucked another petal from the daisy he held. His grip on the poor thing could only be likened to a stranglehold. "Senpai loves me." He giggled and gave a happy little sigh, setting the petal in a little pile on his lap. He was sitting beneath the tree, his back to the trunk, and there were several mangled flower stems scattered on the grass around him.

His fingers plucked- no, ripped- off another petal. "Senpai loves me not." Yandere's voice dipped into a deeper, more dangerous register as he glowered at the little petal. Rather than dropping it into the pile with the others, he proceeded to mangle the bit of flora between his thumb and forefinger.

King could only compare the sight to someone squashing a particularly disgusting, annoying bug. Worse yet, Yandere proceeded to eat the remnants, chuckling darkly to himself.

"Yeah, right, as if that's true. Senpai loooves me, of course. Stupid flower petals." Having apparently run out of both petals and flowers to mutilate, Yandere carelessly tossed the empty stem away. He looked down at the petals in his lap with an adoring expression. "You're my lucky little charms! I'm gonna press all of you into the photo album I have of senpai. One for every page, so I know for a fact he must love me!" Yandere's fists were clenched, and there was an eager, violent gleam in his eyes.

King felt his insides shudder. Fantastic. Of all the egos to decide hanging around his tree, it just had to be this one. Artiplier might have been a little unstable too, but at least he'd been harmless. King didn't need to see a knife to know Yandere had one on his person. It was a constant.

No wonder his subjects were just watching. Any little thing could set Yandere off. They weren't stupid. The only reason they hadn't vacated the premises entirely was because of the babies. They were just as on-edge as he felt; anxiety gripping at their hearts, at the possibilities.

Maybe, if they just stayed quiet, Yandere wouldn't even realize they were there. Yandere was always absorbed into his own world anyway. If he was just going to pick flower petals and sing and mutter to himself about his senpai, then there was no problem. He'd eventually get bored and leave, and everything would settle back to normal. King knew he didn't have to reiterate this point to his subjects, but he made a "shushing" gesture anyway. Nice and easy.

Yandere had been humming while he delicately slipped the petals into a plastic baggy and sealed it up, stuffing it down his shirt. King had no idea how that kind of logic worked, as the shirt was so loose on Yandere that anything inside should immediately fall out, but then Yandere never really followed the rules. Of anything. Including the universe.

The uniformed ego rose to his feet with another happy hum, dusting off the back of his skirt. He combed fingers through his hair; meticulous and anxious. King might have found the display endearing, if it wasn't for the fact he'd seen both hair and hands covered in blood more than once. "Now, let's see. I came out here for a reason, I wanted to do something super special kawaii desu ne for senpai~ Something that would be around forever and ever and ever, just like our love." King shuddered when Yandere's voice dropped to a rumbling growl again and ducked a bit further into his tree.

Yandere, however, was still sunshine and rainbows for the most part as he turned around to face said tree. "Oh yeah~! I remember now. I wanted to immortalize my love for senpai~ Trees are around for centuries, just like our love will be. And it's soooo romantic!" He pulled out the knife King had been waiting trepidatiously for and held it up, a wicked grin on his face and that same dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, fuck, he's gonna carve up the tree...." King muttered almost inaudibly under his breath. He could see his subjects immediately grow agitated and tried to quiet their angry chitters. "No, no, shhh. It's better that knife go in the tree than in you, I'm sorry, I know, it's too dangerous. Just calm down... shh..."

Yandere, thankfully, seemed oblivious for the moment. Too wrapped up in his fantasies, most likely. "...and when we're oooold and graaay I can bring senpai here to this tree, and we can smile and laugh at the cute little heart with our names in it~ Uguuu, it's so sweet, I think I might just die!" He heaved a ragged breath, the knife trembling a little in his grasp as a faraway look entered his eyes. It only lasted for about ten seconds, then the "peaceful serenity" returned with another giggle. "But not before senpai~!"

King watched Yandere move up close to the tree, tracing the blade along the old bark. He attempted to pull his subjects in close to his body; to comfort and soothe them and prevent impending disaster. He was only minutely successful. It was clear as day the squirrels wanted to jump in and defend their tree as they had against all the other egos.

Yandere wasn't like the other egos. Yandere might not hold any reality warping abilities, but he was by far the loosest cannon- even compared to Wilford. Wilford probably wouldn't harm King or his subjects on purpose. Yandere, on the other hand...

King's mind drifted back to the incident where Billy had stolen shirt scraps from Yandere's room. The ego had been utterly furious, near to foaming at the mouth with eyes wild and crazed like a rabid animal. He'd threatened to catch King's squirrels and skin them all alive. To make a hat out of their fur for his precious senpai. He said it'd be easy, like skinning a person but less work, or like dissecting an animal in biology class.

King had returned the scraps and proceeded to take all of his subjects into deep hiding for over a week. He only ever ventured out for supplies, and every time he did, he swore he felt himself being watched from the shadows. Eventually, Yandere's mind shifted to more current transgressions, but King always worried the ego held a grudge.

"It's gotta be perfect. The very bestest spot for senpai! Riiiiight... here!" Abruptly, Yandere rammed his knife deep into the tree. It practically sank to the hilt, and the brief display of power set all the tree's inhabitants to cowering.

"See? He'll kill you if you bother him, just let him carve his stupid thing and maybe he'll leave," King whispered, fretting. All the squirrels had taken to hiding within his clothes and cape; one even tucking away beneath his marvelous crown. He sighed in relief. At least they were listening to him. The last thing they needed was to draw any attention to themselves.

