#she ra movie is never happening I’m afraid
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It’s sad we never get to see catradora dancing happily with each other
#catradora#catra#adora#she ra and the princesses of power#spop#or fight side by side#she ra movie is never happening I’m afraid#Liz posts
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Bad Idea Right?
A Ricky and EJ fanfic set during season 4 when Ricky visits EJ at college. I really liked a lot of the dialogue from there scene, so I kept most of it and tweaked it to my story.
All rights go to Disney and Tim Federly for characters. I do not own them.
When Ricky and Gina kept having problems between the movie, seeing each other, and Mack always being around, Ricky didn’t know what to do. He’s scared. He hasn’t been this scared in a while, so he does the stupidest thing he could possibly do, goes to visit EJ at college. While looking for his dorm building he finally sees EJ standing on the stairs on the second floor.
EJ: Richard Bowen
Ricky: Elton John
Ej: Welcome to college.
Ricky is taken by EJ into EJ’s room and given a brief tour. He’s staying by himself as an RA so that means he won’t have to worry about any conversation interrupters. EJ tells him that he is no longer speaking to his dad, working 4 jobs, has a full class schedule, weekly practice for the ping pong team, and sectionals is coming up for his acapella group the Blindorphins. No suprise that he stays busy he always has. And of course he’s doing acapella, he always like Blaine the best on glee.
Ricky couldn’t help but notice the guitars. He remembers hearing EJ play for the first time at camp this summer. He never knew EJ even knew how to play guitar, but alas the older boy is full of surprises. Camp also reminds him of trying to hang out with EJ and EJ was too busy. He wonders back on that night to what could’ve happened if he did instead of Gina. He never wouldn’t realized his feelings for Gina probably. He most likely would’ve realized the truth of why he always steals EJs girlfriends. He really just wants EJ. He asks EJ to play him a song
EJ: it might be terrible
Ricky: “all songs might be terrible, Elton.” He loved using his given name. It made him feel things.
EJ: yeah sounds about right. Capo.
Ricky: oh capo? Fancy.
EJ starts singing and Ricky can’t help himself. He’s absolutely in love with the man standing before him. He decides to join in with his struggles in the song too.
Ricky is strolling through Instagram to find Quinn’s latest post featuring Mack and Gina kissing. He’s not even jealous anymore. He just wishes Gina would tell him how she feels. Guess he’ll just have to tell EJ first and see what happens.
EJ comes back and can visibly see something’s wrong
EJ: ok so you wanna grab food? You ok?
Ricky: I am great. Super. Good
EJ grand his phone and sees the pictures. “Hey I know what it feels like. I’m here for you though, unless you wanna be alone.”
Ricky: I thought everything was perfect. It was, for like a second. Just like it was with my parents. Just like it was with nini. Just like it was with my dad and miss freakin jenn. It’s like everyone’s allowed to be ok for like 10 seconds. And then everything falls apart. And then Gina gets this great movie opportunity, and this guy, her childhood crush, is hanging around all the time and it’s like ok I don’t wanna get in her way, but I don’t know what else to do but hide.
EJ: well do you know what she wants?
Ricky: IDK. I’m too afraid to ask. Are you ever like um afraid of the truth?
EJ: I mean not so much anymore.
Ricky: I don’t wanna respond to my moms texts because I don’t wanna know if she’s back with Todd. I’m tanking my senior year instead of applying to colleges or focusing on my grades. I’m just distracted at the fear of losing more people. I’m tired. I’m tired of losing people. I don’t wanna lose Gina but the truth is I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for quite some time now. I love her I do. But not like that.
EJ: wow that wasn’t what I was expecting.
Ricky: and what were you expecting?
EJ: I thought you’d come here for advice on getting Gina to be 100% yours. I never expected you to secretly harbor feelings for me.
Ricky: well I do. And I have no idea what to do now. Especially since you probably don’t even feel the same way.
EJ: oh. I do though. I have for a while now too. I’m not sure how long but I do. I hated calling you my brother that day at the screening. Especially since I was just so hurt I thought you liked her. I never thought you could ever like me. Clearly, I was wrong.
Ricky: so now what?
EJ: why don’t we get some food and then figure it out. I’m starving
Ricky: ok
EJ orders some food for delivery to campus and the two boys eat on the floor since EJ doesn’t really have a table.
EJ: I am stuffed
Ricky: yeah me too
*thunder rumbles outside*
EJ: no
Ricky: I should probably hit the road before an actual monsoon arrives. Hey I’m sorry for showing up and dropping everything on you earlier. You didn’t ask for that.
EJ throws a balled up paper wrapper at Ricky “actually, I think you’re done talking for a minute.”
EJ: there are a lot of things that I would do different. I wish I would’ve stood up to my dad sooner. I wish I had spent last summer having more fun… there are just so many things that I didn’t get right.
Ricky: I had no idea
EJ: look the point is, sometimes things don’t work out and our job is to just shake it off and hold on to some hope for what’s next. Look… my time at east high is over. And I am so proud of who I am and who I’ve become. And I do love what has come next. But dude there is nothing in this world like high school. Nothing. And I promise you, you will never find another family like the wildcats. Take em in. Love em. Because honestly one of the biggest reasons I stay so busy is because I miss it every single day. And you will too Ricky, I promise you. It happens to every single one of us. And look dude, I think there are plenty of people who do more than worry about you, but you have to actually let them. I mean you have to actually pick up the phone, reach out and stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Ricky: that’s not…
EJ: and look Gina is the best. And I am at peace with how things worked out, but you have to tell her the truth. I know you think you’re the guy who runs away and that’s just some personality trait that you have to be stuck with forever. You know something bad happens and you hide like opening night with HSM. And the crazy thing is you think you’re actually helping the other person, but you know what?
Ricky: I’m actually hurting them?
EJ: no you’re actually hurting yourself. Look you can be the guy who runs. You can be. Plenty of people do. But is anybody gonna show up for that guy? You still have plenty of time to change that.
Ricky: (sobs) how?
EJ: if you wanna be happy in the future, you better start speaking your mind to the people you care about. Like right now.
Ricky: okay. Okay. I’m not gonna run away again. I’m not gonna run away this time. I like you EJ. I do. And I need to tell Gina that. And I will.
EJ: ok but it’s storming and I can’t let you drive home in that weather. You can stay here tonight and drive back in the morning.
Ricky: ok but I didn’t plan on staying the night so I don’t have any clothes and you have a twin size bed.
EJ: I’ll make a pallet on the floor and you can borrow some of my stuff.
Ricky: so now what?
EJ kisses Ricky and Ricky finally understands the whole thing about fireworks. Seeing EJ tonight was definitely a bad idea but it’s time he goes after what he wants. It’s the best kiss he’s ever had. But he can’t continue with Gina still being his girlfriend.
Ricky: I’m sorry but I can’t do that to Gina.
EJ: right I shouldn’t have I’m sorry. I’ll get you some clothes.
EJ starts rifling through his stuff and Ricky decides to step in the hall. He texts miss jenn that he can’t make it to rehearsal and calls Gina. She answers. He doesn’t wanna do this over the phone but he can’t keep it to himself any longer. He wants EJ. And he can’t sleep on EJ’s floor next to him tonight and resist him.
Gina: hey Ricky I was just sitting down for dinner is everything ok? I know you went to see EJ
Ricky: yeah I’m still here. It’s raining pretty bad and he refuses to let me drive in the bad weather.
Gina: that’s good. So what’s up?
Ricky: look I love you, I do. But this year has been rough. With Mack, your childhood crush, and the movie. I don’t think I can do this anymore.
Gina: what are you talking about?
Ricky: I just had a really long important conversation with EJ and he laid some truths out. I run away from my problems and I know that. And I can’t keep doing it anymore. Running away won’t make it better. This time without you thought has made he realize something. I thought it could work with nini I thought it was supposed to because I’ve known her forever and we’re so good together but as just friends. And then I realized maybe it was you but as always everything bad that could happen happened. I really thought I could be with you and that you were the one and who knows maybe you are. But I think we need to be apart. You can go be with Mack if you want. And I’m sorry for doing this over the phone but I just couldn’t continue on without telling you how I feel. I’ll be back tomorrow
Gina: you’re right. This isn’t working. I tried the best I could but you still slipped away. I couldn’t stop you. I understand. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?
Ricky: one more thing.
Gina: what?
Ricky: I like EJ. I didn’t wanna tell you over the phone but I needed you to know. He kissed me. That’s it though. I couldn’t do that to you. But now that we’re over I need to see what happens next here with EJ.
Gina: I always suspected but l wasn’t sure.
Ricky: what?
Gina: you stole his girlfriend twice. You always seemed to care about what EJ was doing. It makes sense now.
Ricky: well I’m sorry again.
Gina: it’s ok. At least it was before we got too serious. Didn’t break my heart Bowen.
Ricky: good. I’ll see you at school?
Gina: yeah. Bye.
Ricky comes back into EJ’s room to find EJ had taken a shower and got him some clothes
EJ: everything ok?
Ricky: yeah. I just broke up with Gina.
EJ: oh. How’d she take it?
Ricky: good. She even apparently kinda suspected I liked you
EJ: oh yeah?
Ricky: yeah. I guess I was a little obvious with my obsession of EJ caswell.
EJ: so everything’s good. No broken hearts? Cause I would never forgive you if you hurt her.
Ricky: yeah everything’s good. We weren’t that serious yet so she’s not hurt.
EJ: ok well I guess you could shower if you want now. I left some clothes on your pallet.
Ricky: ok. I’m gonna do that
While Ricky showered he thought about EJ some more. He’s in his shower using his soap and shampoo. He liked the idea of smelling like EJ. He couldn’t wait to get out and see him again. That scruffy looking dork could be his now. If EJ wasn’t too busy to have him of course.
When Ricky comes out the bathroom he understands the term “coming out the closet” even more. So that’s what he’s gonna do tomorrow. He’s gonna figure out his sexuality and tell everyone in the drama club. They’ll accept him. He knows they will. Carlos, Ashlyn, and Maddox are all part of the community already. And his best friend big red is Bi. And gina already knows. Everything is going to be fine.
EJ: you good?
Ricky: yeah. I’m just not a fan of sleeping on the floor.
EJ: wanna trade?
Ricky: no. I wanna spoon you actually.
EJ: oh? Well then get in.
Ricky gets in the bed and goes to wrap his arm around EJ when EJ turns toward him
EJ: so if you and Gina are over and she knows does that mean we can kiss now?
Ricky: oh I wanna do so much more than kiss you.
______________
EJ’s pov:
EJ kisses Ricky with such force it almost knocks Ricky off the bed. He saves him in great timing though. EJ rolls Ricky on top of him so he won’t have to worry about Ricky falling off the bed and immediately takes off Ricky’s shirt. He’s used to the smell of his soap but he notices it on Ricky. He likes it. As he goes down to pull off Ricky’s pants he takes a moment to let Ricky take off his shirt. Momentarily distracted by Ricky kissing his entire torso up and down he almost forgets what he’s doing. Finally he gets the pants off along with the boxers. Ricky is bigger than he thought he’d be and already fully erected. He realizes he doesn’t completely know that he’s doing so decides on giving a blow job. He flips Ricky over so he can get to the right spot. He knows what he likes so he does it to Ricky. Ricky doesn’t take very long to cum and soon his mouth is full. After that, Ricky is obviously dazed. He doesn’t know what to do know so he cleans Ricky up and kisses him up his torso. Ricky finally has words
Ricky: I thought coming here would be a bad idea actually
EJ: yeah? Was it?
Ricky: no I think it was the best idea I’ve ever had.
EJ: good. So you wanna take a turn now?
Ricky: 1 night and you’re already asking the right questions. Of course I do.
___________
Ricky’s pov:
EJ just gave Ricky the best blowjob of his life and he could feel that EJ was hard. So when he asked if I wanted to return the favor I knew I had to.
I flipped EJ back to his back after slipping off his pajama bottoms and boxers. I thought I was big but man did EJ have an inch or 2 on me. I moved down to get in position and got started on his cock. I did everything the same as he did but faster. EJ was moaning so hard. Once he came, I cleaned him up and kissed him up his torso till I met his lips. This was the best night of my life. But I was tired so I promptly laid down on top of EJ and fell asleep.
The next morning I was still naked and on top of EJ who was of course also naked. I couldn’t help but smile. He looked so cute when he slept. He soon woke up and said good morning. I responded the same and kissed him. I knew I had to get back home but I didn’t wanna leave. After a few minutes of kissing EJ stopped and had some things to say
EJ: well last night was fun.
Ricky: yeah it was. I guess I have to go back now.
EJ: yeah I guess so. I almost forgot you were still in high school.
Ricky: me too. I didn’t even wanna leave.
EJ: well then when you get home go apply to go to school here and work really hard to get in.
Ricky: I will.
EJ: long distance can be hard. Is that something you wanna do or do you wanna wait till senior year is over?
Ricky: I think I’ve waited long enough for the right person I’m not running away from that again
EJ: you really taking my words to heart?
Ricky: yeah. So I guess you can text me your busy schedule and I’ll find time to FaceTime you. And maybe even visit. And you have to come see the show.
EJ: of course I will. So we doing this.
Ricky: yep! I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
EJ: you should get going soon
Ricky gets up off of EJ and gets dressed in his clothes from yesterday.
Ricky: I guess the pajamas weren’t that necessary after all
EJ: nope. (EJ gets up and puts on his boxers so he’s not naked) but it was still nice to see you in my clothes if only for a minute.
Ricky: well thanks for last night again. It’s time I go after what I want. And who I want.
EJ: hey I’m always here when you need me.
Ricky: well I should get going. (Ricky texts his dad he’s on his way home)
EJ: wait before you go
Ricky: one last kiss for the road?
EJ: no. Well yeah but I wanted to give you something. (EJ hands Ricky his electric guitar)
Ricky: no
EJ: you’ll probably get more use out of this than I will
Ricky: EJ
EJ: please. (EJ kisses Ricky very passionately before taking him into a hug)
Ricky: I love you
EJ: I love you too now get out of here
Ricky: see you at opening night?
EJ: of course and we’ll definitely FaceTime before then
The end.
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College!AU headcanons for the 104th
masterlist
Eren Jaeger:
Degree: some sort of humanities subject. I’m torn between history and geography (I can see him only going though because of pressure from his dad/Zeke because they both went so he feels like he has to.)
Would definitely get some tattoos whilst at uni as well as growing his hair out (”haircuts are too expensive for college students.”)
Needs coffee every morning else he feels like death (pulls way too many all nighters to get work done - Mikasa is not happy with this habit.)
Probably wakes up 10 minutes before a lecture and just legs it - he sets alarms but he tells everyone they never go off (he’s lying he presses snooze every time.)
Mikasa Ackerman:
Degree: languages !! Which ones though I’m not sure? I feel like she’s a polyglot so would already be fluent in French and Spanish so would chose to have a degree in one of them alongside something more challenging - maybe Russian or Japanese ??
Would maybe join a creative writing/poetry society, she likes to write in her spare time as a way of expressing her emotions as she finds opening up a bit of a struggle.
Before going to college, she’d take a gap year to do some travelling. Has all of her adventures written down in a diary that she often reads once she starts college.
The queen of houseplants. She has so many, they all have names and she’d never dream of letting any of them die.
Armin Arlert:
Degree: astrophysics or marine biology (I know Armin loves the ocean but he is also a space nerd don’t argue with me) BUT another option could be artificial intelligence ?? He just thinks it’s interesting.
Loves a good group study session. He finds he takes in information better if he talks to people about it and tries to explain concepts (be warned if you ever ask Armin about his subject - you will be there for hours.)
Probably the only person who does all the reading for his subject PLUS the additional reading. He doesn’t even see it as a chore because he likes to know as much as he possibly can !!
Would suggest that everyone in his lectures makes a group chat where they can send notes, thinking that other people will send theirs so he can make sure he got all the info down - nope everyone is just stealing your notes Armin I’m sorry.
Jean Kirstein:
Degree: could definitely see him studying modern history with politics, don’t ask me why I just see it.
Left handed, he knows the struggle of writing something only for it to be smudged seconds later and his hand covered in ink
Will pull out his guitar at any given opportunity. The king of playing wonderwall (it’s a crowd favourite and everyone ends up singing.)
You know Jean is stressed if he’s rubbing/touching his face a lot - and drinking lots of black coffee (he doesn’t like the taste but thinks he’s cool and tough for drinking it.)
Sasha Braus:
Degree: culinary science.
Never has a pen. If you sit next to Sasha in a lecture she will always ask for a pen (a pen which you will never see again I’m sorry - in fairness, you won’t want it back because she’s chewed the ends of it.)
If you have a shared living arrangement with Sasha you have been blessed. She loves to cook !! (Kinda a given with what she’s studying) and is always willing to make dinner for everyone (she will make a mess though so be prepared to do the cleaning up afterwards.)
I can definitely see her joining the choir or even being in a musical theatre production! She’s a great singer, albeit not the best dancer but she has the energy and spirit and that’s what’s important.
Connie Springer:
Degree: something like hospitality and tourism (he’s got such amazing people skills! he would be great at this and has the right energy for it.)
This boy would live on instant noodles if it wasn’t for him sharing a place with sasha. and the most erratic eating schedule (“what do you mean I can’t eat breakfast at 3pm??”)
Has a massive crate of energy drinks from cosco. Goes through said crate way faster than should be humanly possible.
His laptop is covered in stickers (many are random ones he’s collected and slapped on but he got some of Sasha and Jean making stupid faces that he put on there too - Sasha found this hilarious, Jean was not impressed.)
Marco Bodt:
Degree: English language with drama.
Musical !! Theatre !! Society !! This man is a triple threat, but honestly he prefers to be part of the chorus because he doesn’t like the pressure and stress of having a main part.
The best person to have with you on a night out. You’re throwing up? Marco will hold your hair back. You need a lift home? If sober he’ll take you and if he’s been drinking he will get you a taxi and come with to make sure you get back safe. An absolute angel <3
The most likely person to become an RA. He also volunteers to help with many of the events on campus and would probably be part of the student association committee.
Historia Reiss/Christa Lenz:
Degree: she seems like a psychology gal to me. Probably would take psychology as a degree and then would go on for a masters in something more specified like educational psychology.
You know she’s got a stationary set up to die for. highlighters in every colour, all of her notes written in gorgeous handwriting, her desk is super organised !!
You’d never see this girl going to a lecture or seminar in casual clothing - she’s always dressed up even if the rest of the students are in what looks like what they wore to bed the night before.
Likes to take the lead in group projects. Can’t stand missing deadlines so is very organised (has a very cute diary too where she writes important stuff down.)
Ymir:
Degree: sociology or philosophy.
Definitely a last minute assignment writer, will always ask to borrow notes because she didn’t do the reading.
Sells stuff on depop as a way of making money through college. she makes badges and well as some really cool resin earrings (proudly worn by her gf Historia.)
Sits all the way at the back of the lecture hall so she can go on her phone (to message Historia obvs.)
Bertoldt Hoover:
Degree: film studies with English language
I can see him being a techie for the theatre at his uni. he does the lighting and sound for the annual musical !! (trips over cables and bangs his head on lighting bars all the time but still loves doing it.)
Because of his degree, likes to hold film screenings for his friends. In another post I hc that Reiner won’t shut up during movies and Bert is probably the only person who can deal with Reiner’s constant commentary.
Drank for the first time in college and did not enjoy the experience. He’s definitely a puker and has decided instead he will be the big brother friend and make sure everyone gets home safety and will watch the drinks whilst they go dance.
Reiner Braun:
Degree: some sort of engineering (I’m thinking chemical??)
Becomes a bit of a gym rat once getting to college. Also joins a lot of societies because he likes to be sociable and will often drag Bert along too (why can I see these two going to like ping pong club or something. whoever loses has to buy the takeout that night.)
Is going broke because of his daily caramel frappchino from starbucks (all the baristas know him by name.)
Okay but Reiner owning a motorbike ?? Sign me up. He’s the coolest kid on campus.
Annie Leonhardt:
Degree: biochemistry.
Annie isn’t much of a social person and keeps her circle small, but she realises things are going to be pretty boring if all she does is stay in her room, so she ends up joining the girls soccer team.
A very tidy person to live with. will probably tidy up after everyone because she cannot stand the mess - but be warned if this happens all the time she’s not afraid to confront her roommates about it.
If she’s stressed about assignments, her sweet tooth comes out big time. her biggest guilty pleasure is white chocolate and she always has a bar before an exam or a big essay is due.
#attack on titan#aot#snk#attack on titan headcanons#eren jaeger#mikasa ackerman#armin arlert#jean kirstein#sasha braus#connie springer#historia reiss#ymir#bertholdt hoover#reiner braun#annie leonhardt#shingeki no kyojin
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i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (12)
jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.
pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
genre: college au
warnings: jealous & possessive!jungkook vs. reader who won’t take his shit
words: 8.8k (whoops)
chapter twelve
Your roommate refused to hide her surprise when you told her you were going to the Parental Advisory party with Jungkook. She couldn’t come with the two of you because she was going to visit her parents this weekend, but the disappointment of missing the party did not overshadow her excitement about you going there with Jungkook.
“Don’t blow this out of proportion,” you pleaded – for the three-hundredth time that evening – unable to relate to her joy. “We won’t be there long, so it doesn’t—”
“It’s your first public date,” Inna spoke—very ceremoniously—as she dug around your closet, convinced that her duty as your roommate was to choose an outfit for you, even if she was the only person – aside from you and Jungkook – who knew that this was all pretend. “Everyone will have their jaws on the floor when they see you arrive together anyway, but a good outfit might just make you feel less self-conscious.”
