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muiitoloko · 26 days

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Like father Like Son

Summary: After all, Eli and Barkley had more in common than Eli realized.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Neglectful father, obsession, betrayal, manipulation, forbiden love and seduction.

Author's Note: ⚠️ PLEASE READ FOR CONTEXT ⚠️ In this one-shot, I've taken some liberties with the plot of the movie "Nobel Son." Certain events from the original storyline have been omitted or altered, particularly regarding the relationship between Sarah and Eli. In this version, Sarah and Eli separate shortly after Eli's Nobel Prize win, and Eli's subsequent efforts to improve his relationship with Barkley take precedence. Please, if I forgot to mention any warnings, let me know.

Second part here.

It had been a year since Eli parted ways with Sarah, the divorce coming on the heels of his Nobel Prize win. While some might have mourned the loss of a relationship, Eli couldn't care less about the divorce itself. Sure, he missed the morning sex, but the freedom to pursue his affairs without the need for secrecy outweighed any sense of loss he might have felt.

Sarah had taken half of his possessions in the settlement, but Eli didn't mind. Material possessions were inconsequential to a man of his stature. What did bother him, though, was the occasional pang of loneliness that crept up when he found himself alone in his grandiose home. Despite his vast network of acquaintances and lovers, there were moments when the emptiness of his surroundings felt suffocating.

His son Barkley's visits provided some semblance of companionship, but their relationship remained strained and fraught with tension. Eli made an effort to connect with Barkley, to bridge the chasm that had formed between them over the years. But try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment and frustration that accompanied his interactions with his son.

"Barkley is so idiot," Eli would mutter to himself, his tone dripping with disdain and resentment. In his eyes, Barkley was a disappointment, a failure who couldn't measure up to his father's lofty expectations. No matter how hard Eli tried to instill in him the values of ambition and success, Barkley always seemed to fall short.

But finally, Barkley seemed to do something right in life. One day, he announced to Eli that he wanted to introduce his girlfriend to his father and asked if they could go out to dinner. Eli reluctantly accepted, not at all interested in the prospect, but he went anyway, just wanting to have some semblance of fun amidst his mundane existence.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Barkley welcomed his girlfriend with a kiss, and Eli couldn't help but be enchanted. You was stunning, absolutely breathtaking. The dress you wore clung to your curves in all the right places, accentuating your beauty in a way that left Eli momentarily speechless.

"Oh, fuck," Eli muttered under his breath, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of desire and admiration. You was his type, completely and utterly, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from your.

Barkley smiled proudly as he introduced you to his father, Eli Michaelson, the Nobel prize winner. You blushed, feeling a rush of excitement and nerves at meeting such a renowned figure in the field of chemistry. For someone passionate about science like yourself, the opportunity to converse with a Nobel laureate was nothing short of surreal.

"Doctor Michaelson, it's an honor to meet you," you said, your voice tinged with genuine admiration as you extended your hand to him. Eli studied you with keen interest, his gaze piercing and intense as he took in your shy demeanor and flushed cheeks.

"The pleasure is mine," Eli replied, his voice smooth and confident as he shook your hand with a firm grip. "I must say, Barkley has spoken very highly of you. It's not often he brings someone home to meet his old man."

Barkley chuckled nervously beside you, his arm draped casually around your chair as he sought to bridge the gap between his father and his girlfriend. Despite the tension that lingered between them, Barkley seemed determined to make the evening a success, to prove to his father that he was capable of making his own choices in life.

As the three of you settled into dinner, Barkley made a concerted effort to keep the conversation flowing, ensuring that both you and his father were engaged and included in the discussion. You found yourself relaxing in his presence, his easy charm and infectious enthusiasm putting you at ease despite your initial nerves.

Eli, too, seemed to warm to the conversation, his usual air of arrogance giving way to a genuine interest in getting to know you better. He peppered you with questions about your academic pursuits, your interests, and your aspirations, his sharp mind probing for any hint of weakness or vulnerability.

But to Eli's surprise, you held your own admirably, your passion for chemistry shining through as you spoke animatedly about your research and your dreams for the future. Despite your shyness, there was a quiet confidence about you, a strength of character that intrigued Eli more than he cared to admit.

And as the evening wore on, Eli found himself increasingly drawn to you, captivated by your intelligence and charm. He couldn't understand how his idiot son had managed to find someone like you, someone who was clearly out of his league in every respect. You deserved better, someone who could appreciate you for the remarkable woman you were.

Eli's mind wandered, consumed by vivid fantasies of you writhing beneath him, your soft moans filling the air as you whispered his name in ecstasy. He could already picture the way your body would arch beneath his touch, the way your skin would flush with desire as he claimed you as his own.

But his reverie was abruptly interrupted by the sight of Barkley leaning into you, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered something that made you blush furiously. Eli's jaw clenched with barely concealed frustration as he watched the intimate exchange between you and his son, a surge of possessiveness coursing through him at the thought of Barkley touching you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Though he couldn't hear what Barkley was saying, Eli didn't need to. The way your cheeks flushed and your eyes darted nervously around the room spoke volumes, betraying the intimate nature of the conversation. It wasn't difficult to guess what Barkley was up to, most likely whispering something dirty in your ear to make you squirm and blush with embarrassment.

Eli's grip on his fork tightened involuntarily, the metal digging into his palm as he fought to suppress the surge of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm him. He had never been one to tolerate competition, especially not from his own son, and the thought of Barkley encroaching on his territory filled him with a primal rage that bordered on madness.

But even as his anger simmered beneath the surface, Eli remained outwardly composed, his expression carefully neutral as he observed the exchange between you and Barkley with detached interest. He didn't even notice when his grip on his fork tightened, the metal bending under the pressure of his fingers as he struggled to maintain his composure.

In that moment, all Eli could think about was you, and the overwhelming desire to possess you, body and soul. He would have you, one way or another, consequences be damned. For in the twisted mind of Eli Michaelson, nothing and no one would stand in the way of what he wanted most.

As the days passed, Eli found himself consumed by thoughts of you, the object of his desire. Your image lingered in his mind, haunting his waking hours and infiltrating his dreams. He longed to have you, to possess you in every way imaginable.

On the days when Barkley visited, bringing you along with him, Eli's anticipation soared to dizzying heights. Every moment in your presence was a precious gift, one he cherished and savored with every fiber of his being. Your laughter, your scent, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief—all of it fueled his insatiable hunger for you.

In the privacy of his lavish bathroom, Eli succumbed to his fantasies, unable to resist the temptation to indulge in the pleasure of imagining you with him. His hands roamed over his body, tracing the contours of his desire, as he conjured vivid scenarios in which you were his and his alone.

But with each passing day, Eli's longing intensified, morphing into an all-consuming obsession that threatened to consume him whole. He cursed the cruel twist of fate that had bestowed upon him such forbidden desires, lamenting the fact that he and Barkley shared the same taste in women.

It was during one of Barkley's visits that Eli finally made his move, unable to ignore the primal urge that pulsed through his veins. With a calculated blend of charm and cunning, he began to plant seeds of doubt in Barkley's mind, subtly sowing discord in the relationship between his son and you.

Perhaps, Eli mused, he and Barkley were not so different after all. Both driven by their desires, both willing to do whatever it took to claim what they wanted as their own. And as he watched the cracks begin to form in Barkley's facade, Eli felt a twisted sense of satisfaction wash over him.

As Eli entered the living room, his frustration simmered beneath the surface. He watched as you and Barkley engaged in lively conversation, your laughter filling the room with warmth. But his annoyance at being left to handle dinner alone gnawed at him, threatening to overshadow his growing infatuation with you.

"Hey, Barkley," Eli began, his tone tinged with irritation. "Could you lend me a hand with dinner? It seems I'm flying solo tonight."

Barkley shrugged nonchalantly. "Sorry, Dad. I'm not exactly a culinary expert."

Eli's lips formed a thin line, but before he could respond, you intervened, your voice soft and apologetic. "I can help, Doctor Michaelson. I'm sorry for not offering sooner."

A flicker of amusement danced in Eli's eyes as he handed you an apron. "Ah, none of that 'Doctor Michaelson' nonsense anymore. Call me Mr. Michaelson. I've earned it," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You chuckled, the sound like music to Eli's ears, as you tied the apron around your waist. "Alright, Mr. Michaelson. What can I do to assist?"

Eli grinned, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of working alongside you. "First things first, we'll need to chop these vegetables. Care to lend me a hand?"

You nodded, following him to the kitchen and standing next to him, with graceful and fluid movements, Eli couldn't help but feel a wave of admiration for you. He took the opportunity to address the issue that had been weighing on his mind.

"So, how are things going between you and Barkley?" he asked, his voice casual yet tinged with curiosity.

You hesitated for a moment, your expression guarded, before finally admitting, "We've been... having some disagreements lately. But I'm hopeful we can work through them."

Eli studied you intently, sensing there was more beneath the surface. "Are you sure about that?" he pressed gently, his gaze searching yours for any sign of deception.

You sighed softly, your shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "Honestly, Mr. Michaelson, I'm not sure. But I'm willing to try."

A flicker of sympathy flashed in Eli's eyes as he reached out to squeeze your hand reassuringly. "Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. And who knows," he added with a playful wink, "maybe we can make this dinner a regular occurrence. Just you, me, and a whole lot of vegetables."

You smiled, almost all your shyness disappearing around Eli. With each visit, you were starting to get more comfortable with him, but there was still a lingering sense of bashfulness. After all, Eli was a brilliant man, particularly in chemistry, and you couldn't help but admire the feats he had achieved so far.

As you continued cutting the vegetables, oblivious to how Eli was leering at your ass whenever he had the chance, you focused on the task at hand. But suddenly, he interrupted you, claiming that you were cutting them wrong. Before you could protest, he stood behind you and took hold of your hand that held the knife, instructing you on how he wanted the vegetables to be cut.

His presence so close behind you sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but blush at the sudden intimacy. His baritone voice rang in your ear as he guided your hand, his touch igniting a flurry of conflicting emotions within you.

While Barkley was tall with an athletic body, Eli was still tall but carried more weight, giving him a thicker, more robust appearance. His hands were large and thick, a stark contrast to Barkley's leaner physique. For a moment, you couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have those hands caressing you, those thick fingers sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

But as quickly as the thought entered your mind, panic set in. What were you thinking? Eli was Barkley's father, and these thoughts were entirely inappropriate. With a sudden jolt, you pulled away from Eli, the knife slipping from your grasp as you stumbled backward.

"Oh my god," you stammered, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I-I'm so sorry, Doctor Michaelson. I didn't mean to... I mean, I..."

Eli's expression softened, a knowing glint in his eyes as he reached out to steady you. "It's alright, my dear. Accidents happen," he said reassuringly, though there was a hint of something else in his voice, something that made your heart race.

But as you regained your composure and resumed chopping the vegetables, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. The momentary lapse in judgment had left you shaken, and you made a mental note to keep your thoughts in check around Eli in the future.

Little did you know, however, that Eli had taken notice of your reaction and was already concocting a plan to exploit the newfound vulnerability between you. For in the twisted game of desire, there were no rules, and Eli was determined to emerge victorious at any cost.

As the days passed, Eli's subtle seduction of you continued, each encounter filled with tension and unspoken desire. He made it a point to subtly undermine Barkley, painting him as immature and unworthy of your affection, while positioning himself as the mature and understanding figure you needed in your life.

With each passing interaction, Eli's charm and charisma wore down your defenses, until finally, one fateful evening, the dam broke, and you found yourself succumbing to his advances.

It had been a particularly tumultuous day, filled with heated arguments and simmering tension between you and Barkley. As you sat alone at the restaurant, abandoned by Barkley after yet another fight. You sighed tiredly and paid for dinner, the weight of the evening's events pressing down on you as you gathered your belongings and headed out into the cool night air. The streets were eerily quiet, illuminated only by the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement.

With each step, your unease grew, amplified by the solitude of the deserted streets. The decision to walk home seemed increasingly ill-advised as the minutes ticked by, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Your pace quickened, heart pounding in your chest as you glanced over your shoulder, confirming your worst fears. Two shadowy figures lingered in the distance, their menacing gazes fixed on you like predators stalking their prey.

Panic surged through you, propelling you forward in a desperate bid to escape your pursuers. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to find safety at any cost, and you darted down side streets and alleyways in a frantic attempt to lose them.

But they were relentless, their footsteps echoing ominously behind you as they closed in with each passing moment. Fear gripped you like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs as you raced against the clock, praying for a miracle to save you from the impending danger.

And then, just when it felt like all hope was lost, you saw him. Eli emerged from a nearby grocery store, a bag in hand, his imposing figure a beacon of hope in the darkness. Without a moment's hesitation, you rushed to his side, seeking refuge in his reassuring presence.

"Eli!" you called out, relief flooding through you as you practically threw yourself into his arms. He looked at you with confusion, concern etched into his features as he took in your shaken state.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern as he wrapped an arm around you protectively. You explained everything in a rush, the words tumbling from your lips as you recounted the harrowing ordeal you had just endured.

Eli listened intently, his expression darkening with each passing moment as he processed the gravity of the situation. Without hesitation, he guided you to his car, a silent vow to keep you safe burning in his eyes as he ushered you inside.

As the engine roared to life and the car sped off into the night, you couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude towards Eli. In a world fraught with danger and uncertainty, he had become your unlikely savior, a pillar of strength in your darkest hour.

But as Eli drove, you didn't expect him to scold you, as his stern words catching you off guard. "Why the hell were you walking alone at a time like this? Don't you know how dangerous it is for a woman to walk alone at night?"

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you stammered to explain yourself. "I-I wasn't alone. I was with Barkley earlier tonight. We went out for dinner, but we ended up fighting again, and he left. I decided to walk back to cool down instead of picking up a taxi."

But your explanation only seemed to fuel Eli's frustration, his jaw clenched in anger. "I should teach Barkley better," he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with disappointment. "I don't understand why you're still with him."

You looked at Eli in surprise, taken aback by his harsh words. "But... Barkley is your son," you protested weakly, unsure of how to defend yourself.

Eli shook his head, his gaze piercing. "That doesn't excuse his behavior. What kind of man leaves his girlfriend walking alone at night?" he demanded, his voice brimming with righteous indignation.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Eli cut you off with a sharp gesture. "Don't you dare defend Barkley," he warned, his tone icy. "It doesn't matter if he was angry or not. He should have at least had the decency to put you in a taxi before leaving. That's what a real man does."

Silence descended upon the car, punctuated only by the hum of the engine as you mulled over Eli's words. His conviction was unwavering, his belief in what constituted acceptable behavior resolute. And yet, despite your initial resistance, a nagging doubt crept into your mind.

Why couldn't Barkley be more like his father? The thought lingered in your mind, casting a shadow over your already troubled relationship with Barkley. Perhaps, deep down, you knew that Eli was right. Perhaps you did deserve better.

But as you glanced at Eli, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights, you couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the facade of charm and charisma. For all their similarities, father and son were cut from different cloth, each harboring their own secrets and desires.

"Eli," you began tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you... for looking out for me."

Eli's expression softened, a flicker of something akin to warmth in his eyes. "Of course," he replied, his tone gentler than before. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

And as the car continued on its journey through the night, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope flicker within you. Perhaps, in Eli, you had found not only a protector but also a confidant, someone who understood you in a way that Barkley never could. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was light at the end of the tunnel after all.

Eli stopped in front of your apartment, and you thanked him for the ride, grateful for his timely intervention. As you expressed your gratitude, Eli turned off the car engine and faced you, his expression serious yet tinged with a hint of concern.

"Be careful out there," he said softly, his hand resting on the passenger seat where you sat. "Tonight, you were lucky I was around. Thank my addiction to cigarettes and my sudden craving for ice cream, or who knows what could have happened to you."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest at the realization of just how close you had come to danger. "I... I don't know what I would have done without you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eli's gaze softened, a mixture of emotions flickering in his eyes. "I don't like to imagine what could have happened to you," he confessed, his tone tinged with genuine concern. "God, when did I start to care so much about you?"

Before you could respond, Eli leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a tender yet intense kiss. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you melted into his embrace, the heat of his touch igniting a firestorm of desire within you.

But as quickly as the kiss began, you pulled away, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry," you stammered, mortified by your own audacity. "That was so wrong..."

Eli's expression softened, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Don't apologize," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Before you could protest further, Eli silenced you with another kiss, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. This time, you melted into the kiss, surrendering to the intoxicating rush of desire that pulsed between you.

As the kiss deepened, you felt yourself getting lost in the moment, consumed by the overwhelming sensation of being wanted, of being desired. And in that fleeting moment of bliss, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, there was something more between you and Eli than mere attraction.

But as reality came crashing back, you broke away from the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to compose yourself. "I-I should go," you muttered, fumbling with the door handle in a desperate bid to escape the suffocating intimacy of the car.

But Eli stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm, his eyes searching yours with a depth of emotion you couldn't quite comprehend. "Stay," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just for a little while longer..."

And as you gazed into Eli's eyes, the lines between right and wrong blurred into obscurity, leaving you with a single, undeniable truth: that in the tangled web of desire, there were no rules, no boundaries, only the relentless pursuit of pleasure at any cost. And if that meant succumbing to the forbidden allure of Eli Michaelson, then so be it.

With a silent nod, you settled back into the passenger seat, allowing yourself to be consumed by the intoxicating heat of the moment. For tonight, at least, you were content to lose yourself in the arms of the man who had unwittingly captured your heart.

Eli wasted no time in continuing kissing you, his lips hungry and demanding as he explored every inch of your mouth with a fervent passion. He savored the taste of you, the intoxicating blend of sweetness and spice that lingered on your lips, driving him to the brink of madness with desire.

As their kiss deepened, Eli felt a surge of arousal coursing through him, his body responding eagerly to the forbidden pleasure of your embrace. He traced his tongue along the curve of your lips, teasing them apart with gentle insistence as he sought to devour you whole.

With each passing moment, Eli felt himself growing more addicted to the heady rush of euphoria that enveloped him whenever he was with you. Your touch was like a drug, igniting a firestorm of need within him that threatened to consume him whole.

As he trailed kisses along your jawline, Eli couldn't help but marvel at the sheer intensity of his desire for you. He had kissed many women in his lifetime, but none had ever elicited such a visceral response from him, none had ever made him feel so alive.

And as he lost himself in the dizzying whirlwind of sensation, Eli found himself wondering if perhaps this was why Barkley was always so drawn to you. Maybe, just maybe, there was something inherently addictive about you, something that left men like Eli craving more with each passing moment.

Yes, it was no wonder Barkley was always eager to kiss you. You were sweet and addictive, a tantalizing temptation that beckoned him closer with every breathless moment. Eli found himself almost amused by the realization that he and Barkley had more in common than he liked to think. After all, they were both drawn to you like moths to a flame, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your allure.

In that moment, as he reveled in the intoxicating bliss of your embrace, Eli couldn't help but acknowledge the undeniable truth: you held a power over him that he couldn't begin to comprehend. And as he surrendered himself to the irresistible pull of desire, he knew that he would do anything, risk everything, for just one more taste of the ecstasy you offered.

#eli michaelson #eli michaelson x reader #alan rickman #nobel son #Barkley Michaelson #Sarah Michaelson #alan rickman x reader

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jasntodds · 8 months

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Petrichor [7]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 14,007

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of scars, mentions of a panic attack, manipulation, canon drug use, comic book science? Titans science? (author's note at the end lol), canon violence, blood, bruises, gore, breaking bones, mentions of nightmares, canon character death (I'm so sorry)

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work.Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: Happy birthday to Jason Todd!! So, sorry I did this for his birthday lmao I lied, this is longer than I thought it would be lol But I'm so sorry. I don't have anything else to say for myself besides canon made me do it and so did the comics lol I hope you guys like it!! If you want context from book 1, let me know and I’ll tell you!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Over the next couple of weeks, Jason continues to go to therapy as directed by Bruce. To his surprise, it actually seems to be helping a little bit. He’s still having nightmares but they aren’t every night anymore. His hands aren’t shaking as badly either. He just feels a little bit better. Maybe Bruce and you were right about Leslie.

You and Jason are doing better, too. There have been moments where he’s gotten a little too frustrated but he remembers your talk and you give him a little bit of space until he’s ready to talk. It works for the both of you. You go on dates at least once a week and you both actually feel normal during the day. It’s not about being a vigilante and figuring out how to survive.

You go out on patrol three days a week instead of six. This is Jason’s thing and you know it bothers him. You can wait to patrol every night until he gets Robin back. It doesn’t bother you that much. And this way, you get to spend more time together and exist in a normal way that you desperately craved. You are a normal couple for once.

Above all of that, it’s been good. Things have been good. And while that is terrifying, you and Jason stick it out anyway. You don’t run or push. You both want to sometimes because it’s easier but you’re both fucking happy. So, you don’t. You don’t do it because losing each other is worse than anything the other could ever dish out. Running and pushing wouldn’t do either of you any good for the first time in your lives. So, you both enjoy the happiness together. Until things come to a screeching halt.

You're in the living room, having a FaceTime TV marathon with Gar when Bruce comes home. He offers a quick hello before trying to walk off but you call him anyway. He’s home a lot later than he should be since he went to pick up Jason. It was his request you stay back this time.

“Where’s Jason?” You question.

In all fairness, you wouldn’t be asking him normally but you also haven’t heard much from Jason since his therapy session ended. He said Bruce was taking him somewhere so he would be home later. And that was kind of the end of it. He’s been doing quite a bit better so you haven’t been as worried when he doesn’t text you back right away. But now Bruce is here without him.

“In the city.” Bruce answers plainly.

“Why? You went to pick him up?” You raise a brow and something happened. Jason texted you in the car. He was fine and with Bruce.

You look at the time and see that was a few hours ago.

“He’s upset. I’m giving him space. You should, too.” Bruce states.

“What did you do?” You deadpan, pulling up the text thread with Jason.

“I did not do anything.” Bruce defends. “He’ll be home soon.” Bruce states before he walks off.

“Everything okay?” Gar asks.

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I assume they got into some sort of fight again.” You roll your eyes. “Did he text you by chance?” You ask seeing the read receipt from a few hours ago.

Gar checks his phone and the last he heard from Jason was that morning. “No, he hasn’t texted me since this morning. What’s going on?”

You: you okay? Bruce said you’re upset what happened?

“I have no idea. He was fine earlier.” You let out a sigh, looking back at Gar through the tablet screen.