With some effort, Yandere wrenched his blade from the tree, and began the ardous task of carving into the bark. He traced out a jagged heart first, of course. Then came the more precise art of drawing out the names. He lean in close, eyes squinting and tongue poking out as he focused on every tiny line. It had to be perfect. Perfect for his perfect senpai. Only the best. Nothing else would do. In his contentment, his intermittent humming shifted to soft singing. "I love senpai, yes I do~ He's for me, not for you~"

So far, so good. Yandere hadn't noticed any disturbances. Surely, surely after he completed his task, he would leave. King watched from his perch, holding and comforting his agitated subjects. They were furious, understandably so, and he was irritated as well. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do. The best course of action was no action at all. He'd make it up to them, somehow.

Of course, King had discovered fate quite enjoyed toying with him at this point. Just as it seemed Yandere was scratching out the last "e" in his name, King felt something wet and sticky drip from his chin. His heart stopped and his eyes widened. Oh no.

A small glob of peanut butter landed on the curve of Yandere's wrist, giving him pause. He blinked out of what appeared to have been some sort of trance, turning his attention to the smudge of light brown. Slowly, his head tilted, as if he were attempting to process the information. King watched with baited breath, hugging his subjects closer and silently cursing his majestically nutty beard.

Yandere's head snapped up without warning, deadened brown eyes locking onto King in a single breath. King choked, feeling frozen in place by that merciless gaze. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He wanted to speak, to say something, but he'd lost track of his words and his breath just wouldn't come out right. Yandere, nonplussed, didn't tear his gaze away from King as he brought the marred wrist up to his mouth. He licked the glob of peanut butter from his skin, agonizingly slow, never breaking eye contact. He didn't immediately swallow, or move, but when he finally did a spine-chilling smile slipped onto his serene face.

"Denka...." The word slipped off Yandere's tongue thicker than the peanut butter he'd just consumed; a deadly purr which promised only pain and suffering. The grip on his knife had tightened, and he tore it from the bark with a wretched sound. "So. This is your tree, is it?"

At last, King found his voice, though it was breathless and stuttering as he tried to placate Yandere while he was still apparently subdued. Maybe he could still avoid any violence or conflict. "N-no, no! It's- it's just a tree. Just staying in it, that's all. No ownership over it or anything. Totally free tree! Just pretend I'm not even here." He held up his hands, praying Yandere would take his words and gestures at face value. He had a nasty tendency of reading far too deeply into things, and contriving his own meanings from them.

Yandere's grip hadn't visibly loosened any, though. The smile on his face escalated to a rather unhinged grin; showing off his pearly whites while his upper lip minutely twitched. He looked positively manic. "Oh, you can't fool me, denka! I've heard the others. You won't let anyone near your precious tree. Won't let them come up there. Because you've got something to protect! Riiiiight?"

King swallowed hard. Normally, he'd be flattered that any aspect of his reputation preceded him. He was so often forgotten about, after all. However, in this particular instance, he wished his notoriety wasn't quite so high. It had only been causing him problems as of late. "I-I... uh... I mean, yes, but- I c-can make an exception...!"

"Awww, well isn't that generous of you." Yandere hummed sweetly, toying the point of his knife. He either didn't notice, or didn't care, when the deadly sharpness cut through the skin of his fingertip. A droplet of blood trickled down the blade, and King knew it wasn't the first- nor would it likely be the last. "Unfortunately, I don't! No exceptions for senpai! No exceptions for anyone! Senpai is mine, everything about him, everything he owns, is mine, because senpai loves me very much, and I love him, and no one can be a part of that! No one can take that from me! No one!" Yandere was practically screaming by the end of his rant, swinging his knife about dangerously.

King was uttering every last curse he knew in his head. This wasn't good. The situation was rapidly spiraling beyond his control, as it was wont to do with Yandere involved. Shifting gears, he ushered his subjects to the deeper branches; their nests and burrows. If all Hell broke loose, he didn't want them to be trapped with him. Yandere was more likely to attack the human target. "Yandere, c'mon, let's just talk about this..."

"No! No talk! The only voice I want to hear, is senpai's! The only eyes and face I want to see, are senpai's! You're not my senpai! You're just a silly king up in his tree! Well..." Yandere's grin, already chilling, turned utterly sick in appearance. His eyes were bloodshot suddenly, almost the same color as his hair. He was trembling, head low and twitching between his shoulders. "What's a king to a radical, anyway?"

King's breath caught in his throat. "Yandere, no-"

"YANDERE YES!" The ego let loose a blood-curdling cackle and stabbed at the tree again. This time, however, he used it as leverage to pull himself up, planting his penny loafers firmly against the bark. His eyes were wild swirls of brown and red, his grin deranged and his bangs falling messily across his face.

King screamed on reflex. He couldn't help it. He had stemmed off of Mark's subconscious ideas, after all. Terrified, he looked wildly around, but they'd exhausted the last of the tree's walnuts on Ed. They had no defenses, besides their location, which was quickly becoming a moot point in the wake of Yandere's vicious determination. He was scaling the tree with a ferocity and reckless abandon, not caring for the bits of bark and wood he sent flying or the smaller branches he snapped off. So long as he reached his destination, he would be satisfied.

King only wished that destination wasn't him. If Yandere got up there, who knew how much damage the ego would cause. It could be a complete massacre. Everything King had worked so hard to protect and defend would be gone. Any remaining subjects he had would have lost faith in him, in his abilities as their king. He wouldn't be able to blame them.

"One little, two little, three little squirrelies! Four little, five little, six little squirrelies! Seven little, eight little, nine little squirrelies! Lots of dead squirrelies laying all on the ground!"

"Oh god, oh fuck, fuck, what am I gonna do, oh god, ffffffuck..." King gasped, panicking, tugging at his hair and pressing knuckles to his mouth. He could feel his heart racing wildly in his chest. He had to do something. Yandere was closing in; it would only be another minute or two before he was in the heart of the tree. Then it would be all over. King had to do something.