You had many objections but, knowing that Inna was running short on time before her bus arrived, you chose to only argue about the things that you could have changed her mind about.
“I don’t think it matters what I wear,” you said, your arms crossed over your chest as you watched the several pairs of tights and sweatpants fly out of the closet in reckless abandon as Inna looked for a gold mine. “I’m going to be uncomfortable anyway.”
You couldn’t see her when she had her head in the pile of your clothes, but her voice made the smirk on her lips obvious, “I’m sure he will find a way to make you feel more comfortable there.”
“We’ll only stay there for a little bit,” you said. “We were supposed to return here later. Although, I’m not sure if that’s still happening.”
“Oh!” Inna jumped up, momentarily forgetting about her stylist career. She wasn’t just smirking anymore, she was full-on grinning now, teeth and all. “So, you’ll be coming back to your place later? That calls for a whole different outfit.”
You didn’t realize what she was implying right away.
“We—what do you—oh,” you said, her words hitting you with a wave of hotness that forced your hands to guard your flushed face from her. “Inna, no. You know I don’t like those parties, we just agreed to go there for a little bit, and then watch a movie or something back here.”
“Right, of course,” she nodded and you thought she was relenting but, really, you should have known better as she teased, “that’s why they call it Netflix and Chill, babe.”
“I know you can’t see my eyes,” you said, your hands still on your face, “but I’m glaring at you right now.”
“Here,” she said, picking up a black off-the-shoulder blouse and a velvet burgundy mini skirt – you’d bought them both when you and Inna had lunch at the mall on your first weekend on campus and you hadn’t worn the outfit once – and tossing it for you right as you peeked at her through the gaps between your fingers. The blouse hit you in the chest but you caught it before it fell to the floor. “Now is the perfect time to wear this.”
She didn’t hide the offense in her voice – she was the one who had picked the skirt out for you – as she was evidently still bitter that you’d never even tried it on, aside from that one time in the changing room.
“I thought I’d just go in a sweater,” you said – which was very bold, considering that Inna looked ready to tackle you for wasting her time – and then lamely tried to explain your reasoning, “it’s chilly today.”
“You’ll wear that,” she ordered with an aggressive nod at the clothes in your hands, “and if you’re cold, you’ll ask Jungkook for his jacket.”
“What if he doesn’t wear a jacket?”
“Then you’ll ask for his shirt,” she said and smiled at her own impressive wit. “A win-win situation, really.”
You were going to protest again and Inna knew it, too, so, before you could even open your mouth, she closed the door of your closet – as much as the haphazardly thrown clothes allowed it to close – and stood facing you, her arms crossed and legs parted in a threatening manner.
“Put it on,” she demanded. “I will not leave until I know you’re going to that party in something that’s not sweats. If I miss my bus, it’s on you.”
Inna did not miss her bus – but barely, as she jumped around your dorm for ten minutes straight, in awe over how perfectly the skirt she’d picked out fit you and how “fascinating” (that one’s a direct quote) it made your legs look – and, then, before you knew it, you were waiting for Jungkook to come pick you up all by yourself.
You felt nervous. Granted, you’d felt somewhat worried the whole day today – which wasn’t very unusual, you liked to get your worrying started in advance – but, with Inna here, you’d held yourself together. Now your hands shook—trembled, really—as you sprayed some perfume on your wrists before rubbing them together.
Many things about tonight bothered you: you didn’t want to put up an act for half of the campus – especially not for the people who cared about Jungkook so much, they screeched and ran in the opposite direction when he crashed his car – and you also didn’t want to have to deal with whatever consequences the combination of alcohol and Jungkook would bring.
The first time you saw him drunk, he drove into a pole. The second time – he went home with a different girl, nevermind that he may have been looking for you. You were afraid that the third time could have been the charm – one last hurrah before something finally put an end to your friendship.
But most of all, you were afraid of you and him being there together, because your last conversation hadn’t exactly gone smoothly and now you didn’t know what to expect.
At first, you were almost looking forward to tonight as much as Inna was, especially since Jungkook was ready to leave the party early so you could spend some time together in a place where you felt more comfortable. But then he seemed to take all of his words back with one single phrase.
The only thing that “really mattered” about you and him, was that his parents believed you were together.
You always considered the worst case scenarios – just to prepare yourself – but they seemed limitless tonight as you weren’t sure what to make of his words and which side of him to prepare for: the side that did want to spend time with you and wasn’t afraid to say so, or the other side.
But you wouldn’t have had the time to prepare for tonight even if you did know what to expect; Jungkook -- and all of his sides -- was already here.
When the knock came, you needed at least half a minute to calm your breathing before you finally felt collected enough to open the door.
“Hey,” Jungkook said as soon as he heard the lock turn, sounding out of breath as if he’d ran all the way up the stairs. “Your RA—not a very nice guy—didn’t want me to come in—had to—”
“You ran away from him?” you asked, opening the door properly so he could come inside before the RA came running after him. However, with the door fully open, your outfit was suddenly in full-view for Jungkook and he froze, his breath catching in his throat.
“I—oh, you look really, uh, g-great,” he said, lifting his eyes back to your face – as if to check if this was really you – before sliding them down your body again in a way that you’ve never seen him do before. It didn’t mean that he’d never checked you out before – because, oh, he had – you were just never aware of it. “The dark colors go really well with—well, everything.”
“Thanks,” you said, crossing your arms as you moved to a side. You wanted to give him a compliment in return but could not find the words because the black cargo pants and the ripped jean jacket he’d worn tonight was not much different from any other outfit he’d worn before, and yet, you still hard a hard time looking away. “Come in while I grab my bag.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, of course,” he slipped inside, eyes still on you – his feet tripping over the threshold just slightly – as he closed the door after himself.
You walked over to your bed to grab your phone with the intention of putting it in the handbag that you had thrown over the open door of your bedroom. But when you turned around, phone in hand, Jungkook was standing right in front of you and your nose almost smashed right into his chest.
“Oh,” you blinked, the close proximity nearly throwing you off balance and Jungkook’s hands were already reaching for your waist to steady you on your feet.
You swore you would have suffocated if he’d touched you right then but he realized he’d entered your personal space as soon as he felt your shaky breath wash off on his own face.
In his defense, he’d only walked so near because the smell of your perfume pulled him in – he didn’t mean to cross any boundaries – but, standing so close, he could see the alarm in your eyes. Clearing his throat, he took a step back and gave you an encouraging smile as you slowly walked past him.
He tried not to think of the expression on your face – wary, yet expectant – when you saw how close he was, but he was glad you lingered by the door as you checked the contents of your bag.
“Ready to go?” he asked as soon as you clicked the lock on the handbag and turned around.
You were not ready to go because even though he stood several feet away from you now, his presence still lingered all around you and you could still smell his cologne. You could almost taste the mint strawberry gum he always kept in his car.
Your head was swimming with the feeling of him.
You’d been afraid of tonight and yet you hadn’t realized just how challenging it was really going to be.
“Yeah, we can go,” you said, not pausing to give him a look as you opened the door and waited for him to follow you out of the room. “If the RA hasn’t called the police yet.”
“Ah, shit. He’d do that?” Jungkook asked, more curious than worried about getting fined for being here without an entrance pass – he couldn’t really bring himself to care because it all seemed worth it.
You stopped in the hallway as you closed the door. Surprisingly, your hands had stopped shaking – it was your heart that was restless now.
“He’s done it before,” you said, fumbling with the lock. “But, in that case, we had a squatter and he’d just discovered her three months after she moved in, so he was understandably angry.”
“Well, I haven’t moved in yet,” Jungkook said carelessly, not realizing how your heart decided to skip a beat at the word yet. “And, not to mention, I’ve been here before and he’s never stopped me from coming up.”
“He would have if he knew how much time you wasted sitting in this hallway,” you said, double-checking if the door was really locked and then joining him on the way to the elevator.
Jungkook stuffed his hands into his pockets after he pressed the elevator button.
“I didn’t waste time,” he said. “I was waiting for you.”
The elevator door opened. Your chest did too as your heart rose to your throat.
“I-I mean, you could have waited at home,” you said, walking into the cabin before him and leaning against the mirror. The mixed signals he was sending you made you dizzy.
“You weren’t answering my calls,” he reminded you, pressing the ‘L’ on the dashboard and sheepishly glancing at your reflection. “And, in any case, doesn’t he know who I am?”
You raised your eyebrows at the arrogant expression on his face. Jungkook noticed your look but proceeded anyway.
“No one else has this problem,” he said, “I’m welcome everywhere.”
“You’re making tonight very difficult for me,” you told him.
“What? I’m not trying to show off,” he said, showing off. “I’m just saying.”
You chose not to play his game anymore as you shook your head and hypothesized, “maybe he’s just worried about how often he sees you here. I can talk to him.”
“Good. Because he’s going to have to get used to the blessing that is me,” Jungkook said, extending a hand for you when the two of you stepped out of the elevator in the lobby, the RA nowhere in sight, “I’m not going anywhere.”
You weren’t certain what he expected you to do – surely he didn’t mean for you to hold his hand right now, before you even got to the party? – so you watched his palm for several moments, involuntarily tracing the branches on it with your eyes.
“Well, come on,” he encouraged, taking your hand himself when it became clear that you weren’t going to do anything. “I parked my car out front. And before you say anything – yes, I do know that parking here is for residents only. If anyone asks, I live here.”
“I—” your mind was still listening to him say he wasn’t going anywhere, so it took you a few moments to find your next words and, in that time, Jungkook had already guided you out of the lobby and into the crisp evening.
“I’m pretty sure everyone knows where you live,” you said.
A smirk appeared on his lips but, this time, Jungkook chose not to gloat (too much) about the fact that he was a Parental Advisory member.
“Not your RA,” he countered instead, pressing a button on his car key. A pleasant click informed you that the car had unlocked. “He looked like he’s never listened to anything that’s not Verdi.”
“He actually plays a lot of Liszt in our second-floor lounge room,” you said. “There’s a piano there.”
“That just proves my point, if anything,” Jungkook stopped in front of his car and opened the passenger door for you, casually leaning against the vehicle while he waited for you to climb inside – it was almost unbelievable how easily he managed to act like all was normal.
In all truth, Jungkook found his laid-back attitude hard to believe as well because, inside of his chest, there were hundreds of explosions happening – thousands, actually, when the evening breeze lifted your skirt higher up your thighs – and only half of them were caused by the way you looked tonight. The other half were the result of holding your hand.
“Alright,” he said after having circled the car to enter it through the driver’s side. “Keep me updated on your mood so I know when you want to go home, yeah?”
“I—” you started to say, wanting to let him know that he didn’t have to worry about taking you home, but Jungkook beat you to it.
“If you say you want to go right now, I swear—”
“No, I was just—well, actually…” you looked at him with glitter in your eyes – and if you’d really meant it, he would have taken you home right then and there – and a teasing smile. “No, I was going to say that I don’t want you to feel pressured to leave with me. I promise to stay for a little bit, but you can stay for however long you—”
“I only want to stay for as long as you’re staying,” he said and you thanked the God that the sound of the car engine coming to life drowned out the loud beats of your heart. “We agreed to get back to your place and hang out there, didn’t we?”
“We did. But then—”
“Did you change your mind?” he asked with a quick glance at you before he turned to the rear-view mirror to back out of the parking lot. “Do you not want to spend time with me anymore?”
It was absurd that he was the one asking you this.
“I do want to spend time with you,” you said.
“Well, I should hope so,” he replied, the arrogant smirk now back on his lips again. “I doubt there are better alternatives than me on this campus.”
“Probably not,” you said, rolling your eyes, and then biting, “but only because Inna left to go home tonight.”
Jungkook would have let you know how this wounded his impossibly huge ego if his mind hadn’t drifted elsewhere as soon as you said this.
“Oh,” he spoke, turning out of the parking lot and into the street. “So you have the place all to yourself, huh?”
You raised your eyebrows when you turned to look at him. “You could not have sounded more like a typical college boy as you said this.”
Jungkook smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I am a typical college boy.”
You smirked. “I thought you were only one of a kind.”
He gave you a proud look – completely ignoring the mocking undertones in your voice – before returning his eyes to the road as he drove towards his house.
“I am, of course,” he said. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”
Much to your – and Jungkook’s – surprise, the party ended up not being so bad, after all. Initially, you thought you’d have to come up with a way to leave after an hour, but several hours have passed now, and you had to admit, you were genuinely enjoying yourself here.
At the beginning, you couldn’t quite get comfortable – all because you could feel everyone’s stares on the two of you when you arrived hand-in-hand – but when you finished a few drinks, the people in the room no longer seemed as strange and threatening.
Jungkook helped you ease your discomfort by refusing to leave you alone – and making his close presence seem so casual, it was as if his parents were, indeed, here, watching you two play a relationship – but even when you finally convinced him to find his bandmates and say hi to them, you still didn’t feel too out-of-place.
You felt relaxed, actually. Excited. And maybe a little irrational or else you wouldn’t have found yourself on the couch next to Brock – the well-known social climber, dead-set on beating Jungkook in terms of campus popularity – discussing your plans for the summer.
“I want to spend at least a few weeks at home with my family,” you were telling him as you toyed with the edges of your third—or was it fourth?—drink tonight, “but only if I pass all of my finals at the top of the class. Or else I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“They’re that hard on you, huh?” Brock nodded knowingly – for someone who seemed so shallow when you first heard about him, he sure had a lot of empathy – and took a sip of his own drink.
“They’re alright,” you said, swallowing the remaining alcohol in your cup. “Although my roommate thinks they’re robots.”
“Oh, your roommate has met them?” he asked.
“I brought her over once,” you explained. “I do that with friends, usually, but only if we’re really close. Most people don’t handle the judgmental looks on my parents’ faces too well.”
“I see,” Brock said but only to win himself more time to find the right way to ask you this, “so, uh, has Jungkook met them?”
“My parents?” you asked. And then, not thinking about it, added, “of course. He met them a long time ago.”
Brock raised his eyebrows in evident surprise. It dawned on you then – albeit slowly – that he didn’t know how long you and Jungkook knew each other. Actually, probably no one at this party knew – you spent the majority of your time at university pretending Jungkook didn’t exist.
“So, you’ve been together for a while then?” Brock questioned.
His eyes didn’t give it away but you were sober enough to understand how this could have been a trick question: Jungkook was probably sleeping around with other girls before you started to talk again, so defining a clear timeline of your relationship was crucial or else you were going to fall down the spiral of “cheating” rumors.
“Uh… no,” you said, choosing to play dumb. “Not very long.”
“So, he met your parents before you started dating?”
“Yeah. My dad’s a teacher,” you said, which was the truth, so you didn’t completely lie, and Brock’s lips parted. You could almost see the puzzle pieces click together in his brain.
“Oh, I would not want to spend the summer with my parents if one of them was a teacher,” he said with a chuckle. You gave him a tell-me-about-it-look and scanned the room for another drink. “Are you going to be on campus during the rest of the summer?”
“Uh, probably, yeah,” you said. “I’d like to get an internship somewhere close, so I could live at the dorm.”
“Busy girl,” Brock said in a way that sounded more condescending than affectionate. His company no longer seemed so pleasant – you definitely needed another drink – but he didn’t seem to pick up on your emotions, “I know that Jungkook is probably going to be on campus as well but, um,” he scooted closer to you on the couch – just a little but enough for his knee to touch yours, “if he’s away, I could maybe show you—”
You didn’t hear what was it that he was going to show you because someone landed on the armrest of the couch right behind you. The smell of alcohol was the first thing you registered, but then you picked up the scent of the cologne, too, and you didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Jungkook.
“I’m back,” he spoke into your ear – whispered, actually -- sending an excited shiver down your spine. “I brought you something to try. It’s—”
It was a drink. Finally.
“Thanks,” you cut him off, not really thinking much of the pale green liquid in the half-empty shot glass and downing it all in one go. You frowned when the drink reached your throat, going down with a fiery resistance.
Jungkook noticed your grimace as you swallowed. He placed a protective hand on your back – and then shot Brock a warning look which prompted the boy to return to his previous spot on the other end of the couch – as you coughed, not really enjoying the anise-flavored travesty he’d brought you.
“You okay?” Jungkook asked, concerned.
“Mmhmm,” you replied, your esophagus still burning, “n-not a fan of absinthe. Have you been—” you paused to inhale through your mouth, cherishing every bit of cold air, “—drinking this the whole night?”
“Yeah, he basically drinks that shit raw,” Brock answered instead, somehow happy to see Jungkook bring you this much discomfort. “And it still takes him a while to get drunk.”
“I haven’t been,” Jungkook answered your question, deliberately ignoring everything the other boy had just said. “Taehyung broke out a bottle he’d brought back from France. Do you want me to get you some water?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” you replied, inhaling a few more times and then clearing your throat for good measure. “It just took me off-guard, that’s all—”
You ended up not finding the end of your sentence as Jungkook slid down the armrest and landed on the couch next to you, his arms sneaking around your waist as he pulled your body closer to his. Your heart would have most likely stopped if the shot of absinthe hadn’t released all this adrenaline into your bloodstream.
“I’m sorry,” he said into your hair – the close proximity and the quiet tone of his voice had quickly cut off all signals from the synapses inside your brain – and cuddled into you until he found a more comfortable position. “I would have warmed—warned you if you’d have given me a chance.”
He was obviously drunk and tongue-tied – but that was nothing new. What was new, however, was this affection, as he held on to you as if you were both stranded on a stray piece of wood in the ocean and he was afraid you were going to slide off into the water and die.
“T-that’s okay,” you said with a nervous chuckle, figuring that he was only doing this to prove a point that you were dating. But no one seemed to care; this far into the party, everyone was either making out with someone or dancing their lives away – except for Brock who was actively trying not to look at you two.
“Hmm,” Jungkook exhaled slowly for no reason other than to see the skin on the nape of your neck shiver from his breath. He wasn’t drunk enough to miss the effect he had on you, but he was far too drunk to be able to hold himself back from deliberately affecting you this way.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” you asked, not uncomfortable in his arms per se, but certainly tense – even more so when you finally concluded that he was holding you like this specifically because Brock was here.
“Not much,” Jungkook replied, still as quiet as before. He shot the boy across the couch a glance so full of spite, you would have believed him to be completely sober if you’d seen him do it.
Brock only rolled his eyes in response, ready to say something to you but instead, he was forced to watch you strain your neck as you tried to look at Jungkook, his grip on your waist not loosening.
“Really? Because you seem really drunk,” you told Jungkook, your voice no longer passive.
He snickered – you felt his abdomen muscles move against your back as he did – and, purposefully staring right Brock in the eyes, he said, “I’m only drunk on you.”
If he wanted to see you squirm, he would have succeeded, but his grip on you was too tight for you to move. Pressing your lips together, you touched his knee with your hand in a warning manner. You didn’t like being caught in the middle of a purposeless war of masculinity.
“Maybe it’s time we left, then,” you suggested. He worshiped the disappointment that appeared on Brock’s face after you said this.
“Yeah?” Jungkook asked – but he didn’t have to, he was just trying to win some more time to hold you close to him like this – and then, slowly unwrapping his arms from your waist, he said, “I’ll run to say bye to the guys, okay? It’ll only be one second. Meet you by the door?”
“Sure, yeah. Take your time. I’ll stop by the bathroom before we go,” you said, craving some cold water on your face – and not just because of the lingering fire in your throat – as Jungkook released you and stood up, leaving an unnaturally cold sensation behind you, where his body had been.
He walked off quickly, his grin only widening when he glanced at you over his shoulder and saw you stand up and walk away from the couch without saying a word to Brock.
What Jungkook didn’t see, however, was how -- as soon as he rounded the corner to enter the kitchen where his bandmates were searching for sugar cubes for their ridiculous absinthe ritual -- Brock leaped from his seat and grabbed your hand, stopping you from walking away.
“Hey,” he said, pulling away when he felt you flinch in surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—uh, you headed home, then?”
“Yeah,” you said, taking your hand back and hiding it behind your back in defense. “It was nice talking to you.”
“It really was!” he said, a little too enthusiastically. “Which is why I was wondering if you were free anytime soon. So we could talk again, maybe? I just don’t want this to be the only time I get to hang out with you. I felt like we had a real connection. You know?”
You didn’t. You thought he wasn’t a terrible person to talk to, but you could only tolerate him in small doses.
“Mmhmm. Well, we live on the same campus,” you said, trying to smile politely as you made your way towards the bathroom. Much to your disappointment – and horror – Brock fell into step with you. “I’m sure we will, uh, see each other around.”
“Yeah? Where do you usually hang out? When you’re not with Jungkook, I mean.”
As far away from you as possible, was going to be your answer if he wasn’t going to let you walk away from him.
“Everywhere,” you said and then decided to make yourself sound less available, “or nowhere, actually. I prefer to stay home. With my roommate.”
“I like to stay home, too,” he said. You doubted that very much – unless staying home meant throwing parties at the million-dollar mansion that his parents had purchased for him. “You think we could do that together some time?”
You could distinctly recall the way your heart sped up when Jungkook suggested nearly the same thing one time. Brock’s words seemed to have a completely opposite effect on you, however, as you desperately looked for a way out of the situation and were almost prepared to use the golden I-have-a-boyfriend excuse – which could have been true for all that Brock knew – when he spoke again.
“Just you and me,” he clarified. “You could text me when Jungkook is away.”
Now, if only he could have survived five seconds without bringing Jungkook up – further proving to you that this was all about Brock showing everyone that he was better – maybe you would have stopped and considered this – although you doubted that, too – but now you didn’t even hesitate before you clicked your tongue.