“You said he’s been better, right? Maybe he’s just blowing off steam from Bruce.” Gar suggests. Jason has shared some of the stuff that's happened and has complained a little about Bruce.

“Yeah, but if that’s the case, he usually comes to me to bitch about Bruce because I always agree with him.” You give Gar a grin just as your phone goes off.

Jaybird 🥰: fuck bruce I’m fine don’t worry

You: what happened? Do you want me to come get you?

“Well he texted me back and I was right, fight with Bruce.” You roll your eyes.

They fight sometimes, usually about Robin-related things or Jason wanting to do something reckless and Bruce putting a stop to it. Jason’s usually only a mad an hour or so before he’s fine and over it. Jason doesn’t hold very many grudges.

“Did he say about what?” Gar asks.

“Nope. Just said, fuck Bruce.”

Jaybird 🥰: no just wanna be alone still you and me love you ❤️

You: call or text every so often so I know you’re okay please I love you, too 🥰

“What’d he say?” Gar asks. He worries enough for the both of you/

“He wants to be alone and when Jason wants to be alone that is never good. But we have this thing where I let him be alone and then he tells me about it later. So, I guess I have to wait. If he isn’t home or texting me in a few hours, I’ll go look for him.” You reluctantly put your phone down. Giving Jason space is never easy.

“Think he’ll be alright?” Gar asks with worry in his voice.

“Yeah, him and Bruce fight sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing too bad, Bruce probably just said something stupid and Jason was already in a mood.” You let out a sigh as the worry feeling gnaws at your stomach.

“Did you want to still—“

“Yeah, yeah, no. We can keep watching. He said he’ll text me.” You offer a soft smile while the two of you continue your show.

It’s not fair. It’s utter bullshit. Jason can’t help the way his blood is boiling and fuming while his hands shake. Bruce doesn’t think he’s good enough to be Robin. Bruce gave up on him. Jason is supposed to be his son and Bruce gave up on him anyway but he never gave up on Dick. If Jason weren’t so weak, this whole thing never would have happened. But he’s gonna prove to Bruce he can be Robin. He can be the best Robin and he can be a better Batman, too. He just needs a little help in the fear department.

He’s desperate. He tells himself this is a one-time thing. Fear creeps in his throat, grasping to be let out in the damp air. It’s a one-time thing, he tells himself. He’s out of options if he wants to be Robin. He’s out of options if he wants to keep the most important thing in his life. All he needs is a quick fix to fear and he’ll be back out there, better than he has ever been. He’ll prove it to Bruce. Bruce is wrong about him.

Bruce thinks he’s a mistake. He thinks Jason isn't worth the trouble just like everyone else. Bruce thinks Jason is weak. He thought Jason could replace Dick and he couldn’t. Not as Robin and not as Bruce’s son. But if he can get rid of his fear, he can show him how wrong he is. He isn’t just another mistake. He isn’t weak and he’s better than Dick. He swears this will be it. It won’t be bad. He can handle this. He swears it’ll all be fine. So, he hangs up on Leslie and heads inside the gates of Arkham Asylum as rain patters around him.

He’s a master manipulator. Jason knows that. It’s one of the things he’s best at. But the desperation for a cure to fear clouds every aspect of that. The desperation doesn’t let him see why Crane wants information for the cure. He can’t see Crane’s angel in his state of paralyzed desperation. And Jason has been manipulated before. He swears he’ll know if Crane is manipulating him because he knows what to look out for this time. But, desperation and the fear of being scared forever, go hand in hand. Fear and desperation cloud everything. He tosses his loyalty from the window as he gets closer to the formula. Crane gives him a piece of it with every piece of information Jason gives him.

“Tell me about the first Robin.” Crane offers this grin that sends a chill down Jason’s spine.

“Like what?” Jason huffs.

“His name, where he is, everything you know.”

“Dick Grayson. He’s in San Francisco and goes by Nightwing.” Jason explains, throwing Dick completely under the bus. He has a problem with Dick now anyway. Dick Grayson has always been the goody two shoes and Bruce’s favorite. Jason only got to be Robin because Dick abandoned Bruce. Jason was a filler. “He’s with the Titans. He got Deathstroke’s son killed and dropped me from a skyscraper.” Jason lets out a scoff.

“Interesting. Doesn’t seem to be the golden boy Bruce portrayed him as.” Crane grins and this is easier than he thought it would be. Jason has no problems rolling, apparently and Crane knows he’s going to use that to his advantage.

He’s broken. He’s desperate and Crane has the cure he wants. This is going to be easy and Crane gets all benefits. Jason lets him take down the Bat but in the best way. Crane is going to get the Bat’s son to turn on him and get rid of him. To break him. And then Dick Grayson and all of Gotham will follow. Crane finds the whole thing a little poetic. He can use him. And Jason will never see through it once he figures out the formula.

“Yep.” Jason answers simply, wanting to get this over with and Crane offers him a piece of the formula.

“The Titans. Who are they?” Crane asks, hiding the malicious intent behind curiosity.

Jason looks up to him and he doesn’t like to throw some of the others under the bus. But Crane is here. He can’t do anything. And most of them thought he was just Dick’s weaker replacement anyway. They gave up, too.

“Rachel Roth, Raven. Hank Hall, Hawk. Dawn Granger, Dove. Kory Anders, Starfire. Conner Kent, Superboy. Gar Logan, Beast Boy.” Jason pauses, waiting to see if Crane knows more.

Of course, he does. He’s in Arkham, not living under a rock. The Bat gains a new sidekick and everyone knows about it. Crane is only taking a guess the new sidekick also was a Titan based on when you showed up and your close proximity with Robin, himself. He saw Jason’s hesitance on his face. The fear.

Crane chuckles softly. “Aren’t you missing someone, pal?” Crane asks, almost a little too warmly. “Could have sworn there was one more.”

Jason grits his teeth and he’s so sorry.

When he came up with this plan, he had a feeling Crane would want information. He came prepared for it. Part of that preparation was leaving you the hell out of it. Not you. Crane can’t know about you. Anyone but you. But he does know. He already knows you're a Titan and he already knows you work for Bruce. Jason has no choice if he wants the formula. And he is so sorry.

Jason says your name with bitterness on his tongue. “Bluejay. She doesn't really like the name thing though.” Jason answers.

Crane has a soft smile. “She’s the new bird. So many of you are birds.” Crane chuckles. “I do find it interesting you would try to leave her out of it. She’s the new edition to Batman. Let me guess,” Crane boasts around his cell. “Your girlfriend.”

Not you. You've done everything you can to save him and help him. He loves you. Not you. Anyone but you.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just friends.” He bites the words because maybe Crane doesn’t know for sure you’re together and he wants you at arm's length.

“If you want the formula, you really shouldn’t lie to me.” Crane has a sinister smile. “You wouldn’t leave her out of it if you were just friends.” Crane lets the words fall with ease.

He’s so fucking sorry.

“Yeah, okay fine. Girlfriend.” Jason spits.

He knows you’ll never forgive him if you find out. You can’t tell Molly anything but he’s here telling Crane everything. You're going to hate him. But he needs a cure. He can’t feel this way forever. He can’t do it. He doesn't think he’ll be able to live like this anymore.

“Ah, young love.” Crane smiles with that shrug of his shoulders. You're going to be an interesting obstacle in this one. He’s already trying to protect you from this. Crane knows he needs to break that bond as fast as he can if he wants this plan to work. “I want to know about her.” There’s this look that crosses Crane’s eyes and Jason almost turns around.

But he doesn’t.

“Why? She’s not with the fucking Titans and she hates Bruce. She works with him because of me. That’s it. She got a suit out of it and a place to stay.”

“I’m a bit of a romantic, myself. Love stories are cute. Always having someone on your side, through thick and thin. It is quite romantic, don’t you think? If we’re going to work together, I want to know why she’s so important to you.” Crane grins. “You can trust me, boy. We want the same things and the way the Bat has treated you…it’s so cruel. But I, I believe in you. That’s why I’m helping you. You trust me, don’t you?”

You're going to kill him. Guilt chews at his limbs. His jaw squares and he thinks swallowing his own teeth would be easier than this. But he has to. Maybe Crane is being sincere. Jason thinks he is. At least enough. Maybe if Jason tells him enough, Crane will see you aren’t a problem. Maybe he’ll see you would side with them. You want Gotham to be better, you don’t agree with Bruce’s ways. Maybe Crane will understand. He’s helping Jason, maybe he can help you. You're scared, too.

“Dick found her.” Jason answers reluctantly. “She joined the Titans. We went after Deathstroke together. Got kidnapped and dropped from the skyscraper. Dick saved her. CADMUS attacked her, Gar, and Conner when I was gone. Dick left them alone when shit hit the fan. CADMUS left her for dead. So, she came back to Gotham.” Jason explains.

“She was there with Deathstroke.” Crane lets out a sigh and like Bruce, in a way, he can always tell when someone could need him. Someone who’s been traumatized. His intentions aren’t as pure as Bruce’s. “But Dick saved her and not you. Did you save her?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Jason shakes his head. “Dick tried to save me first and dropped me. Then he saved her. But yeah,” Jason nods. “I protected her and she did the same shit for me.”

“The two of you went through something so traumatic together. That really must have brought you closer. It’s not as romantic as I was hoping for but it is quite nice.” Crane grins. “She has powers, doesn’t she?”

“Acid generation.” Jason stares, leaving out the combat clairvoyance and the possibility of you having sharp shooting abilities. Two things Crane can’t prove Jason lied about.

“Now that is interesting. Does she know you’re here right now? Asking for my help?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “Look, she’s got nothing to with this shit. But, I can get her on our side. The other Titans targeted me for all types of shit I didn’t do and she was the only one on my side. She’s not a fucking problem. I can handle her.”

Crane grins and that’s all he needs. Jason is already hiding something huge from you. The distrust will be there and Jason doesn’t know Crane’s whole plan. If it goes the way he thinks it will, it’ll break your relationship. He will have no one left besides Crane. Exactly how he wants it. So, he decides he’ll let Jason think he believes this whole thing and moves back to the Titans.

“I do hope you’re right.” Crane sighs. “Tell me everything that happened in San Fransisco, with all of the Titans.”

Jason lets out a sigh before he spills every piece of information. He tells him everything from Trigon to Deathstroke to CADMUS. He tells him about the Titans turning on him for something he didn’t do, you talking him off the roof. Dick's confession and Donna’s death. Everything.

Then he tells Crane everything he knows about Bruce. The manor, the Batcave. Everything. He tells Crane about his training and the cabin, how Bruce found him and how Bruce found Dick. He spills and Crane lets him talk. Crane listens a lot but asks questions where he finds needed but he mostly just lets Jason talk as Jason keeps you out of it as much as he can. Jason is far more cooperative when it comes to everyone else.

Crane figures once he figures out the formula, he can get more information on you and use it against him if he needs to. He can’t have anyone if this is going to work and Crane knows exactly how he’ll be able to accomplish it. But for now, it’s about the Titans and Bruce. By the time Jason finishes, he’s got the formula tucked away in his pocket, ready to let fear go.

Jason pulls his phone from his pocket once he’s far enough away from Arkham. He’s spent the walk running over every lie he could tell you. Guilt eats at him with every step he takes. You're gonna kill him. He’s gonna lie to you because he knows for a fact, you’ll freak out. You’ll think he’s gone off the deep end and you’ll tell Dick. You’ll drag him kicking and screaming out of Gotham. You’ll tell Arkham and he won’t be able to see Crane again. It’s not fair and it’s not right. But you can’t know. And a part of him finds that to be unfair, too because he’s gonna fix his fear while you have to suffer with yours. That’s not fair to you. So, he thinks.

Maybe he can figure out a way to bring it up without bringing it up. Maybe he can try to see how you’d feel about a way to get rid of fear. If you seem for it, then he can tell you. He can see if you want to help. But the more he thinks about that, the more he thinks about Crane.

You’d have to be involved with him. Jason doesn’t want you involved with him. Not him. And he knows, the second he tells you about Crane, you’ll lose it. Even if you want a cure-all. You’ll bail the second you hear about Crane. You would never work with a guy like that. So, he has no choice. It’s that or end it and he doesn’t want to do that either.

“Hey.” Jason says as you pick up the phone.

“Jay? Where are you? I’ve been texting you to make sure you were okay.” He can hear your worry and he thinks maybe the anti-fear drug will make him not worry. Maybe you don’t want to worry so much.

“I’m sorry.” Jason clears his throat. “I needed to clear my damn head. I’m fine. Can you come get me, please?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?” You answer and Jason can hear you rustling on the other end.

“I’ll text you the address.” Jason states. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” You hang up and get to your feet while Jason texts you the address.

When you reach Jason, he’s soaked. Your heart aches, feeling like it’s being squeezed right through your rib cage at the sight of him. He looks exhausted and lost. He looks distant and he is drenched from the winter rain. Something bad happened and you have no idea how you're going to be able to help.

You take off your helmet, not getting off the bike. “Jay, are you okay?”

Jason gets up from the curb and walks up to you, offering you a fake smile. “Yeah.” His jaw clenches and he doesn’t even want to go home. He doesn’t want to see Bruce. He’d rather be outside in the cold. “All good.”

“What happened?” You reach out but Jason dodges you, reaching for his helmet. A lump grows in your throat. He doesn’t dodge you. Not like that.

“Bruce took Robin away.” Jason’s voice cracks as he shakes his head.

He dodges your stare. He doesn’t want to see the look you’ll give him. On the one hand, he’ll feel guilty. He’ll feel guilty for lying and talking to Crane. And on the other, you’ll give him a look that screams pity and that is the last thing he needs. Jason Todd doesn’t need anyone’s pity.

“What do you mean?” You question.

“Like fucking permanently. He said I can’t be Robin anymore.” Jason lets out a bitter scoff as he feels the anger come back to his bloodstream.

“Jay, I’m so sorry.” You say softly.

You never thought Bruce would take it away like that. Jason has been doing everything Bruce asked him to do. Ever since the Pete Hawkins thing, Jason has backed off entirely. He is putting a real effort into therapy, really trying to let the process help. Why would Bruce rip it away from him?

“Fuck him. I’m gonna fucking show him he’s wrong. He's fucking wrong about me.” Jason grits his teeth.

“He is.” You nod your head. “Come on. Let’s get you home and warm and we can talk more, okay?”

“Whatever.” Jason scoffs, popping his helmet on before he gets on the back and holds onto you while you drive back to the manor.

You get Jason back to the manor and into a warm shower. He says almost nothing. It’s as if he’s completely numb and it breaks you to see him like this. Jason is anything but quiet in a shower with you, usually. And he’s always handsy and cheeky. But, tonight, he’s just quiet, going through the motions, stuck on his own head.

You don’t understand how Bruce could take Robin away like that. It’s not fair. Jason does what Bruce asks him to and he messes up sometimes but that’s normal. How does he not see Robin is the most important thing to him? You even told him that. And he took Robin anyway. He never should have let him be Robin in the first place if this was something that could happen. Dick almost killed someone and he didn’t take Robin from Dick. Jason tries his best. Why isn’t that good enough for Bruce?

Dick was always right about him.

Jason plops onto your bed, his eyes red and puffy. His heart feels like it’s being crushed by cinderblocks. It all hurts. How did he really let another person down? How was he fooled into believing Bruce was different than everyone else? He thinks about his dad. His dad wasn’t a good person but Jason, sometimes, wonders if it was him. Maybe it was his fault his dad was like that. Maybe it was different before him. His dad didn’t choose to be his dad. But Bruce chose it. And still is giving up on him. Jason is Bruce’s son by choice, he thought the choice of picking a son, would make it different. But it’s the same old story Jason hates retelling.

He fucks up and people give up.

“Want me to rub your back while you tell me about it?” You offer as you stand in between his legs, looking down at him.

Jason looks up at you and you always worried so much. He wishes he could be better so you wouldn’t worry about him. He wonders why you choose him. You don’t have to, like Bruce. But you do. He wonders if one day you’ll stop. If his mom and his dad and his uncle and Dick and Bruce all chose other things over him, why wouldn't you? But he looks up at you and you give him this soft smile with your fingertips brushing his knees with care and he thinks you're still different than everyone else.

Jason cracks a soft smile. “Yeah, actually. Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile softly.

Jason switches to his stomach, facing the TV just as you did the first day you started your friends-with-benefits situation. You sit on top of him and run your hands over his back. Your hands are cold, sending goosebumps up his spine. Your hands are always cold, something he always finds a bit ironic given the acid generation warms your hands. But your fingers are soft as you trace over the scars on his back. You do it every time and he always meant to ask.

“Why do you do that?” Jason asks, his eyes closed with his head on his hands.

“Do what?” You ask as you start rubbing his shoulders.

“Trace the scars.”

“I dunno.” You shake your head and you didn’t realize you did it often enough for him to notice.

You're not even sure why you do it. It’s something mindless. Maybe it’s your subconscious wishing if you trace them enough times, it’ll remove the damage the scars have caused him, like a magic eraser. Or maybe tracing the scars is confirmation he’s real.

Sometimes, you have a hard time believing he’s real. All of this is real. You used to dream of a life outside of the basement, sometimes they’d feel so real you could swear they were. Wishful thinking.

Maybe you trace them as confirmation that the raised and paled skin is real, Jason is here with you and you're not dreaming. Maybe you like the way the scars look on his skin but he managed to pull through all of his terrible shit and make it out the other end with a smart mouth and a heart of gold anyway. Maybe, you just do it because you care about him regardless of the scars and what made them.

“Does it bother you?” You ask softly.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just wondering.”

It always makes him feel vulnerable, a harsh reminder he is not invincible as much as he likes to believe he is sometimes. He might have survived those injuries but they’re there as harsh reminders. And you touch them and he thinks maybe you find comfort in them, because you have them, too. And that’s always enough for him. He thinks it makes him feel human and real and alive. He always feels a little exposed but it’s become comforting with you.

“What happened?”

He thinks he has his lies in order. He knows he might be sabotaging the relationship. Despite everything he thinks as you massage over the scar on his back, he knows. He knows you might not forgive him. There’s always a chance you won’t be so understanding when you inevitably find out because you always figure him out. But it's a risk he has to take.

He can’t keep doing this anymore. He can’t keep not sleeping. He can’t keep shaking and freezing. He can’t keep living like this. He knows he can’t. It’ll destroy him. It’ll be miserable. The idea of going back to being useless and not good enough and a disappointment, he can’t live like that. He needs help now, before Bruce finds his replacement. Maybe you’ll understand that part.

“He fucking said he made mistakes and I guess I’m fucking one of them.” Jason scoffs from under you.

You narrow your eyes thinking Bruce didn’t actually say that. You have no faith in Bruce to communicate worth a shit given your conversation with him and given Jason and Dick. And Bruce might be very good at hiding his emotions, but you know he actually cares about Jason. You don’t think Bruce would ever tell Jason he was a mistake, even if he thought it.

“He said that?” You ask, pausing for a few seconds.

“Basically!” Jason groans. “And he doesn’t want to make more mistakes and he said I can’t be Robin anymore. He thinks I’m a fucking mental case. He doesn’t care it’s important to me. He doesn’t care that I’m doing what he wants me to. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s fucking bullshit.” Jason’s voice shakes as his back tenses under your palms.

“That’s not fair. I don’t know why he would do that. You were always a great Robin.” You say softly.

You wish you could have heard the conversation so you would know better what to say. But, you also know, even if Bruce didn’t say any of that and it came out wrong, it wouldn’t change anything for you to decipher it for him. At the end of the day, Bruce could have outright told Jason he loves him and he doesn’t want him to die and Jason would still be absolutely crushed with Robin being ripped away from him. Bruce’s delivery of the message doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.

“Just fucking tired of being scared.” Jason lets out a defeated sigh. “Fucking gave up on me. Ya know, thought he was fucking different.” His voice is etched in pain and you wish you could take it all away. He never deserves the pain he gets.

It’s honest. He can be honest with you about that. Maybe he wants you to figure it out.

“Yeah, I get it. Being scared really sucks. You’ll get better though. I know I keep saying it but it takes time, Jay. Bruce should be giving you more time.” You say. “I’m really sorry about him.” You lean down and press a kiss to his shoulder blade. “You still have me, okay?”

He knows. He’ll always have you. Somewhere inside of him, he knows. The anxiety of you freaking out and leaving when you figure it out is there, but he also knows he’s given you every opportunity to take off and run. And you never do. You’d understand his desperation. You'd understand why he lied. He knows he still has you.

“What if there were a cure for fear?” Jason asks and he’s glad you can’t see his face. You’d know.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow.

“What if there was a cure? Like we can just take it and not be scared anymore.” Jason listens carefully, feeling your hands pause on his back. He knows without looking that you've got your right eyebrow raised at him, your eyes narrowing at him as if you can’t decide if he’s joking or serious.

“I mean that’d be great, but there would be consequences, right?” You question.

You're a little concerned with the question. But, that’d be insane. It’d be insane for him to really look for a cure to fear. You swear he’s just talking, doing one of his hypothetical talks he does like you do about the zombie apocalypse.

“Like what? Being fearless sounds pretty fucking good right about now.” Jason scoffs.

“We’ll, fear is just adrenaline, right? But that fear also keeps you looking both ways before crossing the street, it alerts you when someone is following you home. Without fear, also means you won’t have excitement. You’ll probably be emotionally numb to a lot of things. Not having adrenaline is dangerous though.” You answer.

“Yeah, but isn’t that fucking better than being scared all the damn time? You’re afraid of everything, too and your nightmares are back. You wouldn’t want something to stop it?” Jason looks over his shoulder.

Your nightmares came back a week and a half ago. You and Molly were on a walk and ran into Jerry’s Gotham house. You still don’t know how you missed it, but you did. You were walking and having a good time and you saw the house and that was it. You broke and it’s like all of the progress you made over the last few months evaporated into the atmosphere. Molly had to call Jason because you were having a panic attack and couldn’t snap out of it. The nightmares came back that night.

“Of course, I would.” You shrug.

You think about it and maybe it would be nice. If nothing else, just so you could get some damn proper sleep. So, you both could get some proper sleep. Maybe if you both got some sleep, you’d be better. Maybe Jason makes a good point but then you think about how happy you are when you see him and when a new movie comes out and your marathons with Gar. You wouldn’t want to trade those feelings for being fearless.