Yandere let loose another deranged chuckle, and the sound shook King to his very core. This was it. He had to do something. He couldn't just sit back and allow Yandere to terrorize his kingdom. He'd tried playing nice, and he'd tried being diplomatic. Clearly, diplomacy wasn't the answer here. Clearly, Yandere only understood one language: his own. If King couldn't get through to the murderous ego, then he'd have to stop him. Period.

He really wished there was a better way to do it.

Removing his cape, King carefully set his crown off to the side. His subjects sniffed at it warily, confused, but he merely shot them another reassuring smile and a thumbs up. "Don't worry. I've got this." Turning to look back down at Yandere, who was now far too close for comfort, King drew a deep breath. His chest was tight, but he knew what he had to do. There were no other options. No one was going to help him.

With a high-pitched shriek that was more terrified scream than ferocious battlecry, King threw himself down from his perch. He held out his cape in front of him and slammed hard into Yandere, sending them both plummeting to the ground below. Their mutual screams mingled into a terrible sound, only cut-off by the harsh impact of their combined weight meeting the grass. King had landed fully on Yandere, said ego's body covered almost entirely by the expanse of his cape. Beyond King's heaving breaths, there was silence again.

The impact had knocked the breath from his lungs. Once he regained enough of it, he grimaced. Yandere hadn't so much as twitched since they hit the ground. "Uhh..." Crap. What if King had killed him? Could he even kill another ego? What if Yandere snapped his neck, or broke his back, or smashed his skull against a branch on the way down? Could he come back from that?

Panic began creeping along the edges of King's consciousness. He ached all over, and there was a sharp pain in his side, but Yandere had completely broken his fall. Clearly, the smaller ego had taken the brunt of the damage. "Oh god."

Frightened to find himself looking into hollow, empty eyes or to see Yandere's neck twisted at a gruesome angle, King slowly pulled down his cape. He had to know. If he'd accidentally killed Yandere, if he'd committed ego murder...

He was met with a groan and a huffed exhale, and he felt his lungs seize deep within his chest. Yandere's head shifted, lolling slightly to one side, but otherwise he didn't stir. His eyes were closed, his face and mouth slack with unconsciousness. He was knocked out cold. Not dead, still breathing, not horribly disfigured or mutilated. King released a shuddering breath of his own, tension easing out of his muscles. "Oh thank god...."

With the false alarm came better awareness of his surroundings. King could hear the anxious chittering of his subjects and looked up. Several had meandered down the tree, clearly worried, while the rest remained near the nests as he'd requested. Their concern warmed his heart and brought a small smile to his face.

"It's okay, everybody! I'm okay! Just a little bruised up. I'll be just- ah-" King sucked in a sudden, harsh breath as he started to pull fully away from the unconscious body beneath him. He hissed, wincing and grimacing, and pressed a hand to the side which had been twinging since they landed. He jolted again when his fingers brushed metal, slick and warm with some kind of liquid. His heart rose up into his throat and stayed there. "Oh..." The word was so soft it might as well have been just another exhale.

Slowly, scared of what he'd find, King lifted his arm and craned his neck to get a look at his torso. Color drained from his face. Yandere's knife was sticking out of his ribs, still gripped tightly in his hand. It had pierced through his robe and either skewered him upon landing, or Yandere had stabbed him during the fall.

Either way, he'd been hit. It wasn't extremely bad, seeing as he wasn't spitting up blood, but the wound wasn't exactly shallow. Hissing further, King knew attempting to wrench the weapon from Yandere was likely futile, even in his unconscious state. Desperately staving off the urge to hyperventilate and panic, he drew rapid breaths and carefully pushed his body up. A pained whimper slid out of him along with the knife, fresh blood gushing to stain his shirt and blend with the red of his cape. It was tannic and sharp in the air, making him want to gag. "Shit..."

Pressing a hand tightly to the wound made him grit his teeth and flinch, but he knew it was necessary. He needed to wrap the wound with something. Staring at his already ruined cape, he thought a silent "fuck it" and took advantage of the knife still sticking through the material.

It took a few minutes, but King managed to obtain a sizable chunk from the bulk of his cape. Yandere still hadn't stirred, which was a relief. King had no doubts the younger ego would be all too happy to finish the job. Wrapping the cloth around his torso, he made the makeshift binding tight as he dared and carefully knotted it off. By that time, sweat was beading on his brow, and he was feeling a little sick. He sat, heaving and gasping, until he felt a soft weight drop onto his shoulder.

Something fluffy and warm nuzzled along his jaw, and King's smile returned. "Billy..." He managed a weak laugh and reached up with his less bloody hand to gently stroke a finger along his subject's side. "I'll... I'll be okay. Thank you. Hang on."

King couldn't just leave Yandere by the tree. The moment he woke, he'd be right back on the warpath. No, King had to get him out of there. He wasn't looking forward to what would happen next, but like with everything else so far, he didn't have much choice. Setting his jaw and furrowing his brows, King wrapped the remains of his cape around Yandere and hefted him into his arms. His side absolutely screamed in protest, and he felt more blood trickle from the wound as he exerted the muscle there.

His knees wobbled. King cursed, quite colorfully, under his breath. Billy bumped in concern at his cheek again, and he forced up another weak grin. "I've got it. Don't worry." His voice was tight from the strain. Thankfully, Yandere wasn't too big. It was only a struggle to carry the ego because of King's injury. Stumbling and swaying, he made his way through the back door of Egos, Inc.

King wasn't certain if it would be advantageous to run into another ego or not. Seeing a bloody mess associated with Yandere was nothing new. However, apparently the egos weren't regarding him in a very happy or positive light nowadays. They might get the wrong idea if they spied him toting along an unconscious, bloodied Yandere.