“Don’t you think that’s inappropriate?” you asked.
He clearly didn’t as he retorted, “why?”
“Because this is something that you wouldn’t suggest if he was here,” you explained. “And I don’t really want to go behind his back and plan some secret tête-à-têtes.”
You gave him a smile – instead of saying goodbye – and were already reaching for the handle of the bathroom door when he grabbed your hand again. This time, when you turned to look at him, you didn’t bother to hide the irritation in your eyes.
“You misunderstand me,” Brock said, very matter-of-fact but still wary as he let go of your hand. Good. You were going to need it when you inevitably smacked him across the face. “I’m not implying anything. I just genuinely liked talking to you and would like to do it again without anyone bothering us. If you don’t think Jungkook’s going to allow you to see me, I can talk to him about—”
“No,” you said sharply. “I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything. It’s my decision. And I said no.”
Brock watched your eyes for a moment, intrigued by how strict they looked.
“Okay,” he said then. “Got it.”
You nodded and, almost tripping over your own feet in your hurry, you finally tore yourself away from the party by entering the bathroom and locking the door.
Alone at last, you exhaled and walked over to the sink, choosing not to look at your reflection in the mirror out of fear of dissociating even more – you already felt disoriented enough.
Washing your hands with cold water and then dabbing wet fingertips under your eyes and down the sides of your face felt refreshing, but it wasn’t enough to stop your heart from working overtime – courtesy of Jungkook and Brock, and their passive-aggressive battle to show the other one who was better.
You weren’t sure what you were more frustrated with: the fact that Jungkook’s touch affected you so much or the fact that he only seemed to touch you to show off to Brock. Obviously, you’d come here to establish your relationship in front of your peers but, considering that Jungkook tried to treat this whole thing as a sort of business deal, only worrying about his parents’ opinion, his actions tonight seemed over the top.
Not to mention, you could have handled Brock yourself. He was the first person who talked to you at this party and he probably only did because he’d seen you arrive with Jungkook, and, just like with everything else, he was determined to replace him. Naturally, Jungkook -- never one to back down from a challenge -- wanted to put Brock in his place.
This really irked you – you liked to be in charge of your own life and hated having to rely on others to do things for you. Jungkook should have known that.
But although you were irritated, you didn’t feel like starting an argument and then potentially having to deal with dead bodies. However, right after you decided to leave the party quietly, your mythical sixth sense picked up a bad vibe and your stomach dropped – all just a second before you heard deep grunts of struggle from behind the door of the bathroom.
For just a split second, you hoped that this commotion didn’t involve Jungkook but all of that hope vanished when one of the voices yelled, “who the fuck do you think you are?” and you recognized the undeniable tenor of your childhood friend.
Cursing under your breath, you shut the water off and, not even bothering to find a towel, walked out of the room with your hands still dripping.
You felt hopeful yet again when you saw the almost empty living room – maybe they stopped fighting – but that hope disappeared soon enough, too, when a tirade of cuss words reached you from the kitchen, followed by the sound of skin slapping against skin, muscle against muscle.
Following the sound, you clenched your hands into fists and tried to brace yourself for whatever you were about to witness. And, just like you expected, a group of spectators – always thirsty for some violence – was watching Jungkook hold Brock by the collar of his shirt.
Brock – who was obviously enjoying the attention of the whole party – snarled something that provoked Jungkook to throw another punch to the side of his face. Brock’s whole head twisted to a side and, roughly pushing Jungkook off of himself until his back hit the fridge, Brock spat the blood out onto the kitchen floor.
“Jungkook!” you called out before they turned this whole house into a boxing ring. He heard you – his eyes drifted to the group of people watching him – but he couldn’t see you through the crowd.
Cursing again, you tried to push past the people even if it involved losing sight of the two boys – you could hear the fight carry on as they slammed each other against furniture – until you finally reached the kitchen island and saw Jungkook carelessly hurl Brock on top of it, his head nearly hitting the marble tabletop.
“Jungkook, for fuck’s sake,” you snapped.
It was hard to say if he heard you this time, because one of Brock’s hands broke free and roughly pushed Jungkook’s chest. The boy stumbled backwards, hitting the cupboard behind him with a loud groan as empty plastic cups scattered all over the tabletop and rolled to the floor.
Recovering immediately, Jungkook lunged for Brock again – but this time you were there to interrupt them.
Grabbing Jungkook’s wrist as soon as he swung his hand back to prepare a punch, you finally got him to tear his eyes away from the opponent and give you a frenzied look.
“That’s enough,” you said, all out of breath as if it was you that’s been in a fight. “You made your point.”
Brock rolled off the kitchen island and coughed loudly as he dusted his shirt off. When you turned your head – both of your hands still gripping Jungkook’s raised fist, even if he was no longer planning to punch anything with it – you saw that Brock’s lip was bleeding, his left eye was starting to swell, and various hues of dark purple decorated the right side of his face.
Jungkook looked better in comparison to him – at least, from what you could see – although his cheekbones were clearly bruised, the skin irritated and bright red.
“You need to learn how to take a fucking joke,” Brock spat just as you let go of Jungkook. Immediately, he jumped past you, seemingly ready to knock Brock out.
Brock stumbled backwards, not yet prepared to defend himself against Jungkook again, but he didn’t have to do anything because you’d sneaked under Jungkook’s raised arms and pressed both of your hands into his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
“Jungkook,” you told him, knowing you had to remain calm in order to make progress, but struggling as fury boiled inside your veins.
Jungkook looked at you, his nostrils still flaring, but his anger dissipating as quickly as it had ignited. He took a step back until you no longer had a hold on him, and snarled at Brock, “you’re a fucking joke. Let’s go.”
The last part was directed at you, obviously, as Jungkook turned around. Knowing how quickly he could change his mind, you took his hand in yours just to make sure he didn’t knock anyone unconscious on his way out of the house.
Everything was already so surreal, you were glad he was clutching your hand so tight it almost hurt, or else you’d have thought you were dreaming. But then, to make this even more hard to believe, Jungkook exited the house and made a beeline for his car.
“What are you doing?” you demanded, stopping and thus pulling him to a stop, too.
“We’re getting out of here,” he shot back as he finished climbing the few remaining porch steps. You remained at the top. “I’m driving you home.”
You could have laughed at the absurdity.
“You are not driving,” you said, resisting his pull as he tried to get you to climb down the steps. “You’re wasted. Do you not realize that?”
“I don’t—”
“First, you need to sit down,” you told him and lowered yourself until you were sitting on the porch, your feet resting on the lowest step.
Jungkook held your hand and watched you, frozen.
“Sit,” you repeated, making it sound more like an order this time.
“I need to get out of here,” he said, growing frustrated with your need to mediate between him and his obvious anger issues. “I’m not fucking sitting—”
“Well, you’re not getting behind the wheel of a car, either,” you cut him off, pulling his hand down.
He still resisted. “I’m fine. Let go of me.”
“Sit.”
“I’m not fucking sitting down, for fuck’s—!”
“Then stop acting like a fucking lunatic and get a grip on yourself!” you yelled, all patience gone as you jumped to your feet. “You’re drunk whether you realize it or not. You can’t drive yourself, let alone someone else, and you’re fucking out of your mind with anger. So, sit your ass down and fucking breathe. Or else I’m calling the police to get you arrested. Maybe that will get through your thick head.”
Scolded to the point where he almost felt embarrassed, Jungkook mumbled something incoherent and sat down.
“God, you truly never grew up,” you said with an exasperated sigh as you plopped back down next to him. “Always looking for different ways to get your adrenaline fix.”
He groaned, leaning forwards as he rested his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands.
You wanted to ask him what was it that Brock had said that provoked him to start a fight -- because you had no doubt that Jungkook was the one who threw the first punch -- but decided against it. You didn’t want Jungkook to fire up again.
And so, you sat in silence for a little while – you, fuming, and Jungkook, trying to control his breathing – until he finally sat up straight and dared to look at you. Your eyes were set firmly on the grass, swaying freely in the night wind.
“Are you mad?” Jungkook asked.
Your face didn’t even twitch as you countered, “what do you think?”
“At me?” he tried again.
“What do you think?”
He swallowed. “What did I do wrong?”
You looked at him incredulously. “Do you seriously have to ask me that?”
“Yes,” he said, knowing that he was going to get a lecture but needing to hear it in order to properly defend himself. “Obviously.”
“You got into a fight with Brock,” you said because it was this simple.
“Yeah,” Jungkook confirmed pointlessly and then said with a prideful undertone, “because he deserved to get punched.”
He did not seem to regret it in the slightest and would have probably done it again if he went back inside the house – that’s what scared you the most about this. You may as well have been talking to a wall.
“But that’s exactly what he wants—” you tried, but Jungkook cut you off.
“To get punched?” he asked.
“No—to get a reaction out of you,” you explained, more patient now that it looked like he was finally starting to listen to you, “he wants people to talk shit about you.”
Then, surprising you, Jungkook said, “I know.”
It took you a moment to grasp that he knew the consequences his actions would have, and that made his decisions all the more self-destructive.
“So,” you took a breath, “why do you do this?”
You were scared of his answer but instead of sounding like a lost cause, he just sounded aggressively nihilistic.
“Why not?” he retorted, shrugging one of his shoulders. “What do I have to lose? At least they’re talking about me. About us.”
If he’d asked you – really asked you, not just rhetorically – you’d have told him about all the things he would have lost if he kept this up. But he didn’t ask because he didn’t think there was an answer – a meaningful answer – that would have been worth the change in attitude.
He was simply convinced he didn’t have anything worth to keep: not his relationship with his parents, and not even what remained of his own reputation.
“Well, yes, but what they’re saying isn’t doing us…” you started to say but felt yourself hit a dead-end. You were a conformist. He, clearly, wasn’t. But it wasn’t for you to decide which one of you was right when it came to dealing with campus rumors. “Anyway. That was wrong. You know fighting is wrong. You end up getting hurt.”
“He’s the one who picked a fight with me as soon as you walked away,” Jungkook mumbled childishly.
“That doesn’t mean you’re any less guilty,” you stated. “You were acting weird around him before the fight, so, in a way, you brought it upon yourself.”
Jungkook looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “When did I act weird?”
You looked away. “When you brought me that shot of absinthe.”
“What do you mean?” he asked but he knew what you meant. “I was just letting him know that we were dating. Letting everyone know that we were—”
“Right but everyone got that when we arrived together,” you spoke as soon as your face started to grow warmer from the memory of you and him on that couch, “and none of that even matters, anyway, remember? Your parents aren’t here. You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he said.
You paused. Then asked, “what?”
“I wanted to touch you,” Jungkook clarified. “Is that wrong?”
For a minute, you couldn’t remember if you thought that was wrong or not when he put it like that.
“It’s—” you said and then swallowed, thanking the cold breeze that raised goosebumps on your bare legs for distracting you from his intoxicating words. You had completely sobered up when you had to break up that fight and you’d have liked to remain clear-minded. “Well, if you’re doing it to mark your territory like some dog, then yeah. It’s wrong. It’s disrespectful to me.”
“I wasn’t trying to mark my territory.”
“It felt like you were.”
Sighing, he caved, even though he hated the accusation, “alright, maybe I was, a little. But Brock needed to know that he was never going to get to touch you like that.”
“Ah,” you smiled humorlessly, “and you get that privilege, right?”
“I—well, didn’t we come here to show off?”
“We did, supposedly. But…”
Your voice faded because you realized that one of the biggest reasons why it felt like he’d crossed the line tonight, was because his actions affected you so much. If you hadn’t cared about him the way that you did, you probably wouldn’t have been bothered by the methods he chose to prove the authenticity of your relationship.
Sure, he could have been less possessive, but you knew him well enough to understand that he wasn’t trying to offend you. And yet you couldn’t let this go without standing up for yourself – especially not after he tried to take back every single one of his confessions the last time you’d talked to him.
“We weren’t supposed to do it like that,” you said, sounding a little more confident now. “I just felt like you went too far. Brock wasn’t worth it.”
“There’s a dozen others like Brock at that party,” Jungkook pointed out.
You scoffed. “Right. Even if there are, the only reason why they’d want me is so they could brag about stealing Jungkook’s girl.”
“No, it’s—is that the only reason why you think these guys want you?” he looked at you as he asked this, almost appalled that you would reduce your own impact to this level.
“They don’t—” you started to say with a shake of your head but that was enough for Jungkook.
“They do,” he countered, cutting you off, “and it’s not because you came with me. It’s because you’re you,” he didn’t mean to scan you from head to toe with his eyes as he said this but self-control was not one of his strong suits.
You had your objections but, at the same time, you were able to understand that arguing about this would have been pointless. Your knowledge about how men functioned came from text-books and observations, while his came from personal experience. You’d never see eye-to-eye about this.
“Why do you care about those other guys?” Jungkook asked after you didn’t reply.
“I—I don’t,” you said, still distracted by your own thoughts. “But you clearly do.”
“Of course, I do,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “They want you.”
You looked at him. “So, even if they do, why does it matter?”
“It matters because they can’t have you,” he said, “and they need to know that.”
“Know what?”
“That you’re mine.”
Your hands went numb and the fabric of your skirt that you’d been playing with started to feel foreign – fake, even – so you dropped it and took a deep breath, wrapping your arms around your midriff instead.
“I get that we’re playing a relationship,” you said, quieter than you probably should have, “but I’m not a trophy that you can brag about when you feel like it.”
“You might as well be,” he said, not intending to make it sound like you were some decoration, but realizing how it could have been interpreted precisely like that, “maybe ‘trophy’ wasn’t the right word. I mean that you are something—someone—to brag about. Because I’m proud to call you min—m-my, uh, fake-girlfriend. My friend. I’m proud of who you are. Proud of what you’d achieved. Proud of the way you can call me out on my bullshit and put me in my place—”
You did not acknowledge his slip-up with the label of your relationship – because he was drunk – scoffing instead, “there’s no way in hell you’re proud of that last one.”
“No, no, I am,” he nodded for more effect. “No one has the patience to deal with my shit. But you do.”
You went quiet again, your head spinning. The buzz of the alcohol had mostly worn off but you were unable to find a way to reply to him, and you chose to blame the drinks you’d had for that.
“Don’t do that again, okay?” you ended up saying.
Your thoughts ran a little too fast for him to keep up. “Do what?”
“Get into fights,” you said. “Act irrationally to prove a point.”
“Me hugging you was completely rational,” he said, bringing it up with such ease, it was like he was a completely different person now.
“You know what I mean,” you said. “Don’t treat me like an object. Especially, since it doesn’t change anything with your parents.”
“I wasn’t trying to--w-why are you bringing my parents into this?”
“Because of the other night?” you said, thinking it was obvious. “You were completely dismissive about this – a-about us – and you basically said that—”
“I know what I said,” he cut you off, looking down at the wooden steps of the porch. He remembered. “I didn’t mean that.”
So, here’s the answer, then: he didn’t mean that. But something – fear, insecurity, uncertainty – had still made him reduce your relationship to just an act for his parents.
“Okay,” you said, hesitating. “But we’d agreed to tell each other the truth. So, don’t—don’t say things you don’t mean. Not when it’s just us alone.”
“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, a promise on his lips, “I’ll think before I act from now on.”
You scrunched your nose, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. “Will you, really?”
He considered it, then rephrased himself, “I’ll try to think before I act.”
That got you to smile. “That’s better. Thank you.”
Jungkook smiled back and the tension outside of his house seemed to blow away with the wind. Even the night shadows around you suddenly seemed brighter.
“You have to admit, though,” Jungkook said then, “my plan to get Brock to believe we’re dating worked so much better than your diplomatic speech would have.”
“Why do you think I’d have given him a diplomatic speech?” you asked.
“I’ve known you since birth,” he replied, grinning.
“Fair point,” you couldn’t help but snicker. “We’re still doing it my way next time, though.”
“Alright,” he nodded, not really caring about much else except that you said there was going to be a next time. “So, you ready to go home now?”
You’d been ready to go home for a while now.
“I am,” you said,
He stood up. “Let’s go.”
You stood up after him but, once again, hesitated before climbing down the porch steps.
“Actually,” you spoke slowly, “I think I’m going alone.”
Jungkook hadn’t noticed that you weren’t following him as he headed towards the pavement across the front yard. He stopped at the sound of your distant voice and turned around.
“What?”
“Yeah,” you said, making your way towards him. “You stay here. Stay out of fights and—”
He was shaking his head. “If you think I’m going to let you go home alone, you’re—”
“If you think I need your permission to—”
“Okay, sorry, my bad,” he lifted his hands in a defensive manner that interrupted you. “I didn’t choose my words well. But my point stands. You’re not going home alone.”
You looked away with a sigh.
“Neither of us can drive,” you said, “and I’m not staying here.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes, dismissing your attempt to escape him with a very sarcastic, “oh, and that would sure be tragic if our plans didn’t involve us going back to your place together anyway.”
“I…” you did feel the same pang of excitement in the pit of your stomach as you did when he first suggested you spent more time together at your dorm, but everything that happened since then made you unsure if it was such a good idea, after all. “I feel like going to sleep, actually.”
“Okay,” he didn’t seem bothered by that. “I’m walking you home, then.”
“I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way,” you said.
“I’m sure you are, you’ve walked around campus plenty of times before,” he said, still as witty as ever. “I’m still coming with you.”
“Jungkook…”
“Let me. Please,” he took a step closer to you as he said this and you would have probably let him to do almost anything when you saw the night sky reflected in his eyes. “I don’t want to walk you home so that other people would believe that we’re in a relationship. So that my parents would believe we’re in a relationship. Or because you’re an item I want to show off. I want to walk you home because I want to walk you home.”
You could no longer feel the cold, late-hour wind.
“Okay, fine,” you said, your voice purposefully indifferent and even irritated, just so your real feelings wouldn’t manifest themselves. “Walk me home, then.”
“Way to make it sound like I’m putting you in pain,” Jungkook jabbed.
“You are kind of a pain in my ass, actually,” you pointed out.
“Yeah? Does that pain bother you?”
“Yes, very much,” you glared at him as the two of you crossed the front yard towards the main street where he’d crashed his car weeks ago when you first found each other again. “Keeps me up all night with thoughts about it.”
“Good,” he said with a smirk, walking around you inconspicuously, so that he was on your right side, his body shielding you from the cars that drove past every now and then. One could never know what sort of a drunk lunatic could drive by. “That means my plan has worked.”
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She-Ra movie where Catra just goes to therapy. that's it. that's the whole movie.
JHSBJHBNJHJNDNDN
this is not my best, but. here you go!
“Good morning, Catra!”
Catra doesn’t move from her position on the arm of Perfuma’s bench. “You’re late.”
Perfuma rolls her eyes. There are flower petals in her hair. “You’re early.”
“Time is relative, Flower Girl.”
She actually laughs at that and moves to sit down on the bench next to her, smoothing down her skirt. “Time is also a construct, but that might be a little too much for morning meditation.”
“I thought this was a therapy thing.”
“It can be a therapy thing if you want it to be.”
Catra huffs a laugh. “Do I want it to be? I mean, we haven’t exactly done much in these... things.”
“That’s because we’ve only done four of them, Catra.” Perfuma crosses her legs, settling her hands in her lap. “I’m working up to bigger things.”
“‘Bigger things’?”
“Bigger things,” she repeats serenely. Catra frowns into her lap.
Perfuma takes the silence as an opportunity to start humming, guiding flowers up from underneath the bench to wind through the slats and curl around her crossed legs. Catra shakes her head when the stems start to bend inquisitively towards her and forces her eyes shut.
She pulls her tail into her lap (just in case Perfuma’s flowers decide to start winding up it) and fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “Are we just gonna sit here for an hour?”
Perfuma sighs loud enough for her to hear it. It’s not... directed at her (at least, that’s what she tells herself), because she never sighs at Catra, so she puts it down to a plant dying or something (which is literally the only reason she sighs now. She hopes) and keeps her eyes shut.
“Did I ever tell you about my first meeting with Scorpia?”
Catra opens an eye to level a Look at her. “No? Why is this relevant?”
Perfuma shrugs. “I thought you might like to hear it. It’s not a particularly soft or romantic story. It’s not what you’d think our first interaction would be like, looking at us now.”
“Um-”
“I know you’ve been worried about your relationship with Adora,” she tells her gently. “Did anything specific happen between you?”
Catra swallows and shoves down the ball of anxiety in her chest.
The answer is... complicated. Technically nothing happened at all. Technically they’re still fine - still ridiculously, ecstatically in love, still disgusting the fuck out of anyone in a 10 mile radius. But Catra feels... off. Something’s off, and it’s probably her fault, and she feels... tense. Like she’s four seconds away from slipping up, from driving Adora away again, and Adora knows. (Maybe she wants her to drive her away, which is a stupid thought that makes no sense.)
“No,” she says, and Perfuma frowns at her.
“I don’t believe you.”
Catra shrugs, tugging her sleeve. It’s cold out.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
��I would not like to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to. But is it okay if I talk about myself and Scorpia?”
“... Yeah.”
She can feel Perfuma smiling. In the silence that hovers between them, she can feel Perfuma’s smile like sunshine on her skin.
Connecting with people feels good, actually.
“Scorpia came into the war council room with Emily,” Perfuma begins, playing with the ends of her hair. “So of course our first response was to attack. We didn’t know why she was there, or why she had a Horde bot with her. We were scared. I... I didn’t know. I sensed there was more to it. She’s not an intentionally malicious person, you know. When she said she genuinely wanted to help us, I believed it.” She smiles. “I’m glad my first instinct was right.