“But not if it means getting rid of everything else. Adrenaline also keeps us alive. I’ve been numb and that’s worse than being scared. Why?” You ask. “You trying to find a cure to fear or something?”

“No.” Jason scoffs, letting out a fake laugh and he was really hoping you’d be on his side with this one. “Just fucking saying, wish there were a cure. At least so I can be Robin.”

“Look, it sucks, Jaybird. But I don’t think the answer to being Robin is being fearless. You had to use that fear to survive out there, too. You’re gonna be okay and then you can go out and be your own hero. You don’t have to be Robin. Dick quit and became Nightwing. You don’t need Bruce to help people.” You say. “And I still think you’re plenty good enough. I’m just saying, if Bruce won’t let you, do it yourself when you get better. You’re good enough.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jason sighs. “Maybe you’re right but he doesn’t believe in me anymore.” Jason says and you know it’s never your approval he’ll need. And that’s okay but you wish sometimes, like tonight, it were enough. “I’m gonna prove him wrong.”

“Good, fuck Bruce.” You smile softly. “Just…give it a little bit, okay? Keep seeing Leslie, too. She’s been helping.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jason huffs.

“I’m serious, Jason. You do sleep more now. Seeing her is helping, just keep up with it. And then we’ll go out together. Fuck Bruce. We’ll be our own team.” You let out a soft chuckle.

“Thanks.” Jason lets out a sigh.

You make good points but his mind is made up. He’s going to do this. He doesn’t have time to wait around and hope for the best. He isn’t going to Leslie. He’s going to make the anti-fear drug and he won’t be scared anymore. Maybe you're right. Maybe he’ll be numb to everything but he doesn’t care anymore. He is desperate for a cure. He needs it. Maybe he can only use it to be Robin, just to prove himself. It’ll be a quick fix and that’ll be the end of it. Just use it out there and to sleep. You make good points, but he has to do this. And he is so sorry he has to lie about it.

Jason turns from under you so he can face you and you place your hands on his chest. You have a soft smile and he feels so guilty but you’ll understand. You’ll get it when he can function better, it’s just until this whole shit wears off. You’ll get it. If anyone will, it’ll be you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” Jason places his hands on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing softly against your bare skin.

“You and me.” You smile softly.

“Yeah.” Jason smiles looking at the necklace hanging from your neck. You haven't taken it off since he gave it to you. “You and me.”

“You okay?” Your voice is filled with love as you ask. No one ever asked like that before.

“Yeah.” Jason answers simply. “Just glad you’re here.”

“You sure? I’m really worried about you.” Your brows knit together. “You know I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

“I’m not gonna walk off a roof, I swear.” Jason’s eyes widen as a grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Good. I just know this is bad for you. I just hope you believe me because I believe in you.”

Jason sits up and places his fingers under your chin. “Thanks. Look, I’ll be fucking fine. Trust me. I got a plan.” Jason offers you a grin.

“That’s still mildly unsettling coming from you.” You smile. “What’s the plan?” You widen your eyes as your hands come to his shoulders, a teasing smirk coming to your lips.

“You’ll see.” Jason drops his hand to your waist.

“Oh, you’re not gonna tell me?” You laugh.

“What’s that you always say?” Jason teases. “We don’t always get what we want.” And he says your name, it comes out a little groveled but his voice is teasing.

“Shut up.” You groan.

“Do you trust me?” Jason asks as his hands squeeze your hips softly.

“Of course, I do. You know I do.” You answer.

“Trust me then. I got a plan. I’ll be back out there and proving everyone else wrong.” Jason holds his head with confidence.

You raise a brow at him. “Why do I have a bad feeling about that?” Jason and plans aren’t always a bad combination but he is desperate and hurt right now. You remember the last plan he had when he felt this way.

“Don’t. I got this. Like you said, I’ll be fine.” Jason presses a kiss to your lips.

“Right yeah, you will be.” You let out a sigh and you think it can’t be that bad. He’d tell you. “Okay. You’ll tell me through, right?”

“Of course, you and me.” Jason gives you a wild grin.

He hopes you won’t be mad.

The next day, Jason rents an apartment and sets up to work on making the anti-fear drug. ?You had plans with Molly anyway and that was the perfect excuse for him to get here all by himself to get to work. Plus, Bruce had to go out of town so that's one less person he has to worry about.

He feels guilt gnawing at his stomach like a bad stomach ulcer. But he works anyway. He works through it because this is the only way. And even if he wanted to back out, he already told Crane everything. If he wanted to back out, Crane could use that information against him. But, he doesn’t want to back out anyway, so he pushes the guilt and anxiety away as he puts together a botched drug.

You grow suspicious over the next few days. Jason is making weird and random excuses not to hang out. He’s always trying to get you to hang out more with Molly or for you to head to Excellent Gotham and get to know Tim better. You always need more friends, apparently. Normally, you wouldn’t think too much of it. Or you’d be worried he was distancing himself to leave. But it’s Jason and he’s definitely hiding something, so you follow him one day.

Your phone rings as you hide in the alley beside the building Jason walked into.

“Hello?” You ask.

“Why are you following me?” Jason asks.

He caught onto you following him a few blocks from the apartment he’s been using. He was Robin and a street kid, he knows when someone is following him. And he feels bad about it. For you to follow him, you have to be really worried. He doesn’t track you unless you get kidnapped and you don’t track him on his phone. You don’t follow each other. But you are. And he needs to find a way to assure you.

“I—“ You pause. “I-I’m not following you.” You scoff.

“Yeah, you are.” Jason states as he walks through the opposite end of the alley.

“Why do you think that?” You raise, crossing your arm across your chest.

“I can see you.” Jason answers, pulling the phone away from his ear as you jump, turning around to see Jason.

To be fair, you should have known he'd figure it out. But, you tried to be subtle and keep a far enough distance away from him. You put in a lot of effort. He's just more vigilant than you are, apparently.

“Oh, hey, Jay.” You give him a cheeky smile with a nervous laugh. “Whatcha doing?”

You might be following him. You might be figuring it out a little sooner than he'd personally like. But, he does find it a little cute. And a little amusing you really thought Jason wouldn't figure it out.

“Walking, what’re you doing, babe?” Jason quips, closing the rest of the distance between you.

You sigh in defeat. “Following you.”

Jason lets out a hearty laugh. “No shit. Why?”

“You’ve been…weird, sneaking around. Worried about you.” You groan as you scrunch your nose.

He's really not trying to worry you. He doesn't want you to worry about him anymore. Even if you would be completely against an anti-fear drug, a part of him thinks maybe if he has it, you won't have too many reasons to worry about him anymore. The way Jason sees it, he was always better off with less fear. Maybe the drug helping him, will help you. In a roundabout way.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m just working on something, alright?” He’s giving you that toothy grin that is always trouble.

“Right…that’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.” You quip back, the smile falling short.

“It’s a surprise, alright? Don’t worry so much.”

“A surprise?” You raise a brow.

“A surprise.” Jason echoes and it’s not technically a lie. “You said you trust me.”

“I do.” You groan. “I’m sorry. You just never sneak around. It’s weird, even for you.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and maybe you're being paranoid. You've always been a little on the paranoid side, especially since Jerry. And the paranoia decided to come back in full force with the nightmares. Maybe you're just paranoid, more worried about losing him. Things have been good, between you at least, you always get scared when things are good for too long.

Jason puts his hands on your shoulders. “I’m fine, babe. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Promise?” You ask.

“Promise.” Jason nods.

“Fine.” You sigh, taking his arms off of your shoulders and holding his right hand. “Just…whatever you’re up to, be careful.”

“Always.” Jason beams, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at home, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You sigh, kissing him softly.

“Love you.” Jason grins, walking past you.

“I love you, too.” You watch him walk off and you really have a bad feeling about this one. But you can’t follow him and you have no reason not to trust him. So, you let him walk as you head back the way you came.

The next day, Jason gets the formula right. He uses an inhaler to take it and every fear he has ever had, melts away. It works. He did it. He got his cure to fear. So, he heads back to Arkham, high on the drug to confirm to Crane he got it despite the shotty formula.

And Crane already had a plan in motion. He had a feeling Jason would figure it out. So, he set up a plan and it’s time for the plan to go into motion so they can make Gotham theirs. Crane needs Jason to prove it works. What better way than to have him face off with the Joker alone? That’ll surely prove it. But, what Jason doesn’t know, is that Crane knows the downside to life without fear. Of course, he does. He’s the expert in it. Crane already has someone on the outside ready to handle it when this does not go the way Jason thinks it will. But is it perfect for Crane, another thing to hold over Jason’s head to control him.

And Jason doesn’t see the motive. So, Crane tells him to go after the Joker to prove it works and prove to the Bat he can do this. Jason doesn’t need Bruce. He can take care of the Joker all by himself. Jason, lacking all apprehension and self-preservation thanks to the drug, agrees easily. He’s not scared of him.

That next night, Jason convinces you to run out to the store. You were talking about needing some supplies for your scrapbook. You're reluctant at first, but decide to go. It’ll be quick. And Jason gets to work tracking the Joker.

But, with Jason at home, something just does not feel right to you. You make it all the way to the store, hoping the feeling will it go away, but it doesn't. So, you decide to call Molly, maybe Molly can talk you down.

“Hey.” Molly chimes through the phone.

“Hey, you busy?” You ask as you sit on the bike outside of the store.

“No, what’s up?”

You pause. It’s eating at you. Jason was weird as fuck last night when he came home and he’s been weird today. Convincing you to go to the store was weird. Him not coming with is also weird. And you have that feeling in the pit of your stomach. You shouldn’t have left.

“You….uh, I don’t know. I think I’m having a bad feeling so I just…need to talk I think.” You shake your head, the helmet weighing on your head a bit.

“What’s going on? Where’s Jason?” Molly asks.

“Home.” You answer. “I went to the store, he didn’t wanna come.”

“Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Not, uh, not what I wanted to talk about actually.”

“What’s going on?”

“Uh…do you…you know when something bad is gonna happen like really bad and you just….get this feeling? Like…right in the center of your stomach?”

You think you're being paranoid. It only happened once when your mom died. But since Jerry, you're always paranoid and the feeling comes back. Sometimes it’s wrong. Sometimes, it’s just you being paranoid. And you know that’s what this has to be because what could possibly happen to Jason at the manor?

“Yeah.” Molly nods her head because it happened with her mom. She just knew. “You have that feeling?”

“Yeah…I don’t know. Sometimes it's wrong. But it just…I don’t know. Feels bad.” You let out a sigh.

“When did it start?”

“Right before I left. Like, I got on the bike and I just….I don’t know. I think I’m gonna go home.” You shake your head and you can go home. You can always come back tomorrow.

“Are you sure? I mean...what if it’s a coincidence? Two’s a coincidence.” Molly tries to assure you.

“Yeah, I know but….what if it’s not? Can you stay on the phone with me while I get back?” You just can’t do it. It’s not a big deal.

“Yeah, of course.” Molly nods her head and you start the bike, taking off back to the manor. “What do you think it is?” Molly asks, mostly to talk you down.

“I don’t know.” You answer. “Jason’s been acting weird lately. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s not….he’s…something’s off with him and I don’t know why I came. He told me to and maybe I listen to him a little too much sometimes. He said he was fine but I don’t know. I got a real bad feeling.” You groan.

“How far are you from the manor?”

“Like twenty minutes.”

“Well, if something is going on, you’re not that far and you haven’t been gone long. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble.” Molly tries to assure you but it doesn’t work.

The more you talk, the more paranoid you get. You know Molly is right. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble in the last half hour. But you worry anyway.

“Yeah, hey, can you conference him in? Just…give me some piece of mind before I get back.”

“Yeah, of course.” Molly states as she pulls the phone away from her ear and adds Jason to the call. The two of you listen as the phone rings and rings and rings. And then goes to voicemail.

“Fuck.” You let out a scoff as panic starts to flood your system.

“Maybe he’s--”

“No, he’d answer if it were you while I’m out. Call again.” You state and Molly does as told, getting voicemail again. You shake your head and you pull the throttle back, kicking the bike into third.

“Slow down.” Molly urges. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just in the bathroom.” Molly says as she hears the bike rev further.

“He’d answer. I know he would. Double calls. He would because why would you call him twice in a row unless it were important?” You argue.

You're begging for you to be wrong. You hope against everything in your body you're wrong. This one time, you have to be wrong.

“Okay, so what do you think is going on?” Molly asks.

“I don’t know!” You groan. “That’s the problem. I have no idea what’s been going on with him. I followed him a few days ago and he brushed it off. Like it was no big deal but he was sneaking around behind my back. He said he was planning something or some shit. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

“You don’t think he’s like cheating--”

“No! Of course, not. He would never. I….” You bite your tongue because Molly doesn’t know about Robin. “I don’t know what the fuck he’s been doing but now he’s not answering. And I got this feeling. Hold on I’m at a stop light.” You groan, quick-dialing Jason as you watch the red light. The two of you listen as it goes to voicemail. And you try again. Voicemail. “Something’s wrong.” You say as the light turns green and you start weaving between cars.

“Because he’s not answering and you have a feeling? You sound paranoid.”

“I know.” You grit your teeth. “But he’d answer for me. I know he would. Especially calling him twice. He’d answer. I just...remember a few weeks ago when he got his ass kicked?”

“Yeah.” Molly wishes she could forget.

“Okay, so what if he went out on his own to try that guy again or something?” You spit, avoiding details about Robin because you're thinking he’s out Robining alone for some sort of spite against Bruce. He’s still mad. And maybe he froze and it got bad.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s Jason.” You let out a breath.

You get back to the manor, switching the call to your phone instead of your helmet. You make your way into the manor and call for Jason. The manor is silent. It’s not even like that’s abnormal. Jason isn’t really loud and neither is Bruce. But, the quiet and lack of Jason answering is eery and unsettling.

You search your rooms and living rooms and kitchens. He’s nowhere to be found and your heart sinks further. So, you go to the Batcave. Hoping maybe, he’s just training. Maybe Molly is right. Maybe he’s just busy. Maybe his phone died and he didn’t realize it. That’s possible. It’s Jason. He isn’t the type that’s glued to his phone. Maybe.

But that hope dies as you reach the Batcomputer, seeing Amusement Mile pulled up with the Joker’s location.

No, no, no, no.

“I’m sure he went out and he’ll be--”

“Fuck!” You yell as you look to the display case. The Robin suit is gone.

Molly calls your name and now she’s worried.

“What a fucking---” You cut yourself off as you grit your teeth. “Molly, I gotta go.”

“Molly yells your name, her voice now completely panicked.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll call you. I have to call Bruce.” You rush as you hang up, running over to your own display case holding your suit. You rip the case open and grab the suit as you put Bruce on speaker. “Bruce!?” You yell into the phone as you jump around, getting the suit on as fast as you can.

This can’t be happening. The Joker? Of all fucking people, that’s who he decides he’s going to go after to prove himself? Why the hell would he ever do that? You try your best not to focus on the millions of questions you have for him and the fact you're ready to scream at him for the twenty-four hours. You have to focus because it’s the fucking Joker. He’s taken too much from you.

Bruce can hear the absolute panic in your voice. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jason! I fucking told you! He went after the fucking Joker!” You scream into the phone as you zip the front of your suit and put the mask over your mouth.

“I told him not to.” Bruce says calmly, but a part of him is panicking.

Bruce doesn’t panic but there is no way you would be calling him and telling him this if it weren’t true. Jason knows better. Why would he go after the Joker? On his own?

“Oh, because Jason is so fucking good at following instructions?!” You run over to the weapons once you're completely suited up.

On the one hand, Bruce could send you after him. That’s at least, two against one. But, it’s the Joker. And Bruce knows he’s more ruthless than anyone. It’s a fun game to him like whack-a-mole. And the prize is always bloodshed. He also knows how you feel and if he sends you, not only could you go out and get killed but you could kill him first. That’s a life on Bruce’s conscious.

“Do not go anywhere. I’m on a flight—“

“No! You don’t get to tell me to fucking sit here and hope for the fucking best. He is everything to me and I am not gonna sit here and let him get fucking killed, Bruce!” You seeth and the Joker should have been killed a long fucking time ago. You swear, if the Joker even lays a single finger on him, you’ll do it her damn self. Bruce is too much of a coward of what he could become if he did it. You don’t care. “The Robin suit is gone, the Joker is gonna fucking kill him and it’s all your fault!” You scream as you gather knives.

“Stay put.” Bruce is stern on the other line. “It will be dangerous and you aren’t prepared--”

“No! Fuck you!” You snip back, gathering as many knives as you can carry. “I’m gonna save him, kill the damn Joker since you’re too damn cowardly to do it and then I’m calling Dick.” You fume on the other end. “I’m gonna beg him if I have to to come and bring us back to San Franciso because fucking clearly, he’s worse off here!” You scream before hanging up the phone and heading towards the exit.

It’s not that he’s scared or even feeling uneasy. His head is clouded with a sense of nothing. Everything is just numb as he cuts the chain into the amusement park.

Jason should be scared and there’s a gnawing at the back of his head that is screaming and howling for him to be scared. To turn around. This is a bad idea. This is bad. There are red flashing lights begging him to turn around but that sense of adrenaline that would normally kick in and give him a little bit of common sense and self-preservation is being suppressed. It doesn’t exist. So, the normally loud and blinding lights that have been causing him so much pain over the last few months, aren’t loud enough. They’re useless.

As he walks further into the amusement park, he finds old and run-down games that grab his attention. This is the Joker’s hideout. It’s known. Of course, the maniac clown would like a closed amusement park. And Jason knows he should be hypervigilant. This is the Joker’s turf and he knows the Joker is here. But the drug keeps suppressing that, too.

He knows he should be more aware and more on guard but the drug gives him a false sense of confidence. He can do this. It’s the Joker. He’s just some crazy clown and if Bruce can take him down several times, Jason can do it. Bruce trained him, right? He knows better though. He should be scared and more aware. but then there’s a noise from behind him and he jumps anyway.

His heart skips before plummeting back into a resting rhythm as he spots a dead man with a creepy smile tugged on display. Jason’s eyes widen and there’s this small, tiny bit of fear that seems to bypass the anti-fear drug like a leaky faucet. And Jason starts to hear and see the red flashing lights in the back of his head in perfect color. But the point is that he isn’t supposed to feel fear at all.

Maybe his formula is a little off. How is he feeling any sense of fear? It’s barely there, barely even noticeable but it’s there enough where if he were in a normal state of mind, that alone would send him into a panic. He’d panic about being worried he’s going to panic. And that thought with the mixing of the drug, makes him miss the creeping steps of the Joker from behind him.

With a quick swing, a crowbar connects to Jason’s head and he’s sent right to the ground.

His head throbs and aches, a horrendous and shooting pain sending his head into a spin as his stomach turns. Blood drips down from his forehead, the warm liquid seeping down his cheek as he looks up to see the menacing and sadistic smile of the Joker looking down at him just as he pulls his arm back for another swing.

This swing connects with his jaw and Jason can hear the bone break. Jason’s mouth pools with blood, the taste of iron already becoming more nauseating. He groans out in agony as the Joker takes another hit to his head, his laugh echoing through the park.

His laugh rings through Jason’s ears with every blow and Jason thinks that laugh can penetrate any type of anti-fear drug. His hearing seems to get worse and worse but that laugh could pierce through solid steel. And he’s not supposed to be scared anymore.

But the Joker hits him again and Jason coughs up blood and fear starts to rush into his veins. Maybe it’s the overwhelming amount of adrenaline making the anti-fear drug wear off a lot sooner than it should. Maybe his formula needs to be tweaked. Maybe the anti-fear drug has a side effect, maybe it doesn’t work when he’s on the brink of death. Jason can’t think straight enough to figure it out. Instead, all he thinks is that he has never been more terrified than he is right now.

SMACK

WHACK

CRACK

Jason’s bones break as Joker takes a break from his face and works on his side and then his arms and legs. He swears this is the worst pain he has ever been in. The Joker hits him over and over and over again, the pain getting worse and worse as tears brim his eyes. He claws at the ground in desperation, a failing attempt to move away. But, the bones are being broken one by one and he can feel the shards with every movement. And he is so fucking sorry.

SMACK

He’s so sorry to Bruce because he should have listened. He should have been a better Robin. He should have listened. He’s so sorry he wasn’t better. He’s so sorry he wasn’t a better son. He tried his absolute best but he could have tried harder. Maybe he could have told Bruce what was going on. Maybe he could have told Bruce more about therapy. Maybe he could have explained anything that ever happened with him. Maybe he could have just tried to be a son. He’s so sorry and all he wants to do is tell Bruce he’s sorry. And thank you.

He wants to thank Bruce for trying. For taking him in. Letting him be his son and letting him be Robin. Bruce, in his weird way, cared about him and loved him. He tried even if he sucked at it sometimes. Jason wants to tell Bruce thank you.

SMACK

Jason screams as the crowbar finally shatters one of his ribs. His breathing is becoming ragged as the Joker takes another swing to Jason’s chest. The Robin suit offers a lot of protection but the Joker is relentless. He’s getting off on every scream and groan and gasp Jason lets out. It’s as if the sight of the blood seeping onto the ground and the backswing of splatter gets him off. He’s having the time of his life beating Jason to death. And Jason has never been more scared.

SMACK

He’s so scared and sorry. He’s so fucking sorry to you and he would give anything to tell you that right now. All he wants to do is call you. He wants to take it all back. He wants to go back home and crawl into your bed with you. He wants to hug you and kiss you and promise he’s doing okay and he’ll be okay. And you’ll be okay. He wants to promise you that it’ll all work out in the end, even if he doesn’t make it. He wants to tell you not to be mad or sad because he doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to dwell on his inevitable death.

You both knew it was going to be him. You liked to fool yourself into thinking maybe it would be you but at the end of the day, you both knew it would always be him. Jason always knew it was gonna be him who died first. And he wants nothing more than to promise you it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. He doesn’t want you to run yourself into the ground over him. But he knows you and he knows as the Joker takes another horrendous and agonizing hit to his skull, you’ll be miserable. This will be it for you. He’s not gonna make it and you're gonna lose your entire mind. You always said you would. And it’s all his fault.

SMACK

CRACK

He wants to shake you and tell you he’s so fucking sorry. He should have just told you what was going on. He should have told you. You would have helped him. You wouldn’t have been mad or yelled at him. Of all people, you would have understood why he went to Crane. You would have gotten it. You always understood him. And he should have told you.