No, it was probably for the best he didn't run into another soul along his journey.

Unsure of how else to handle the situation, King settled for locking Yandere in a closet. He'd be furious when he woke up, but unable to immediately seek vengeance- if he recalled who knocked him out in the first place. One of the other egos would eventually hear him screaming and pounding and maybe come let him out. It wouldn't be King, that much was for sure.

With that threat out of the way, King could turn his attention to his wound. He winced as he realized he'd been trailing and tracking blood through the building. He was an ego, which meant he could withstand more than a normal human, but even he had his limits. He should probably go see the doctor in the clinic. Yet... his gaze drifted out a nearby window, landing on the tree. If he went to the clinic, Dr. Iplier would restrict him to bedrest, and his subjects would be defenseless. Vulnerable. The mere thought alone constricted his lungs all over again.

No, no... King could manage. It was just a little cut. Yandere hadn't pierced anything vital. He wished he could at least swipe some painkillers or actual bandages before he left, but all of those supplies were in the clinic. Far too risky. He snatched a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread and a large bag of trail mix from the break room instead.

He'd survive. He could manage. Even though dragging his limping form back to the tree was an effort in and of itself. Heaving his body up the branches was worse, but once he was settled into his perch, he felt better. King pressed a hand to his side, grimaced, then forced another smile for his worried subjects. "I'll be okay. I'm glad none of you were hurt. Please don't worry about me."

The squirrels exchanged glances, intelligent creatures they were, before promptly swarming onto King. He gasped softly, but every squirrel was careful not to step on his wound. They linked up together, crossing paws and tails and fluffy bodies until they'd formed a sort of blanket over their injured ruler. It was getting late, with the sun setting beyond the leaves, and King was touched by the caring gesture. A tingle started up in his nose and his eyes burned with the threat of tears as he sniffed. "Guys..."

His lips wobbled, and he wrapped bloodstained arms around his loving subjects. He'd never felt so warm. This, their loyalty and trust, made everything worth it. Gradually, the pain in his abdomen lessened to a barely noticeable throb, and he was able to drift off to sleep. Comfortable with the knowledge his kingdom was safe once again.

[dougmeet]

.@swindledPodcast  REVIEW: THE BODY SNATCHER is the latest Pod from @SwindledPodcast.

 NOT THE last show available, but there REMAIN only UNA penultimate Y LA ultima left in the can, and then ONLY TWO MORE TO COMPLETE THE SEASON. 

It IS the one i nursed my sleep-deprived body with tonight;  playing the professional Mardi Gras careerist, Graham Greene-stilo and choosing to dwell on more salubrious, ephemeral, and hidden sybaritic hedonism, not of the festivities, but not in a place where the festivities are nowhere to be found: NEW ORLEANS!

i took up with it tonight.

 (That was the creepiest music you ever conscripted. And i’m glad it’s over.) 

All Swindled Pods are thought up by your concerned anonymous pocaster/citizen (i don’t have time to go into the long line of anonymous disc jockeys, pirate ship radio and South American journalists whose longevity owes its “long” part to their obedience to their number one rule:  stay anonymous, and STAY ALIVE) in a VERY CROWDED, MEDIOCRE CRIME POD-SCENE (what’s worse than a scene?)  today.

"A Concerned Citizen" is serious about what he does, and doing it while protecting his anonymity.

.  He goes as far as blurring out his face in photos from his Social Network platforms.

  I get happy when he posts a manufactured complaint from some bored listener.  His pithy sparring with fans and critics is commensurate with his on-Pod demeanor: 

so dry as to make the three years i spent in Vegas seem wet.

Not one to shy away from a joke (that is close OT a Bob Dylan lyric and its making me crazy, from Infidels), or wanting  us to laugh, he sometimes posts screenshots of some of his still-disparate as hell, wandering, wondering future-fans:  AS SOON AS HE DOES exactly WHAT THEY TELL HIM TO DO!

This ep. features his most ghoulish twofer to date, including TWO deranged morticians, Mercury poisoning, and hundreds of dead bodies, in a gory killing field to make Jim Jones look fastidious, or John Wayne Gacy call Angie’s List. 

They’re corpse-hoarders who would respectively make Herschel Gordon Lewis proud. 

You're likely to hear

WARNING: i now go on a Lester Bangs-type rant as my body cries out for one person to exert a calming influence on me tonight. 

 (once you stop telling everyone to listen to that fucking 2-year-old PODCAST which NO ONE born yet HAS NOT yet LISTENED TO BY NOW!  - and, yes, that dead guy from Alabama also likely had the Mad Hatter's Mercury poisoning chelation disease too, which probably had not a little to do with how he died and from what;  although it was probably time to go, if you believe George Costanza!) 

*You just made me run-on my parentheticalized sentence, too far to go back now.

Watch this podcast! 

There ain't but two more left, and you're on your own, unless, you take media advice from  The fucking New Yorker snobs, whose mascot has his nose in the air in top hat and specs, and wouldn’t give you the time of day if his pocket watch wasn’t being rejewled in Lucerne...They also  passed Swindled over for Best Crime Pod last year ... someone to whom you're gonna transfer power of attorney, or living will rights holding dominion over your final Podlist and Testament...as you slowly succumb, but in your mind flail back in forth like a Price is Right contestant on your death bed (sounds like you’ve been zombified, like poor Narcisse in that book you have not read yet, from the tetratadactin coursing through your veins, administered by the only unfriendly Haitian at the Hotel Olaffson--he was very concerned about your PG Tipps?!  (look.  no fucking research, putain et salopes--as before Wikipedia as naked and only nourished what has gone in and stayed in to the cerebellum, hypocampus, or deep in the dark side of the moon/brain, WHERE IT WILL DIE UNUSED--all “up here,” AS THEY SAY, when the dumbshits aren’t trying to edit my peerlessly accurate submissions to Wikipedia “Traci Lords” article:  imperfect as the ruined executive function shell  shared by Keith Richards who only has to laugh until he vanquishes DEATH HIMSELF!  i, mE, who thinks this is a good use of my time...