“There’s more to the story than that, but she accidentally stung me whilst I was stood behind her. It hurt less than you might think, and the paralysis wore off quickly. She apologised. It was very sweet.”
Catra grins. “That sounds like Scorpia.”
Perfuma nods, almost to herself. “She didn’t mean to.” She turns to Catra, smiling gently. “Scorpia wouldn’t hurt anyone intentionally.”
She gives her a significant look. Catra stares back blankly.
“Was there... a lesson or something?”
Perfuma laughs. “I was worried you thought you’d intentionally hurt Adora or something.”
And despite herself, Catra laughs to. “No, it’s not- that. It’s something different. I’m just paranoid. Don’t worry.”
“It’s my job to worry,” she tells her. “It’s what I do.”
“What, worry?”
She laughs again, and a flower grows up from behind the bench and settles between them. She plucks it off its stem as gently as she can and hands it to Catra, who takes it without a word. “Help.”
She stares at the flower in her hands for a moment.
Silence again.
“I.. I don’t know. I guess I’m just... scared.”
“Of what?” Perfuma prompts.
Catra swallows. “Of not being the person Adora wants me to be. Something’s felt... off recently. I feel like it’s my fault. I feel like it’s something to do with all these nightmares I’ve been having, or like I’m disappointing her, or something. I feel like it’s something to do with the fact that we don’t - talk - like we used to, because she’s spent so much time overworking herself and staying up writing reports or something and I don’t know how to help her. I feel like I’m not... good enough for her, y’know? I’m just so-”
Perfuma touches her wrist, and her voice falls away nothing. “Catra, all I want you to do for now is sit and breathe with me,” she says slowly, gently. “Do you remember those breathing exercises we practiced?”
Catra nods.
She takes a breath in and Perfuma lets go of her, retreating back to her circle of flowers. Breathing exercises. Those. She remembers about two of them, but both of them seemed to involve exhaling and inhaling slowly, which is something she can do.
(Maybe breathing works. Sometimes.)
And after ten minutes, Perfuma murmurs, “You’re not doing anything wrong. You have no reason to be worried. I know that doesn’t make anything any easier, but if you need direct reassurance, don’t be afraid to talk to Adora. She won’t be annoyed with you for talking to her.” She leans sideways again, shifting closer to Catra. “She loves you. And she’s struggling too.”
Catra pauses.
It isn’t... it isn’t some big new revelation. Perfuma knows exactly what she needs to hear - know she needs to verbalise what Catra understands.
Fuck.
“But- but I don’t know how to help her. I feel like I’m... I’m useless. I can’t- I can’t solve this.”
“You don’t have to. You just need to be there for her. Hold her when she needs it. Tell her you love her when she needs to hear it, and when she doesn’t. I can’t give specific advice to stop her from overworking herself, but I suggest you talk to Glimmer about lessening the amount of work she takes on. And try asking her to come back to bed, and help her with her work when you can sense she needs it.”
It’s vague, but... but Catra finds herself nodding, internalising the information, storing it away in her mind.
“Okay,” she mumbles, and her voice comes out much smaller than she wanted it to. “Okay.”
Perfuma nods, smiling. “I hope it helps you to some degree. Relationships can be hard.”
She laughs, and the flower in her hand curls its petals inwards and out again. “Yeah. They can. Thank you. I don’t know, I just... needed to hear that. I know it already, but...”
“I understand,” she murmurs.
They fall silent again.
Catra smiles to herself.
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Liminal: Ezra and Cee
A/N: Contemporary AU in which Ezra becomes his niece, Cee's caretaker after an automobile accident kills his brother, Damon, and costs him his arm. Same AU as "Ferris wheels are for old people." No reader insert character, just Ezra and Cee on the road. Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog ‘s Writer’s Wednesday.
Warnings: Mentions of past trauma/injury. Drug references in a song. Some language. I tried to research body powered transhumeral prosthetics to get some idea of how Ezra's prosthetic arm might work, but then I fell into an overthinking morass, any inaccuracies are mine.
"Willin'" is written by Lowell George. The version referenced in the story is recorded by Linda Ronstadt.
lim·i·nal
/ˈlimənl/
adjective: liminal
1.relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
2.occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
--"Willin'"--
"’... been warped by the rain, driven by the snow,’" Cee sings along with the music rattling through the truck's speakers, "I'm drunk and dirty, don't you know. But I'm still willin'..."
The road stretches long and straight in front of them, harsh, rust-colored land dotted with scrub under the arc of an impossibly blue sky. Ezra asked Cee to compile the playlist. You are my co-pilot for this mission, he'd told her, and as such your duties include, but are not limited to, navigator, snack supervisor and DJ. DJ? Really? Make us a playlist, Little Bird, every adventure needs some good road music. And she had really delivered.
"’...Out on the road late last night, I'd see my pretty Alice in every headlight, Alice, Dallas Alice...’" Ezra'd expected hours of auto-tuned pop or loud screamy music where he couldn't understand the words, and while there was some of that, Cee had taken her duties as DJ very seriously, creating a huge genre-bending list that all worked together.
He knew a lot of it. When he was still weird Uncle Ezra and not Legal Guardian Ezra, Cee made a habit of pawing through his vinyl collection when she and Damon would visit, picking a record to play and then peppering him with questions about it. Still, some of the tracks she picked surprised him, like this one, Linda Ronstadt's version of "Willin'" a road trip anthem if there ever was one, but something he didn't expect Cee to be familiar with. On their first go through the playlist, he'd asked her, where'd you hear this one, Birdie? You remember that movie, The Abyss? It's in that movie, the director's cut though, not the theatrical cut, the theatrical cut is bullshit--and he'd just listened to her go off about all the things wrong with the theatrical cut, the movie itself he barely remembered, something about divers finding aliens underwater, he'd listened and grinned, Cee could go so quiet sometimes. It was always a relief to hear her sound alive and interested, especially after--
"’And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari," Cee sings and Ezra joins her, "Tehachapi to Tonopah...’" Cee's voice is sweet. Ezra's voice is not, but that's never stopped him. They've got the windows down. The AC started smelling funny a couple days ago, and, in this part of the world, a breeze to evaporate the sweat is just as good as AC. Cee's hair makes a flyaway halo as they sing--
"’Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made, Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed. And if you give me...’" Ezra and Cee smile at each other, suck in deep breaths for the big chorus, "’...Weed, whites and wine, and you show me a sign...And I'll be willin' to be movin'"
--Petroglyph--
The rust colored forms on pale stone walls peer out at them. Some loom large in the foreground, others recede into the background as if the weathered rock is a portal a window into some other place that lives just below the skin of the world. The back of Ezra's neck prickles. Sometimes the world is thin. Sometimes he feels as if there is a larger world moving and shifting beneath the surface of this one. Sometimes he feels like things are happening out of order, reality stripping and skipping like a loose bicycle chain--
Cee's warm hand creeps into his, "They're a little scary, aren't they?" She says.
"Indeed they are," says Ezra, "One has to wonder what they were thinking. What they were trying to say. Are these gods in these pictures? Or just regular men?"
"Does it matter?" Asks Cee, and he jerks his head to look at her. She is utterly entranced by the red figures and sigils.
"Of course it does," he says, "You don't think so?"
"I mean, it matters, I guess, but what matters more is that people made these," she says, "People like us. People with hands. Not that Ancient Aliens bullshit." Ezra laughs. Cee squeezes his hand.
"C'mon," she says, "let's see more."
--Rest Stop--
"Hey MOM!," a child's voice snaps Ezra out of his reverie. Cee is in the truck stop, using the restroom and restocking their snack supply. At these stops he fuels up and then gives her some cash and sets her loose inside. And then they stretch their legs and sit outside for a spell. Ezra sits at a picnic bench letting the sun hit his closed eyelids, "MOM! That guy's got a ROBOT ARM! Like WINTER SOLDIER!" Ezra opens his eyes to a little boy, maybe four with a bunch of curly hair and big eyes, pointing at him.
"Daniel!" His mother hisses, and pinches at his arm, "That's rude. I'm so sorry. Danny, what did I tell you about staring--"
"Ma'am? It's quite alright, Ma'am," says Ezra, and hunkers down so he's eye level with the little boy.
"Hi there," he says, "Daniel, is it? I'm Ezra." He offers his right arm, the double hook at the end open, titanium alloy padded with silicone. Daniel solemnly grips the hooks and shakes.
"You've got stickers!" Says Daniel, and for a second Ezra is confused, and then he grins, looking down at the bedecked black plastic of his prosthesis. He stands.
"My girl decided that I must have a sticker for every state we stop in," says Ezra, he stands and smiles at Daniel's mom, "Like an old steamer trunk. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name--"
Cee steps out of the air-conditioned cavern of the truck stop, slits her eyes against the brightness of midday sun glittering up from the concrete, plastic bags full of crap-snacks and energy drinks threaded over her arms. Ezra handed her a couple twenties and told her to go nuts. Re-supply runs have turned into their own sort of game. She always grabs the usual stuff, chips and Snickers bars and Paydays (Ezra has an absolute weakness for Paydays. They don't taste like they used to, he'd griped, but that didn't stop him from eating them), but somewhere along the line, Cee decided to turn this into a battle of the wills. Her unspoken mission is to find something so utterly weird at one of these stops that Ezra won't eat it. So far, she has been unsuccessful. The closest thing was an aloe juice and cucumber drink that smelled amazing, but felt like swallowing cold snot. That one was a draw. She has high hopes for the dill pickle-sriracha gummy worms nestled in the bottom of the bag. The packaging looked like Christmas in hell. More important than the snacks is the plain, flat paper bag she holds.
Ezra's near the picnic benches chattering at some lady with a kid. Menace, she thinks, but smiles. Ezra was always the extrovert before, and it's good to him smiling so big and open in the sunshine, making friends with random people at a truck stop. She sees an echo of her and him before, when she and Dad would visit when she was small and he'd tell her some outrageous tale and she'd say Uncle Ezra, you're so weird, and he'd scoop her up and swing her around, planting a prickly kiss on her cheek and saying oh, little bird, you have no idea, and this always made Dad laugh.
"Oh, Ez-ra," Cee calls, and when he turns, he sees her devilish grin, holding a small brown paper bag up beside her face like it's contraband, "Look what I found."
"So I get to witness the sacred stickering?" Asks Ezra's new friend.
"Indeed you do," says Ezra, "This is Cee. Cee, meet Jody, and that little man playing in the dirt there is Daniel."
"Nice to meet you," says Cee, "Stick your arm out, old man."
"Don't you want to document this momentous occasion?"
"Oh, right," Cee pulls out her phone, "Hey, uh, miss Jody? Can you take some video? I got it all set up."
"Cee is documenting our adventures for posterity," says Ezra. He extends his prosthetic, already covered in overlapping ovoids, enough that they are starting to resemble dragon scales, "What do you think?" Cee and Daniel circle round.
"How bout here?" asks Daniel, tapping just above the articulated elbow.
"That's a good spot," says Cee and peels the sticker from it's backing with a flourish. She smiles up at her phone recording in a stranger's hand, "We have now infiltrated the state of Nevada," she grins, "Evil-doers beware."
"Yeah!" Says the little boy, pudgy hands planted on his hips for the benefit of the camera, "Or Winter Soldier will KICK YOUR ASS!"
"Daniel!"
--Stars--
Cee wakes in the dead of night, disoriented, a darkness so thick that for a moment she's not sure where she is, and then she hears Ezra's rhythmic snoring off to her side, reaches out and brushes fabric of the tent and lays back, puzzled, muscles pleasantly sore from a day spent scrabbling up and down eroded granite boulders that looked like they belonged on Mars or Tatooine, walking trails and marveling at the strange ecology of the high-desert, so unlike back home. Bad dream? She wonders, probably. She feels her eyes getting heavy, feels herself lulled by Ezra's sleep sounds, snores punctuated by mumbles. Sometimes full sentences, his side of whatever dream-conversation he's having. Probably has no idea he does it--
Cee sits bolt upright, hands clutched in fists against her chest, a high-pitched wail cuts the cold night, a sound like a woman screaming, and another wail threads through the first, so loud it could be right outside the tent, and then a sound like gruesome laughter. The back of her neck prickles and her heart pounds in her throat. She tells herself that it's just some wild animal making noise, some desert bird maybe, but wasn't the California desert the last known home of the Manson family? Maybe not this desert, but still--
"Ezra," she hisses, and he mumbles something incoherent, "Ezra, wake up!" She reaches and pokes him hard, "Ezra!"
"Whazzit birdie?"
"Listen!" The screams rise and fall again like something from a horror movie.
"s'just coyotes," says Ezra, "probly next county over. They don't hurt people, they're just loud."
"You sure?"
"Go back to sleep, Cee."
"Ezra," He's dreaming, some place with Joshua trees the size of skyscrapers, spiked limbs under a red sky. Cee's with him somewhere in the bloodlight but he can't see her, just hears her calling--
"Ezra!" He blinks awake, the red sky receding. Cee is shaking him.
"Yuh. M'awake birdie,"
"I gotta pee," she says.
"You know where the outhouses are, just right down the trail,"
"I'm not going by myself! Not with those things out there!" Ezra pushes himself up and shakes his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He can just make out Cee's form against the faint light of the sky leaking through the tent.
"Alright, just gimme a second," he says.
"I'll get the light,"
"We don't need it," he says.
"Ez-"
"We got night eyes now," he says, "No light pollution out here. You'll see."
Ezra stands transfixed in the chill dark, head cocked upward. The more he looks, the more he can see. More stars than he's ever seen in his life spread across the vast inverted bowl of the sky, no summer haze out here, no light-wash from streetlights. He is dizzy with it, the vast sweep of the sky, and as he stares and his eyes adjust further, he can see the arm of the Milky Way angled across the black, can actually see the dark band of dust threaded through the silver-blue light. He doesn't hear the outhouse door shutting, doesn't notice Cee beside him until she folds his hand into hers.
"Look up, Little Bird," he breathes and it feels like a prayer, his heart suddenly full, squeezing in his chest, Cee small and warm next to him.
"Oh, wow," she says, barely a whisper, "That's the Milky Way isn't it?" Tears blur the stars and fall hot against his cheeks.
"It is." He looks at her, her face upturned, cheeks and hair frosted in star shine, limning her eyes, her smile. They've lost so much, him and Cee, but they've gained each other, and that's not nothing is it?
"We're so small," says Cee, "Us. People. This whole planet. All of us. We're just a little dot." Ezra smiles in the dark, even as tears dry in his lashes. He squeezes her fingers in his.
"C'mon, let's get back in the tent before we freeze."
--Hoodoo--
Cee sleeps in the passenger's seat. She'd helped break camp and pack everything up even though it was early for her. They had spent an extra night in Joshua Tree and now had to make up the difference. It's time to go home. There are things he wants to do before Cee goes back to school, things they need to take care of. So he woke them early, promising Cee that she could sleep in the car as long as she needed. She'd helped him get ready, half-peeling a couple candy bars and putting them were he could easily reach.
"You want the playlist?" She asked, "I can get it going."
"Not right now. I want some quiet."
“'Kay," and Cee was asleep before they were to the next mile marker.
Hoodoos rise on either side of the highway, striated red cliffs against the slowly lightening sky, cut into improbable formations by long gone rivers, thin spires topped with boulders, first glints of sun hitting the higher cliffs while everything else still exists in that liminal space between day and night. Ezra glances over at Cee, hair in a messy halo, face slack in sleep, cheeks sun-reddened and newly freckled, closed eyes moving, dreaming. Ezra thinks of those first days, wracked with pain and trying to navigate the new, dark-shrowded territory of her and him, each of them crippled by loss, each willing to lash out at the other. Ezra thinks of how far they've come since then, uncurling like relaxing fists and learning to be with each other. They drive into the dawn and the first bit of light touches her hair, turning it to fire. She shifts in her sleep, turning away from that first hint of sun. He doesn't know if she's awake or not.
"I love you, Cee."
"Love you to, Ez," she murmurs and settles back into sleep. Ezra looks out over hoodoo country spread red tinged and stark against the rising light, the miles of road ahead. We're gonna be ok, he thinks and means it.
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Folktober 05 — for @jurdannet/@jurdannetrevels. In which Jude was never taken to Faerie and grew up in blissful ignorance of the fair folk—mostly—until the night they tried to steal her twin sister away.
First | Prev
The door is the first test. It is difficult not to stare at every new thing I see. There are lamps on either side of the polished wood doors, and at first I think they’re just regular lights, but of course nothing here is that simple; the light comes from two tiny glowing faeries, trapped behind glass. I am immediately filled with questions. Did they volunteer for the job? Is this a punishment for some unknown crime? Do they eat, and if so, who feeds them? Do they live forever, miserable in their prison, or do they eventually burn themselves out?
But I am meant to be glamoured and not ask questions, so I don’t, even though I want to pound my hands against the glass until they bleed and the tiny faeries are freed. I keep my eyes straight ahead and hardly even flinch when I notice the grotesque carving on the door. It looks horrible, a twisted and terrible face, the knocker piercing its nose.
Cardan acts as if this is all totally normal, because of course to him it is, because he lives here and none of this is new to him. Without any hesitation, he reaches for the door knocker. And as he does, the carving’s eyes spring open.
To keep from screaming, I bite my lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. My entire body goes taut, a coiled spring waiting for release. I force myself to breathe in through my nose.
“My prince,” says the carving.
Cardan smiles at the door in a way I am not even sure he smiled at his friends. “My door.”
I am relieved when the next words from the door’s awful mouth are “Welcome home” and it swings open to admit us. Cardan stalks inside, and I follow.
There is a faerie servant waiting for us, wearing some kind of livery. “Prince Cardan,” they say, with a small bow. “Your brother would like to speak with you.”
“A pity for him,” Cardan replies, handing his cloak to another servant. No one offers to take the jacket I am wearing. “I would like that less.”
“I am afraid it was not a request,” the first servant says. “He wishes to speak with you and the mortal girl you have brought back with you.”
Cardan glances back at me, a frown turning down the corners of his full mouth. “Very well, although I cannot imagine why. Come, Jude.”
I bristle at the command, but I follow after him; it’s what the glamoured girl I’m supposed to be would do. I force a little smile on my lips and trot after him. “What’s going on?” I whisper through it.
“I know not.” The frown deepens. “And I like that even less. Stay close to me and face front, no matter what you see. And under no circumstances may you antagonize Balekin as you do me. Am I understood?”
I want to tell him that if he thinks my meager resistance so far has been antagonism, he doesn’t really know anything about hardship, but there’s an urgency to his voice, maybe something like nerves or fear, that makes me think he’s being serious.
“Totally,” I say, and then I fall back a little so that I trail him.
Soon I see why he warned me to stare straight ahead. As we walk through the hallway, I see another human for the first time, a young man dressed in the same palace livery. At first I want to call out to him, to scream, to tell him I’ve been taken and he has too and we should both run away from this place, but I notice the glazed look in his eyes, and, as we approach, his cracked fingers and chapped lips. He hums to himself as he polishes an old suit of armor on display, and doesn’t seem to notice as we pass.
I shudder. Cardan may have kidnapped me, true. He and his friends might have intended to do terrible things to my sister, and he may still intend to do terrible things to me. But at least I have been spared that fate, the loss of my all my faculties, of any control.
I’m not relieved for long, because Hollow Hall still has horrors in store for me. Soon we come to another set of gleaming doors, through which I can hear the sounds of chatter and the faint thrumming of music. The doors are thrown open for us by another pair of servants, and then we are in the middle of the great hall.
There is what is clearly a party happening. Well, I assume it’s a party, what parties are in fairyland. It looks like the kind of scene HBO would get in trouble for when casting a bunch of nude extras. I mean, by human standards, it would definitely be considered an orgy, but I am beginning to think that human and faerie standards are very different.
And that’s not to say all of the Folk are embracing. Some are eating golden fruit. Some are drinking wine and mead from great goblets, like the ones Cardan brought for his picnic jaunt into my world. Others seem to be falling asleep. Two might be strangling each other to the amusement of onlookers. There is a small band on the other side of the room that includes a green-skinned pixie playing a flute and a boy with goat legs playing an honest-to-god lute. And, yes, there are faeries in varying states of undress, on couches near the perimeter of the room or cushions on the floor, and some are definitely, um, occupied. They are clearly inhuman, but their bodies are human enough that I find myself blushing, out of embarrassment or mortification I don’t know.
But Cardan said I couldn’t stare, so I do my best not to. I face front and think about the places I would rather be. Which is pretty much anywhere. I imagine myself at the Starbucks downtown, sipping pumpkin spice lattes with Taryn, or bingeing She-Ra on Netflix with Vivi, like we had the last week of the summer. Then I think about how my parents will panic when they realize I’m not there in the morning—probably just a couple of hours from now—and I nearly feel sick to my stomach.
“Jude,” Cardan hisses through his teeth. “With me.”
I don’t nod. I just follow him as we chart a path through the revelers, managing to hold it together. A naked girl with daffodil-yellow skin and pink flowers for hair laughs and calls to him, trying to coax him into joining her circle, but he ignores her. I guess being a prince makes you popular.
Our destination is on the far side of the room, unfortunately, which means I have to do a lot more repression to make it there in one piece. For example, I can’t think about how a sharp-toothed faerie seems to be using a tiny bone to pick his teeth, or how another revel guest’s lips shine red like they’re wet with blood. At least I can easily pick out where we’re going and focus on that as I keep from tripping over any outstretched limbs.
Another faerie, one who looks much like Cardan with dark hair and high cheekbones, reclines in a wooden chair carved to look much like a throne, up on a dais. He is in conversation with a very lovely woman in a blue gown, but when she sees us approaching she kisses his ring and leaves. I almost want to tell her to come back, to not leave us with the host of this debauched fete. But there’s nothing to say. I’ll have no help here.