He shouldn’t have lied to you. He’s so fucking sorry. And he’s so sorry for not loving you better, you deserve someone who’s not gonna do this. You deserve someone who’s not gonna get killed and didn’t even stand a damn chance. And he is so sorry he’s going to leave you alone.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna make it.

The Joker's laugh starts to sound further away as he takes another blow to the right side of his face, the crowbar connecting hard and steady against his ear. Then he can’t hear anything from that ear at all as blood starts to drip out. It’s the worst headache of Jason’s life. He can hear his skull cracking under the blows. He feels the blood seeping through his suit and onto the ground. There’s so much blood. He’s lightheaded and dizzy. It’s so hard to breathe.

SMACK

He’s not gonna make it.

And he finds himself, hoping against all odds, that someone will find him soon anyway. Maybe help will come just in time. Bruce is supposed to be the world’s greatest detective. Jason is his son. He’d figure it out. Maybe he already did and he’s actually close. Maybe he lied to Jason and he’s actually in Gotham and on his way. And maybe, you figured it out.

You're smart. You can fight off the Joker enough to get you both to safety. You were trained by Jason, Dick, Bruce. Jason believes you could do it. Maybe you're on your way. You're smart. You know Jason better than anyone. You’ll figure it out. You always figure it out. Maybe help is coming.

SMACK

Everything goes black for just a few seconds and then it’s blurry and shifted. He can’t see out of his right eye. Jason doesn’t know what’s going on as the Joker takes another smack. His laugh is just a reverberation now. The only sound he can even hear is the cracking of bones. Nothing else. And he doesn’t think he can breathe real well. He can’t move his jaw. He can’t even find the strength to try to move anymore. It all hurts and there’s so much blood.

Jason silently begs for the help he doesn’t realize will be too late just as the Joker takes a larger and harder blow to the front of his face.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to hold on.

You drive to the abandoned carnival, coming up on one of the gates. Jason’s bike and helmet are right outside and the chain to the gate has been cut. You know. You know this isn’t good. It’s completely silent and you are terrified.

Silence can’t be good and a part of you hopes that maybe the Joker wants to play with Bruce. Maybe the Joker wants to kill Jason in front of him, to taunt him, that’ll give you some time to have a plan and get you both out of there, maybe. Or Bruce could make it in time to save you both.

But you creep around the grounds, cautiously but quickly. You're paying close attention to your head, making sure you don’t miss it if the throbbing you're certain will start. But, it doesn’t. Instead, you reach an open tunnel with carnival games and there’s someone lying on the ground.

It’s dark and despite you knowing damn well if it were the Joker on the ground, Jason would be over him bragging and cheering for himself, you hope it’s the Joker anyway. You hope against everything that the person laying on the ground is the Joker.

The closer you get though, the more you get the picture of the yellow and black cape.

Jason.

“No…” Your lip quivers as you pause. You're terrified to get any closer. It can’t be Jason. It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be. He’s strong and smart. He knows better. “No, no, no, no…” Your voice cracks as you start to walk closer and you can see him now.

There’s blood everywhere. He’s laying in a puddle of red and there’s blood splatter on the ground and the games. A bloody crowbar is tossed to the side and Jason is completely still. Your heart is in your throat as you close the distance, dropping to your knees.

“Jay…” Your voice is a whimpered whisper as you put your hand on his shoulder, pulling him to face you.

His body is completely limp and as he turns, you get the gruesome sight of what the Joker has done.

Jason’s face is mangled and unidentifiable. You can see his teeth through his jaw while there’s blood and bruising around the other side of his face. His face is swollen and paler than usual. There’s blood smeared across his face and on his lips. Some of his hair is wet with blood and sticking to his forehead. And his eyes are closed, not even trying to open.

Your heart shatters in that instant. The weight of the world has been on your shoulders for years and with the sight of his body, the world finally falls. It tumbles around you, breaking into unfixable pieces. The foundation keeping you steady is lifeless and cold and bloody.

Your lip quivers as tears start to trickle down your cheeks. Everything around you feels heavy and cold. The lump in your throat is so big and hard, you swear it’ll suffocate you finally and you’ll finally be out of this misery. The reaper creeps back from the shadow of your head, a smile similar to Joker’s shining back at you and he’s finally won. He won in a way you never thought he would.

Killing the last good parts of you, by killing him.

“Jason…” You whimper, one of your hands hesitantly going to his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. There’s no pulse, just cold skin under the blood. “No…” You whine, tears now blurring your vision. You lean down, trying to hear him breathe and there’s nothing. He’s completely still. No breathing. Nothing. Just lifeless. “Jay, please, you can’t die.” You let out a sob, pulling Jason’s body into your lap. “I love you. You can’t die. I need you.” Your words are slurred as your nose runs and the cries grow louder.

You sob, rocking back and forth. You knew it would happen. You knew. And you should have known Jason was up to something when he didn’t go with you today. You should have known. He can’t be dead.

You swallow the lump in your throat, moving to rest Jason’s head flat on the ground while you pull out your phone, hands covered in blood. You call Bruce, putting the phone on speaker and then you start CPR. You swear it’ll be useless but you have to try anyway.

You swore every single day that you would never give up on him. And CPR isn’t going to help, but fuck it, you're not going to give up. So, you try anyway. You have to fucking try.

“Did you find him?” Bruce asks as soon as he answers.

Those words get you to let out another cry, your arms shaking as you push down on Jason’s chest. “Bruce!” You scream as your arms tremble.

Everything stops for Bruce. Pain shoots through his heart like a barbed wire arrow. He knows. He knows that cry because he’s let it out himself all those years ago. He’s heard other people. Babs. Dick. He knows and yet, it can’t be true. Not his son.

“What happened?” Bruce shakes his head, using all of his willpower not to let his voice shake.

“What do I do?” You cry, your cries are loud but there’s a weakness in your voice. “He’s not breathing and the Joker beat him with a fucking crowbar! Bruce, what do I do?” You beg Bruce to help. Your voice is slurred and panicked, pleading with all of the energy in you. He’s fucking Batman, he has to help. “What do I do? He’s not breathing. There’s so much blood, Bruce, help, please. You have to save him. Help me save him, please. Bruce, I can’t lose him, I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.” You keep pumping on Jason’s chest but you swear it’s not working and not just because the Robin suit is so sturdy you're barely getting a compression in. You beg him and beg him, as if your pleas are enough to bring Jason back.

“I’ll send someone, keep doing CPR.” Bruce instructs with a square jaw.

“Bruce, I don’t…..I don’t think it’s helping.” You wail and you can’t breathe. It’s so hard to breathe. “I don’t think…..Bruce….” You let out a cough as your elbows shake and you're losing rhythm of the chest compressions.

“Keep going, don’t stop until they get there. I’m landing soon.” Bruce instructs and he never should have gone. He should have seen it. How the hell did he miss this?

“There’s so much blood…Bruce.”

Barbara Gordon and a few trusted people close to Bruce show up first. They find you still trying to perform CPR. You're slower now, and you're not getting the impact you need to make a difference. Your arms are weak and you're nearly hyperventilating and choking on your own tears.

The paramedics try their best to get you off of him but you scream and yell and cry for them to get off of you. You shove them off of you and you try and try and try. Bruce is still on the phone, telling you to let them do their job but you can’t. You can’t do it. You can’t because then you give up. You can’t give up on him. Not him.

“Hey.” Barabra wheels over a few feet away from you and she gets a look at the damage as her stomach turns and she knows he’s gone. “You need to stop.” Her voice is calm as she tries to keep it together.

“No!” You scream and you feel too weak to deal with any of it. He was your everything. “I can’t.”

The paramedics look at Babraba waiting to be told what to do and they know, too. His face is completely destroyed. He’s unrecognizable. The only reason Barabra even knows it’s Jason is because of the Robin suit. There’s brain matter on the ground. There’s more blood on the ground than there is in his body.

“Bluejay.” Barbara calls again, her voice cracking and this gets you to look at her. Even in the dark, Babara can see the redness of your eyes and the tears shining on the top half of your cheek above your mask. “He’s gone.” Babraba’s eyes go misty and you shake your head.

“No…” You whine and you finally stop but your hands stay on his chest. “No, not…no.” You let out a sob and you can’t even see Barbara anymore, the tears have blurred everything together. “I can’t.” You fall back, one of the paramedics catching you so you don’t hit the pavement too hard. The other paramedic jumps in and to Jason, just to be completely positive.

You shove the paramedic off of you and walk the few feet weakly to Barbara. “I-I…what--” You suck in a harsh breath, your breathing so rapid you feel like you're going to pass out.

“Sit down.” Barbara tries to keep her composure and you collapse with a loud sob, your entire chest feeling like it’s been set on fire with gasoline.

It can’t be him. Why him? He was good. He was a good person and funny and smart and kind. Jason had a heart of gold. Why did it have to be him? It never should have been him. He always deserved so much better. He never deserved this. This isn’t fair. It’s not right and it’s so fucking painful you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Babs!” You scream. “I-I-I don’t I don’t wanna do it anymore.” Your teeth grit together as your words are wet and slurred.

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. It’s hard to breathe and your chest feels like it’s all caving in under the pressure. Maybe putting your heart in a pressure cooker would be less painful than this. Everything fucking hurts.

Barbara rests a hand on your shoulder and she knew Jason was reckless but she didn’t think he’d ever actually get himself killed. He was smart. Smarter than this. You cover your face with your hands, not caring you're covered in Jason’s blood. You just want everything to stop. The pain and the world and time and everything. You want it all to be over.

“I’m so sorry.” Barbara offers and there is nothing she can say that’s going to make this better.

“I can’t.” You spit and push Barabra’s hand off you before getting to your feet.

You push through the pain, running away. Barbara yells after you but you do not care. You make yourself run through the pain and the weakness. If you can do anything, it’s run from it. You want to run as far as your legs will let you. To the bike where you can speed away from it all. Speed so fast the pain goes away. The agony will fade if you run. You can do it. You tell yourself you can as tears fall down your face. You toss the helmet on and hop on the bike, and leave. You've always been good at running. You can run from it.

You're in the bathroom back at the manor, scrubbing the blood off of your hands through tears. Everything is blurry and painful. It’s burning and agonizing and stabbing. It aches and throbs. Breathing is the hardest thing you've ever done. You try to get in a full breath but every time you do, a sob immediately follows and it’s like the wind is knocked out from your lungs all over again. Your head is spinning with a throbbing headache and your eyes are so puffy you can barely open them. But, there’s blood staining your hands, Jason’s blood, and you have to get it off. You have to get it off.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

You grit your teeth so hard that your jaw starts to pulse and you hate it. You hate this so much. You hate it and you want him back. You need him. He is everything to you. He is your everything. He is your best friend and you love him more than you've ever loved anyone. And he’s supposed to take care of you and you're supposed to take care of him. And it’s not fair and it’s senseless and it was brutal and you scream at the top of your lungs before falling to the floor. You lean against the counter, pulling your legs to your chest as you put your hands on your face because you can’t do this anymore

You talked about what life you could have together. And you swear you saw it. For the first time, you were optimistic about a future. Because you had him. He gave you all of this hope for the future because Jason could survive anything. He was supposed to survive anything. He was good at it. Dodging whatever fucked up shit the world was going to throw at him. And now he’s not. He didn’t dodge fast enough. And you were supposed to have an apartment one day together. And make dinner together. And have a dog and a cat because Jason always really liked cats. He’d come home and you’d clean up the blood and he’d do the same for you when patrol got a little messy. You were supposed to have a life together.

You don’t know how you're supposed to get up again after this.

And then Molly walks in.

She’s been crying since Bruce called her and asked her to check on you. He’s worried about what you might do and seeing you on the floor absolutely hysterical, she knows why. Of course, she knew it would be bad. Her best friend just lost the person she loves. Of course, you're going to be a mess but….you're covered in blood and Bruce didn’t tell her what happened. And on top of that, you still have the suit on, minus the mask, which is another surprise Molly did not expect to get today.

Molly says your name with hesitance as she walks in, sitting on the floor in front of you.

You look up, moving your hands. “M-Molly.” You whine, your bottom lip trembling, the hood of your suit barely lets Molly get a glimpse of your face that’s covered in blood as well.

Molly nods. “Bruce called.” Her voice is just above a whisper.

“He….Molly…h-h-he…d-di-died..” You let out a sob as you shake your head and you just want it to be done. You're so fucking tired.

“I know.” Molly lets out a soft cry, sniffling softly.

“H-he’s dead.” Your entire body jerks with another cry as you hang your head. You're so fucking tired. Tired of all of it.

“I know.” Molly closes the distance between you, pulling you into a hug and allowing you to completely break against her. And then Molly starts crying because Jason was her best friend, too. “I’m so sorry.” Molly manages to get out.

“I can’t do it.” Your voice is weak against her.

“Can’t what?” Molly pulls away, her hands still on your shoulders as if trying to stabilize you.

Any of it. You can’t do any of it. You're covered in his blood and it all hurts. You're weak and tired and exhausted. It’s all agonizing and paralyzing and numb. It’s all too much. And you just cannot do any of it anymore.

“Blood and…” Your breathing is labored, your head swaying slightly. And you're so lightheaded and nauseous. “Do this.”

“One thing at a time.” Molly stands up and grabs a wash rag, wetting it with soap and water. Molly can break later. You need help. “Let me see.” You hand your hand to Molly and Molly starts cleaning.

Molly expects to find some sort of wound but she finds nothing. The more she scrubs, the more blood comes off and it’s just your skin under it. And she shakes her head because what the fuck happened to Jason that got you covered in his blood? A part of her almost doesn’t want to know. But, she has to ask anyway. Bruce was a little vague. So, after a few minutes, with your cries becoming quieter, Molly decides to ask.

“C-can I ask you what happened?” Molly is seeing that you're actually one of the suited vigilantes that roam Gotham so she’s guessing something with a bad guy went a little south.

And you don’t care anymore. None of it matters anymore. Jason is dead. It’s not his secret anymore. You're in your suit anyway and Bruce isn’t home. You're all alone anyway.

“Joker beat him to death with a crowbar.” You answer plainly Molly feels her stomach turn.

“What?” Molly’s heart stops in her chest.

You nod as you sniffle, watching Molly clean the remainder of Jason’s blood from your hands. “He was Robin.” Your voice is hoarse as you talk.

Molly pauses, blinking at you and she’s so confused. And this whole thing is growing more and more unsettling. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

“He…Jason was Robin?”

You nod again, sniffling. “Yeah.”

“You found him?” Molly asks. Why did you have to find him? Of all people, it just had to be you. Of course, it was you.

“Yeah.” More tears start to fall from your eyes and you can see him every time you blink. That’s going to be your last memory of him and it hurts so fucking bad you want to leave.

“I’m…I’m sorry. Is this all his?” Molly’s voice grows a little panicked. She can’t even imagine the sight you walked in on.

“There was a lot of blood. The head bleeds a lot.” You clear your throat before you sniffle again.

Molly is terrified you're going to start giving her gory details. Not on purpose but because you're too tired to care. The crying is slowing down and that always means you will talk. You stop caring and then you talk. Molly doesn’t want to know and you don’t need to relive the horror verbally.

“Okay, um…okay you stay here. I’m gonna get you some clothes.” Molly stands up quickly.

“C-can you…Jsaon’s room, there’s a…maroon hoodie. It was his favorite.” You look up at her as Molly heads to the doorway.

“Yeah, I’ll be back.” Molly nods quickly.

You let out another cry and you don’t think you’ll be able to survive this one. It’s too heavy. It’s too much. There’s only so much one person can take. And you swear as you shiver on the bathroom door with broken sobs tearing up your throat that Jason Todd was your breaking point. Jason Todd is dead and you swear you’ll never recover.

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A/n: So, this is what Jason looks like in his death scene and he looks scared. Which, is probably a plothole because Titans (or them trying to throw us off since it's episode 1 ?? idk) but I decided I was just gonna use that anyway for fun lol Also fun fact, I was originally not going to include his death scene since we saw it in the show but then I rewatched UTRH and was encouraged by my best friend to make it worse so I did. And I'm really glad I included it lol I'm sorry but I really like how it turned out lol

Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmess // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555 // @stainedstardom // @baebeepeach // @legend-o-zelda // @harleycao // @somehow-lovable-trash // @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000

#jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #petrichor

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jelzorz · 1 year

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Hub: so has anyone actually worked out how tall the storm spire is?

Me: not that I'm aware of

Me and hub:

Finally a meta I can science my way through! First, some assumptions:

The acceleration of gravity is the same in the tdp universe as it is in our world

The density and make up of the atmosphere is the same as ours

There is no downward motion in Rayla's dive, aka she and Viren drop off the Storm Spire but don't accelerate further because of any action from either of them

This involves a fair bit of math that I made hub do because he's better with numbers but the principles are all easy enough to understand. The acceleration of gravity on earth is about 9.81m/s² and Rayla free falls for 53 seconds. In our world, a free fall of 6 seconds is long enough to achieve terminal velocity (200km/hr, or 120mph in American), which is the the point at which your deceleration due to drag and your acceleration due to gravity are equal, aka, the fastest velocity you can achieve at without further acceleration provided by other means.

There's a big long formula here and also some derivatives which I'm not going to type up bc I'm on my phone and Fuck That Shit BUT basically, you can work out Rayla's displacement for the 6 seconds that she's accelerating due to gravity, and then plug in the value for terminal velocity to figure out her displacement for the remainder of the fall. Based on this information, her total displacement before Callum catches her is 2 863 metres (9 363 feet).

It's hard to estimate how far she falls along the the length of the mountain because there's no full shot of the Storm Spire, but we can assume that 2.8km isn't even the half of it. Let's assume, then, that the point at which Callum has to physically draw Ventus Spiralis is considered the point at which they need supplemental oxygen, and that he catches her at that point. On Everest, this is considered the Death Zone, and it is at an altitude 8 000m (26 000 feet).

So 8 000m + 2 863m puts the Storm Spire at a minimum height of 10 863m (35 363 feet).

For context, Everest is only 8 849m tall.

Having trouble visualising? I got u:

So. THAT'S A FAIR WAY. And it begs the question:

How much of Viren did Claudia actually find at the base of the Storm Spire?

We actually didn't need to do all this math to work that out, we were just having fun. The fastest Viren could have been falling would have been terminal velocity. The ground would have been the equivalent of a truck going at 200km/hr slamming right into his body, so when Claudia says she "dragged [her father's] body into that cave," what she meant was she did it with a bucket. In multiple trips.

Anyway this was pointless but hub and I had fun. Claudia might be crazy, but if you found your dad's body Like That and then had to Drag It Around, I mean. Wouldn't you go crazy too?

#rayllum #adjacently #the dragon prince #tdp claudia #tdp viren #tdp rayla #tdp callum #a meta by me? its more likely than u think

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gearlosingmymind · 1 year

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Ducktales AU!

First post! Not my first account on tumblr though. Kind of forgot the password to my old one. @scoogemcduck

Anyways Im just gonna ramble about my Science-Team centric AU! Im calling it “Coat Gandra” for now. It’s somewhat of a role swap AU. With FOWL!fenton and Coat Gandra:)

A young Gandra was adopted by, Agent X. A SHUSH agent, who. Is basically every cheesey super-spy trope squeezed into one bird. X’s appearance is based off of Gandras 87 look.

Gandras inventions are funded by X, since X is absolutely loaded. Gandra is still dangerously ambitious when it comes to her inventions, but is a little tamer. Gandra still has her eyes and her hands, but they’re a little more developed.

Gandra, wanting to work outside of SHUSH. Lands an internship with no other than Sara Bellum, who takes Gyros position in the AU.

Sara Bellum does end up making something like the Gizmoduck suit. Except, it’s a coat! She’s called “Agent D.” Despite not actually being an agent.

The coat resembles 87 Gandras coat. Gandra is basically Inspector Gadget now. She’s often called this name by, Fenton Crackshell Cabrera!

Fenton is. Not doing too well in this AU. He works for FOWL, alongside Dr Gearloose. Who was not cleared for his crimes in Tokyolk. He was broken out of prison by FOWL, after they saw his work with Dr Akita. He’s kind of held there against his will. Fenton is too. In a way.

Fenton is a little. Emo. He has piercings, and recolors the original yellow button up black. He wears a blue tie as well. He switched up his look in order to fit in at work. He’s actually pretty intimidating, and he only talks to Gyro.

Fendra and Fenro coexist. I’ll elaborate on that later but I wanna talk about Fendra right now :D

Enemies to friends to enemies to friends to lovers.

For context. Gandra, taking after her adoptive mother. Is an amalgamation of every cheesey super spy trope to ever exist. Meaning, she’s a suave romantic. Fowl notices this, decided to take advantage of it. Realizes they have an intern who is just her type. And sends him in.

Fenton has many moral qualms about this. He’s instructed to get Gandra to take off her coat, and than steal it. He’s told to take her to dinner, get to know her, take her come, get her comfortable, STAB HER, and take the coat.

He swears to not get attached to the hero. If he ended up liking her, he’d want to spend more time with her- the FOWL thing would get in the way- he’d get attached- she might get attached- nothing could end up well in that hypothetical.

Oh nooooo. They have so much in common. Her presence is very different from what he’s used to. Which, he likes.

Oh nooooo. After the date. Gandra finds it hard to not think about Fenton. And she really wants to see him again. This is horrrrrrible

Ok that’s all I got for now B)

#ducktales #ducktales au #gyro gearloose #fendra #fenton crackshell cabrera #gandra dee #agent dee

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tuiyla · 2 years

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Ranking Santana’s solos based on importance to her character, part I

I can never make up my mind when it comes to ranking GCVs based on taste. On most days, I can’t even do a solid top 3 because it changes all the time. And in the case of Santana solos, where it’s banger after banger that task becomes even harder. So like I’ve done before for Pezberry duets, I’ve decided to do a different type of ranking. One where we’re not judging the song itself or the vocal but rather the role it plays in Santana’s journey as a character. Does it represent a huge character moment? Is it more subtle in showcasing one of her traits but symbolizes an aspect of her nonetheless? These are the important questions.

Of course, just as ranking based on how much I like listening to the songs, this one will be subjective as well. It’s according to how I see Santana and what beats in her story I deem more important than others. And it’s also all in good fun and more so a semi-serious overview of all her solos rather than an exhaustive character study through song. The girl is in 99 episodes and sings in 108 songs - can you imagine how long that analysis would be?