*hOP back on.  it should be safe now, unless you are an editor

... and mutely scream to your Jamaican nurse,

"I don't like The fucking New Yorker's taste in podcasts, or anything else, for that matter, it turns out...AND STOP WITH THE REGGAE!”

*extra words in case you need them for continuity, like unused Ikea hardware: ***whculture, after all."*** -- this should be display:none in the html.  thanks--ed. 

if it gets bad ENOUGH, come back here or come see one of us on Twitter. 

We'll set you straighter than Parade. 

thought up by -- mrjyn  3.7.2019 

*i could key-in me a goddamn Kerouac ream with this fucking Special Elite font at 25px. 

Good choice, "CC".  

Now go sing your song!

if you’re completely all over the place and every way but louche, you can also go to the greatest browser button ever invented.  it tells you which font anything on the WWW is!  Then you can write shit in that font, and act like a big fucking journalist from the 40s.

to see the full size typography sample of this font, try going below or here, but it’s also up top.  just click on it and it should let you see.

https://www.typesample.com/samples/special_l0dae_2x/loading

UPDATE:  IT FINALLY LOADED AND IS STUCK ON TOP OF THIS POST!  LOOK AT IT IN ALL ITS SODDEN TYPEWRITER FADED GLORY!  BURROUGHS MAY HAVE SHOT IT IN MEXICO, OR PAUL BOWLES MAY HAVE TRIED TO FUCK IT.  WHO KNOWS, BUT ONLY ME, TOM hANKS AND POSSIBLY YOU WILL EVER BE EXCITED BY ITS DIGITAL CERTAINTY OF A NOBLY UNCERTAIN INSTRUMENT OF DEATH!

i typed this at the above url, but it was kinda longish, and so it didn’t come out for me to save it, but if you can imagine, it looked good.  CC can paste it on his Telegram thing IF he’s got time. 

SOURCES

CC INVENTED ‘SHOWING HIS WORK’

LINKS FROM JUST THIS EP.

https://www.nytimes.com/2004/11/20/us/georgia-crematory-manager-pleads-guilty-and-gives-apology.html https://web.archive.org/web/20110718010013/http://www.wdef.com/node/2478 https://www.wsbtv.com/news/local/ray-brent-marsh-released-from-prison-after-tri-state-crematory-sentence/372030430 https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-2002-02-17-0202170367-story.html https://www.timesfreepress.com/news/local/story/2012/feb/12/horror-in-noble/70497/ https://archive.is/20130127080006/http://www.joplinglobe.com/local/local_story_242213157.html http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7192462.stm http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/4552742.stm https://www.cbsnews.com/news/18-years-for-ny-body-parts-pillager/ https://www.cbsnews.com/news/michael-mastromarino-aka-the-brooklyn-bone-snatcher-dies-from-bone-cancer-report-says/ https://www.medicalbag.com/despicable-doctors/michael-mastromarino-the-organ-grinder/article/472352/?fbclid=IwAR002hKyrqdoYPJ2RFly1acm1CDGh49CA8u2aKu827IbvfsHmitIjsWVjGc https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1388122/ https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/brooklyn/boss-notorious-body-snatching-ring-54-years-harvesting-article-1.286586 https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/body-snatcher-michael-mastromarino-dead-article-1.1392503 https://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/health/bodysnatcher-facing-ultimate-irony-death-bone-cancer-article-1.1304216 https://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/brooklyn/admitted-body-snatcher-testifies-gruesome-practices-article-1.291606 https://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/23/nyregion/alistair-cookes-bones-were-stolen-for-implantation-his-family-says.html https://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/19/nyregion/19tissue.html https://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/19/nyregion/thecity/19bones.html https://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/09/nyregion/michael-mastromarino-dentist-guilty-in-organ-scheme-dies-at-49.html http://www.oprah.com/relationships/husbands-secret-lives-revealed/2 http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/27/AR2006012701569.html https://web.archive.org/web/20120924153427/http://www.phillymag.com/articles/body-snatchers/ https://www.wired.com/2005/12/a-macabre-theater-of-greed/ https://www.cbsnews.com/video/brooklyn-da-episode-4/

(via s2e11-800x480.jpg (JPEG Image, 800 × 480 pixels))

[vxltrxn-imagines]

Meant to Be Yours

Meant to Be Yours(Yandere!KeithxReader)

(Keith and (Y/N) haven't killed anyone.)

(Y/N) was terrified. Why you ask? Because her ex boyfriend, Keith, had recently turned very insane. She has broken up with him after he revealed he still carried a weapon with him after their promise to be normal, and recently he had told her parents she was planning on killing herself. She knew what that meant, he was coming to kill her, and the thought of the man she loved killing her in a craze terrified her.

She didn't understand what had snapped in his mind. Sure, when they met he was a little hot headed but he was never this insane. He yelled at her for saving someone from killing themselves, saying they deserved to die. No one deserves to die in her mind, ever. Not only did that happen, but he had snapped and almost killed Lance until she intervened. She didn't know what to do, but she knew he probably was on his way right now. She was panicking in her closet until she heard someone enter her window,

“Knock knock~” Keith's voice rang out, “Dreadful etiquette coming through the window I know. But all is forgiven baby! Come on, get dressed. You're my date to the pep rally tonight!” (Y/N) was frozen solid as he spoke that, did he not come here to kill her?? Then why did he tell her parents about her “suicidal thoughts”? She remained silent, holding her breath as she heard him start to pace around her room.