Cardan climbs the dais seps and stops before the chair, inclining his head with deference that seems a little mocking. Without being told, I know that this is Balekin, whom Cardan said was the eldest of the princes.
Brother,” Balekin says, and even I, an outsider, can sense the danger under the familial cheer. “How was your jaunt to the mortal world?”
“Tiresome,” Cardan says, stifling a yawn as he raises his head.
“I was told you brought a companion back with you.”
“Word travels fast.”
Balekin waits for him to say something else, and frowns when he doesn’t. I, meanwhile, am thinking of how I felt like we were being watched as we rode through the forest. Maybe we were. Or maybe the goblins who’d paddled the boat were spies. Nothing here was safe.
“Well, won’t you call her hence so I may examine her?” Balekin asks at last.
“Oh, indeed,” says Cardan, who clearly isn’t happy to have been called out for this. Still, he waves for me, and I take a step forward. “This mortal girl interfered with our fun. She was unhappy that Locke wanted to play with her twin sister.”
“Twins?” Balekin sounds intrigued. He sits forward. I’m learning that twins are probably rare among faeries if Taryn and I are so consistently interesting. “Why not keep them both?”
Cardan shrugs. “It was better sport to promise the freedom of one sister and then take the other. This one was so angry when she found her twin glamoured, and now she suffers that fate.”
I’m angry still, I want to shout. I’m angry now! I want to stomp my foot. I want to haul off and punch him. But I stay where I am, trying to keep the placid smile fixed on my face. I’d thought Cardan and his friends terrifying and wrong, but now that I am face-to-face with an adult faerie, I realize that Cardan can’t be much older than me—or whatever the faerie equivalent is. Maybe he’s ninety and just looks nineteen. But Balekin is clearly grown, less lanky than Cardan, more dangerous. He is looking at me in a way I don’t like.
“Come closer, child,” he says to me, and he almost sounds kind. I try not to hesitate as I approach his chair. When I am near enough, he reaches out and takes my face in his hand. There are thorns poking out of his skin, sharp enough to prick me. I stay very, very still and try to breathe normally.
“She’s not unpretty, is she?” he asks Cardan.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan shift uneasily. “If mortals are your flavor.”
Balekin frowns, turning my face from one side to the other. “She has a familiar look. What is your name, girl?”
“Jude,” I say obediently.
“Your surname.”
“Smith,” I lie. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. Telling a faerie prince my actual full name seems like a really bad idea.
Balekin’s eyes narrow, but he releases me. My jaw tingles. He swirls the wine in his goblet the way sophisticated people do in movies, and then he leans back in his chair. “So, brother. Now you have a mortal girl. What will you do with her?”
“I have not yet decided,” Cardan replies, sounding thoughtful. “I would rather not put her to work in the kitchens or the hall. Mortals are so fragile, with such clumsy fingers. It amuses me to think of her carrying my schoolbooks, serving my wine, and sleeping at the foot of my bed like a faithful hound.”
“Trite amusements,” says Balekin, but I notice that he doesn’t seem displeased with his younger brother. “If you misplace this one it is of no consequence to me. Do as you will.”
Cardan inclines his head in a mock bow, then says again, “Come, Jude.”
Like the faithful hound, I follow at his heels. Unlike the faithful hound, I chafe doing so. But I can’t see another way out just now, so I will play this game until the end. Whatever that is.
---
Tag list: @lilithsaur @highqueenofelfhame @charrise @emeralddaydream13 @b00kworm @amandlas @gellavonhamster @ireallyshouldsleeprn @misskillerdarkness @nahthanks @lohep @awkward-avocado-s @alittledribbledrabble @kittkatandbooboo @harrymoncheri @gxndrya
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#jurdannet#jurdannetrevels#folktober 2020#jurdan#judecardan#jude x cardan#jude duarte#cardan greenbriar#the folk of the air#the cruel prince#the wicked king#the queen of nothing#mine: fic#fic: folktober#how long does october last? let's find out
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Firsts || Izuku Midoriya
a/n: this is for another bnharem discord collab!! the prompt was “Pen Pals”. I’m pretty content with how this came out and I’m super excited to write a bit more considering I got a computer!! I’m hoping to do a pt2 hehe. god bless the people in my haikyuu server who swooped in and saved the day every time I had a brain far.
rating: n*fw 18+
word count: just over 2k
warnings: virgin!Reader, daddy kink yes again ok I have a problem, FaceTime sex, mutual masturbation, big buff Izuku
all characters are aged up when I write and I take no credit for the images I post w said writings unless stated otherwise.
PLEASE CHECK OUT EVERYONES AMAZING FICS FOR THIS COLLAB!!!
A notification from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Field Office Discord server you were a part of popped up on your phone. It was an announcement that they would be randomly selecting pen pals as an event to get people more connected during this pandemic, of course you had the option to opt out, but the idea of doing something so “risky” excited you. You held your breath and reacted with a thumbs up, butterflies instantly flooding your stomach.
Just under an hour later one of the admins sent you a pm;
-Hey! Thanks so much for joining our penpals event. Social distancing is a pain in the ass, but hopefully this will lighten your spirits! We paired you with @/izuku#2485. Xx
Being the nosy son of a bitch you were, you immediately typed his user into the server and checked his activity within it- specifically the “#pictures” channel, but found nothing. Just as you were about to send him a friend request, you got a notification of another pm.. Oddly enough from him;
-Hi, we got paired for the penpal event! It’s okay if you don’t want to send your address to a complete stranger, I get it haha.
The butterflies returned as you pressed the request button, and immediately saw it change from “pending” to “send message”.
~Hi! If I’m honest it’s just my college address lol, nothing too risky.
-College huh? Me too. I was afraid you were going to end up being a minor and then I’d feel kind of weird ha. What school?
~Do not fear, I am in fact legal. Even if it is by 8 months lol. ASU! Yourself?
-Arizona huh? Interesting, I’m actually finishing my senior year at Iowa State.
Your stomach flipped, anxiety coursing through your veins at the last message. Senior?! What if this guy was like, 40?? No, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be living on campus at that age.. But he never specified he was living in a dorm. You closed Discord and moved onto what seemed to be the never ending flood of assignments, two of which were due that night.
A notification popped up on your computer mid essay;
-Don’t wanna be pushy. Here’s my address if you decide to write me.(:
You chewed at your bottom lip, weighing the consequences. It couldn’t be that bad of an idea right? He seemed nice, not pervy at all.. Fuck it.
“Hello! It’s your good old pal from the Marvel server. If I'm honest I'm not that good at these things, haha. This letter will be pretty short, but tell me- who’s your favorite Marvel character? Feel free to gush! I’m looking forward to hearing back from you.
From,
Y/N”
-
Two weeks later your RA slipped the envelope under your door, “MAIL!!!” she yelled before hurrying to the next room to deliver. Your heart fluttered as you opened it, admiring his clean handwriting;
“Hi. Alls good, I’m pretty awkward myself ha. My name is Izuku Midoriya! My friends call me Deku. Y/N is a nice name.
Honestly, it’s kind of cliche but Captain America has to be my favorite. I’m a bit of a Marvel junkie. I’ve seen every movie, have the entire Captain America comic series, own a Marvel Encyclopedia, plus almost every Marvel funko pop they’ve released.. Now that I think of it I’m definitely more than “a bit” obsessed ha. How about you? If it’s easier for you, you could just message me on discord.
-Izuku”
You giggled as you opened the app on your phone.
~Hi! I just got your letter. Seems to me you’re DEFINITELY obsessed lol but that’s okay, me too. I’m obsessed with Captain America. Chris Evans? *cheff kiss*”
-Hey. That’s so funny! I aspire to look like him one day haha. Taking it one day at a time, but this pandemic is making it difficult rip. You wanna add me on snapchat? I probably came off as some creepy perv ha. @/deku_zuku.”
From that point on, you two became OBSESSED with each other. Deku was an extremely gorgeous, freckled man with colored, fluffy green hair. You thought your sleep schedule was already fucked because of the pandemic? Sike, now it really was. You were staying up until 5am snapchatting him, interacting with him on discord, texting him, etc. You just couldn’t get enough of each other.
Your favorite snapchats from him were his post workout selfies. You loved the way his skin glistened, his muscular body littered in scars and freckles. More often than not you screenshot them and definitely got off to them, but you could never tell him that. It was embarassing to think about how most nights you laid in bed pumping a dildo inside of yourself desperately calling his name, imagining it was him fucking your tight virgin pussy.
As you were getting lost in imagining scenarios your phone began ringing, oh fuck he was FaceTimeing you.
You quickly sat up, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and setting your phone against a book for support before answering.
“H-hi! Sorry I wasn’t expecting you to FaceTime me ha.”
Izuku grinned ear to ear, “No I’m sorry! I should’ve asked first, but you look great so I mean.. No complaints from me with how you look.”
Red tinted your cheeks, “A-ah thank you. You’re pretty good looking yourself.”
Izuku’s eyes narrowed, “Did I catch you at uh- a bad time?”
You tilted your head in confusion, “No? I mean I was trying to catch up on some stuff but other than I wasn’t doing anything important.”
“Ha, that looks pretty important. You also look a little flushed.”
When your eyes followed his on your screen your cheeks immediately lit on fire and you shifted to cover the dildo you carelessly left on the parallel night stand.
“So that’s why you’ve been screenshotting my pictures huh? I never would’ve taken Y/n to be such a slut.” he smirked.
He could feel his cock begin weep at the sight, he couldn’t help but palm himself. What if you got off to him? Thinking about how your little moans might sound when they slip out of your mouth made his cock pulse, he wanted to make you moan. He wanted to be the reason you came undone.
You tried to defend yourself, slightly annoyed by the derogatory term he referred to you as, “I- no. It isn’t like th-”
He cut you off, his voice having dropped an octave, “It’s okay baby, tell me what you think about.. I wanna hear what gets you off with those pictures.”
Hands came up to cover your face, you felt like you were going to puke- this was too embarrassing. His screen went to “paused” and you heard shuffling from his end. Within seconds you received a picture of Izuku in the mirror, his large hand barely covering his erect penis and his shirt between his teeth. He chuckled, “How about now princess? What makes that pretty pussy tighten around your toy?”
Slick slipped from your previously abused cunt, he sounded so delicious and looked even more delicious. When you spoke, your voice came out as a squeak, “I-I uh, I can’t tell you! It’s embarrassing.” If you could light on fire, it would’ve already happened. In fact, you wish you could. If you’re lucky the entire dorm might catch ablaze as well so all evidence is ruined.
A deep chuckle echoed from your phone speaker, “Embarrassed? It’s not like you’re a blushing virgin baby.”
There was a pause as you lowered your hands, your nose scrunched from the humility and one eye shut, “.. And if I told you I was?”
Izuku felt his member pulse yet again, precum gliding from his slit. That almost sent him over the edge, there was no way someone as breathtaking as you hadn’t been with anyone. Fuck, he could take your innocence and ruin you for any other man. He could make you his own and have you milking his thick cock every night, screaming his name and begging for more.
A meak sigh pulled him from his fantasies as you spoke up, “Sorry if that makes me less appealing.” He was quick to follow up, “N-no. God no. That,” he sighed,” fuck that’s honestly hot.”
Boldness coursed through him as his hand lazily pumped his shaft, “That just means I can be all your firsts.. Here, give me a minute.”
Your heart sank for a minute when the FaceTime ended, but fluttered once again when another call from him came through. This time though, it was from his laptop. He smirked before rolling back in his computer chair, his cock twitching against his stomach anxious for attention.
Desire burnt within him at the sight of you, eyebrows raised and eyes enlarged with pupils blown while you licked your lips. Izuku couldn’t help as his hand encircled his shaft once again, “What is it you think about baby? Me kissing and licking all over your body? My fingers pumping in and out of you while my tongue plays with your nipple?” He began a generous pace of pumping himself before his next taunt, “Maybe my tongue playing with your clit?”
A soft moan fell from your lips as you nodded, “A-all of that. ‘Zuku c-can I please touch myself?” You gasped as you watched precum flow from his tip at your words. He nodded, “Please do.”
You sat back, lifting your hips just enough to slip your panties off, nervously looking at him. All caution was thrown to the wind when Izuku groaned, “Ah, be a good girl for me baby.”
You made sure your full body was in view before grabbing the toy and lowering it between your thighs, which were now covered in a thin layer of your arousal. Squeezing your eyes shut you opened your legs and gently pushed until the dildo was fully sheathed inside of you.
Opening your eyes you were greeted with the most sinful sight, Izuku Midoriya quickly gliding his hand up and down his cock with his chest heaving, his body sheen with sweat. You let a high pitched moan, your name resonating slowly from his chest. With every thrust your wrist made, a coil began to form inside your belly, it all seemed so familiar but was far more exhilarating knowing that someone else was watching.
“Just think about when that’ll be my cock splitting you in half. Shit- close your eyes for me, start playing with your clit and imagine it's me.” You nodded in response, unable to form words.
Obeying his command, it felt like electricity struck you when your finger made contact. The coil was now fully formed and threatened to burst with every movement.
“I need to cum, p-please.”
“Yeah? Only if you beg for daddy to let you.” He smirked as he watched your thighs tense for a moment.
“A-ah.. please! Please let me finish. Please d-daddy, need to so bad.”
Izuku felt his orgasm quickly approaching with each shaky word spilling from your beautiful lips, “Yeah baby, you can cum now. Let me see the pretty faces you make.”
SNAP
You were gone, your body lost to the ocean of ecstacy ripping through you as you rode the waves of your release.
He sat forward, studying the way your face contorted and how your cunt sucked the toy in as far as possible. The thought of you milking the absolute hell out of his cock sent him over the edge, head thrown back with spurts of cum covering his beautifully toned chest and stomach.
Eyes twitched trying to focus from the intensity of your orgasm as you came down from euphoria.
As Izuku began cleaning himself off he spoke up, “So you’ve genuinely never done that kind of stuff before?” You shook your head before sitting up to sling a large t-shirt over your body, “Nope, when I said I was a virgin I mean like V I R G I N.”
He shook his head and chuckled, “Crazy. I have some assignments I need to do, if you want you could keep me company?”
You pulled a pillow under your chin and hugged it. “I have some work to do too, so I guess that’ll work.” You giggled. He twirled a pen between his fingers before bringing it up to chew on, “And once we call it quits for the evening, how about we check off some more ‘firsts’ for you?”
#bnha smut#bnharem collab#midoriya izuku#reader x izuku#reader x midoriya#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#mha#ro writes
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In response to JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, my (former) idols
I really didn’t want to have to do this.
So in addition to…=gestures vaguely=…all of that, the last few months have been kind of sucky when it comes to learning some really unpleasant things about artists that I looked up to, admired, and was in fact inspired by. I’ve already spoken about the Speaking Out movement revealing a lot of ugly behavior from various wrestlers, some of which I was big fans of, and then later we got Chris Jericho being a full-on MAGA. Yeah, that all sucked. But those were just performers whose work I enjoyed watching. The one that really hurt were writers who I deeply admired, whose stories I love, and who I was heavily influenced by.
The first, of course, was finding out that JK Rowling, the author of perhaps the single biggest YA fantasy series of all time Harry Potter, is a TERF. This really sucked for a number of reasons. Firstly, I really like Harry Potter! I mean, I’m not a super fan or anything. I came into it when things were kind of dying down, like the whole book series had already been released and there were only a few movies left, but I still really enjoyed it, have all the books and movies and a fair amount of merchandise swag, including a nifty wand I got at Universal Studios. Shit, I got two replicas of the Sword of Griffyindor, thanks to them screwing up my order in my favor and sending me a duplicate! They’re on my wall right across from me as I type this!
But in addition to writing a book series I really liked, JK Rowling was supposed to be one the good guys. She’s been vocally progressive, often openly comes down on British right-wing nonsense, has supported various persecuted minorities, and is on record as being one of the few self-made billionaires to actually stop being a billionaire for a time because she donated so much money to charity. And while we mock it now, her revealing Dumbledore as gay was a huge deal at the time. Plus, she cultivated this reputation as Auntie Jo, that cool, supportive aunt we all wanted.
But for a while her stock has been dropping. Her preference for confirming “representation” via tweets instead of explicitly putting it in the text of her stories has raised the question of queer-baiting, especially with a whole-ass movie with a young Dumbledore and Grindelwald to make their relationship explicit but failing to do so. The whole Nagini thing from the latest Fantastic Beasts movie was pretty gross. And re-examination of various problematic elements from the original novels has rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Now, none of these really looked to be intentionally malicious, of course. Just about everyone’s early work will have problematic elements; that’s just how people work. And the later stuff smacked more of ignorance than anything. But after all this time, it’s like, c’mon. You should know better by now.
But the biggie came when her transphobic views finally came to light. Now, this one had been brewing for a while, due to some questionable likes and statements on her twitter. But then she decided to just go public and published what essentially amounts to a TERF manifesto, one with a very “love the sinner, hate the sin” condescending attitude and had a real persecution complex air to it.
Now, I’m not going to go into detail about what the manifesto was about, what the circumstances surrounding it were, or how wrong it was. It’s already been raked over the coals, dissected, answered, and debunked in detail by people far more qualified than me, so odds are, you’re already well aware of its contents and the subsequent rebuttals. But the gist of it comes down to her basically believing that transwomen are actually cis men claiming to be trans so as to infiltrate and invade female-only spaces.
Yeah.
Okay, that’s gross, but…why? Why is someone so noted for being progressive and wanting to foster an inclusive environment making this the hill of exclusion that she wants to die on?
Well, that’s where things get tricky. She mentions that prior to Harry Potter, her first marriage was highly physically and sexually abusive, and when she escaped from that, she had no place to go, leading her to be homeless for a time.
Oh.
Well, that makes sense. Someone goes through a highly traumatic experience with a member of the opposite sex, has no support structure when she escapes it, is left to fend for herself, only to suddenly get rocketed into fame, fortune, and influence, which in turn leads to a Never Again mentality. She was hurt, no one was there to help her, and now she’s afraid of men invading women-only spaces to victimize others like she was victimized. So…literally transphobic. Literally a Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist.
Guys, this is so fucked up. Like, how do you even approach something like this? She’s a victim in every sense of the word, so of course she’s going to have physiological damage and a warped view of things. I mean, if I found out that a close friend of mine went through the same thing and had the same prejudices, I would be nothing but sympathetic! I mean, I’d still do what I can to convince her to overcome those prejudices, but I’d still show sympathy and support for what she went through.
Abuse warps people. There’s a reason why so many abusers are abuse survivors themselves. It makes you terrified of being hurt again and often causes people to adopt toxic behaviors, beliefs, and reactions to protect themselves. I’ve already talked about it at length while discussing She-Ra and its own handling of the cycle of abuse, which included franks discussions of Catra’s horrible behavior, why she was the way she was, while never losing sympathy for her and rooting for her to overcome it. So if JK Rowling is an abuse survivor, is it really right to come down on her for having warped views because of that abuse?
But that’s the problem. See, she isn’t your troubled friend that you’re trying to help. She isn’t your cousin Leslie who’s a really sweet person but unfortunately adopted some bad ideals due to trauma suffered. She JK freakin’ ROWLING, one of the most famous, wealthy, and influential women in the world. She has a platform of millions, if not billions, which means her voice lends credibility to her bigoted beliefs. Alt-righters and other TERFs have already swooped upon this for giving validation to their awful beliefs, which puts trans people even more at risk. And as horrible as Rowling’s experiences might have been, the trans community is often the victim of far worse, and they don’t have a mountain of money and an army of defenders to protect them like she does. I’ve said it time and time again: just because you’re a victim, that doesn’t give you the right to victimize others! And bringing things back to Catra, as much as I loved her redemption in the final season, she was still a TERRIBLE PERSON for a huge chunk of the show, one that needed to be stood up to and stopped.
So yeah. That’s the messiness that is JK Rowling.
Now, let’s talk about the one that really hurts. Let’s talk about Joss Whedon.
I’ve made no secret of what a huge Whedon fan I am. Unlike Rowling, I was a HUUUUUGE superfan. Seeing Serenity for the first time in theaters was akin to a religious awakening to me as a storyteller, making it one of my top three movies of all time. Firefly is my favorite show ever. And I adored Buffy, Angel, and Dollhouse as well. I love Cabin in the Woods and The Avengers. The very first fanfic I ever wrote was a Firefly fanfic that disappeared along with my old laptop. I know his style isn’t for everyone, but I cannot understate how much of a personal inspiration he is to me as a writer.
And like Rowling, Joss was supposed to be one of the good guys! Buffy was monumental in pushing the needle when it came to female empowerment. Will and Tara were groundbreaking as a gay couple. He’s been outspoken for years about his feminist views and beliefs and was seen as one of the most prominent and influential feminist voices in Hollywood!
And then things started to go bad.
One day he was on top of the world, the mastermind behind the first two Avenger movies. And the next, it seemed like he was in freefall. It’s hard to really pinpoint exactly when the change took place. Some would say him being brought in as a last-minute substitute for Zack Snyder to take over on Justice League after Snyder had to leave due to family tragedy, and the subsequent awful critical reception to that film tarnishing his image, even if those were very unique circumstances that couldn’t really be blamed on him. Others might point to Age of Ultron’s less than stellar reception, as well as criticism of some questionable jokes and certain creative decisions regarding the character of Black Widow, which then led to a more critical examination of how Whedon continues to write female characters, as while his work might have been revolutionary in the 90’s, his failure to evolve with the times had meant that many of his portrayals are now woefully outdated and problematic, with his vision for a Batgirl movie getting hit with a lot of backlash as a result.