Alas, out of 108 we’ll only be considering the 14 solos Santana had in the series. This excludes Santa Baby as it was a cut scene and frankly, is a can of worms on its own. Also not included is Silent Night, the album-only solo that would have made Glee, Actually much more bearable. Before we get started with the 14, I wanted to shout out the two songs that, had they been Santana solos, would surely be high on this list. The first is Constant Craving, which by all accounts should have been a solo and, in-universe, even was one. But because this is IKAG and we can’t have nice things, Santana shares the spotlight in her own coming out story with student-fucker Shelby Corcoran. The other song, one that does an even better job of capturing the tension of Santana’s story is the Troubletones classic Rumour Has It/Someone Like You. This one’s perfect as is and wouldn’t work unless a group number, but I wanted to shout out what a tremendous character piece it is anyway. But you don’t need me to wax poetic about that particular mashup because I already have.

So, without further ado, the bottom 7 of said list. Only half of it because part two is coming to you very soon with even more reaching and more to say on each and every solo.

14. Science Fiction Double Feature

Starting us off is the obvious choice for last place. SFDF might be Santana’s very first solo but it’s also one that barely even exists in-universe, only acknowledged as something that truly happened in a throwaway 3x04 line. The song has so little to do with Santana that the confusion about who was even singing was (Entertainment) news-worthy back in 2010 and that should tell you about how inconsequential Science Fiction Double Feature is on a character-level. Don’t get me wrong, the vocals are on point but this is not about that. And it’s not like it’s unique in that on this list full of Santana solos, as vocal excellence is just the universal truth of every one of her songs. As far as character beats are concerned, though? The Lips will have to contend with 14th place.

13. Back to Black

I consider this to be a severely underrated Santana solo so it pains me to rank it so low on here but audition songs are what they are. Now, we’re far from the zero importance of the previous entry but there’s no denying that Back to Black as a solo has little to do with Santana’s character. The song choice itself anyway; it’s little more than an opportunity to capitalize on the immense success and popularity of Valerie. And don’t get me wrong, giving Santana another Amy Winehouse song to sing was the right choice and I’m grateful for it. But does Back to Black have much to do with Santana Lopez as a person and her character development? That’d be a no.

With this song I can at least make an argument for the context, which is to say that the song itself might not be important but its existence is. In the context of 2x21 Funeral and the race for a Nationals solo, Back to Black has a rather big importance and it’s something Science Fiction Double Fiction couldn’t deliver. Santana is in-universe acknowledged as a great soloist on par with the previous big three of the Glee Club, Rachel, Kurt, and Mercedes. And if we consider her growth from Sue’s spy to someone who grew to care about the club, or the out of universe importance of Naya’s increasing role in the show, that’s huge. Not only is Santana an actual voice within the club they consider and count on, but she’s among the now big four who are even considered for a task as big as a Nationals solo. True, Santana’s had a Sectionals solo before, much like Rachel before her, but you’ll see in my section on Valerie why that’s somewhat diminished in my eyes. Here, however, through her performance of Back to Black Santana’s acknowledged as the powerhouse she is and officially enters the ranks of the Glee Club’s best. The ones with the voice and, importantly, the ambition to want more.

12. Nutbush City Limits

Everyone’s but Tina’s favourite diva delivers on this one, no doubt no doubt, but much like Back to Black, Nutbush CIty Limits is little more than a song chosen because Naya Rivera had proven she sounded amazing covering the artists’ tracks. Like Back to Black, most of what we can take form this solo in terms of Santana’s character comes from context rather than content.

Nutbush being a Glee Club performance rather than an audition wouldn’t automatically put it one place higher but the emotional stakes of 4x13 Diva do. Nutbush gains its narrative relevance not from being Santana’s big return to Lima - after all, girl returned every two weeks for a while there in season 4. Though this particular return carries a similar status symbol to being part of the big four as it is Santana the Glee Club invites back for diva week and Santana who blows their minds. But that aside, the real selling point of Nutbush is the reason behind Santana’s return.

Granted, even with the Bram drama and Santana’s jealous scheming this solo isn’t all that juicy. Yes, it’s essentially her way of making Brittany jealous and an entrance worthy of Santana’s dramatics but Nutbush as a song is divorced from the episode’s storyline. As a song, it has nothing to do with Brittana or Santana’s journey in season 4. If we tried really really hard we could maybe reinterpret the lyrics to fit Santana’s Louisville life, which she says permanent goodbye to here, but even I think that’s be a stretch. So as is, here we have Nutbush City Limits coming in at 12th. Some contextual relevance thanks to the drama of Diva and an opportunity for Santana to further showcase her talents but not much else going for it.

11. Valerie

I debate each and every ranking with myself and the placement of Valerie is no different. See, if only it wasn’t so iconic and so obvious when we talk about Santana’s solos I’d have half a mind to place it lower. The same thing I said about the previous two entries can be said here and in fact, even what I said about Science Fiction Double Feature not being acknowledged in-universe save for a throwaway line in 3x04 kinda applies. Granted, Valerie absolutely is performed diegetically and also referenced in 5x12 100 when Brittana reprise the song. But still, I can’t help but feel like Valerie isn’t as appreciated within the world of the show as it should be and that fact keeps it out of the top 10.

Look, Valerie is obviously a big deal for Santana. I’d be willing to bet that if you asked fans, causal and hardcore Gleeks alike, what Santana solo comes to mind Valerie would be it. In the top 3, at the very least. And with good reason, as not only is Valerie the first proper Santana solo (sorry, SFDF) but also among if not the most iconic one. Everyone knows and with good odds loves Valerie. And it is significant that Santana becomes the second ND member to sing a competition solo with it, preceded only by Rachel and followed only by Tina. That’s a short and significant list to be on. And, since Sancedes were snubbed during 2x04 Duets, it’s the first time Santana’s singing talents are truly appreciated in the club. If her auditioning for a solo with Back to Black was a big deal then actually getting one certainly is.

But… we never talk about it. Not in the show we don’t, save for those very small references. A big deal is made out of Fabrevans getting the duet and even Bike’s dance showcase, but Valerie comes and Santana knocks it out of the park without so much as a “wow, Santana!” Or, “thanks, Santana,” or, “you’re getting the solo, Santana!” And really, Santana’s or rather Naya’s strange utilization throughout season 2 is a separate topic I could go on about, but you get what I mean. The song itself doesn’t even have to have significance because a competition solo is a big enough deal on its own and doesn’t need to have further meaning - Rachel’s DROMP being the outlier. But the thing with Valerie is, it gets so much more recognition beyond the constraints of the show than within it. For that reason, I cannot in good conscience place it any higher.

10. Love You Like a Love Song

I haven’t yet attempted to read much more into songs that were mostly there for performance value rather than character significance but I think it’s time we change that. And what other song to do that with if not, Love You Like a Love Song, the Santana solo everyone… just kinda forgets about, if I’m honest. In fact, you might be thinking: there’s no way this song is more integral to Santana’s character than freaking Valerie. Hear me out, my friend.

Context is key and for the first time on this list I can argue that the particular song choice is, too. Okay, maybe not as much as later entries will be but Love You Like a Love Song fills the purpose of, well, a love song. Crucially, and I’m kinda building my entire argument on this, it features one of Glee’s handful of pronoun changes. In Santana’s version, we can hear “constantly, girl you play on mind like a symphony” and that single change is elevated to a new level in the context of the performance itself. That being, Santana singing this solo at prom, that she went to with her out and proud girlfriend and where they’re up for prom king and queen.

I did tell you I would read into it but we have nine more songs to go, of course there will be a little reading into things. I’m aware that the significance of Love You Like a Love Song beyond being a generic prom performance exists solely in my head but, hey, maybe it exists in yours now too. Because isn’t that beautiful to think about, in terms of Santana’s journey? That she went to junior prom with her beard, miserable and deathly afraid, that she couldn’t dance with the girl she loved. And now here she is, a senior who might have been forcibly outed but survived and kept her head high, and now she’s proud and full of love. She wholeheartedly enjoys her senior prom with Brittany by her side and doesn’t even really care about prom queen anymore because she has love. A love she can sing about, with her girlfriend doing backup and with her changing the pronouns during a school performance because that’s who she is and who she loves. Girl, now that plays on my mind constantly.

9. Trouty Mouth

Yes, the joke song comes in at ninth. You think it should be lower? I think it should be higher but I didn’t dare. Even ninth place feels pretty audacious for an original song that was purely meant to be a joke, a joke about a cast member’s physical appearance at that. But Glee’s shittiness aside, I’m here to defend Trouty Mouth as a Santana solo. Put some respect on its name? Maybe not, but grabbing the shovel and giving a little depth to it at least.

So Trouty Mouth, in Santana’s own words, is an awesome heterosexual song she writes for Sam. How genuine she thought it was is another matter but we all know that at this point in the story, 2x16 Original Song, she’s fresh off from a semi-rejection from Brittany after she poured her heart out. So Santana, defensive as always and lashing out, doubles down on her own heterosexuality by writing her assigned original song to/about her boyfriend. And yes, sure, it is a joke. The joke here is that Santana is making fun of Sam’s mouth like she makes fun of so many people’s attributes, physical or not.

But here’s the thing, if we were to consider Trouty Mouth in earnest and examine why is it, exactly, that this was the best Santana could come up with, I think we reach an interesting answer. That being, that beyond insults being Santana’s MO she also has a history of making fun of guys’ physical appearance, particularly after being involved with them. Less so with Puck but her way of asking Finn out is already by insulting him and then she spends the rest of their interactions in the series really hammering the point home. And like with Sam, it’s the writers being asses about a cast member’s actual body and appearance, but putting that aside it’s Santana other MO of doubling down and going way too far. She makes a point of not only exaggerating Finn’s features but of highlighting just how unattractive she finds him. And though what happens with Sam is slightly different, it’s Santana hyperfixating on a physical aspect of a guy she’s involved with and making fun of it.

The way I see it, there are two main ways of looking at it and both circle back to the idea of comphet. One, Santana’s being genuine in her hyperfixation, at least with Sam because she’s desperately trying to make herself be interested in any part of this man. Even in this genuine attempt, if it turns into comedy then so be it, Santana does love insults. And if she’s being deliberately mean about it from the get go, like she is with Finn, then we can see it as an attempt to put these boys down in order to justify her own lack of attraction. See, no one could possibly be attracted to Finn, it’s not her fault. See, Sam’s mouth is ridiculous and therefore her own lack of feelings towards him despite dating is justified. So raw and confused immediately after the event of Sexy, Santana is reaching and coping in her own harmful ways. And if she makes fun of Sam in the process of trying to make herself feel better, so be it.

I told you we were gonna reach and I fully acknowledge this is way, wayyy more thought than the writers ever put into Trouty Mouth or indeed any of Santana’s body-shaming comments. And I’m not trying to exonerate her with this interpretation because she clearly made Sam uncomfortable and her relentless shaming of Finn was never okay. But doesn’t this make for a more compelling narrative, where it’s not just a joke? It’s Santana’s inability not to turn her attraction to men, or lack thereof, into a joke, because maybe then she’d have to contend with the fact that she is in fact gay. But no, she must still be straight because it’s these boys that are the problem, see. And so we have Trouty Mouth placed so high, relatively. But since I know this is a wild wild reach, I’ll contend with relatively high.

8. Don’t Rain on My Parade

Remember a few entries back when I said Rachel’s DROMP was the exception to the competition solo significance rule? Well, that comes back to bite us, bite me at least, as I struggle to place Santana’s version. This was originally not at the halfway point but placed fourth on my list that I jotted down back in April. Why for, I could not tell you now.

Well, I mean. There’s an argument there that DROMP is significant to Santana’s character, even if not as significant as it is to Rachel’s. But maybe that comparison and Santana’s complicated relationship with Rachel are the key to understanding Santana’s version. Season 5′s Don’t Rain on My Parade is an imitation of season 1′s version, where Santana basically retraces Rachel’s steps and, I’d argue, recaptures the Sectionals solo’s magic but does so by reinventing it. This more pop-sounding arrangement makes it clear that this is Santana’s version now and she’s going to leave her on mark on Rachel’s signature song.

Based on this, DROMP signifies several things for Santana. One, it’s an extension of Back to Black in that it firmly grounds Santana as one of the big players, now not just at McKinley but out in the real world, on Broadway. She makes an entrance and she does it well, matching Rachel’s talent to the point of scoring the understudy position. Two, because it establishes a potential career path for Santana, in a somewhat contradictory manner it also highlights how lost she truly is in the New York era and how desperate for a firmer sense of identity. Auditioning comes off as a rash decision and one she makes knowing full well it can jeopardize her relationship with Rachel. But Santana feels so stuck, so unwilling to be known as the Yeast Girl for the rest of her life that she barges in and barges in with DROMP, of all songs. Which leads us to three, Don’t Rain on My Parade (Santana’s Version) representing her intense and precarious friendship with Rachel.

Rather, the song choice represents it. The conscious decision Santana had to make to not just audition to be her roommate’s understudy, but to do so with a song that Rachel has such heavy baggage with. And look, I’ve seen several different interpretations of Santana’s performance. Some say it was meant to be insulting, intimidating towards Rachel. A call for war, even, since we’re talking about these two dramatic bitches. Some say imitation is the highest form of flattery, and it’s not like Santana’s attempts at bonding haven’t been misguided before. Some say she didn’t give the choice and indeed the audition itself much thought at all. I disagree with the last one and won’t decide between the other two today. The point is, it’s a layered choice and a layered situation between Pezberry. Throwing in the big question of what Santana should do career-wise, an arc throughout the New York era, we have a song that contributes… something to our understanding of Santana Lopez as a character. What, exactly, I’ll leave it to you to decide, but there is something there that’s worthy of closing our list of the bottom seven.

End of, for now

Aaaand that’s the list, for now. I promise this won’t be another situation where there are months and months in-between parts, I’m planning on doing part two this weekend. I just felt this post could use a break between the first and last seven entries as it’d be a looong long post all in one. If you agree/disagree with the bottom 7, feel free let me know, and I’m taking bets on the order of the top 7.

#glee #santana lopez #santanalysis #brittana #science fiction double feature #back to black #nutbush city limits #valerie #valerie s2 #dromp s5 #love you like a love song #trouty mouth

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miz-joelys-sherlollilists · 1 year

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I posted 119 times in 2022

99 posts created (83%)

20 posts reblogged (17%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@miz-joelys-sherlollilists

@promptsforladysolitaire

@theunsinkablemollyholmes

@uss-sherlolly

@cumbercougars

I tagged 119 of my posts in 2022

#sherlolly - 105 posts

#latest and greatest sherlollilist additions - 51 posts

#go shoo read! - 51 posts

#desperately seeking fics - 44 posts

#mod: mychakk - 24 posts

#classic cafe edition - 22 posts

#anonymous - 14 posts

#fic(s) found - 8 posts

#au list for sherlolly - 7 posts

#fic found - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 43 characters

#latest and greatest sherlollilist additions

My Top Posts in 2022:

There's something really, really satisfying about removing a fic from the "Incomplete" list and moving it to the "Completed" list.

I love it.

Now I just have to do it for some of my own WiPs...

38 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

hey, this is maybe a bit of a weird ask but i really think what you’ve done with the sherlollbrary is outstanding work and deserves immense praise. it truly is a work of art. sometimes i just open it and scroll through and am just in absolute awe of the labour behind it. it’s just such an absolute passion project and i for one think it’s one of the coolest and most impressive things i’ve seen in any fandom!! anyways i hope you have a lovely day and treat yourself to something good bc you deserve it <3

Thank you for your kind words. They mean the world to me.

38 notes - Posted April 20, 2022

Just in time for the 5 year anniversary of ILY, I present a crapton of "dealing with the aftermath of the phone call" fics that I somehow missed the first time around.

Disarm Me by YourTimeIsNow (Rated T, Complete, Two-Parter) Hurt/Comfort ff.net 2020

Do you have a girlfriend? by FreakingOutGirl (Rated K, One-Shot) ff.net 2017

Don't Overthink by Pessimist (Rated K+, Complete Multi-Chapter) ff.net 2017

Emotional Context by hanjo (Rated K, One-Shot) ff.net 2018

Forgive me by Avatarcomeback (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Casefic, Kidnapped! ff.net 2018

The Incident by Phoenixtail95 (Rated T, One-Shot) HABD Molly ff.net 2019

Meant It by Booknerd22202 (Rated T, Complete, Two-Parter) ff.net 2017

Memories of Redemption by Lovesfirstkiss0210 (Rated K+, One-Shot) Proposal ff.net 2017

The most dangerous words by Nalet (Rated K, One-Shot) ff.net 2017

New Beginnings by Irene Moriarty xx (Rated K+, Complete, Multi-Chapter) ff.net 2018

The One Who Mattered Most by Ruth Joyce (Rated T, One-Shot) ff.net 2018

Reaching a Resolution by Helen Palsgraf (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Slow Burn ff.net 2017

Single Hearted by TheTARDISand221B (Rated K+, One-Shot) ff.net 2017

The Sound of Silence by Kat Mindin (Rated M, Complete, Mult-Chapter) ff.net 2017

What Happens After I Love You? by InkTreasures88 (Rated T, One-Shot) ff.net 2017

Whatever Remains is the Truth by Moonshadow07 (Rated K+, One-Shot) ff.net 2018

43 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

Most Recommended Sherlolly Fics (6+ recommendations)

For a complete list of recommended Sherlolly fics, go here. Happy reading!

21 - The Sustain Stories by maybe_amanda

18 - In the End by Lono

17 - The Full House by Emcee/strawberrypatty

12 - Longer Than the Road That Stretches Out Ahead by sunken_standard

10 - Always Something by Emcee/strawberrypatty

10 - I Told You So by writingwife83

9 - That Dear Perfection by soyeahso/dietplainlite

9 - The Ravensdale Ghost (Incomplete) by A. Beaumont

8 - Fumbling Towards Ecstasy by sunken_standard

8 - Love Stories and Tournaments of Lies by Nocturnias/Sherlolly

8 - Read This Truth by Elixir.BB

8 - The breath that passed from you to me by rsadelle

8 - The Pirate and The Doctor by PetraTodd

8 - The Science of Perception by tallulah99

7 - A Smile Like Hers by thewinterspy

7 - Schoolgirl Crush by Flaignhan

7 - The Resident Attachment by Mae-Jones

6 - A fearful hope was all the world by miabicicletta

6 - A Hands-On Approach by Lono

6 - Paragon by asteraceablue

6 - For What It's Worth by KendraPendragon

6 - Invisible Wings by Conchepcion

6 - The Ghost and Molly Hooper (Incomplete) by Doctor WTF

6 - The List by Conchepcion

6 - The Only Drug I Need by Cutebutpsycho

55 notes - Posted January 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Is there a fanfic where Molly overhears John telling Sherlock to go after Irene (this is after the Culverton case)?

Well, there is now!

“I’m with you, you know that.”

Molly turned her head away. “But what John said, it makes sense.” She looked at him sadly. “I’ve always known it, in the back of my mind. And, and you still text her, now and then - and you haven’t changed your ringtone.” She reached up and laid gentle fingers against his cheek. A good-bye; he knew one when he saw one. “It’s OK, Sherlock, I get it. Florence Nightingale Syndrome, y’know?”

Tears glimmered but did not fall. No, his Molly wasn’t one to let anyone see her cry. Even when - or was it especially when? - her heart was breaking. “Text her,” she urged in a choked whisper as she started to turn away. “Go after the woman you love, Sherlock, before it’s too late.”

He caught her wrist, half-spun her so she was facing him again. “No,” he growled. “I mean, yes, I am absolutely going to go after the woman I love - and that woman, Molly Hooper, is you. When I said I’m with you, I meant full-stop, all the way. Is there an element of gratitude in my feelings for you? Yes, of course there is, how could there not be? There’s an element of gratitude in John’s feelings for you, too - although his are far more brotherly and protective than anything else, now that he’s finally let go of resenting you for knowing I was alive when he thought I was dead.”

He realized he was rambling and caught his breath, still holding her by the wrist - lightly, not trapping her or forcing her to stay. “I’ve made mistakes, Molly, God knows I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but falling in love with you - yes, in love with you, YOU, not HER - isn’t and never will be one of them.” He gave his mobile a rueful glance where it sat on the desk behind him. “Not changing that damned ringtone, on the other hand, is definitely a mistake. One I intend to rectify right now.” He reached down with his free hand; keeping his eyes fixed on Molly’s expressive face - so many little emotions, from doubt, to wonder, to confusion, mistrust, and (dare he hope) trust? - he lifted his mobile, opened it to his contacts, and scrolled down to the one labeled simply ‘The Woman’.

After one-handedly typing in a text, he showed it to Molly. “I don’t often answer them, and this is the last time I intend to do so.”

The two simple sentences read: Sorry, I’m having dinner with the woman I love from now on. Good-bye, Irene.

He pressed send. A response came almost immediately, just as he was deleting the contact.

I’m always free for lunch if you change your mind.

“But I won’t be,” he said aloud after showing Molly what Irene had written. “Not even if you turn me down, Molly.” His lips quirked in a wry smile. “I have it on very good authority - my father - that us Holmes men tend to be one-woman men. Yes, Irene fascinated me and if she’d been more trustworthy, it’s possible she might have been that woman.” It was his turn to reach out, to press trembling fingers against Molly’s cheek. “But I rather think my cold, shriveled up heart was already taken by the time she came into my life.”

The tears were flowing freely down Molly’s cheeks, and he felt a mixture of consternation (was she crying because she didn’t believe him, or had changed her mind about being with him, it had only been for a few days, after all, and she was right, he’d been recovering from his various overdoses and injuries during that time) and tenderness as he gently wiped them away with his thumb.

When she finally spoke, it was barely a whisper; he had to bend his his down to catch her words. “All right.” Then she pulled him into her arms and hugged him fiercely, as if she’d never let him go, as if she never wanted him to let her go.

And they never did.

97 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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weenierufu · 9 months

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hrrrm.,,,,,,

I keep thinking about my Cog ocs, and just....