“You chucked me out like I was trash, For that you should be dead— But! But! But! Then it hit me like a flash, What if high school went away instead”

Keith was singing softly to some music (Y/N) could not hear, for it was all in his mind. He truly had lost it. The sound of him singing to himself to some made up music truly terrified her even more.

“Those assholes are the key! They’re keeping you away from me! They made you blind, messed up your mind But I can set you free!”

Keith was pacing around her room more, searching for where (Y/N) was. He knew she had to be in here, and he had checked every nook and cranny, and knew there was only one place he hadn’t, the closet. He smirked as he walked over to the door and sang right behind it, letting her know he was there, that he had found his possession again.

“You left me and I fell apart, I punched the wall and cried— Bam! Bam! Bam!”

Keith pounds on the closet door with each bam to get his point across even more, causing (Y/N) to fall from her spot leaning up against him with a small whimper, and mentally cursed herself for giving any noise to this mad man. Keith, on the other hand, was happy that he knew for sure now that (Y/N) was indeed on the other side of the door. His crazed smirk grew even wider.

“Then I found you changed my heart and set loose all that truthful shit inside! And so I built a bomb Tonight our school is Vietnam! Let’s guarantee they’ll never see their senior prom!”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in fear. This all had to be some sick, sick prank. He couldn't possibly have built a bomb just to blow up the school, could he have? It truly seemed the Keith she met was gone forever, and this psycho version had replaced it. Was there even hope anymore to ever get her old boyfriend she loved back?

“I was meant to be yours! We were meant to be one! Don’t give up on me now! Finish what we’ve begun! I was mean to be yours!”

He sung gently to her, but it still ended up sounding deranged to (Y/N). He was just talking about blowing up an entire school, and now he was talking about how he was meant to be hers. She was curled up on the floor with her knees up against her, trying to think of what to do. She was trapped, there was no way out of this closet and on the other side stood her ex she was fearing, who would probably do anything he had to do to get her. “So when the high school gym goes boom with everyone inside— Pchw! Pchw! Pchw! In the rubble of their tomb We’ll plant this note explaining why they died!” Keith straightened up and got the letter out to read from, and started impersonating the students, “We, the students of Garrison High Will die. Our burnt bodies may finally get through To you. Your society churns out slaves and blanks No thanks. Signed the Students of Westerburg High ‘Goodbye.’”

(Y/N) didn’t know what Keith was thinking, there was no way anyone would ever be convinced that an entire school decided to kill themselves like that, especially with a note that sounded as deranged as that did. She wished she could read his thoughts, maybe just try to understand what he was thinking, where all of his thought processes were, but at the same time the thought of going inside his mind terrified her.

“We’ll watch the smoke pour out the doors. Bring marshmallows, We’ll make s’mores! We can smile and cuddle while the fire roars!”

Keith wasn’t exaggerating, he honestly thought that they could cuddle and make s’mores and that (Y/N) would be perfectly okay being with almost everyone she has ever known getting blown up in front of them. He wasn't thinking straight anymore, his thoughts only involved (Y/N); how to get her back, what he'll do once she's his again, how much he wants to kiss her, how perfect she is. He didn't realize how unhealthy and terrifying it was,

“I was meant to be yours! We were meant to be one! I can’t make this alone! Finish what we’ve begun

You were meant to be mine! I am all that you need! You carved open my heart! Can’t just leave me to bleed!”

(Y/N) was pacing back and forth in the closet, trying to find any solution to this situation she trapped herself in. She had thought of one, but it was going to be risky. She pulled up her store bedsheet and silently started to work on it. Keith's “song” was getting more and more deranged by the second, and she didn't want to know what was going to happen when he was finished with his song. On the other side of the door, Keith had gotten up close to the door and started pounding on it,

“(Y/N), open the—open the door, please (Y/N), open the door!”

He shouted, but was begging and sounded desperate at the same time, causing (Y/N) to feel a tiny bit of sympathy towards him, he clearly was in pain, but was dealing with it the completely wrong way,

“(Y/N), can we not fight anymore Please, can we not fight anymore”

He continued to beg, as (Y/N) fell silent, her plan now complete, all that was needed was either for Keith come in the closet, or eventually give up and leave. Hearing his song, and knowing how strong and tough Keith truly was, (Y/N) knew it was going to be the first option rather than the later.

“(Y/N), sure, you’re scared, I’ve been there. I can set you free! (Y/N), don’t make me come in there! I’m gonna count to three! One! Two! Fuck it!”

Keith busted down the closet door, and his eyes widened with shock and filled with tears.

“Oh my God! No...No! (Y/N)!”

Keith fell in front of the now hanging (Y/N) that was in front of him. She remained silent, knowing any movement or breath would let him know she was still alive. Keith, on the other hand, was a complete mess

“Please don’t leave me alone… You were all I could trust… I can’t do this alone…”

He cried, and (Y/N) wondered if that meant he was going to give up on his crazy scheme to blow up the school until he continued,

“Still I will if I must!”

Keith stood up with a vengeance in his air, and he took (Y/N)’s dangling limp hand and kissed it as if saying goodbye before running off. (Y/N) silently was thankful for the fact her body always felt cold and jumped down from her fake noose once he was gone. She put her hair up in a ponytail, meaning business, and she grabbed a knife and a hammer. Someone had to stop Keith, and if anyone was going to succeed in doing it, it was going to have to be (Y/N). She picked up a framed photo she put of them by her bed, and whispered something softly before sneaking out her bedroom,

“Goodbye Keith.”