Again, I’m not going to go into too much detail, as this is all public knowledge and can be easily looked up, but overall it seemed that Whedon entered into a period where he was getting criticized more than he was celebrated, and his image of a guaranteed hit maker was now in doubt.
But all of this wasn’t the big problem. All creators go through rises and slumps, and everyone hits points where they get hit with a barrage of criticism; that’s just part of being a public creative figure, especially a progressive one. And had nothing happened after, it would have probably faded, got forgotten, and Whedon would have moved onto the next project with no fuss.
But as it turned out, it wasn’t just a minor slump in his career. Instead, it was the priming of the pump.
In 2016, Whedon divorced his wife of sixteen years, Kai Cole, and in an open letter, Kai Cole accused him of being a serial cheater, who would have affairs with a great many women, from co-workers, to actresses, to friends, to even his fans. And in addition to raising questions of him possibly abusing his position as showrunner to elicit sex from those working on his projects, there also is the ugly question of how could someone who speaks so highly of women then go and backstab the person who was supposed to be the most important woman in his life, as well as lying to her and denying her the autonomy of deciding whether or not she even wanted to continue to have a relationship with him?
Furthermore, Whedon himself has not explicitly denied these accusations, and comments made by him seem only to confirm them.
Now if you’ll recall, I reacted publicly to this news, and despite my admiration of Whedon’s work, I came down on Kai Cole’s side, and stated that while things like marriage issues and infidelity were no one’s business but that of the couple’s, it did raise a lot of uncomfortable questions about how Whedon treated the women in his life and he really needed to get his shit in order.
But hey, a messy private life and a guy falling into temptation isn’t that big of a deal, right? Plenty of creators also go through multiple marriages and have problems staying faithful and still continue making great art. We’re all human, it’s a stressful job, and this shit just happens, right? Sure, it’s gross and a shitty thing to do, but ain’t no business of ours, right?
In late 2020, actor Ray Fisher, who played the role of Cyborg in Justice League, openly accused Joss Whedon of fostering a hostile work environment, claiming that the director’s behavior was abusive and unprofessional, and that Whedon in turn was protected by DC executives.
DC and Warner Bros. came down against Fisher, claiming they had done an internal investigation that turned up no evidence of wrongdoing (yeah, sure they did), and soon Fisher was out as Cyborg, apparently for rocking the boat.
But then Charisma Carpenter, noted for her important role as Cordelia Chase in both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel, then spoke up, claiming to be inspired by Fisher in doing so. She described Whedon did indeed foster a hostile work environment on his projects, that his often acted in a toxic manner, from asking incredibly invasive and inappropriate questions regarding her pregnancy to insulting her on set. She said that she made excuses for him for years, but after undergoing a lot of therapy and reading what Ray Fisher had to say, she felt compelled to speak out.
And this just open the floodgates. Other actors and actresses also came forward, some with stories of their own, others to offer support. Even Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar, confirmed Carpenter’s stories and said that she no longer wanted to be associated with Whedon. Michelle Trachtenberg, who played the character of Dawn, stated that she also experienced toxic treatment from Whedon despite her being a minor at the time, and says that the set had a rule that Whedon wasn’t allowed to be alone with her again, which really raises some sickening questions of what happened the first time. Even male stars have spoken out, from words of support and apologies for not speaking up earlier from Anthony Stewart Head and David Boreanaz, to an earlier interview with James Marsters, in which he described being terrified of Whedon, mainly due to an instance when Whedon was frustrated with the popularity of Marsters’s character of Spike messing with his plans and physically and verbally taking it out on the actor. There have been many corroborating stories of Whedon being casually cruel on set, on seemingly taking delight in making his fellow show writers cry, and even the man himself admitting to enjoying fostering a hostile work environment during his director commentary of the Avengers. We’ve joked about Whedon’s supposed sadism for years, but that was in regards to how he treated the characters in his stories, not the people helping him make them!
So yeah. That’s the problem with Joss Whedon.
So, do I think that Joss Whedon is somehow some kind of sociopath who lied about his feminist principles and deliberately put on a progressive façade specifically to get into a position of power so he could torment people? No, of course not. I think he was sincere about his beliefs, and I do think he didn’t realize the wrongness of his behavior. But that’s kind of the problem. See, it’s one thing to have kind of a trollishness to your nature, a sort of sadistic side. No one can help that. But when someone with that quality gets put into a position of power in which they are protected by both the higher-ups and their legions of fans, they are allowed to mistreat and continue to mistreat people. And by never suffering any consequences, that sort of toxic behavior becomes internalized, becomes a habit, becomes their moda operandi. And when you’re constantly getting praised as a creative genius and a wonderful feminist voice, any self-criticism just gets wiped away, and you think yourself above reproach, leading to what Joss Whedon became and went on being.
And you know what scares me the most about this particular issue? It’s not that I am a fan of his stories. It’s that I can so easily see myself turning out the same way.
Look, I’ll be upfront about it: I’m kind of a sadist myself. You’ve seen it in my stories, you’ve seen me gloating after a particularly dark plot twist makes my readers freak out. That sort of stuff is fun to me. There’s a reason why I have a much easier time in the dark and violent scenes, because I’m channeling something ugly within me. We all have a dark side, and this is mine.
But UNLIKE Whedon, that doesn’t carry over to how I treat people in real life (unless Monopoly or Mario Party are involved, then it’s fair game). Maybe it’s because I wasn’t given the sort of power and praise he did so early, and I was always taught to be considerate of other people’s feelings, but if I ever find out that I hurt another person or went too fair, I feel TERRIBLE, and it just throws me off all day until I apologize. Even if I don’t notice right away that what I said or did wasn’t cool (autistic, remember?), when it’s pointed out to me and I have some time to think on it, yeah, the guilt is on and I make a point to apologize to whoever I’ve hurt. I’ve even made a point to apologize to members of my family for inconsiderate stuff I said years ago as a little punk kid because it wouldn’t stop bugging me.
So maybe Whedon got too big, too fast. Maybe putting people on these sorts of pedestals, especially progressive ones, is ultimately a bad thing.
So where does this leave us? How are we to treat JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, one who developed a lot of transphobia due to abuse suffered while the other became a toxic individual due to unchecked control and a lack of consequences? Can we still enjoy their stories despite them now being colored by their creators’ falls from grace? Can we separate the art from the artist, or do we have to do a clean split?
Honestly, I feel that has to come down to the individual. I can’t remove the influence Rowling and Whedon have had on me as a storyteller, and I still highly respect both of their talents despite taking major issue with their problems as people. And I’m not going go throw away all of my Harry Potter or Firefly stuff. Because that’s my stuff. It has value to me, it doesn’t represent the issues with their creators, and a lot of it was gifts from people who are dear to me. Though I do think it’ll be a long time before I return to either of their work, as I just don’t have the stomach for it now.
But I will be avoiding any projects they have in the future. I don’t want to put money in their pockets that might go on to support their toxic beliefs or behavior. And as for royalties for their past work that would also support the cast and crew of the Harry Potter films or those who worked on Whedon’s shows who do not deserve to lose money because we don’t want any of that money going to the creators? Er, that question is a little above my paygrade. I don’t know. You’ll have to all decide for yourselves. As for me, I still have a lot of thinking to do.
Regardless though, if I or anyone else is still able to enjoy their work, then it’s important to not divorce what these people said or did from the art they created, even if it makes enjoying that art less fun. It’s important to be critical about what we enjoy, to acknowledge the bad aspects along with the good, and open up discussion of those elements, because that’s what mature adults are supposed to do.
And as for JK Rowling and Joss Whedon, whose stories I love, whose talent I admire, and whose past good work I’ll happily acknowledge, I do hope they both experience some sort of realization and enter into a period of self-examination that leads to them getting help for their issues, for Rowling to get help in coming to terms with her trauma and realizing that she’s wrong about the trans community and a full apology, and for Whedon to also come to terms with his toxic behavior and how he treats people, for him to make no excuse for what he did and sincerely apologize to those he hurt and work on bettering himself, as well as them both examining some of the more problematic tropes still present in their works. Because despite everything, I do feel that they can still be a creative force of good, and it would be a shame if they let themselves self-destruct.
But if not, then if it comes down to choosing between Rowling and the protecting the trans community, if it comes down between choosing between letting Whedon continue to make shows and protecting actors and writers from his abusive behavior, then I know who I’m siding with, and it ain’t the two individuals this whole essay is about. No story, no matter how good, no matter how creative, is worth letting sacrificing vulnerable people in order for it to be made.
#jk rowling#joss whedon#harry potter#Buffy The Vampire Slayer#angel#firefly#justice league#ray fisher#charisma carpenter#kai cole#transphobia tw#abuse tw#toxicity tw#TERF tw#rant#TERFs don't interact I do not want to talk to you#same for abuse apologists
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Could...you do headcannons for being hitoshi's younger sister? Maybe with some dadzawa 👉🏻👈🏻, if she's quirkless is up to you! I love your writing 🥺
Aw Thank you anon! It fills my heart with joy when you guys enjoy my writing! Time to get to work on this sleep deprived bean!
Shinsho's your older brother by three years.
The first time his quirk manifested was a day to remember, and your parents never let him live it down much to his embarassment, why?
Because he accidently brainwashed his baby sister when she wouldn't stop crying, he was so freaked out he too started crying. Your parents came running to find him bawling his eyes out while hugging a babbling baby, Shinso didn't realize his quirk had deactivated until his mom carried his sister while his father was busy filming the whole thing.
From then on every time you'd start crying his parents would joke he should just use his quirk to calm you down, at first he was scared but over the years that fear changed to embarassment.
Shinso grew up surrounded by other children telling him how scary his quirk was and that he would make a better villain instead, those words would always upset him, but every time he came back home it was like a switch went off in his mood.
Because his little sister would always tell him how cool his quirk was, and that he'd be an amazing hero when he grew up and went to UA. Your words always managing to cheer him up.
The first time your quirk manifested he was in a terrible mood after his whole class bullied him and kept calling him a villain at the same time the teacher didn't bother to stop said kids, he locked himself in his room as soon as he got home and wouldn't open the door despite his sister's voice calling out to him.
All of sudden your voice sounded as clear as if you were in front of him, he was in such a bad mood that he got up ready to tell you to leave when he realized there was nobody else in the bedroom, when he opened the door you were standing outside with a look of pure concentration.
That's when everyone realized you had a telepathy quirk, being able to talk to other people with your mind and even establish mental conversations between groups of people.
The excitement on your face was enough for Shinso to forget all the cruel names people called him back in school.
You guys spent the whole day checking out how your quirk works, for example using it to answer him prevents the brainwashing, and it currently reaches only up to one-meter, the other setback was the headache that would happen after overusing your quirk.
That said it's not possible to read someone's mind, it only allows for conversations, which you take advantage to use it on secret conversations with your brother on more than one occasion.
Shinso finds out you got into a fight after defending him from your classmates when hey kept talking badly about him. So you may have used your quirk to show the teacher just how much of a bully that kid was, and said kid didn't take it well.
He's disappointed you're getting into fights, but at the same time he's proud that you're standing up for yourself and defended him. After all you're his self-proclaimed Number one fan.
By the time he starts attending UA you're in your first year of junior high, and when someone realized you're Shinso's sister they start asking if you have the same "dangerous" quirk as him, but you always talk back to those guys. Telling them your brother would make a better hero that they ever would.
You met Aizawa once he starts training Shinso, the teacher is amused whenever you make fun of your brother for getting tangled into the capture weapon for the sixth time in the past hour...Until he finally manages to get it right and uses it to tie you up to a tree.
"Shinso Hitoshi you put me down right this instant or i'm telling Dad you prick!" He'd pretend he didn't hear anything.
"Did you hear something Aizawa-sensei? I think it was a shrieking rat"
"I'll tell mom you ate her snacks!" he released you immediately after that.
For the sake of amusement Aizawa may have started to teach you how to use his capture weapon as well.
Once you got it right the first thing you did was get revenge on Shinso by tying him up and hang him from a light post.
You're both always fighting over what movie to choose during movie night, just to fall asleep after picking something out.
Don't get me started on UNO, everyone else's afraid to play with the both of you because you're either at each other's throats or teaming up against others. You're not using your quirk to cheat, not at all.
When Shinso finally gets accepted into the hero course you're the first one out of the family to tackle him into a hug.
"I told you sooner or later you'd become a hero you sewer rat!"
You're the founder of his fan club once he becomes an official Pro hero, you can't change my mind.
MASTERLIST
@t-amajiki @undead0relived @shoobirino @bnha-ra @godtieruwu @mysticalite
#mha imagine#bnha imagine#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons#mha imagines#bnha imagines#shinsou hitoshi#shinsou imagine#shinsou hitoshi imagine#sister reader#reader insert
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Hold Me - NCT Jungwoo x Fem!OC (College AU) One-Shot
Genre: Suspense/Angst/Romance
Rating: I’d say R (violence, description of stalking and assault, strong language, some nudity, suggestive content)
Disclaimer: This is written in the first person but I tried to keep her name and description as vague as possible. The stalker is not any k-idol and is based on someone who stalked me in middle school.
WARNING: Description of violence, death threats, attempted kidnapping, physical assault (she is naked and in a towel but it is not sexual assault although she is forcefully kissed at one point), strong language, nudity, mild (consensual) sexual content. (There is no smut in this one-shot)
A/N: This is based on a nightmare/dream, some real-life experiences, and a few of my deepest fears.
Tag List: @twancingyunhoe @frickyea-guacamole19 (comment to be added or removed from the one-shot tag list).
Word Count: 1518
For months now, I was receiving anonymous notes claiming that the writer was in love with me and that I needed to accept them. It had recently escalated to at least three notes every day. I had received printed pictures of me through the window of my dorm room and notes saying that if I continued to ignore this person, I’d regret it.
I kept it a secret from everyone but my roommate - after all, she lived in the same room as me and was probably in danger too - and a friend who lived off-campus who let me shower over there every night. I didn’t even tell Jungwoo, my best friend since childhood who lived right across the hall from me. He had no idea that anything was even remotely wrong. I didn’t want him to worry about me. Besides, I’d never even seen the stalker’s face.
But, in all honesty, I was terrified. I was even scared to shower at the dorms, fearing that he’d come to watch me or worse. But I didn’t have the time to wait for my roommate before the party so I swallowed the dread and stepped into the communal women’s bathrooms, walking to the showers in the back and setting my things on the bench, slipping behind the curtain and stripping. I washed myself and my hair, about to reach out for my towel when the curtain opened.
There stood a man, looking me over as if he had every right in the world to do so. “I finally have you to myself, princess.”
I screamed, hoping someone would hear me and come help me. I managed to reach past him, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around myself to hide my body. “No! Leave me alone!” I let out another scream as he came closer, clamping his hand over my mouth. His fingers dug into my skin so harshly that I was sure it would bruise.
“Did you honestly think you could just ignore me? Did you really think I wouldn’t make you love me?” He growled, eyes filled with a rage I had never seen before. I whimpered, clutching my towel tightly to keep myself covered. “You’re going to get dressed and come with me, quietly. If you try to signal to anyone that something is wrong, I will kill you. Do you understand?” I nodded, fighting back tears. Would I be one of those girls who went missing and was found months later in a trashbag buried in the woods?
The bathroom door opened. “Hello?” It was Jungwoo. “I heard a scream. Is everything okay?” He was coming closer. I locked eyes with the man who was definitely my stalker and let out a muffled scream, knowing Jungwoo would hear me.
The stranger growled and shoved my head back against the tile wall so harshly that I let out a loud cry, my vision blurring as I struggled to reorient myself. “I said to stay fucking quiet.”
“Get off of her!” Jungwoo grabbed the guy by the arm and pulled him off of me, standing between us protectively. “Get the hell out of here or I’ll call campus security.”
“That’s my girlfriend. Get out of my way.” The guy pushed Jungwoo aside and grabbed me by the arm. I almost dropped my towel but I kept a fierce grip on it so no one would see me naked. That was the last thing I needed right now.
“I’m not!” I tried to wrench my arm free but my stalker grabbed me by the neck and kissed me roughly, obviously trying to deter Jungwoo from interfering any further.
“We’re just having a fight. Don’t mind her.” He was unhinged, deranged. I never knew it would escalate to anything like this. I couldn’t hold back the tears when they came and I sobbed pathetically, hoping Jungwoo would succeed in running the other man off. Physically, they seemed evenly matched. But Jungwoo looked about ready to knock him down and start wailing on him.
“If she had a boyfriend, I’d know about it.” Jungwoo grabbed him by the collar and yanked him away from me. “Get the fuck out.” He shoved him towards the door. “OUT!” Jungwoo pushed the man out into the hall. “If I ever see you again, I’ll call the police and have you arrested!”
I sank onto the floor of the shower, holding my towel tighter as my chest heaved. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. My head felt heavy and my thoughts were static. It was as if my brain had been ripped out of my skull and replaced with stones.
“Are you alright? He didn’t… hurt you. Did he?”
“No. And… no.” I wiped at my tears, trying to cover myself even more. I didn’t want to flash Jungwoo. Especially not after what I had just experienced.
“Here.” He handed me my bag of clothes. “I’ll go stand by the door to give you privacy and keep other people out.” Jungwoo bit his lip and walked away. I checked to make sure he wasn’t looking in the direction of the showers, drying off and putting on the jeans and t-shirt I had brought to change into. I stepped out, my towel folded over my arm, and walked over to him silently. He looked my face over carefully and gave a slight frown. “Who was that guy? He didn’t look familiar.”
“He’s… been sending me love notes every day, multiple times a day. They’ve been getting more threatening and he’s taken pictures of me through my windows and-“ I fell apart again, feeling ridiculous for hiding something so serious and crying like a baby in front of him. “I think he wanted to kidnap me or-or-”
“Hey…” he hesitated. “Can I hold you?” I nodded and he took me into his arms, smoothing a hand over my wet hair. “You’re safe now, okay? I’ll tell the RAs and all the guys in the building and we’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“No. You don’t have to do that. That’s too much…”
“No, it’s not. It’s the least I can do for you if this guy is really such a threat, you know?” He kissed my forehead gently. “Do you still wanna go to that party?”
“No. I think I’ll just stay in tonight.” I stepped out into the hall and he followed behind me.
“Can I stay with you? Just to make sure you’re okay? We can watch a movie or something.” He took my hand in his to make me look at him. His brows were knitted together but his eyes were soft. His other hand was rubbing the back of his neck as he looked me over. “I just need to know you’re safe.”
“Yeah. That’d be really nice, actually.” I took him into my dorm room and sat on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. He sat next to me and turned on the TV, not making a move to touch me. He was probably afraid to set me off. But I needed to be held and reassured so I leaned into his shoulder, sniffling as he browsed the channels. He wrapped his arm around me to tug me closer. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He tilted his head curiously.
“For saving my life.” We locked eyes and he gave my forehead another gentle kiss.
“I didn’t want to lose you. I was so afraid and I knew that if I didn’t do anything…” He trailed off. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Jungwoo.”
“No. I love you. I’m in love with you.”
“Oh.” My breath caught and I searched his face for any sign of joking around or lying. But he was entirely serious.
“I didn’t really accept it until I saw that guy grabbing you like that and manhandling you and I-I lost it. I was so mad. All I could think of was punching his lights out and keeping you safe.” We weren’t paying attention to the television anymore, staring at each other. I wasn’t even sure what we had on the screen. I tugged him into a gentle kiss.
“I love you too.” Our lips parted as I mumbled out my response but they quickly reunited once he processed what I had said. He cupped my cheek and I winced, pulling away slightly.
“Oh my god, you’re bruising. He hurt you…” Jungwoo’s fingers gently brushed over my face. “Your neck too.” His voice wavered.
“Jungwoo,” I let my lips graze his ever so slightly, “kiss it better?” His eyes widened and he glanced at my neck nervously. “Everywhere he touched me… kiss me. Please?”
“Is this how you really want that to happen?” He asked, tilting his head.
“Yes. Distract me, kiss me, touch me. Anything.” I begged, bringing my lips fully against his.
“Alright. Stop me at any time.” He whispered, laying me on my back as he began to kiss my lips, my cheek, my neck. I completely forgot about my stalker that night, every inch of me focused on every inch of Jungwoo.
#nct#nct 127#nct jungwoo#nct kim jungwoo#kim jungwoo#jungwoo#NCT fic#nct fanfiction#nct fanfic#nct ff#nct scenarios#nct edit#nct x reader#nct au#nct angst#nct romance#nct fluff#nct smut#nct asks#nct as boyfriends#nct boyfriend#nct bf material#nct college au#nct chatbot#nct drabbles#nct oneshot#nct requests#nct horror#nct x y/n#jungwoo edit
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Complain Culture needs to stop
Hi
I am afraid is not going to be very cheerful essay. It will be serious and stern though I have to say it as an artist and art lover. It has come to my attention that we have entered an extremely negative type of culture that needs to change. Before I get into it, I need to elaborate on it first.
I started to notice this negative effect when Netflix She-Ra first made its appearance. All everyone could do was nitpick at how unfeminine she looked and even after, everyone complained about it to the point of looking for reasons to see something bad about it. It did not stop at there though. It happened again with the Winx series, then Batwoman, then Captain Marvel, then Black Panther, then the Masters of the Universe: Revelations, and now it happened with a series I honestly didn’t think it would happen to; War for Cybertron: Kingdom. People are nitpicking at the medias like a vultures picking off the flesh off of bones until there is nothing left. I admit that I have nothing against people not liking something for justified reasons as it happens to everyone and I am all for having standards, but when it reaches a level where the art of just enjoying the show for the fun of it is lost and instead replaced with the inability to see any beauty in anything around us, that is venomous.