Mortis may not be that strong, he never was and only got a recent "Upgrade" when he ran into that Science toon that nearly exploded him, who then proceeded to do science stuff on him that basically got him to basically be less. Anemic, basically, KDJFGHD BUT--

Mortis can and would be willing to do whatever they Can do to help loved ones in anyway they can, even if the way they go about it is Extremely Unconventional and accidental. They're willing to do whatever it will take to avoid having to lose someone again, despite being extremely Cowardly

Before they were a Sellbot, all they were ever told when in Violent Encounters in the past was to Run, but when the Events of their story starts coming to a head, they're not going to be willing to run anymore. Although, he is painfully. Curious. That's out of context but, yeah

Sven, meanwhile, is a whole lot stronger. Actually the strongest PHYSICALLY in the group, despite being the Second shortest out of the group. Strong due to his upbringing and before he was even a Lawbot or an EMT at all. He knows he can fight, knows he can lift things that was bigger than he is. So, he uses this strength he has to Fight for those he cares about. Although, he will never be the first to hit and won't reduce to violence if it's not Necessary and would actually Prefer if he didn't have to fight at all. Well, if it's funny, then sure KJHSDLFKGJSH A little off topic, but He knows he's not that great at talking about his feelings or really be vulnerable, but obviously he's going to do whatever he Can Do to help those he loves. Sven is willing to throw himself into danger if that means he can help someone he cares about deeply. (looks at timer's character and laughs)

Josette as well, she knows she can be Intimidating with her height and is probably about the same strength as Sven, if not a bit stronger, just for her height. She's the tallest in the group and She can fight and will fight if it comes down to it, even if she doesn't really want too. But she does know when to run and will straight up pick up those around her and just run-- Example: she can pickup Guppy, Mortis, Sven, and PJ all at once tbh

Although, much like Mortis, she would deal with physical altercations, or generally unpleasant situations in unorthodox ways as well. Josette wouldn't really care if she ends up really hurting this other person. She will drop something on you if you happen to be close to something big and moveable. Or even bite you and she won't be sorry for it. Just because in her mind, it's justified if you had threatened or hurt anyone she cares about--

PJ is much like Mortis. They're both not very strong and are very cowardly Pascal and Jean would very much rather never get into physical altercations at all and will Avoid situations like that. Although, because of both of them being impulsive and reactive, they both might accidentally find themselves in a situation like that, much to their dismay. They know how to run and will use that skill to get away from situations. They will use that to their advantage to get those they care about out of Dangerous situations. But if those they care about decide to stay behind, PJ won't leave them behind and will stay with them, just in case.

Guppy is 6 to 7 years old--

BUT, they would be willing to find anything to help, if something was wrong. They have already experienced loss and doesn't quite understand Why it happened, but they don't really want it to happen again, so they try their best. They know a lot more than they really led on, even if they don't really Understand what the stuff they know means

But they'll bite you if you try to take them away from the group

---

And I just..... MAN.

I KEEP THINKING ABOUT THEM ALL, AND THE OVERALL STORY WITH ALL 6 OF THEM AND I JUST.. AAUUGHH

It's hard to tell, but all of them are in a horror story btw KJHSDLKJGSD

#my oc babs #a lot of this is out of context #Mortis #Sven #Josette #Pascal #Jean #Guppy #long post

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danwhobrowses · 1 year

Text

One Piece Chapter 1066 - Initial Thoughts

Okay then

This chapter has been a hot topic since Tuesday, and though I was spoiled on 2 images there is still context to be learned

Oda keeps escalating in this arc with dropping Void Century crumbs, how much higher can he go?

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release

Back with Germa for the Cover Story and the Vinsmokes have returned with Caesar to their castle, no doubt they will make lots of evil science together as we find a way to smuggle Baeju away

Also that title already is a lot to unpack...

I knew Robin was gonna go into a frenzy for this, directly asking Shaka about the Void Century

Turns out Ohara theorized about the Ancient Kingdom due to finding a machine with an old manufacture date

Seems that Ohara wasn't silenced for simply researching Poneglyphs, but for positing that the Ancient Kingdom existed

Shaka goes on to note that the Ancient Kingdom fought the 20 Kingdoms that became the World Government. I've always wondered about this one though, because what would force 20 kingdoms to rebel against one? The Ancient Kingdom may not have been so good...

Nevertheless, they were wiped from history so nobody would carry the kingdom's will

Because everyone who learns about it is silenced, Usopp suddenly has the 'I can't hear this lore' disease XD

Shaka meanwhile gets away with it by playing the 'it's only a theory' card, but does note that destroying Ohara is like an admission of guilt

Robin is naturally defensive about Shaka speaking of Ohara, especially since Vegapunk is also part of the WG

Shaka does note though that he never bought into the cover up that Ohara were 'trying to rule the world'

That's because Vegapunk knew Professor Clover, and visited Ohara after the Buster Call

Man young Clover was pretty hardcore; a 'book collector' that got arrested 10 times, and he founded Ohara as a sanctuary for scholars!

Well...that's a lot of hair

Wait, so the Government burned down the big ass tree, but did nothing with the books thrown into the lake for months!?

Learning that more of Ohara's knowledge lives on brings up memories for Robin, causing her to cry

Franky and Nami being the 'Protect Robin's feelings' club by calling out Shaka for making her cry

She does however confirm that Ohara were looking into the Ancient Kingdom, and asks about the books

Seems Vegapunk wanted to bring the books to Punk Hazard, but the WG said no

Flashback time though

Stella body Vegapunk witnesses Giants pulling up the books...and Dragon!

Pre-Tattoo Dragon with a bouquet of flowers, who couldn't miss OG Vegapunk by his gigantic forehead, he also knew Clover...are we entertaining Dragon being Robin's dad? There were some minor theories for it, same for Roger.

No wonder he's so smart he's got more brain capacity than normal folk

The giants didn't come with Dragon too, they came from Elbaf

Dragon also reveals that he did ask Vegapunk to join his freedom fighters (not an army at the time), but Vegapunk decided to choose the Government funding

It's not to say though that he's on their side, just that some in the navy are at least who can 'understand' him

Seems that Ohara was the tipping point for Dragon too, who Vegapunk claims hates violence, as he decides to build an army to change the world

It's been a long ass time but there's finally a panel of Dragon where I can actually see a bit of Luffy in him

Seems Dragon, Iva and Kuma were the OG 3 Revolutionaries too, much to the group's surprise. Sanji didn't even know that Iva was a Revolutionary, Robin didn't know that Dragon knew Clover, Usopp's hearing returned to notice Elbaf and Franky asks about Kuma

Vegapunk then went to Elbaf to read the books anyway

Wait...That looks like...but it can't be!

Not sure if 'all in my head' means Shaka's head or every Vegapunk

Robin asks if the Giant was Saul, Shaka doesn't confirm but says he's 'in hiding', which I guess will mean Elbaf

I'm not sure if it is Saul, I mean if it is then Aokiji saved two lives on Ohara and that's pretty cool of him (pun intended), but when we met Saul he made a point of telling Robin that he's not like the Elbaf giants, so why would he be working with Elbaf giants?

Still relieved tearful Robin will make anyone's heart grow three sizes

Shaka then decides to use the Dom Shoes' magnetics to guide them to something

Back with Team Luffy and Luffy and Chopper are still trying to find a means to ride the ancient mech

Luffy thinks it'd be voice-activated (I feel like this may come back) as Bonney starts to have a minor minor fraction of what Law had to deal with XD

Something does happen with the mech though, they think it's gonna explode but then half a body shows up

I know those tiny legs and giant tongue, that's the Stella body!

Seems that he was trying a warp feature and got stuck halfway

Vegapunk recognizes Luffy as Dragon's son and sees Bonney too - who knows it's him, he's being quite friendly for a guy who turned her dad into a cyborg

Vegapunk's forehead has been reduced, I guess he divided his giant brain into his satellites

The shoes have a hover function it seems, so Luffy and Chopper immediately try it and go too high

Well, that was a lot

Like I knew the Void Century would mean Robin will be more involved in the plot but we're potentially getting Saul back (though the Elbaf stuff is still making me sceptical that it's Jaguar D. Saul) I'm sure Franky will get his time to make it his arc eventually.

Dragon being nonviolent but being triggered by Ohara is an interesting origin for his Revolutionary Army at least, the more we learn about him the more Luffy-like we're getting.

The Stella body was a design I wasn't expecting, from the giant head to the giant tongue and chicken legs. The apple head could be a Newton reference in his older form, but it looks like Bonney's gonna go off on him next chapter. Whatever Shaka's leading the other group to is gonna be big I feel, but it does feel like Zoro and Brook may be left high and dry for a bit.

But still that was so much stuff, this arc is already becoming top tier, Oda really has taken off the kid gloves.

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hugintheraven · 1 year

Text

I posted 4,434 times in 2022

That's 1,637 more posts than 2021!

33 posts created (1%)

4,401 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@hikari-ni-naritai

@jabberwockypie

@unpretty

@tooquirkytolose

@laikaspeaks

I tagged 2,212 of my posts in 2022

Only 50% of my posts had no tags

#q - 787 posts

#politics - 249 posts

#religion - 108 posts

#lgbtq - 92 posts

#dracula - 68 posts

#d&d - 54 posts

#science - 48 posts

#history - 44 posts

#about me - 38 posts

#linguistics - 35 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#it's impossible for me to actually figure out how good it is because every single possible change is infinitely better than jj's crap

My Top Posts in 2022:

So, some basic thoughts

The sequence of events is basically Chris Rock makes joke, then Will laughs while Jada looks hurt, then Will walks up and slaps Chris, then Chris tries to play it off, then Will says “Keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth” until Chris agrees.

So I think initially Will didn’t register the joke. He’s an actor at the Oscars, Smile and Laugh is basically his job for the night. Then he saw how Jada was taking it and reacted to that. Which I like. It makes the situation less “don’t insult MY wife” and more “don’t hurt the woman I love”.

I also don’t think that was over the line. It was an extreme reaction, but this isn’t the first time she’s listened to jokes about her medical condition. It might be the last, though. Which appeals to me, honestly. It reminds me of high school, sometimes the only way to make people stop is to hurt someone. And Will kept it controlled.

Honestly, a good reminder to all stand-up comedians, late night hosts, etc, there’s some jokes you shouldn’t make. Learn where the line is and stay on the right side of it. Or invest in a good dental plan, whichever.

99 notes - Posted March 27, 2022

Dracula Daily and Fanfic

So, I decided to look into AO3 and see what this fandom produced since the beginning of *gestures vaguely* ALL THIS.

Historical context: Pre-2016, there were 166 fanfics total in the Dracula(Bram Stoker 1897) tag on AO3. 2016-2019, there was an average of 60 fics added to the tag per year. In 2020, Moffat dropped a BBC Dracula series and the fandom exploded, posting 242 fics in 1 year. 2021, things died down, only 156 fics posted, still far better than any pre-2020 year for the tag.

And in 2022, as of November 11, the tag has 320 new fics. Double last year, and the year’s not even over yet. Of those, 265 have been posted since May, which is more than the previous record year(Moffat), and this fandom did it in 6 months. Congratulations, that is legit impressive and I just want to say thank you to everyone involved. I hope to see more fanfics added to that list so that I have to revise my numbers even further in 2 months.

Now, some disclaimers. This data was gathered manually so I may have messed up some marginal things, and the practice of uploading other archives and backdating fics makes it more confusing. I have also not excluded crossovers. This means that this definitely includes some works based on the 2013 TV show(for example) that were tagged with this fandom as well, but defining a crossover in a useful way for my purposes here seems difficult. And I only checked the Bram Stoker Dracula tag, because the “All Works” Dracula tag will include plenty of other unrelated works. And of course, there’s fanfics that are in the tag for this year that aren’t Daily-related. But the conclusion is pretty clear anyway, this was a good year for Dracula fanfic.

181 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

So, that one 911 scene is based on a true story

See the full post

223 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

Summer is coming

Do NOT leave anything in your car that you aren’t willing to see melt. That includes pets and children. Yes, you’ll “just be 5 minutes”, but then there’s a line. You get some poor retail worker on their first day. And then you get back to your car and it’s 115 degrees inside. Don’t do that. Small creatures can’t regulate their temperatures as effectively as you, they can overheat and die very quickly. Bring them with you or leave them home, do not leave anything in your car.

1,868 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Oh look, there’s a reason Elon’s suddenly become so transphobic recently. One of his 18 year old kids just filed name change paperwork. She’s going by Vivian Wilson now. All the support for her, and given how he’s behaved about this, hopefully one of Elon’s rockets screws up and renders him no longer anyone else’s problem.

2,648 notes - Posted June 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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claryxjackson · 2 years

Note

wait now I wanna know about your stranger things ocs. what are they up to in season four? what are interesting facts about them? important details from their backstories? give me the goods rn 🤺

love you for this <3

okay so my stranger things ocs can all kind of trace back to this one family; the Lansings.

also, pinterest boards for vibes

Jack Lansing

backstory: Jack and his wife Gen have a daughter, but she went missing when she was four which for context is, ~5 years before season one takes place. He moved out of Hawkins around a year after she disappeared and, while still legally married to Gen, they might as well be divorced.

as of season one Jack is- back in Hawkins, serving as a police deputy. and lo and behold. Will Byers goes missing and boy does it send good old Jack on a spiral, and right back to Gen.

as of season four, honestly that man is doing the best he ever has, but more on that later.

a fun fact about Jack is that he- by some miracle, never really loses patience with the kids throughout the seasons, and it makes him a very good counterpart for wildly impatient Hopper whenever they need help

next up we have, Genevieve Hopper, who was, for a time, Gen Lansing.

she's Hopper's younger sister, and she used to work at Hawkins Lab. She has since been unemployed.

oh Gen- Gen has not been good since her daughter disappeared. she has in fact been, very bad. like commonly known town weirdo levels of bad. People think she's weirder than Joyce in season one. It's been a bad five years for poor Gen, but she's gotten a job as a Hawkins High science teacher since losing her job at Hawkins Lab.

she likes the job a lot right up until her estranged husband's sister ends up failing her class

as of season one Gen is- reeling from Will's disappearance, though her attention to his disappearance drops almost completely when her brother lets slip that they think a kid escaped from the Lab

if he weren't only targeting teenagers, Gen would be a prime target for Vecna. the woman is drowning in guilt.

and i know this sounds like- not much but i promise it's building up to something

okay so, next we have Nineteen.

she escaped from Hawkins Lab with Eleven, but separated herself from her- pretty quickly because she- truthfully didn't get along with her very well when they were in the lab.

she's around ten years old. this girl is going Through It.

also, Tina has- very few early memories of being at the Lab, but neither does El so she figures it's- normal

okay so she's kinda boring in season one. Jack's sister April found her wandering in the woods and literally just- befriended this strange woodland child as if she were a fairy or something.

gave her food, clothes, talked to her, though Nineteen never talked back.

by season four, she's thriving. She's living with Jack and Gen. April has given her the nickname Tina, and pretty much everybody just assumes that's her name anyway. She's enrolled in Hawkins Middle. Vecna isn't targeting her because she didn't totally fuck him up and lock him in the Upside Down like El. However, she still does have her powers so she's, still a part of the whole mess, just not in the same way El is.

lastly in this whole family mess is April Lansing.

she's Jack's younger sister, and she moved with him when he left Hawkins (she was 11) because their parents were dead and she- didn't want to stay with her grandparents. Besides, Jack knew well enough how to raise a kid, and he, didn't mind.

she's- none too thrilled about their move back to Hawkins as she is very much a city girl at this point, she's dreading going to a small town.

they live out by Lover's Lake, so she just, decides to spend all her time in the woods to kill time, which is how she meets Tina. and in season four it's why she ends up just- chilling with suspected killer Eddie Munson.

ngl she might be a love interest for Eddie idk yet

but in the midst of her struggling to adjust to living in Hawkins- Teddy Wheeler pops up.

Teddy was her- best friend when she was like 10. and he figures he might as well help her get used to the town. April is not having it, and aggressively ignores him.

by season four she's: joined the Hellfire Club and- girl's gonna get Vecna'd so- prepare for that.

and i don't have much for Teddy. boy is more of a secondary character tbh

#ask: jack #ask: gen #ask: april #ask: tina #ask: nineteen #jack lansing #genevive hopper #april lansing #ask: teddy #teddy wheeler #fic: tbh #answer #richitozier #thank you so much for asking!!#like seriously #<3333

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klinejack · 3 years

Photo

wha-

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maxortecho · 3 years

Photo

Max trying to science

#how long until one of you uses that bottom gif out of context aslkdfjs #anyway i need a scene of rosa and max struggling to science together now lmao #roswell new mexico #roswellnmedit #max evans #maxevansedit #userveronika #myedit #mine #gifs #s3 #3x09 #ep: tones of home

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jjkpls · 3 years

Text

the wishlist (m) - 6 (final)

“Was it worth it?”

> genre : smut, angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 15k (ugh sorry)

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, LOTS of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; explicit description of sex; phonesex; masturbation (f); dirtytalk; alcohol drinking; dubcon exhibitionism; ambiguous infidelity

previous - masterlist

There's a lot of forgetting to get done. It wasn't the plan to get drunk. Maybe you should have known better than to confide the slightest about your heart and its aching to your two girlfriends. Because they don't have much of a solution to present you with. You meant to ask of them to divert your mind, make you laugh, feed you so much you'd fall into a food coma and wouldn't be able to think about anything else but sleep. Eventually, share their own dramas of the moment (they always have some) to get you so invested in their shits you wouldn't be thinking about your own.

You made the mistake of sharing, with probably too much preponderance in your tone, that Jungkook was back with his girlfriend.

Without any context clues -they didn't even know that he was single for approximately four days-, they knew. You're not that complicated to read when it comes to him. Only he seems to not get it.

You still remember the first time they found you out. They had a sense that something was up with this kid, that there couldn't just be a platonic, decade-old friendship based on nothing spicier than the tteokbokki you'd cook for him every now and then.

They only started believing, with utter incredulity, that it was true when they saw you, and him, and his girlfriend. All at the same time, sitting around the same table, there was no doubt left. No reason to believe that there's something unsaid existing. They saw your eyes though. The shine they gain whenever you'd be looking at him, laughing hard with all his teeth out, and the glassy look they took on whenever they'd catch a gesture, a touch that was meant only for Jiyeun.

You've never really gone into details. You've never ranted over the feelings, over him, everything that made him the one person for you. They saw you cry over him though, one drunken night, and it was enough to make them understand how deep you were in.

And perhaps it's your fault, that you wouldn't sort of train them to be the better friends they wish to be to you. They don't know what to say, what to do to console you. You don't even know what you need. Really, all you know, it's that you didn't feel able enough to take care of your tormented heart and mind alone tonight.

You are to blame if they dragged you to this bar, with the music too loud and the people too numerous, bumping their hips to yours attempting to coarse you into dancing. You hate every second of it. Every element that was supposed to distract you, help you forget, feel better, served as annoying distractions. You could picture yourself, dipped in a scorching hot bath, with a bowl of ice cream, weeping your eyes out like in the most cliche, most dramatic breaking down of your life. And it felt right, in your mind anyway, a thousand times better than this.

"Here!" Like the good girl that you are, you accept the shots. Min sets one in each of your hand and stares over the rim of her own glass, expecting. You roll your eyes. Swallow them down in one go and she yells, arms in the air, jumping like the night has just been made.

At least, she's entertained. Dancing her life away, kind of wilding out with too much energy, having to apologize every few seconds for knocking someone with an elbow or slapping another with her ponytail.

"Look, who's here!"

Your heart skips a beat then. Until you follow Mary's finger who's pointing rudely at Park Jimin. Park Jimin as in Jeon Jungkook's Park Jimin, one of his closest friends. He's dressed in all black, tight leather pants clawing to his legs, silk shirt half unbuttoned, perched on heeled Chelsea boots, dark black hair gelled back.

For a second, you worry, stupidly, if your friend is not going to appear, emerging from the thick crowd, carrying a drink, catching your eyes in the room. That's another thing you wouldn't need right now: seeing him. When you're in this weird state of sadness, guiltiness, of hopelessness and confusion. You'd probably be a mean bitch again. He doesn't deserve that.

For some time, you're just watching Jimin, being Jimin, dancing languorously, flashing smiles and winks so naturally; making everyone uncomfortable just because he's so attractive and so talented at catching people's attention and making them want him. It's just Jimin, hoeing out, as always. No Jungkook ever appears next to him. And while you sort of spy on him, there are the two dumb bitches next to you, drooling over him. Commenting about his ass, the way he moves his hips and how tight he seems to be in his pants.

"You should have fallen for him, dude!" It's the pinch to your arm that drags you back to the conversation, lets you know that you're the one Min is addressing. "What?" Your brain is already a bit slow. You haven't eaten much before leaving, drunk not much but too fast and forming intelligible sentences, translating your thoughts in their entirety is not a task easily doable at the moment. You meant to say something about how ridiculous they sound. About how it doesn't make any sense. About Jungkook and the things you feel for him, and the way you fell and how even when you suffer, like in this instance, you wouldn't change your heart because it's him, and only him, has been and might as well always be.

Why would you fall for Park Jimin?

"Jimin, you'd just ask him to fuck you and he'll do it."

"You can see he's a very generous slut."

It makes you wince. They're being fucking weird. Obnoxious, in their way of ogling him and quite disgusting talking about him. There's a smirk on the corner of Jimin's mouth and you wonder if maybe he's noticed them and is enjoying it. They don't mean to be offensive, you suppose, but they're still rude as hell.

"Useless Jungkook could never!"

Either you knock your friend out with your newly filled up glass or you drink it and attempt to swallow along your rage and that strange feeling that the open shirt Jimin is wearing has raised in you.

"Don't you wanna try him?" The question is absurd. You don't try people in general. But you'd never, ever, even think about trying someone as close as he is to Jungkook.

What the actual fuck?

"Fine! Don't give me those eyes!" Your brain and face connection is not that great at the moment that you'd know precisely what Mary is referring to. Soon after frowning and pouting through a sip of her drink, she's leaving, straight for the less crowded part of the bar, where people are dancing, where Jimin is showing off.

She needs less than thirty seconds to have him wrapped around her. Min is howling at your side like it's such an exploit. You don't want to bad mouth on your friend but it is, indeed, Jimin. Manwhore Jimin. And just like that, just because she walked in his vicinity, whispered something quickly to him, maybe just a simple greeting and a reminder of who she is, your friend, in case he couldn't make her out, and he's holding her tight, dancing, more like grinding against her, to her greatest pleasure, face buried in her hair, he seems to be uttering things directly in her ear. You catch her fingers reaching for the wide opening of his shirt, brushing against that tattoo you know to be there under his breast but have never gotten to really decipher, and he's leaving kisses on her shoulders. The next thing you see is his wide, wolf-like grin, now aiming straight at you.