[where-ls-my-mlnd]

You ever just randomly get in the mood to partake in self-destructive behavior? Wait, shit. Let me rephrase that. Make it sound less deranged. You ever sunk into a vicious sorrow, like, the worst, most agonizing, screaming sorrow you’ve ever felt in your entire life, spend a week being consumed by this horrible unrelenting pain, and then develop the urge to do things that are deleterious to your well-being in order to cope? Holy fuck that sounds even worse. Ah, son of a bitch— don’t go thinking I’m insane now, alright? ‘Cause I’m not. Severely insane, anyway. I’ve always had a couple screws loose, but that’s okay, and hardly the point, anyways. The point is quite simple at its core. Allow me break it down for you. Ever since I was young, I have been terribly, dangerously, and inexorably fond of self-destruction. That’s not a secret. Never has been. You don’t develop a drug addiction because you like the feeling of safety, you know what I’m sayin’? It stems from a profound inner sense of chaos, a desire to escape; whether it be from your emotions, your life circumstances, or the world at large, that is so strong, and so fucking undefeatable, it becomes larger than you are. Even the strong-willed can be absolutely wrecked by addiction. No one is exempt. Addiction doesn’t give a fuck who you are, where you’re from, what your aspirations are. It just wants to break you, and then build you back up again, and have you walking around half-alive for years and years so it can feed on the last of your life force. It doesn’t want you too strong, but not too weak, either. The ideal is for you to be slowly decomposing over the course of half your life or sometimes more so that it can drag out the torturous process for as long as possible. If you’re lucky, you’ll hit bottom, a massive part of you will die, and you’ll be reborn. What you choose to do with your second chance at life is entirely up to you, and that’s the tricky part. I’ve seen many people carelessly waste their chances, as if they thought God was just doling them out for free. I’m rueful to say that I have wasted my own chances before. A gross disregard for the life I was so blessed to still have. But maybe I should go easy on myself. Why should I take such care of my life— when I did not even want to live it? That’s a question for the ages, ain’t it? Psychologists would love to pick that shit apart. Well, anyway, what I am incredibly happy to say is this: I was one of the lucky ones, and after countless failed attempts, I was able to kill that monster once and for all, and in its death I found a brand new life for myself. It’s not an easy life, but nothing is ever easy with me. All that matters is it’s my life, I fucking made it for myself, and I am so damn grateful and elated to be living it. What I am hesitant, and slightly anxious to say is this: in my heart resides the same fondness for self-destruction that got me into so much trouble as a teenager. I’d like to say I’m not surprised— and if I did, it would be at least half-true. I have always had an unadulterated, skin-crawling need to be free. And I’ve always gladly done whatever I thought was necessary to achieve that freedom, even if it was illegal, stupid, morally bankrupt, or just absurd. That’s the thing with me. I can’t fucking stop, ever. If used for different purposes, it may even be called admirable: that furious, unyielding drive. I like to think I can still channel that energy, in my career specifically, but these days I’m honestly not sure. But there is a difference. Back in the day, I would start shit just for fun. I was seeking something, for sure— something that I still don’t feel like I’ve found. Beyond the classic premise of a teenager’s quest for self-discovery, there was no greater goal, or purpose for my antics. I did it because I could, and because after a while I began to fall in love with destruction. Raising hell was my religion. In an otherwise Godless world— that was always the altar at which I worshipped. Now, I find myself self-imploding because of so, so many violent, turbulent emotions to which I cannot put a name. It’s just like, my fucking mind, man...it’s a hell zone. That animal urge to unleash all inhibitions and just say fuck it is only ever activated by deeply unpleasant feelings. It’s almost like I’m...acting out. I‘ll be overcome by a wave of melancholy, or hit by sudden, thrashing anxiety, and I’ll get so overwhelmed that I feel like I need to do something to let it out. Something drastic. Something impulsive. Something absolutely fucking insane. Something like what I’m doing right now. Driving in my car, vibrating with excitement in my seat, to pick up J, who’s waiting for me in that damn park so we can go to a fucking club. A club! I literally just passed three years of sobriety, fuck, what is this? Am I trying to relapse? Well, no— I’m not an alcoholic, what the fuck? You know, I mean, can I handle my alcohol? No. But like, if I start drinking, can I stop? Uh...yeah! I’m only a drug addict, it’s fine! Holy fuck that was the most disturbing sentence I ever said. Well, whatever, I don’t think anyone’s gonna whip out any fuckin’ shards in the middle of a nightclub. Coke, that’s a given. But like, I can avoid it probably, also I barely like it! So who cares?! Imagine someone offers me a bump— I’m not gonna whore myself out for it. Not gonna hold out my hands and beg oh yes, please, PLEASE give me some coke! You know what I’m gonna say? WHAT THEY TEACH YOU TO IN SCHOOLS, BABY! N-O! NO...no thank you, not a big fan of the booger sugar, I’m a member of the elite, I only like amphetamines. OOPSIE I forgot to use past tense. Used to like amphetamines. There we go. Oh mother of fuck, what am I doing? God— I hardly remember getting in my car. See, this is what I mean! When the pain gets real bad, I start to act fucking chaotic! And lord knows the pain has been abject as of late. To this day I don’t know how I even survived Sunday night. In that dark, sinister park, and in J’s brutally honest words, I was met with a feeling of despair I can only describe as deadly. I don’t know how I didn’t do something to myself. I’m sure I wanted to. After a certain point I think I just blacked out. System overloaded or something. I got home, by some fucking miracle— I know because I woke up in my bed around 3 am because I had been crying in my sleep, which is just fucking neat. After that, I don’t know. I really wish I could remember. Perhaps some things are too horrific to remember. The days that followed were even worse. I spent my time floating in and out of sadness, then to bitter, uncontrollable anger, back into sadness again, then for the grand finale there’d be a thick feeling of complete numbness, and that would be what followed me throughout the day. Sometimes