Jay Sherman (the characters shown in the picture above ironically), once said “if we stop watching bad movies, they’ll stop making bad movies” and I agree with his wisdom. There is just one catch though, good movies and media will never come to happen if the standards of the viewer are so high to the point where they are not attainable. As said before, I’m all for high standards in quality storytelling in the media, but if we are going to demand for everything around us to be perfect, we are only dooming ourselves to perpetual disappointment.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid that we have entertained a new type of negative culture. I call it; Complain Culture. All we do is complain, badmouth and nitpick at everything that comes our way and we are devoid of the ability to see even slightest bit of good or give the give even a hint of encouragement to the creators who tried. And the reason Complain Culture is so toxic is because it is ugly and destroys creators. If trying to be different, progressive and creative is only going to get them socially punished, that is going to have repercussions. Not to mention, it is also a form of crying wolf. Not liking something does not merit or qualify as being controversial. It is the most normal, inoffensive and harmless flaw for something to just not be to your liking. Stop and think about it. Do we make federal cases over Dairy Queen making a new type of blizzard that wasn’t that impressive? Of course not and we shouldn’t. And we also shouldn’t when a new movie, TV show, cartoon, book, comic or whatever comes out that we don’t like. The only time a media merits controversy is if it did something that had actual hate or bad taste behind it not when you just don’t like the art or don’t like the story. And I have to say that I find it very doubtful that everything new stinks.
The worst part about Complain Culture that I fear is that it has become so habitual for us to look at everything through a pair of anti-rose coloured glasses, that everything looks awful to us and we start seeing flaws that aren’t really there. I happen to be a writer, an artist and have watched most of the same medias that under fire right now. And I solemnly swear that a large majority of the negative criticism if not all of it is not only exaggerated, it isn’t true. It is like a new type of drug addiction. We are so addicted to complaining that we want what is in front of us to be rubbish even when we are presented with a gem.
We have to stop being this way and we have to start giving the media a fair chance or else our creators will go back to making nothing, but garbage again for real. They’re going to go back to making one dimensional characters and one note plots with broken continuity if any in the storytelling again. And they are going to stop caring for getting with the times, representation and inclusion.
And if it does reach that tragic state, we’ll have only ourselves to blame.
People, support creators even if they do make a mistake.
#complain culture#negative criticism#complain#change#progress#positive criticism#support artists#support creators
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Negativity in the SU/F Fandom
I feel like the best way to begin my cringe vent blog is to drive away as many people who would take issue with my opinions as possible, so way too long meta/fandom post let’s go.
Something I became increasingly aware of when I started to look into the Steven Universe community online several years ago was the sheer amount of negativity within the fandom.
What I saw included fans frustrated with long hiatuses and complaining about ‘filler’ townie episodes, desperate to get back to action-y space stuff, when – if you look at it – that wasn’t really the show’s focus, especially after Season 1A.
I saw people selecting freeze-frames and isolated shots of characters and spewing conspiracies about how the show had either had its budget cut or the board artists were bad/being lazy for going ‘off-model’.
I saw homophobes trying to downplay the explicitly queer elements – to the point of ‘gals pals’-ing Ruby and Sapphire, who at the time were seen by a lot of people as pushing the envelope with regard to visible queer rep in kids’ media.
Later in the show’s run, I saw people obsessively insisting that the crew were fascist apologizers, when the real problem was that they themselves had misread the Diamonds as allegorical fascists, and were angry at them being treated as complex characters with some sympathetic traits, rather than as evil obstacles to be knocked down and destroyed.
And by now everybody and their grandma knows about the video. Y’know. That one.
A lot of people seemed to be utterly, unreasonably enraged at the show just because it had the audacity to exist.
The term ‘toxic’ – like ‘problematic’ – is overused online to the point that its meaning has been kind of diluted, but think that calling this type of all-encompassing negativity ‘toxic’ is accurate.
Looking at the fandom after the original show ended, it seems like a lot of these people – SU Crits – lost their steam and vanished off to go bother people in other fandoms. Personally speaking, I saw a lot less of this kind of mindless bashing of SU in the lead-up to the Movie and during/after Future airing.
However, the impression these people made lingers on.
I think it’s fair to say that Steven Universe Future – particularly its second half – is divisive. A lot of people did not like the direction that it took. Full disclosure, I am one of those people.
I’m not going to pretend there wasn’t some of the toxic SU-critical mindset going around, but of all of the people I knew who disliked Future, none of them were like that. They had reasonable takes, and listened to and engaged with opinions that were contrary to theirs. Often, they avoided being ‘too’ negative to spare others’ feelings. I myself have avoided being publicly critical of Future specifically because I’m afraid of alienating or hurting people who like it.
What I’m trying to say here is that while the level of toxic negativity in the SU fandom tapered off around the Movie and Future, the response to that negativity remained. To me, it feels like a lot of the people who loved the original show and were active in the fandom while it was airing – who had experienced the worst of the SU Crit trolling – have become so used to engaging with criticisms made in bad faith that any and all negativity directed towards the show feels like an attack.
I’ve seen people who screencap smear frames and point out funny proportions/facial expressions – not to accuse the artists and animators of laziness, but just to say ‘ha, this frame is funny!’ – get condescended to and told they don’t know how animation works.
I’ve seen gatekeeping; people being told that they just ‘don’t get it’ or have a right to comment on the show’s portrayal of mental illness because they’ve never experienced it themselves (which is... a hell of a thing to assume about a stranger on the internet).
And I have been told explicitly in private circles that my opinion about the show – its characters and themes – was not wanted unless it was positive.
Essentially, what I’ve seen since Future’s second half began to air, and in the several months since it ended, is people who have any issue at all with the show having their opinions equated to those of the SU Crits, and being lumped in with them.
People who love the show are so used to having to defend it at literally every turn that they shut down and disregard any and all negativity. I sympathise with that because I was there too and it does suck to have something you like picked apart and bashed, but it’s also gone way too far in the other direction.
It is my opinion that this stifling ‘all positivity all the time, no negativity allowed’ atmosphere is why the SU fandom has dwindled away so quickly; people like me, who feel they cannot express genuine opinions about (let’s remind ourselves) a fucking cartoon made for children without being shunned by people they consider friends, have largely decided that the best - and easiest - thing to do is keep quiet and dip out.
If, in the first couple months after Future ended, you noticed a lot of people who had been very intensely into SU just stop talking about it and hopping over to She-Ra or Owl House or whatever else, well… I honestly believe that might be the reason why.
I wanted to get all of this off of my chest because these thoughts have been rattling around my brain for months now, and I’m kind of sick of not talking openly about it.
The amount of toxic negativity people had to deal with during the run of this show was nothing normal. A lot of it was motivated by misogyny, homophobia and a basic misunderstanding of what the story of the show was meant to be about. There is no getting away from that.
However, that does not mean that any and all criticism of the show comes from that same, malicious place. Some of us really loved it, but just disliked the direction the epilogue series happened to take.
The derogation of any opinions that don’t amount to universal praise is, I would argue, just as toxic and damaging to the fandom as the people defaming the show and trolling fans who enjoyed it.
Not wanting to engage with negativity is fine, but don’t shun people for it. I’m not talking about the trolls here; I’m talking about other fans whose opinions aren’t as wholly positive as yours. Pushing us out and disregarding our opinions because you disagree is unacceptable.
Steven Universe is over. The fandom seems like it won’t last that much longer either, so it’s too late to do much about it now. So instead I want to ask that, in future fandoms you find yourself in... don’t do this.
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oops, i love you
Scott Lang x reader
Word Count: 2.1k
Summary: You tell Scott everything, except the feelings you’ve been hiding from him since you met him.
Warnings: language, a minute of fake dating , hints of pining, fluffffff
AN: a huge thank you to @nerdamongnerds for helping me figure out a title ❤️
Masterlist
It was all Bucky’s fault, at least that’s what you told yourself. In reality, thought, you should probably thank him.
He came home from college a new and improved Bucky, and you knew the minute you saw him in that leather jacket and that half ass smirk on his face, you had the hots for your best friend. But the new development was quickly shut down once you saw some random brunette just out of his car and wrap her arms around his waist.
Natasha invited you, Wanda, Sam and Scott to welcome home Bucky and Steve. She started dating Steve last fall and she thought it would be fun to have a graduation/ welcome home party. For whatever reason, they both decided to go to school in Florida while the rest of you went to different schools in New York. That’s how you and Wanda met Scott, he was your RA freshman year. You two hit it off so well Sam started calling him “new Bucky” whenever he was there when one of you was FaceTiming Bucky, knowing it would get under his skin.
Bucky and Steve never came back after their first Christmas break, something about wanting the “full college experience” but promising to come home after graduation. Nat was the only one who visited, but that’s because her and Steve were hopelessly in love with each other and didn’t realize until about a year ago.
Before Bucky got close enough to introduce what’s her face, you ran inside, pulling Scott into the nearest bathroom with you. “Scotty, I’m having a crisis.”
“Yeah me too, I don’t think Nat ordered enough Pizza.” he said in the most honest way.
“No, Scott, there’s seven pizzas out there -”
“Yeah, we each had a box! Bucky bringing his girlfriend just throws it all off.” he begins to pout, and if he wasn’t so right about Bucky’s girlfriend you’d fight him about his pizza problem. “I’m sorry, I’m making it all about me. What happened? I thought you’d be more excited.”
He was right, you’ve been excited for months. You never lost contact with Bucky, having a permanent FaceTime date scheduled every Sunday night at 8. Which is why you were thrown off about two things; he’s never looked like that when you talk or in any of his photos, and you were positive he’s never mentioned her before. “I was, and then that girl wrapped her arms around him and now I’m trying not to throw up.”
“Ahh.” Scott said in realization, “Okay, here’s the plan, just get through tonight. I’ll stay with you the whole time and we can leave a little early and drink your problems away at my place. Sounds good?”
“Okay that sounds great, actually, thank you.” he pulled you into a hug and opened the door to let you out first.
“Anyone else wondering why they were in the bathroom together or are we just going to ignore it?” Sam asks from the kitchen, only getting a laugh from Wanda as the two couples were too involved with each other to pay attention to anyone else.
As the night continued, you noticed that Scott kept his word. He even rubbed circles to whatever body part of yours he could touch when he noticed you getting tense; the back of your hand, your thigh, knee, even the spot behind your ear. It was something he’s only ever done in private to help calm you down when things got too overwhelming, you wanted to ask him why he was doing it now, but you were afraid he’d stop and that just wasn’t something you could handle.
“Hey, you ready to get out of here?” you nodded to him in response and the both of you got up and gave your goodbyes, promising to see them all again tomorrow.
After getting to Scott’s apartment, you quickly changed into one of his hoodies and a pair of shorts you left there. By the time you were done he already had shots lined up and Scream starting to play on the TV. About thirty minutes and two shots in, you get a text from Wanda.
Wanda ✨: When were you going to tell me you and Scott started going out??
You: What are you talking about?
You sit up and pause the movie, shoving your phone in Scott’s face. “Everyone thinks we're dating!”
“I’ve got an idea,” he gives you a devilish grin. “Don't confirm or deny, just let them think whatever they want.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Many reasons! It’s fun messing with our friends, it’ll get your mind off of the Bucky thing, we're together almost all of the time anyway so it’s not like we're really changing anything. It’s a win win, think about it.” he pressed play on the movie while you read Wanda's most recent text.
Wanda ✨: He had his hands all over you all night, and the BATHROOM SITUATION?? HELLO???
You knew Scott was reading the messages, so you chose your reply carefully.
You: It sounds like y’all are already convinced 👀
Wanda ✨: Is that a yes??
You turned off your phone and went to lay your head in Scott’s lap, but he had another idea. He moved you both too quickly to know how he did it exactly, but you were straddling his legs while he held your hips. It was in this moment you knew you were screwed. You knew deep down anything close to a crush on Bucky went away hours before you left Nat’s house, but that wasn’t the crush you were worried about anymore. No, you were concerned with the very serious feelings you’ve been hiding so well for so long that you convinced yourself sometimes that they didn’t exist.
“You’re just gonna leave Wanda hanging like that? Not very nice of you.” he laughs, but you know he’s just trying to get the answer for himself.
“Why would you wanna be my fake boyfriend anyways? That girl you’ve been talking to, Hope, right? That would mess things up with her.” Scott met Hope on a dating app a few months ago, even went on a few dates, but nothing serious has come from it yet.
“Yn, I gotta be honest with you…” he lifted you off his lap, leading you to the kitchen. You sat at the island while he walked to the fridge and grabbed your favorite bottle of wine.
“Oh, it calls for wine?” your mind was already running around with scenarios how this would end with your feelings hurt. The most rational one was him assuring you that Hope wouldn’t mind because he’s helping his best friend with a temporary problem, because that’s all you were to him; his best friend.
“Yeah, I’m nervous. Did you want some?” you nodded and he grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. “I never should have suggested that we fake dating or whatever, that’s not what I want...” Of course it isn’t.
You grabbed the glass of wine and took a few sips, hoping it would hide any facial expressions you might have been making due to the devastation currently washing over you.
“I want more than that.” wait, what?? “No, I know that face, let me finish! I suggested it because I thought I could somehow get you to fall for me but the second I said it I just-”
“You just what?” you ended up drinking the whole glass of wine, and it had you feeling a bit more confident. “Is that what you’ve been doing since Nat’s house?”
He nodded and put his face in his hands, “I’m an idiot, I always knew you had a crush on Bucky and I get it but you never said it so I just kept ignoring it and then get got here and I just, I didn’t know what to do but I knew I couldn’t do anything..”
“You’re such an idiot, Scotty. I had a dirty thought, which brought upon weird feelings, for like a couple of hours. But I’ve had feelings for you since the first night I met you, I was drunk off my ass but I remember you carrying me back to my dorm. Wanda swears she saw you kiss my forehead, but I refuse to believe it. I’ve literally followed you around since then.” you confessed.
You watch him go through a wave of understanding, connecting all the dots over the last four years. How you always felt comfortable with him being super affectionate, but you shy away from anyone elses touch. And it suddenly made sense why you never went on dates, and why you never wanted to meet Hope. So many other little glaces and touches that lasted longer than they should, and how you always gravitated to each other at parties.
“That night I carried you back with Wanda, and after I tucked you in you just looked like an adorable drunk mess, but it was the top of your head that I kissed, not your forehead.” he spoke so softly you almost didn’t hear him, and oh boy, did you hear him.
Before you could even figure out a response he was lifting you up onto the island, eyes searching yours for a sign that you weren’t okay with this. You nodded your head, not quite sure what you were agreeing to, but you trusted Scott, and it’s good that you did.
As he leaned in to kiss you, everything started to hit you. Your best friend, who you’ve low key been in love with for years, who you’ve tortured yourself over cause you thought there was no way in hell he’d ever see you as girlfriend material, has felt the same way about you this whole time. You’d give him a hard time about you both being idiots later.
He cups your face and brushes his lips against yours, not quite kissing you, which was very Scott of him. It was adorable and comforting, but you wanted more. You grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer, trying to put all of your feelings for him in a kiss. It was either the drinks, or that fact that Scott’s lips on yours and his hands have yet to settle in one place, but you felt like he was trying to the same.
After what felt like hours, you both finally came up for air. “So, should I text Wanda and tell her it’s a ‘yes’?” you laugh out, still trying to convince yourself this wasn’t a dream.
“Oh, did you assume that means we're dating?” you’re almost positive he’s joking, but his face and tone aren’t giving anything away.
“Scott, I swear to Go-”
“I was kidding! I’m sorry,” he was still himself, as if you didn’t have a whole make out session in his kitchen, and you were surprised to feel relieved at that. “Okay, I’m going to be serious right now. If you say no, I’ll totally understand, no hard feelings. But I really want to give us a shot, I think we’d be great.”
Nothing could have stopped the smile on your face, after years of convincing yourself that this moment would never happen, and then suddenly it was… how were you not dreaming? You nodded in excitement, telling yourself that crying isn’t acceptable. “YES! Sorry, that was aggressive. Yes, please, I’d really like that.”
“Cool.” he smiled, taking a second to kiss you again. “As for our friends, I still think we should mess with them.”
“Oh god.”
“Think about it, yn! We just slowly start being more affectionate and they keep asking questions and we just pretend we didn’t hear them. It’s so stupid and lame, but so are our friends! It’ll be fun.” if he wasn’t so excited for this idea, you would have reasoned with him. But he was so cute that you had no choice but to agree.
“Okay fine, but I finally get to keep this hoodie! Think of it as my promotion gift.”
“I’ll give you all of my hoodies if I can end every night just like this, anywhere you are.” Scott’s always been softer with you, but never like this. You knew then that you would never get tired of it, of him, of this.
“Guess that means we have a date scheduled every night for the rest of our lives, that cool with you?” you rest your head on his chest while he plays with your hair.
“You wouldn’t believe how cool that is with me.”
Permanent tags: @sociallyeneptbarnes @rogvewitch @saturn-aka-six @stuckonjbbarnes @superavengerpotterstar @estillion14 @sleepingspacedragon @geeksareunique @infj-slytherclaw @imsoft-barnes @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @murdermornings @distractedgemini @screaming-fridge @readeity @whatinthyworld @my-drowning-in-time @valkyriesryde @sebbbystaaan @disaffectedbarnes @buggy-blogs @hey-its-grey @pinknerdpanda @brokenthelovely @sandyclaws @death-unbecomes-you @rhymesmenagerie @actualdpshuri @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @mushyjellybeans @https-bucky @also-fangirlinsweden @goalexis123 @missmeganrachel @sunflowersandcherry @miraclesoflove @matsumama
#scott lang x reader#scott lang imagine#fluff#marvel#mcu fanfic#friends to lovers#fake dating#kinda#pining
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FIC: A Pressing Engagement ch2 (Not baon AU)
Summary: Brotherly bonding, by way of felonies.
Tags: Spicyhoney, Fluff and Angst, Dating, Developing Relationship, Humor
Chapter 1
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“Brother,” Blue sighed as he pulled his car up to curb two houses down from the Fell brother’s home. “I’ve known you for a long time.”
Stretch gave him a sideways look. “we’re brothers, i was literally there when you were born.”
Blue ignored that. “And I know we’ve discussed that shortcutting around is rude, but in this situation, I feel as though you could simply pop into Edge’s garage, look for the ring, and we can be back home in time for the new Napstaton special.”
“oh, that’d be too easy for my life,” Stretch grumbled as he pulled a dark knit ski mask over his skull, drawing it down over his face for maximum espionage. The last thing he needed was his white-ass noggin out there bobbing around like a second moon. “i can’t shortcut in. red rigged up some kinda anti-teleportation field around their house, ever since sans stashed all that nitrogen-frozen shaving cream in red’s room.” He tried to flash Blue a grin before he remembered the damn mask. “can’t blame him even if it was funny as hell. i doubt his room has been that clean before or since.”
“Yes, I remember that. Edge wasn’t as amused.”
“that’s ‘cause his sense of humor is atrophied from disuse, we’re working on it. so if shortcuts are out, we gotta be discreet. which is why you should’ve changed when i asked!" Stretch said accusingly. He glared at Blue's bright pink She-Ra t-shirt, showcasing Catra and Adora in a loving embrace. The sentiment was appreciated, the color, not so much, his bro was gonna stand out like an adorably affectionate beacon.
“My apologies for not owning any cat burglar gear, I missed out on auditioning for the remake of Ocean’s 11. Really, brother, we’re breaking into one garage, not a casino vault.” Blue sighed again and turned off the car. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“none of this was a good idea, but here i am.” Should’ve known it was a mistake the second he walked into the jewelry store, could’ve wasted a lot less time if he’d probed Edge for marriage opinions before he opened his wallet. But there wasn’t time (heh) for him to work out his own version of ‘Back to the Future’, so they were gonna have to stick with heist movie.
Stretch got out of the car and skulked closer, inspecting their surroundings, Blue following reluctantly behind. The sidewalks were empty, everyone else was sensibly inside watching their preferred nighttime entertainment since it was dark except for the bright streetlamps positioned evenly down the length of the block.
Stretch paused outside the ring of light by the Fell home, summoning a small, sharpened bone. At his elbow, Blue asked worriedly, “What are you doing?”
“i’m gonna break the streetlamp so no one can see us.”
Blue grabbed his hand, hissing, “You are not! I did not sign on for destruction of property! Unscrew the bulb and we can tighten it again when we leave!”
Okay, to be fair that was a much better idea, even if it took a lot more concentration and a quick mental ‘righty tighty, lefty loosey’. With a little effort, Stretch managed to coax the oversized bulb loose and the light went abruptly dark. Perfect.
The two of them crept closer to the house and if Blue was humming the ‘mission impossible’ theme song under his breath, Stretch couldn’t exactly gripe at him. He’d had it blaring nonstop in the back of his head since they’d left the apartments. They paused by the well-trimmed shrubs that ran alongside the garage while Stretch considered the plan.
Opening the main garage door was out. Even if Stretch could clip the house alarm, there was no way one of the Fell brothers wouldn’t hear that grinding its way open. Reconnaissance was supposed to happen before the damned heist, every movie Stretch ever saw taught him that, but they were working in a time crunch and wasn’t it a shame that the only room in the Fell house that he knew with any real detail was Edge’s bedroom. Also the shower, but neither of those options were real useful right now.
He looked around, squinting through the dimness, hell, they should’ve done this before he killed the streetlight. To his relief, he could see the outline of window in the shadows, up high on garage wall. He gestured to it, whispering to Blue, “give me up boost up.”