You startle, almost let your glass shatter to the ground from the surprise. That seems to make him laugh. He waves a hand quickly your way and for some reasons, it sends a sudden flaming flush to your cheeks. That guy is such a cunt-tease, he's awful. No wonder people talk so crudely about him.

"I need to get plastered." You mumble, probably not loud enough for Min, whose arm you're dragging along on your way to the bar, to hear.

You may have thought, for a split second, of a fantasy. You may have reshaped the scene taking place in front of you to make it more suitable to you, to make it as self-indulgent as you could. With you replacing Mary, with Jungkook replacing Jimin. She made it seem so easy and for the briefest of moments, it felt like it was realisable. As if the only step missing, the only thing making it not real yet, is the first step, the one Mary took by just walking up to him and asking him to dance, maybe for you to be his for a while.

Then Jimin looked over, with his dark eyes and pretty luscious lips, his very sexy aura and everything that makes him him, and it all felt down to the ground. That's ridiculous.

That would never work.

Maybe hot men with the most endearing hearts that you really desire are not to be seduced by you. It just wouldn't happen. Jungkook would never, as she said. What a shame.

You should have fallen for someone easier like Jimin. He's not one person's man, that's for sure, but at least, he would have been great at pretending to be yours for a moment.

Now you really need to get drunk.

There's pure guilt boiling in the pit of your stomach. Because you've never denied your feelings for Jungkook. He deserves them. He deserves to be loved by everyone. Deeply and passionately. And no matter how true, how pure, how intense those feelings are, he never owes to reciprocate, does he? And here you are, greedy stupid little you, sad and angry because of course, he couldn't love you back like that. Not when there's fucking Jiyeun in the way. Jiyeun or any fucking one else, right?

He's not making it easy for you. Everything he does is making your life harder. As if it wasn't enough on its own already.

Everything he does.

Like buying you these fucking toys you need a science degree to operate.

Sort of.

Maybe you don't need a science degree. Maybe a sober head would be enough to make a toy you've never used before function.

You don't have that at the moment. You're in your favourite pyjamas - an extra-large, greyed by time tee-shirt you stole from Jungkook back in high school - and panties - because it sounded like way too much effort to find shorts or joggings and slip them on. You've managed, somehow, you don't even remember doing it, to make your bed all cosy and welcoming, a perfect backrest made of your fluffiest pillows.

The little toy, this orange thing, sort of shaped like a fat bunny, a big, rounded body with two straight little ears, pointed upwards. It's supposed to be fully charged. It's been disinfected. It's just waiting for you to use.

Except it's the last one Jungkook had bought for you, you didn't get to use it yet, to even turn it on once, nor read its instructions. And here you are, past two am, trying, with your sloppy brain, your blurry eyes, and your impatient cunt, to understand how it works. There's an app linked to it. This much you got from the big, unmissable QR code occupying the first page of the three-page long manual that your eyes won't read.

You picked up your phone, went through the violent burning of your eyes when the screen lit up too close to your face, scanned the code, installed the app and here you are, stuck.

The app won't let you turn the fucking toy on. There's a message that keeps coming up every time you try to link the app to the toy. But the message is written in grey, on white, and you can't see shit and you don't have the patience to decrypt it. Maybe if you close it, and try running it again, and try scanning the code again, and just click on the button that appears under the message, whatever it says, maybe it'll work.

Except it doesn't. After a certain number of times (keeping up with the counting is another thing you can't do well right now) the app keeps on being a bitch. Keeps being difficult and reluctant, and unwilling to let you fucking get off and go to sleep.

You're on the verge of tears.

Why would it be so fucking difficult to make a fucking sex toy work?

Why?

You're so annoyed and impatient and angry now and it's all Jungkook's fault anyway.

You can't try to go to sleep, no matter how tipsy you are, because your brain is filled up with this asshole and won't let you alone. You can't fuck yourself to sleep because the toy you've picked - and for totally irrational reasons you feel like you can not switch to another one - won't let you and it's his. His fucking present. Fucking poisoned gift.

He makes everything worse. Everything difficult. And the more your eyes fill up with frustration tears, the more you're reminded that he's also the answer. He's the worst and the best part of your existence.

Of course, you'd call him.

"I could be sleeping." His voice is light and clear. He wasn't any close to be asleep. He's probably gaming or something. You're so thankful for his voice, the lovely thing, the comforting thing, that you don't even get mad at his aforehand teasing.

"Jungkook-" It's not a call of his name. It's a whine, almost a lament at this point. Tiny high tone, overly dragged vowels. Something like Juunggooo, and he must recognize the tone straight away because he starts laughing in your ear. You bite on your bottom lip hard, almost draw blood, squeeze your fist over your heart, as if it could help it handle it better.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

"Went out with the girls?" You hum as an answer. "Had a little too much fun, sweatheart?"

"No fun at all."

He's laughing again. His sly, mocking chuckle. He's too himself for you to get mad at him. He's too cute when he sounds boyish and happy like that.

"No fun?" He's having fun, it's hearable. It might be because you sound like a dumb, whiny kid. "Why is that?"

"Just cause." He hums like he understands. You hear mockery in it. He sounds a bit distant. As if he's not totally paying attention, as if you're really a four-year-old kid rambling some non-sense after school and their parent just barely pretends to be interested. "Junggooo, I'm trying to have my fun now but your thing is being mean to me."

"What thing?" He's definitely doing something else. He speaks a bit slow, you can picture his gaze far from you. And of course, it'd be, he couldn't even see you even if he tried. It's still vexing. He really doesn't want you to have him all for yourself. Why not fucking Jimin?

"The orange bunny you got me." You explain patiently, pouting a bit. You try your best not to have your vexation be too loud but it's hard. "I tried the app but it won't let me."

"The orange-" You hear it when the gears click. He even gasps a bit. You kind of brought it up out of nowhere when you accommodated him with your constant complains and fights pretty much each time he wanted to talk about this subject. And here you are, opening up a conversation on one of them. You kind of get where the shock is coming from. "Oh, the Gala thing." He even knows its name. "What- How isn't it working?"

"The app says I'm too drunk to use it." You quetch, glaring at the toy laying flat on its back next to you. The asshole.

"The app says what?"

"Jeon Jungkook! Are you even listening to me?" Hysteria was to be expected. Because here you are sad and drunk and horny and highly frustrated and it seems he keeps making you repeat everything. And of course, he would because he can't give you his undivided attention now, can he? Because he's not a generous slut like Park Jimin, he's a useless prick. And if he keeps being one, and he keeps upsetting you, you promise to yourself, as an act of self-love and self-respect, you'll tell him he should be better, he should be more like Park Jimin.

"I am, baby, but I'm confused."

Except he doesn't need any bettering, does he?

It's like he's heard your thoughts. Like somehow, even with the distance separating your two apartments, he's been able to read them directly on the lines of your heart. He knows what you need, the soft and gentle and tender Jungkook who takes care of you, the one that doesn't show often, especially now that you don't really go out and get pissed off drunk together, now that you don't expose the sad episodes you might have to him in fear of being precisely confronted to this perfect torture. Maybe he heard your mind calling Park Jimin's name too many times and he tries to ensure his position. You almost tell him not to bother. That it was just a taunt, it's always him, just him, will ever be.

"What does the message say?"

"That I'm too drunk and stupid to use it."

"I don't think that's what's written, baby."

"But-" You're seriously going to cry in a second. You don't even know from what. The app really succeeded in hurting your feelings by not working for you and he keeps calling you baby, it makes your whole inside boil and scorch like a puddle of lava. "It's invisible letters, how am I supposed to read exactly?"

"If you can't read maybe you should just go to bed for now, hm? Figure it out tomorrow."

"No, now." Full brat mode is on. You know if only he was sitting next to you, you would have raised a hand to pinch him right on the back of his upper arm -where it really stings. It works usually. You don't hurt him, the guy is basically made of muscles, he's the kind of work out junkie that's enjoying the pain. He wouldn't fucking mind your tiny attempt of an attack, no matter the amount of anger and frustration powering it.

By telephone though, it's even harder to make him do something. Possibly undoable. The only weapon that you have is your annoying screeching voice. "You fix it! You bought this shitty thing so you fix it."

"I forgot how rude you get when you're drunk." He's still making fun of you. Not taking you that seriously.

"Jungkook, I'm seriously going to cry." The worst part is that you mean it. If regular menaces won't do, surely affection blackmailing should be more effective.

"Don't cry, it's fine. I'll check. Don't hang up."

As if. You did not plan on hanging up. Ever. You've decided.

It's too nice, cuddled up in your bed, with his voice, smooth and soft, saying words that you really like, like baby, in your ear. You've decided this moment won't ever stop.

"Junggoo-"

"One second, baby." You don't have one fucking second. You don't have any fucking second to spare him. When he's made you horny and lonely and longing for so fucking long. Why would you spare him any more? He takes too long. The time he takes, you prophet, will precisely be the time your vagina will need to dry out entirely.

Even his soft voice calling you baby won't serve to make you wet again.

That's a lie.

It makes you groan. Asshole, asshole, asshole.

"Oh." Your ears perk up. He's back with you, his voice closer than before, it seems, when he starts explaining, a hint of guilt shadowing his tone. "Sorry, it's my fault."

"Of course, it is." You mumble, face deep in your pillows. "Jungkook! Everything's your fault, always." You're probably being unfair. Or maybe not. Is he responsible for making you fall for him or are you to blame for doing so? Turns out, it doesn't really matter, because he doesn't even pay attention to the blatant, telling, honest truth you've just spurred.

"When I received the package I tried it once."

"Tried?" Did he really? The cute little bunny-shaped thing you'd dismissed earlier, cursed at and threw daggers at suddenly looks different to you. You want to pick it up and maybe place a kiss on the top.

"Wait- Not like that! I didn't actually try it! I don't have a fucking clit, what-"

"You just said that!"

"I meant, I tried turning it on and linking it with the app, just to see how it worked. Like the options on the app."

"Oh." Makes more sense.

"Anyway, it's not working for you because I used my email with it and you can only have one." So many words. God. "I have to invite you. Or delete my account and then you make one with your QR code."

You turn into the whiniest, most irritating little thing then. Just a jumble of dramatic cries, something almost sorrowful because your issue appears impossible to deal with. It's not that complicated. He explained it. Too many words, too much thinking, too much paying attention, too much to do and too much delay. How does he expect you to do it when you can't even read the invisible font of the app?

"Fucking invite me then."

"Watch your mouth." It makes you roll your eyes. It's not the first time he says that. He says with this menacing growl at the end. Like he means it. Like he's really threatening you. But no matter how far you go, no matter how many times you curse at him, he never acts on it. You want to tell him, you almost do, to stop promising you things he won't ever give you. There's a ping coming from your phone. With a bit of a struggle, you manage to put the speakers on, so that he doesn't leave too far whilst you take a look at the message. A link to click on. Not that hard, it's bright blue, unmissable. It leads you back to the bitchy app.

Now it's all nice to you. It lets you enter, presents even a picture of your own toy, congratulates you for being linked to it and to Jungkook's account. Of course, it would. Now that it knows you're friends, now that he's in the thing, this bitch of an app is being nice.

There are a lot of symbols, every-fucking-where. Some wavier than others. One is shaped like a music note. Some are just little constellations of dots. You click somewhere, just to try and see if anything happens and it does.

Suddenly, the bunny is brought to life and starts purring furiously on the bed. It startles you, looks a bit intimidating. It sounds angry and complicated with all of these fucking options. At least the other toys he's gotten for you had at most two buttons, one to turn it on and off, and the other one to regulate the three levels of intensity.

You might actually need a science degree to use that. Simply to adjust it so it's not attacking you when you turn it on.

You press another button. The setting changes instantly. It starts vibrating in a jerkier way instead of one straight line of frequency.

Tentatively, you grab it, sort of unimpressed and dubious as to the way this would feel good on you. You've already grown grudges against it. It needs to impress you, prove to you that it's worthy of the effort and of you even bringing it to your precious temple.

It sucks at convincing you. You've brought it to your panties and tee covered crotch, pressed it there, waiting, and it doesn't do much. It vibrates. Weirdly. It stops and goes again, in a pattern you don't understand and it doesn't do much for you. Doesn't turn you on, doesn't make you wet. Doesn't stimulate in any positive way.

You reach for your phone with one hand, trying to keep the other one holding it against you, and it's here that the whole thing fucks up for the last time you can tolerate.

How are you supposed to fucking do that?

Don't they understand that? The people that make those fucking things? That they're going to be used mostly by single people, with a single pair of hands? How are you supposed to manage holding it up where you need it, whilst simultaneously, hold your phone up (everyone fucking knows holding a phone up with one hand, and tap on the fucking screen, especially laid in bed, is impossible and the worst fucking idea one could have - except if getting a black eye is the project) and control the intricate dashboard.

"For fuck's sake!"

"What is it?" Jungkook is sighing heavily in your room. And for a second, you're startled almost off of your own bed. You managed to forget he was even still here, on the other line, apparently waiting patiently for- for what exactly? Maybe for you to wish him goodnight and hang up. You literally forgot he was here. You were about to get yourself off -if only this shitty thing wasn't so shitty- whilst he was still here on the phone.

Why doesn't it mortify you?

"How am I supposed to use my phone and the thing at the same time? Why- How? Jungkook!"

"Stop saying my name like that!" You don't ask because you know exactly how you're saying it. There's no proper balance in your tone tonight. Either you're whining his name like a desperate brat, either you're pestering it like a disappointed, aggravated mom.

"I'm going to cry." You say again, lying this time. You've already started. It's not a lot yet. Just a puddle of tears, in each of your eyes that are just about to spill, and the prickling sensation at the tip of your nose, the latter has already starting sniffling uncontrollably.

"Why?" He sighs again. This time, it's gentler. He might have just found the key to the secret safe holding the very last drops of indulgence he hides deep inside his kind heart. "Baby, the app is really for couples."

"But I'm not a couple, I just wanna cum."

"Y/N-" He chokes on your name. "There are buttons on the toy for you to use. You don't have to use your phone, okay?"

"You're lying."

"Why would I be lying? Look! There are fucking buttons."

There are, indeed. But they suck, you think. You do try them. Pressing on them while you stretch your arms out to keep the bunny's ears close to your covered clit. It's so much work. You don't get it. The buttons are hard to press on, when you manage to activate the little monster, it just jabs against your centre, falls over from your hand. You hate the jerking motion, try to change it because clearly, it won't do. It doesn't work. The buttons suck, the toy sucks and Jungkook is cursing at you instead of helping.

"What do you want me to do? Baby, I'm- Just go to bed."

You hate that he's telling you to go to bed, again. He's probably right. You're being a pain, an embarrassing one at that. You can't just go yet, though. First of all, the very reason you called in the first place, for him to make it so you can fuck yourself to sleep, has not been effectively resolved. And on top of that, the very resolution you took earlier, the one of never hanging up, of never drawing a period to this moment, won't let you.

"This one sucks ass."

"It doesn't." He sounds calm, a bit quiet, tone low and collected. You wonder if he'd dropped whatever he was doing, whatever distraction and laid in bed like you, to listen and talk to you only. That would be nice. You're annoying as hell, poor him, he deserves better, but you're thankful for him.

"It's stabbing, how can it be nice?"

"You just- I don't even know why I'm arguing with you. You're drunk."

"Am not, you are."

He scoffs, doesn't bother insisting. He exhales deeply. You sigh as deep. Your lids are heavy. Your brain is fuming too. Your head feels fuzzy. You could sleep right now. You might make a terrible night. You might have nightmares. You might wake up in a few hours, hot and very bothered, frustrated and on edge. There's a little ping messing with an edge of your eyebrow. You know it'll grow into a headache soon.

"Junggoo..." You whimper as if he could help you. As if he's the key to this headache, to lock it away, along with the rest of your tormented feelings.

"You're tired, baby." He comments. You would bite if you were in front of him. He really wants to send you to bed. "Just go to sleep."

You should. Given that you need a good five minutes to find the energy to open your mouth and mumble, "Don't wanna."

"Then what is it that you want?"

"Told you."

"Hm?" You're not saying it again. You could fall asleep right now. With his slow breathing in your ear. It sounds so lovely. Feels like you've never been this nicely enveloped. It's like those ASMR or lo-fi music compilation videos on YouTube. The ones with the short scene, often animated, playing on the screen. It's instant peace, instant chill, purely quiet, greatly pleasant. You love these sceneries. You even have a few printed on your wall. They are great to look at and try to project in, because it seems you could never create this feeling, this atmosphere in real life.

But you've reached it. Now. The perfect peaceful land. With the perfect soundtrack coming through your phone. You're comfy and warm, it's almost as if he was actually there with you, wrapped behind you, stroking your hair. God, you wish he was there stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head. But he's not here. And why? He should be here. If he can be on the phone with you, when he used to come over to make sure the blanket is nicely tucked under your chin, why can't he be here? Life's so unfair.

"What was that?" He's probably referring to the big loud thump, throwing his toy to the ground made. It's not its fault. Even if it hurt your feelings, it's not responsible for him not being yours. Or maybe it is. He wouldn't give you toys if he were yours. He wouldn't need them. That's probably why Jiyeun doesn't like them. Because she wants him to be all that's pleasuring her. The lucky lucky bitch.

"Your stupid toy."

"Don't- do you know how much it cost?"

"Never told you to buy it."

"Sure, but don't break it! I promise it's good. You can't-"

"It stabbed me!" You accuse, petty.

"You- are insufferable." He sounds about done. Except he's not because he seems to want to prove you wrong, still. The toy on the ground starts shaking back to life. Curiously, you roll on your belly, throw a glance to the ground. It's stirring, moving around slowly, getting closer to you as if it's trying to hop back up on the bed. "Pick it up."

You do as you're told. It's vrooming lightly, quieter than you expected. You can hardly feel it in your palm. The movement more noticeable from the timid sound than by the intensity.

"Oh. It's nice now." Maybe it does have a conscience. It's being all sweet and mellow because the remote is in Jeon Jungkook, international heartthrob's hands.

"See?"

It's really gentle. It turns cute. With its bright orangy-red shade, its two cute ears and its belly, a bit domed to allow a better grip.

Your hand has a mind of its own. If he were to ask about it, to demand an explanation, even when you'll come later, and wonder mad and revolted and half dying of embarrassment, what the fuck came over you, you'd blame it all on your hand. The appendix and its own personal free will are bringing the thing back to your crotch. "You can switch the intensity, it was just at the highest before." You're hardly aware of Jungkook still talking in your ear. The phone on speaker is still laying on the pillow next to you and he's selling it to you, while demonstrating, as if he's signed a sponsorship with the brand. It could be funny but you don't really care, more curious about The Gala and finally getting to know it.

Soon enough you realize that two layers of clothing, no matter how thin, are too much. You lift the hem of his tee, exposing your panties and the lines of your mound, showing through the tissue. It makes sense then, the shape of the thing. It has those two straight ears, or poles, with enough space in between, to tuck your clit comfortably. If you'd like. And you're not sure it won the privilege just yet.

For now, it'll have it but still over your panties. They're so flimsy that really the fitting isn't too far from its initial conceptualized use. "And the modes- see," It's jerky again. It goes for a couple of beats very quick short pulses and then there's a long, monotone one until the pulses come back again. You don't like that one. It's gentler than the one from earlier, that tried to attack your clit with an angry strong beating though. "You can just switch. If you don't like the fast pulses, you don't have to use it. You just try it out." You guess he's right. You just have to try it, tame it. Learn its functions and let it learn you. Probably. Sounds like a lot of work though. The other ones were really straight forward. Good, excellent for some - special shout out to the clit hoover, which is not actually vacuuming but blowing air, which made you cum so fast and so hard in the very first two minutes of trying it. You'd turn it on and it'd do the job. Next to your ear, rambling like a radio you'd forget to turn off in another room, Jungkook is explaining how there are dozens of preset patterns and an infinite amount of slots for personal creations.

It's okay. Sounds like it would do the job. You can already tell how you'll use it if you ever decide to give it a second chance after tonight. Pressed tight against your button, turned a bit higher, in a very basic, very classic constant monotone vibration.

He's switched it to another stabbing like pulsing, very fast and aggressive, you can tell they meant to imitate the pattern of a good pounding but it does little to nothing to your excitation. Really all it does is make your eyebrows frown and your premise of a headache is back. "Hate that one."

"Change it." Kindly, he complies. Another one. You can't really identify it. Maybe a slower thrusting. It's better than the last one simply because it doesn't nearly hurt. Doesn't do much good either. But maybe it's not doing much over your panties though therefore curiously, with eyebrows furrowed now in concentration, you lift the waistband up with a finger and slip the bunny under it. Tentatively, you try to set it nicely where it should be resting, your clit out in the open, hugged tightly by the two ears replacing your lips. It's kinda nice. Barely though.

"So is-"

"Wait, turn it up a bit. I can't even tell what that's doing." You mumble maybe a tiny bit petty, a bit bad faith remaining from the bad impression the toy gave you. It's not that you want to hate because you've decided you would. It's more intricate than that. You're too tipsy to even try and explain that though.

"That one is-" After a while, doesn't do much. The higher setting, you suspect he hasn't gotten up a lot, hardly helps. It does vibrate but it doesn't seem to reach enough, your clit hardly feels anything. Your electrical toothbrush from your horny teenage years used to do a better job at being a vibrator -and this even over your jeans.

You're this close to throwing it to the ground again and give up on it, once and for all. Jungkook would need to understand. It's not because he spent a lot on it, it's not because that strange lady he keeps mentioning insisted on its good, that you are forced to appreciate it. You don't see the fucking point of this one. It does look cute and expensive but is pretty much useless. No one needs a pretty, expensive but awful friend.

"It sucks."

For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything. You consider that he might have even hung up. But then, in the quiet, his voice too serious for him not to have taken what you said personally breaks out. "You're mean."

"I think- I think it's a good opportunity to decide- uh..." The toy is still active in your panties, under your palm. The realization slowed your process of thought for a second but the bigger conclusion that it brings is that really, it sucks. So bad you even forgot it was still on -and it's not you being too drunk to have a fully, 360 awareness of your body, honestly. "To decide collectively that you need, you have to stop buying me those."