I’d see her in my dreams, and still miss, love, and need her desperately— other times I’d feel disgusted by the vile creature she has become and want to forget we ever shared a moment so sacred. It was mostly the first one though, and that’s what made it so hard. You should’ve seen me, flipping through old photos of her like a fucking weirdo and clutching them to my heart, like if I held them close enough, she would hear how loud it beats for her. I was lovesick for the very first time since I was twenty one years old and discovering that bad boys, if given the chance, will treat you bad every damn time. I was never under any illusions that this was healthy, but I knew something was seriously fucked when I abruptly stood up and almost passed out, and later realized it was because I hadn’t eaten in two days. Thank God for fast food and its obscene amounts of fat otherwise I might still be a touch too skinny. Before I knew it, the week had passed me by, and this brings us to tonight. Tonight. It’s kind of a funny story how my spirits got so lifted. I was in the shower, which is a story in itself. I don’t know how I forced myself to take a shower in that state— I can’t even get out of bed most days. I get out of that bitch, right? I bury myself in my towel like a blanket ‘cause it was colder than my father’s stare in there. I wipe the steam from the mirror. And my breath was stolen away. I actually looked good. Fuck, I looked amazing. My eyes were bloodshot from crying, yeah, but my eyelashes looked darker, longer, little tiny beads of water dripping off them, and my complexion looked so fresh and healthy, and my lips had somehow turned a perfect shade of pink like I just blew a cherry popsicle or something. Was I sort of...pretty when I cried? Is it just like Lana Del Rey said? Oh my god, I thought. It was. I watched as my eyes brightened and my face was lit up by a smile at the realization. I broke into this demented cackle, and stayed there five minutes longer than I should have, gripping the edge of the sink and laughing gleefully. By the time I got back up to my apartment I was still in disbelief. Did I look that good all the time? Had I always been sexy? I couldn’t stop looking at myself. It was like I had been given a whole new face, a whole new body. I tried to just sit and quietly watch TV but it felt too wrong. It’s a Friday night. I live in the heart of the city. I’m not emotionally attached to anyone anymore. I have exceptional looks all of the sudden. I have more pent-up sexual frustration than I know what to do with. It just seemed too...perfect... And so, I decided, with a slightly manic sense of determination, that I was going to go get laid. Got a little dressed up because, yes, it’s true, my closet does consist of more than just hoodies. Fluffed up my hair a bit, stared into the mirror some more, then I hit up J. Man did he sound jittery when he answered the phone. Never in my life did I think that J would ever ask me, under any circumstances, for any reason, “What...what’s up?” I was too enchanted by my own reflection to analyze it at the time. “LISTEN, are you busy?” I demanded, trying out different poses in the mirror. He wasn’t. This pleased me immensely. “I wanna go fucking clubbing, J. You wanna go clubbing?! Let’s go clubbing! I ONLY WANT TO GO IF YOU COME WITH.” A heavy sigh from the other line. “I don’t know, man...” Panic instantly arose and began to frazzle my mind. Oh, god, it all seemed so clear now. He was gearing up to leave me. That was all there was to it. I had been too clingy, too emotional, too inconsiderate before; I had expected too much of him, and for that he was pulling away from me. That sigh held the leaden weight of our previous interaction and it was palpable, even over the phone. It was obvious I had to do something. “Come on, J...there’s money in it for you.” Needless to say, he was suddenly very eager to agree when I told him to wait for me in the park and that I’d pick him up in one hour. All the while I’m fucking hauling ass to collect his ounce of coke that I promised him, splitting it up into several different amounts and agonizing over how best to organize it. I figured it out eventually— because I fucking worked my brain half to death. The attention to detail was painstaking but it had to be done. And now, here I am, riding around the city, glorious night air blowing in through the open window, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of Uptown Funk, feeling that same wild, intoxicating rush as if it never went away. Perhaps I’m going a little crazy, perhaps I’ve never been saner. But I haven’t felt this good about myself, or anything, in a long time. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve felt very confident since I entered my twenties. Something about all the self-introspection makes it hard to view myself in a positive light. But I’ve done enough of that, enough self-introspection for ten lifetimes. If there was ever a time where I deserved to go fucking ape shit, and have fun, and act like a normal twenty-something year old...it would be now. Spring break, bitch. May as well bask in my freedom while I still have it. Lush, gorgeous greenery juxtaposed with tall, steely, glittering buildings and the sudden feeling of quietude that being surrounded by nature brings: that’s how I know I’ve made it to the park. Almost out of respect for the calm, solitary setting, I instinctively go to turn down my music, drowning out the sounds of saxophones and terrifically catchy guitar riffs and Bruno Mars’ bright, joyous voice in favor of comfortable, worshipful silence. I wouldn’t mind driving around this place for a while, but I don’t have to look very long to find him. He’s standing on the sidewalk, looking as close to peaceful as he can probably get, cigarette in hand; never without his crutch, his trademark accessory. A shadowy figure in the near-dark, an apparition, an enigma, as always. I find myself breaking into a smile as I pull up and then subsequently stop the car, sliding out of my seat and nudging the door closed with my hip. I can see him very well now that I’ve gotten closer and— oh! What the fuck— okay, J! Giving me a little shirt-half-unbuttoned moment! He’s...okay, wow, he’s kind of serving. He’s really serving. He’s dressed in this sleek little black shirt that matches his hair just divinely and dark jeans and he looks so good I can’t help but raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes in surprise. “JAMES DEAN! How’s it going?!” I exclaim in lieu of a proper greeting. “What’s this little number? Did you get all dressed up just for ME?!” I let out a laugh, “Goddamn, man! Who the fuck told you to show out like that?! You are giving me so much life right now, J. I swear to God—you look so fucking good! What the hell?!”