Blue gulped visibly and reached out, the faintest glow rising in his fingers. There was a soft ting as his magic enveloped Stretch’s soul, lifting him off his feet and towards the window. Or more like sending him on an increasingly wobbly flight through the air, limbs dangling as he slowly rose. Stretch bit back a squawk as the grip on his soul twisted him nearly sideways, then hastily overcompensated in the other direction to almost send him careening into the building.
“careful!” Stretch whispered furiously, biting back a curse as he shoved away from the wall. “seriously, what have you been learning with all that training you do!”
“I’m terribly sorry, Alphys never covered breaking and entering!” Blue hissed. Sweat was visibly standing out on his skull, glimmering in the moonlight. Another minute of unstable and slightly painful antigravity later and Stretch was hovering outside the window.
His black hoodie was a better choice for more than the color. Its pockets zipped securely shut, holding his tiny collection of burglary tools safe and sound. If Stretch’d been wearing this one earlier, none of this would be happening and wasn’t hindsight a nosy bitch. He dug out his tools, flicking on a penlight to inspect what the paranoid goblin had going for home security. There was an alarm, to be expected, but it looked like a simple wire job. All Stretch needed was five minutes and a pair of wire snips and he’d be inside.
“Oh!” his brother’s voice suddenly carried through the quiet, too loud and verging on a panicked cheer, “Good evening, Mrs. Gerson!”
Stretch’s head whipped around to see an elderly turtle Monster gradually walking up to Blue, cane in hand and waving with dreamy slowness. He couldn’t hear what she said to Blue, but his brother’s voice came loud and clear, “Yes, working on my stretching exercises! I do them for a few minutes every day. Trying to hurry up with it today, it’s later than I thought!”
Not exactly what he’d call discreet, yeah, but Stretch sure as hell got the message.
Frantically, Stretch got to work on the wires, clipping and twisting them into a messy sort of bypass. There was no time to be tidy, not while he was dangling here like a bargain basement Spider-man as Blue tried to keep Mrs. Doubtfire distracted over there. A muffled grunt escaped as Stretch suddenly listed to one side, hanging horizontally in the air. Another twist sent him face-first into the wall and Stretch tried to brace himself against the siding, biting off a yelp as he was dragged noisily upward.
“Whoops,” Blue called in a loud, nervous chuckle, hopefully covering the rattle of bones whacking into the side of a damn wall, “I think I still need to hold that stretch for another couple of minutes.” From this angle, Stretch had no idea what Mrs. Gerson was making of the washboard sound of him lurching up and down the siding like mysterious jug band traveling through the night, “Goodness, not sure how much longer I manage!”
Whatever calisthenics Blue was doing finally bent him in a direction that was close enough to the window for him to reach. Stretch grabbed on, hauling himself upright and holding on frantically with one hand as he clipped the last wire. He shoved up the windowpane, wincing as it screeched ominously the way windows only did in the middle of the damn night when someone was trying to sneak through it. He didn’t wait for Blue to try breaking out in song to cover it up, diving through the narrow panel and nearly tumbled straight to the concrete floor as his brother’s magic released, barely managing to catch himself and drop clumsily to his feet.
Okay, that went well.
Damn good thing he was breaking into Edge’s garage; the entire thing was pin-neat, no suspicious stack of paint cans to knock over or a pile of trash bags to fall into. Only tools on the wall, a clean workbench, and the pristine shape of his car precisely in its place, gleaming metallic cherry-red beneath the narrow beam of the penlight.
Now all Stretch had to do was get into it. A slim jim tool was out, for several reasons. One, despite watching several youtube videos on his way over, Stretch was not confident he could do it, two, it might damage Edge’s car and that was right out.
There was also the small matter that Stretch didn’t have a slim jim, so that left trying to hack into Edge’s Onstar account to wirelessly unlock it.
That he could probably manage and he spent a long, sweaty ten minutes on his phone, wrangling through firewalls and password detectors, searching and fruitlessly guessing, getting more frantic by the second as he silently cursed paranoid fucking Fells and it was only when despair was setting in that it occurred to him to try the door.
It opened easily under his tentative touch and the amount and variety of swearing that went through his mind right then would have sent Blue sprinting to the nearest grocery store for their entire stock of soap.
Okay, no more time for distractions, the finish line was in sight. Stretch crawled inside, penlight flashing as he searched frantically through the interior.
Not that there was much to see, Edge kept his car painfully clean. Even the mats were glossy black, not a speck of dust on the control panel, no stray fries or pennies caught in-between the seats. His panic was hitting all new highs when the light caught on dark velvet wedged in between the passenger seat and the door.
It must’ve fallen when he got out and Stretch picked it up, his knees watery-weak with relief as he opened it to look at the rings which, stupid, what was he afraid he got the wrong velvet box?
Time to get out of here, rescue Blue from Granny Mcgee and get the fuck out for the celebratory fist bump, and he barely had time to even think it when the overhead light came on at the same moment a much harsher blue magic than his brother’s took hold of his soul and slammed him painfully into the garage door. It knocked the breath out of him and Stretch hung there, wheezing, the box clutched tightly in his fingers as the last voice he wanted to hear echoed coldly through the garage.
“Stop struggling.”
Fearfully, Stretch lifted his head to see Edge strolling in through the doorway and it was honestly impressive how imposing he could be in a pair of silk pajamas and slippers.
“I’m afraid you’ve chosen the wrong car to steal, thief, I’m rather fond of it, I—” Edge stopped, his eye sockets narrowing and Stretch cringed as he reached out and roughly tore the ski mask off. His sockets widened in disbelief. “Stretch?”
“um. hey.” Stretch waved feebly with his empty hand.
“What the hell are you doing,” Edge sputtered out, cold anger melting into clear upset, “I could have hurt you!”
Yeah and sweat was running down his tailbone just thinking about it. Good thing it was Edge and not Red who found him, the gremlin might’ve dusted first and felt a micron of guilt later.
Stretch waggled his feet in the empty air. “um. gonna let me down?”
Edge’s gaze narrowed. “I’ll consider it. What are you doing here and if I hear the words shaving cream, I’ll—"
“no! no, nothing like that,” Stretch blurted in automatic denial and regretted it immediately. Shit, mistake, probably should’ve let Edge believe it was a prank of some sort, let him get mad and yell. He would’ve gotten over it eventually and they could’ve gotten back to their non-dates and twice weekly sexytimes with the occasional overnight thrown in for extra flavor. Except, Stretch didn’t like it when Edge was mad at him and not just mad, he would’ve been disappointed, even hurt, because any prank that involved his car was taking it up to a level of cruel. Edge’s car was his baby and Stretch wouldn’t do that to him, never never ever.
Didn’t matter, he’d sort of lost his chance to go with prank when he denied it was one, so there was nothing left but some version of the truth. Stretch took a deep breath and went with the basics, “i left something in your car, is all. didn’t want to bug you to get it, not after begging off on you. stupid, i know.”
“Very stupid,” Edge agreed, “considering that we have motion sensors in the garage.”
Of course he fucking did. “yeah, um, sorry.” Now that a portion of the truth was out there, time for a distraction. Hanging on the wall like a modern art installation probably wasn’t giving off the sexiest vibes, but Stretch gave it a shot, calling up what he hoped passed for an enticing smile, running his tongue lightly across his teeth, “’m feeling a lot better now, though, could head upstairs if you want, make up for a little lost time…?”
Edge raised a silencing hand and Stretch reluctantly obeyed, ah, fuck, he was too late, Edge was thinking about it, shit, and proved it by saying, slowly, “Let me see if I understand. You left something in my car and decided you needed to break into my home, bypass the alarm, pick the locks, and skulk through my garage to get it instead of simply asking me?" Edge crossed his arms over his chest and the intensity of his glare went up a notch, "No."
"no?" Stretch parroted, confused.
"No, that goes beyond the bounds of suspending my disbelief, so you're lying." Edge’s sockets narrowed and Stretch flinched from the true anger he could see there, "I do not like liars or thieves, so show me what you took."
His grip tightened around the velvet box. “but i don’t—”
“Show me,” Edge barked out.
Humiliating tears started welling, fuck, this wasn’t the time for it, all his earlier disappointment rising back up chokingly painful in his soul as Stretch whispered brokenly, "please don't make me."
Edge’s grip on his soul wavered, sending him sliding down an inch as that anger faded into bewilderment, "What…you broke into my garage, why are you—just show me!"
Miserably, Stretch held out the velvet box, let Edge snatch it away. From his continued confusion, he still didn't get it, not until he popped it open. The bands gleamed garishly in the overhead lights, carbon tungsten because the salesman assured him that it was extremely durable, with a twined color strip woven through the black metal of orange and red. Their colors joined together the way Stretch had hoped, stupidly, that their lives would.
Dawning realization as Edge looked from the rings to Stretch and back, again, and once more for good measure.
"Oh," Edge said blankly.
"yeah,” Stretch said, tiredly. “can you put me down now?"
Hastily, he did. "Stretch--" Edge began, all awkward gentleness now, the ring box still open in his hand like a mockery of Stretch’s hopeful daydreams and wasn’t that just typical of his life?
And Stretch just couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to the pity he could already see in Edge’s eye lights, he couldn’t, not right now with what felt like his entire soul choking in his throat. Red’s little shortcut blocker worked for going in, but not out and now that Edge didn’t have him pinned, Stretch was fucking gone. Stumbling out onto the sidewalk outside and almost went to his knees right where Blue was still chatting awkwardly with Mrs. Gerson.
“we need to go,” Stretch blurted. “right now!” And when Blue didn’t move fast enough, Stretch grabbed him around the waist and yanked him off his feet. Let someone else get dragged around for a change tonight, Stretch was sick of it, felt bruised inside and out as he dashed over to the car.
“Oof, bro-oth-er!” Blue yelped as he was all but bowled into the driver’s seat while Stretch scrambled over to the passenger side “What on earth is going on?!”
“go!” Stretch pleaded, “just go, i’ll explain at home.”
Blue probably would’ve put up more of a fight, sure as hell would with any other brotherly manhandling, but he caught sight of tears starting to boil down Stretch’s cheek bones and instead fumbled for his keys. “All right, we’re going.”
The engine started and he began to pull away…right into a massive cage of bones grinding up around the car from the ground, chunks of asphalt falling from the jagged tips. Directly in front of them was Edge, both hands flung out and his roused magic surrounding him in a fiery aura. His crimson eye lights blazed as he forcibly held them back in a glorious depiction of viciously controlled power even while he was still in those damn silk pajamas and slippers.
Really, it was damned impressive. He was fucking gorgeous and Stretch hated himself for noticing, for even thinking it.
“Turn off the car,” Edge said, loudly, and Blue did, sitting mutely as Edge let his magic fade. He walked over the passenger side and opened the door, leaning in as he said evenly, “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”
Stretch buried his face into his hands and wondered if he could get away with a ‘fuck, no.’
He dared to look out and from the expression on Edge’s face, fleeing was only gonna lead to a wild hunt through the city and Blue already said he didn’t want any property damage.
Might as well get it over with. Stretch nodded and impatiently wiped his face on his sleeves as he got out of the car. He couldn’t even be insulted when Edge firmly grabbed his elbow and held on, leading him towards the house despite the way Stretch’s sneakers dragged through the crumbled remains of the road.
Mrs. Gerson smiled and nodded as they walked past, waving as she croaked out, “Have a good night, boys!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gerson,” they said in unison, Edge crisply polite and Stretch a dismal mutter.
Edge unlocked the front door, pushing Stretch through it and he didn’t look up, not at Red who was on sofa, sitting up from his slouch with a genuinely startled, “what the fuck…?” and not at Edge, who ignored his brother to guide him up the stairs to his bedroom.
He closed the door and firmly set Stretch in the desk chair while Edge sat across from him on the bed.
“All right,” Edge said. He held out the ring box, blessedly closed, hiding the contents that Stretch was pretty sure he never wanted to see again; he’d rather toss them in the trash than try to return them at this point, “Now. Start from the beginning.”
tbc
Read Chapter 3
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The Romantics Series “In Sickness and In Health” Part One
Revisiting my Romantics Series with a little two parter. I’ve had this idea in my head for a while now. A huge thanks to @sass-and-suspenders for giving me the idea for the title and letting my blursty monkey ass send her snippets 😜
Warning: NSFW— Just a pinch of smut
The first warm spring weekend at Harvard meant frat boys tossing a frisbee and sorority girls sunbathing. For you and Rafael, it was a chance to go outside under your favorite oak tree and study. However, little studying was being done by either of you. You were laying on the blanket with your legs propped up against the tree trunk, crossed at the ankles. Kate Chopin’s The Awakening lay abandoned on your chest as you napped.
Rafael, on the other hand, was more focused on you than his philosophy notes. From your polished toes, up your long legs to the delicate forearm shielding your eyes from the sun, and finally the crown of hair haloed around your head. The sunlight streaming through the leaves, made each strand shimmer. He could turn his head and brush his lips against your calf if he wanted to. Instead he shifted in his seat, using his binder to cover his half-hard cock as he watched you stretch like a cat. Your Nirvana t-shirt rising up to reveal a strip of bare skin on your stomach.
Perhaps it was the stress of school or maybe it was the four years of pent-up emotions Rafael had for you, finally bubbling up to the surface. Whatever it was, it seemed as if all you had to do was glance his way or accidentally brush up against his body and he was hard as a rock. He felt like a prepubescent middle schooler.
“I feel you,” you mumbled.
“Excuse me?” Rafael cleared his throat and silently willed his body to calm down.
“I feel you watching me.” You lowered your arm and opened one eye, peering up at him. “What’s up?”
The irony of your words was not lost on Rafael. “Nothing,” he replied, suddenly fascinated by Kirkegaard’s existential philosophy.
A smile tugged at your lips. “Liar.” You propped yourself up on your elbows and nudged his shoulder with your foot. “Come on, I can always tell when you’re lying. Your right eye twitches a little bit.”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a burger. Maybe go see a movie? Como agua para chocolate is still playing at the theater.”
“I can’t. I’m supposed to help Chet Aldrich study for our feminist literature studies exam.” You glanced down at your watch. “Actually, I need to get going.”
Rafael scoffed. “You mean to tell me that misogynist frat boy is taking a feminist literature class?”
You shrugged and laced up your Doc Martens. “I think he thought it was a bird course. Little did he know that Dr. Gupta is ruthless. Poor guy is in way over his head. And anyways, he’s kinda cute in a Jason Priestly sorta way.”
Rafael rolled his eyes. Chet Aldrich was a legacy and the president of Sigma Alpha Epsilon, the oldest fraternity at Harvard. Having had a few classes with Chet, Rafael had seen firsthand what a flirt he was, always talking up the pretty girls to help him pass his classes and maintain his subpar GPA.
Despite his misgivings, Rafael walked with you over to where Chet said he would meet you. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“He asked for my help. What was I supposed to say? I think you’re judging him way too quickly. You don’t even know him.”
“Wait a minute.” He narrowed his eyes a bit, noticing the way you were fidgeting, the blush on your cheeks. It was as if someone had adjusted the antenna on a TV just a hair and all of a sudden the picture became clear. “Do you like this guy?”
“Maybe,” you admitted.
Rafael felt like his heart sank into his stomach. “Maybe,” he softly repeated.
You stared down at your shoes, unable to look your best friend in the eye. Four years. That was how long you had pined over Rafael. There were moments where you just couldn’t take it anymore. Moments where you thought about marching right up to his dorm room and confessing your feelings, but fear always stopped you from taking that next step. You were afraid he wouldn’t reciprocate. Afraid that your friendship would never be the same. But most of all, you were afraid that you’d be left heartbroken and alone. Once the spring semester started, you decided it was time to move on and try to find someone else. It was better to have Rafael as a friend than nothing at all.
After your confession, both of you stood in silence when a Red BMW blaring Informer by Snow came around the corner, screeching to a halt in front of you. Chet Aldrich hopped out of the car and gave you a dazzling smile. Well, you thought it was dazzling. Rafael thought it was smarmy. “Hey, baby. Ready to study?”
You giggled and twirled a strand of your hair. “Absolutely!”
Chet walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for you. “Your chariot awaits.” He pointed to Rafael, who was currently trying to choke back the bile rising in his throat. “Hey, I know you. It’s Rudy or Randy, right?”
“Actually it’s Rafael,” he snapped at the frat boy.
Chet nodded his head. “Oh yeah, Ra-fa-el,” he slowly said.
“Are you kidding me with this guy?” Rafael mumbled so that only you would hear.
“Be nice,” you quietly chastised and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Y/N, wait,” Rafael called out as you walked away, taking your hand and pulling you into a hug. “Just be careful, ok?” he whispered in your ear, squeezing you tight for a second longer before letting go.
Your face grew hot at your friend’s sudden surprise affection and you briefly wondered if he even noticed as you tried to brush it off. “Relax, Rafi. I’ll be fine. I’m not being shipped off to war. I’m going to study.” Waving one final time, you went back over to Chet.
“Don’t worry,” Chet said, shutting the passenger door after you stepped inside. “I’ll be sure to have her back in one piece.” He winked and got in the car, driving away and leaving Rafael alone in the dust.
*****
You straddled Rafael on the bed, kissing him hard, all teeth and tongue. Your books tossed aside and long forgotten during your hot and heavy makeout session. You rocked against his denim-clad erection, your hair tickling his face as you caressed his tongue with your own.
Rafael whimpered and ran his hands down your back. Grabbing your ass, he encouraged you to continue your movements, the wet spot in his boxers growing larger. The collective sounds of your labored breathing and soft moans echoed around the room with every slow drag of your hips.
“Rafi, make love to me,” you murmured between kisses.
He groaned, already on the brink of coming in his jeans. “Are you sure?”
“Please, I need you,” you purred, your voice dripping with desire.
In an instant, Rafael flipped you over, rendering you on your back. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed you were completely naked. “What?” He looked around the bedroom, the clothes you were wearing only seconds ago were nowhere to be found. “How did you—”
You giggled and licked your lips, your gaze lowering to his groin. “Damn. All these years and I never realized you were packing.”
Rafael looked down and realized that his clothes were gone. “But I didn’t—”
“Rafi, fuck me,” you whined, your eyes half-hooded with lust.
No longer caring where your or his clothes were by that point, he crashed his mouth into yours, spreading your legs. His large hand palmed at your breast, pinching your hardened nipple.
“Rafael,” you gasped and arched into his touch.
“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned, aligning himself with your entrance when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Tilting his head back, Rafael’s jaw dropped when he saw Chet Aldrich standing by the bed.
“You’re too late, Rudy. She’s mine,” he said with a smirk.
“It’s Rafael,” he sneered.
“Whatever. Get out of the way.” Chet pushed Rafael off you, sending him flying off the bed.
Rafael sat bolt upright, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. Running a hand over his face, he glanced over at his bedside clock. It was 7:30. Chet Aldrich was probably putting the moves on you at this very moment. He flopped back onto the mattress, his mind reeling over you, over Chet, over the bizarre dream he just had.
Your behavior that afternoon bewildered him. He had never seen you flirt before. That wasn’t you. You were the girl that would make a quippy remark whenever someone put the moves on you, choosing to walk away arm in arm with Rafael instead. Maybe after four years, he didn’t know you at all. Maybe he really had missed his chance with you. Putting his hand over his heart, he felt dull ache radiating from beneath his rib cage.
He sighed and looked down to find his painfully hard cock sticking straight up. Apparently, you made quite an impression in his dreams, that is until Chet Aldrich interrupted. Unzipping his jeans, he freed his erection and closed his eyes. He began to stroke himself, imagining what he would do to you if you were there— worshipping every inch of your skin, making you come undone with his mouth before crawling on top of you, thrusting into your pussy, feeling your slick walls grip him.
“Oh, Y/N,” he moaned, smearing the precum that had leaked out of his weeping head against his shaft. His breath hitched as he sped up his movements, squeezing himself at the root of his cock all while fantasizing about how you would writhe in pleasure underneath him. The noises you would make. Your sweaty bodies molded perfectly to each other. He was so close, right about to tumble off the edge when the phone ringing pulled him back.
Rafael whined and wiped his hand off, reaching for the phone on the nightstand. “Hello,” he grumbled.
“Rafael? It’s Mrs. Y/L/N.”
“Mrs. Y/L/N,” he squeaked and nearly dropped the reciever while covering himself with a pillow, as if your mother had the ability to see what he was doing through the phone. “Is everything ok?” A small sob escaped her lips and his pulse began to quicken. “Did something happen?”
All the color drained from his face listening to her, only processing certain parts. Car accident. You. Mount Auburn Hospital. “I’m on the first flight out of Chicago,” she said. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind staying with her until I get there? I would ask her roommate, but Rebecca is away at a crew competition.”
“Absolutely. I’m on my way.” Rafael stood up and nearly walked out of the room when he realized that his pants were still dangling around his ankles.
“Thank you. You’re such a good friend to Y/N.” She sniffled. “You know, she hates hospitals. Ever since—”
“I know,” he softly replied. “I’ll head over right now.” Panic began to set in as soon as he hung up with your mom. Running out the door, several thoughts came to his mind—for you to be ok and that he was going to murder Chet Aldrich.
@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarlettsoldier @amirightcounselor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @imagine-all-the-imagines @mysterioustrashadventures
#rafael barba#rafael barba fanfic#rafael barba fic#rafael barba x reader#rafael barba imagine#rafael barba fan fiction#barba#barba fanfic#barba fic#barba imagine#barba x reader#baby rafi#law and order svu fic#law and order svu imagine#the romantics
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