"They're not all bad! You loved the other ones!" He accuses, apparently not up for the collective decision. You are probably made of confusion at this point. How many more does he feel the need to get you? Is it that great, that gigantic, that tragic of a frustration that he developed by his girlfriend not liking these that he feels the need to bury you alive with thousands of those? The secretive shelf at the bottom of your dresser already holds little to no place left for another pretty box. And as to the satin bag you use to store the toys themselves, in your bedside table's drawer, you can't even close it anymore.

"When have I ever said that? We talked about one, I said it's fine."

"That's not what you said." Honestly, right now, you have no idea what you said. You know that you didn't find great easiness in talking about them. You've never mentioned any and he never did either, apart from the very first one. You did say something positive about it, you think you can recall. "I don't listen to you anyway because I know how bad of a liar you are."

"Well great. Blatantly admitting you don't care about my feelings-"

He bursts out in laughter. You might be a little bit of a drama queen right now. The hand that is not holding the bunny against your mound -for reasons you don't care to address to yourself, probably for you being so lazy that it feels more like an effort to change your hand's doing, take out and put away the toy, rather than just leave it there quiet and not really bothering- did reach for your chest, in a very theatrical embodiment of an offence.

"That's not what I said, you brat."

"That's what I heard though."

"I said I don't trust your mouth when the rest of you is saying something else entirely." You roll your eyes. Hopefully loud enough for him to hear it on his side of the call. "It's my new passion." He starts, giggling like an idiot. "I won't stop for as long as orgasms will look this good on you."

Oh. My God.

Is he allowed to say that? Is he allowed to say shit like that with the most calm you've ever heard anyone speak with? Like it's normal. Like it's a simple fact. Like the word orgasm in itself isn't so foreign in his mouth. Somehow he makes it sound incredible, so delicious you feel the first proper impulse to your pussy.

"You've never seen it." You counter, uneasy, feeling somehow unbalanced and unprepared against what is probably a simple conversation to him but a real personal attack with too great of weapons to you.

"I've seen the aftermath. I told you already." You wish he'd be more explicit. His words are confusing. They're not telling enough. They can be so much, they might not mean anything. He speaks softly, tranquilly, almost whispers in your ear. It's simply late. It's more appropriate, it feels, to speak quietly like that. It's one of those midnight talks.

He wouldn't know whenever he is seducing you. He's doing it constantly without meaning to. It's just him being himself and you being too weak for him. How could you make out his intentions now?

"You really-" The toy twitches in your hand. He clicked on the switch button of his app again. You're not sure why. From the way he speaks, he might not even have realised. He might be playing with the thing, mindlessly, the way he does when he picks at the skin of his fingers when he talks. He must be because he's still in his own head, talking while the thing, the barely interesting thing, turns into something else. Entirely. It's a wave-like pattern. Growing from pure stillness to a slow, growing vibration that ends in an intense climax. You gasp. He doesn't seem to hear. "You really don't want me to get you any more?"

The second wave hits. "Oh- God."

"I mean- I thought, we were- that it was okay." The sensation is incredible. For some reasons, a technology you don't fucking understand, you wouldn't fucking understand now, every single build hits insanely hard. Each time as intense if not better. You're so close to moaning. If you haven't really taken a second to realize what you were doing, actually using the toy with him on the phone, without him even knowing, somehow you know you need to remain quiet. You can't moan out loud. You sigh loud though. You have to. "I swear with you it's so hard to tell-" It's so hard to keep quiet and the realization brings a grin to your face. You're not that vocal usually. Sometimes you are, with some of the surprisingly good sessions Jungkook's presents have been offering you. But it was conscious. It was you enjoying, wanting to build a bigger pleasure, make it more sensational, it turned you on a bit, you had to admit, to hear yourself. The pleasure the toy is bringing you right now is indescribable. The more you leave it pressed to your clit, the more you feel the heat grow. You know it's already too much. You hiss and sigh, and have to bite back moans each time the high top of the wave comes. It's too much and feels like not enough.

The greedy you would want the final hit of the wave to last longer than those very few seconds. Long enough to bring you there, make you fall over the top of the hill. But it's a teasing setting. Probably programmed specifically for overstimulation. You squirm and bite back whines each time it comes, flinch and have to fight to not tear the ears away because you know the sensation is a lot to handle, too much stimulation, yet you're already addicted, unable to act on the very fair, logical, and sensible decision you should make. You shouldn't even be pleasuring yourself with him on the fucking phone.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook asks, after having stopped talking altogether for a minute too long but it's not like you were really in any state of mind to acknowledge it.

You don't think he's noticed yet. From the noise, hopefully little, that you were making, at most, he should be able to hear some sort of short breathing, for all you know, he might think nausea is visiting from all the alcohol you've consumed and you're heaving, on the verge of throwing up.

"You're not feeling well, Y/N?" It's his concerned tone. The serious one. The one he uses whenever there's no skip button to the conversation. Usually, it leads to him coming over to take care of you like he's your mother. Which sounds great in theory but doesn't always apply wonderfully in practice.

Sometimes you don't want him to see you looking green and gross from fever sweat; sometimes you just want to be alone and recover on your own without having him watching so dramatically concerned over your shoulder. And now, you wouldn't want him to burst in with your hand still in your panties, a sweaty, bothered, horny mess for him to be left shocked and possibly disgusted by. Maybe disgusted is a big word. Or maybe it's not. How inappropriate is it to masturbate with an unknowing friend on the other end of your phone? Is it even legal?

"I'm fi-fine, Jungkook." You lie through gritted teeth. You can't possibly be fine. You've put yourself in the worst situation and you still don't do shit to get out of it. Something is very much wrong with you.

The logical thing to do, the sensible one, would be to either end the conversation, hang up and then eventually finish yourself; or else, take the thing out of your panties, possibly throw it the further away from you and keep the conversation on if that's what you wish to do.

It would certainly not be to ask for him to turn up the setting because you now really much want to come.

"You don't sound fine."

"But I am."

"How much did you drink?"

"Not that much, Guk." He makes you frown, almost rips a curse out of you. Because all this serious talk is diverting you from your pleasure. It's not like you're going to have fucking alcohol poisoning. You didn't drink that much, honestly. The drinks were not even that heavy, except for the two disgusting shots your friend forced in your hands. "Seriously, I'm good." The building up pleasure has brought a new awareness to your brain, and honestly, you feel way more alert than before. You're far from drunk, no matter how much your behaviour seems to contradict that. You're good. You'd be perfect if he'd shut up or if he'd start half seducing you as he does. Maybe he could talk about your nipples again and what you should do with them.

He did say that. Now that you come to think of it. On top of buying you those toys, he did guide you as to what to do with some of them, how you could use them. They were not his direct advice, they were the lady's but still, he felt the importance to share them with you.

"If you are then just answer the question, how much?"

"Okay in a sec but can you turn up the toy's intensity, please?"

"Turn what?" You almost bark then. The whistling f of a very practical, very useful word you shouldn't yell at him rings to your own ear but you're strong enough to hold back. "Ah the thing, yeah, sure." What a sweetheart. A bit slow, but lovely. Your whole body contracts violently when the newly powered wave hits, the beginning of a moan escaping because it's so good, it's almost painful. "I had like two shots of-" Ah. "Something. I don't know what it was, just-" Fuck. "Gross as- uh." Holy shit, that's good.

You can't believe you've judged this intricate, revolutionary technology so bad before. "And then, like, a martini or two, barely and- and-" You're so fucking close. Each time feels like the final ascension except you get back to square one whenever the vibration drops back to stillness too quick to your liking. It's pure torture. And having to make a fucking list of your consumption that's so far back in your brain right now, especially when you know that it's pointless, is not helping.

"Wait-"

"Jungkook-" You don't know if you're begging him to stop thinking now, not get to the conclusion his logical train of thoughts is trying to lead him to, or if you're begging him to help you cum, maybe be nice to the bunny which only seems to be kind to him and make him make you cum.

"Why did you ask me to turn the thing up?" He already knows the answer. You can hear in his tone that he already knows. And frankly, he's a dumb ass for not realizing sooner. "No, you're joking. You wouldn't- not when I'm talking to you."

"When if not then?" Maybe frustration has brought you some bravery, or maybe pleasure has burned the very last remaining functioning cells of your brain.

"Uh?"

It's probably gone too far now. It still feels like he owns the key to the phenomenal orgasm you can smell coming. If you were to hang up now, you wouldn't even know how to make this shitty thing work. And it's not enough. Still.

Shit.

You're definitely wailing in a second now. The next sound you mean to conceal is a sob. Why can't you reach it? And how can you be so hyper-focused on it, it doesn't seem to matter what's going on with Jungkook.

You've gone crazy. Or perhaps you're drunker than you thought yourself to be. The last wave hits differently. It's straight-up overstimulation when you haven't even come once yet. Doesn't feel very nice but at least, it's the push you need to finally lift it up a bit, make a pause and eventually show some consideration to Jungkook.

"So you've been arguing with me, saying it sucks when really you were-"

"It did suck before you changed the setting." You assert again. Because nagging is the thing you're most talented at doing, apparently.

Silence ensues. In the defeating quiet you realize even the discreet humming of the toy has stopped. He's turned it off.

Something akin to shame is finally showing the tip of its nose. It's been fucking late to the party, you note with a growing, you know to become, devastating mortification. Exhaustion and tipsiness are keeping your conscience quite numb but you don't give a chance to sober-you who'll wake up tomorrow with this awful incident engraved in her memory.

Why can't he say something? Essentially, it's his fault. It's always his fault. He makes you feel things you shouldn't and make you do things you wouldn't. You can't think properly. You're being fucking chaotic and he's responsible for that. Even you know it's reaching. You're not that petty and mean.

In a whisper, dipped in sincerity and shame, you apologize. "Sorry, Jungkook."

"For what?" Because he can't let you off the hook that easily, can he?

"Are you seriously going to make me say it? You know why!" Here comes angry-you again. Getting mad and rude for no rational reasons, and here, awfully unfairly. He really deserves better.

"No, I-" You may have broken him. Jungkook has never been the most eloquent person. Between lisping and stuttering and stopping mid-sentence to let you complete for him his missing words, he's never been the best at talking. But even for him, even knowing his history, you find him pretty affected. Possibly all messed up. There's not even the hint of sensible thought. A void filled with "uh" and "tsk" and lips smacking and hums, it's like he's ceased to function. Maybe if you just hang up and from then on, just pretend it's never happened, both of you can get away with the situation. It's an option.

"Jungkook, seriously, I'm sorry. Let's say it was a fucking, uh, drunk lapse of judgment on my part and- yeah, never mention it again."

"Yeah, okay." He whispers after a while. He sounds really shaken up. "But it's fine, I'm not mad, I'm just-"

"Bamboozled?" You suggest, heart constricted, not ready to joke yet but so desperate to obtain at least a smile from him to prove yourself that it's okay and you didn't fuck it up too bad.

"Bamboozled, indeed." He chuckles, a bit breathless on the phone. You can't help the big sigh that escapes you when relief rushes through you. He doesn't sound too upset with you. "I'm really not mad, I just wouldn't have- I wouldn't have expected this, from you."

Of course not. It makes you cringe. You bury your face in your pillow and release the most intense quiet cry you could manage.

"Sorry." You say again, quiet. Your eyes are prickly. This night is such a mess. You can't make out how you're feeling. It's like your reactions and your reflections all come to their own rhythm, inappropriately, unmatching each other's and certainly unmatching the current situation.

"Stop. And don't-" If you're decomposing yourself progressively, at least, he seems to be getting back to his senses. Voice clearer and more present. "You sound so upset now. Are you embarrassed?" It's a smile you hear in his words. You don't have the right to be mad at him but honestly, you would have hit him in the ribs if he were in front of you.

"Is it even necessary to ask?" You grumble face half suffocating still in the pillow. Oh, here's another solution. Suffocating yourself to death.

"I think so. I mean I bought them and I turned it on for you, I should have- I couldn't have known but I should have. It's fine honestly."

"It's not."

Stop pretending, you fucking liar. Even if he acts quite calm, nonchalant, you can hear a very slight difference to his usual tone. He's not sincerely, honestly, a hundred per cent okay and chill with the situation. He's faking casualness but he's not entirely it.

"It is."

"It's not. I'm just gonna die, Jeon." That makes him laugh even though you're only half-joking. You don't know if it's possible to die from embarrassment. One thing is for sure, if it's possible, you won't survive the night.

"No, you're not, baby. It's fine." Jeon Jungkook is the sweetest, needless to say. You should hang up. Apologize again, hang up and pray for him to forgive you and eventually forget all about it. But you remain on the phone because you're so desperate for his approbation and his love and any sign of reassurance from him. And he's giving it to you. When he could probably have a little rest of his own. If it's awkward for you, you can't even imagine for him. But he accepts to stay and reassures you. What a cutie. "Did you cum?"

You choke on your own saliva. More than taken aback, actually shocked. How dares he?

Or can you say that? Can you act offended when you've just done what you did? In any case, how are you even supposed to answer that question?

"You- It's just that I turned it off and we- I was just wondering if you did..." That sounds about right. That sounds like Jungkook being curious and wording this curiosity without necessarily anticipating how you'd take it. It must be part of his plan, his 'let's be the closest, let's share everything' plan he mentioned a few months back. You're not ready, won't ever be if that's what it'll look like.

You are the problem. Apparently, you can get yourself off when the poor boy is on the phone with you unbeknownst, but you still have a hard time talking about sex with him. "...because it sounds awful if you did not."

And it is. It is horrible. You'd imagine that after getting caught, feeling so embarrassed and guilty, your cunt wouldn't still be quivering and begging for you to pay attention to it again. But you've taken it so far. Made it discover new incredible sensations of course it'd still be obsessed with it and with the climax the toy teased it with.

You groan in your pillow again. Not sure how he'll interpret it. Not sure how you want him to interpret it. Should you just talk to him? He could hang up too. If really he didn't want to partake in this mess he could hang up, he could talk about anything else.

"Listen, you don't ever have to be embarrassed with me, you know that." That's reaching. You want to tell him that he can't ever say that to someone, he can't ever become anyone's mat to wipe their dirty shoes on. He should be the one feeling awkward, being mad at you, except he reassures you again. "And when you just proceed on getting yourself off while I was talking- worrying about your fucking health..." He snorts before he can finish. "How dare you act coy with me!" He's just laughing too hard now, contributing wholeheartedly to the burning flush on your cheeks. Well, you deserved it.

"Is that it? You're going to bring this up each time you'd want something from me?" You sound so upset, even to your own ears. It results in his laughter dying down pretty quickly.

"I think so, yeah." You don't add anything. You don't want to be rude. Still hope for any kind of magic word you don't even know that he could mutter to you and that'll help cure your heart and soul. Therefore you can't tell him goodbye and hang up. You wait for him to do it. Except he doesn't. It's late as fuck too. He might be working later today. Why isn't he hanging up? "If I'm talking about it, you should know that it's fine. I don't mind." An asshole and a cutie. "You okay, babe?"

The simple hum you tried to aim for turns into half of a whimper half of a moan. You're not okay. Any part of your being won't let you lie and pretend.

"Do you want me to turn it on?" For fuck's sake. "I'll hang up and leave it on so you just- it'll turn itself off when there's no battery left anyway."

"Jungkook." Your stern voice is a threat. It doesn't have to be further explained, he gets it.

"What?" He sounds aggravated. You can imagine him raising his hands to the skies, upset and losing patience as he's only trying to make it better for you and oh women are so complicated. Something like that. "Oh my God. Just get yourself off and feel better after."

"You don't tell me what to do." Childish but there's not much left of your brain. "Well, you don't even fucking know what to do with yourself right now. Am I right or am I right?" He whisper-yells back at you. Very mean.

"Asshole." It's a tiny whisper under your breath but you're certain he hears it even if he completely ignores it.

"Listen, since you can't even- how old are you, seriously?"

"Fuck you." Barely louder. You definitely know he's heard this time, but still, he decides to dismiss it. He's always been more productive than you.

"I'll turn it on and hang up. You take care of yourself like a big girl, alright?" He probably believes that you can't get yourself to ask for what you want aka a wild night with the fucking toy you can't get to work yourself. But it's not actually the case. Honestly. Now all you can think about -besides the whole very humiliating moment when he caught you in the act- is the way it kept torturing you, bringing you very high but never enough. It started to hurt at the end, brought impatient frustrated tears to your eyes. You don't even think you could finish with it.

Maybe it's inappropriate to seriously consider it. Maybe you won't ever learn your lesson.

Before you even get to word your refusal, the thing is on. It's on the same devilish setting as earlier. The merciless wave. Fuck.

"Don't! It's not- it won't even make me cum, stop it!"

"What? Why not?"

"I don't know the setting is weird." You start explaining through the thicker pout to have ever existed. You're really considering having him solve your climax. You've gone crazy.

"What's wrong with it? Tell me, I'll put on one you like."

Fuck.

You are doomed.

What are you supposed to do with a guy like this?

"I don't think there is." You can hear the frustration from his end before he even says a word. It's written in the stars that in a second he's going to bring it all up, the part when you got off and pester that you can't still be complaining about the fucking toy. "No, I mean it's- the one I liked, the last one you clicked on, it's like-" Fuck, you're really doing this. "A wave. You know? It grows crescendo but it always stops right before- right when it's really good. And I just couldn't- because the good part doesn't last long enough and, yeah."

"Wait, let me look." He sounds a bit further away from you then. He's logged back into the app, you can tell. And with his tiny "hm" and his "so...", he sounds the way he does when your computer is being difficult and he's trying to fix it because you won't pay a professional to do it when you have this nerd populating your entourage. "Ah. You want the high moment to last longer?" "Yes." You can picture him nod to himself, frowning his eyebrows and sucking his lips in the way he does when he's super focused.

"Like that?" You wouldn't know because the toy is lost somewhere, you can hear it but not see it. You ask him to wait for a second and it stops altogether. Doesn't make it easier to find it but it wasn't lost that far. Once you have it in your hand, you gulp, ashamed, not sure if you could ever play with this thing again. But the other guy on the phone doesn't seem to have his motivation falters. You're not the one telling him to try again, on his own, he executes.

It's hard to tell in your hand, the vibrating ears hugged tightly in your palm, if it's going to be satisfactory enough. If it's precisely the thing that was missing from earlier. It follows the pattern you asked him though. Still to a growing intense high that lasts for approximately a good ten seconds rather than the lame 2 seconds from earlier.

"I think so..."

"Okay then. You... mute yourself and then- Uh, no. I should mute myself so- or we both mute ourselves?" He's not really with you anymore. Lost in his own head amongst those seemingly very difficult questions. You don't even get where he's trying to get at. Wasn't he supposed to hang up?

"Why would you stay?"

"It's just- it's me doing it. There's no setting for what you want, it's me doing it. I have to draw the frequency on my phone."

"There's an option for that?"

"Yes. There's even one to have it follow audio!" He points out with way too much enthusiasm. He might have really found a new passion.

"Sounds like high tech."

"Yep."

"Sounds expensive as hell."

He laughs in the mic, snorts even before he brushes it off. Quite frankly, no matter what you'd have to say to him, he'd always do as he wishes. If spending ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous things for ridiculous you is what he wants to do, he won't let anyone, not even you, tell him not to.

You don't know what to say, he's not saying anything either. He suggested something quite insane: he'd stay. While his finger would be drawing shapes on his screen to actively give you your pleasure, he'd stay on the phone with you. Maybe it's a bit hypocritical or ironical, how it sounds crazy to you now while ten minutes ago, you had no problem doing it without him knowing. That's probably the main issue here, him knowing. That changes everything.

"But if you stay-"

"We can't both mute ourselves because I won't hear if you ask me to change something or- so you, you just stay like that and I'll mute myself."

"Jungkook, you muting yourself won't change my awareness of you being here."

"But maybe you'll forget about it?"

"Jungkook."

"What?" He sounds contrite then. Like an upset child who's being argued with. He's trying so hard but you make it so difficult, it seems.

There's just one thing holding you back. Until now you couldn't quite pinpoint it. And it's hard to resolve an issue you can't name.

But it just hit you. His way of insisting while making it seem like he does it for you only, to help you out and doesn't necessarily find his part in the cake.

"Do you want to?"

"Uh?"

"You sound like- I don't know what you sound like. You're confusing. If you're just trying to give me a hand and solely that then hang up and I'll just- whatever."

"Oh."

"Of course, it makes no sense for you to do this for me and stay if you don't want to, I mean." He takes forever to answer. For a second, you even peek at your screen wondering if he didn't simply quit the conversation.

It's really all you need to know. If somehow, to some extent, he wants you or at least, wants to partake in this genuinely. You don't want it if it's just a bro hand. You can hardly live with what you've done if he's utterly uninterested. But if he does want it, even a little bit, you might be wrong but you feel like everything would turn out to be fine.

"It's not that hard of a question." You try again because it almost feels like he's forgotten you from how long he's remained silent. He had put you on the spot, in this very conversation too, so many times, you have the right to do the same to him, at least once. "Do you want to stay?"

He cracks up. It's the very hard kind of laughter. With the boyish chuckles, mixed with the squeaky intakes of air. The one that always brings a smile to your face and usually drags you along the fit.

You have no idea what it means right now. It's probably the least appropriate time for it to show up. Therefore instead of making you smile it only reinforces the headache slowly growing at your temple.

"Aah." He starts by exhaling longly. You can hear the grin fixed on his face. "Yes." Your heart trips in your rib cage. You should have guessed it but you couldn't have imagined this answer. And him laughing to tears like a fucking deranged infant doesn't help. "Shit, sorry." He apologized when the remnant of what sounds definitely like a giggle resonates in through the phone.

"What's so funny, Guk?" Your words don't match your tone. You're high under pressure, unsure of what's actually going on. Jungkook is not cruel, you've known him long enough to know that he wouldn't deliberately hurt you, wouldn't mess with you so bad, for so long, even for a great laugh. Still, you can't be convinced that he's sincere. Seriously, how could you? The dude won't stop fucking laughing.

"Nothing, I'm just- I didn't realize until you asked me the question that I wanted to." Oh. "I'm an idiot."

"Welp." Could have told you sooner but I thought you knew.

"Mean. And, uh," It sounds like he's tossing and turning in bed again. You bet he's just gotten the exact same position as before. He's like those cats that turn around in circles again and again until they settle for the initial spot. When he starts talking again, his voice is hardly a whisper, you assume he's holding the mic very close to his mouth. "I should ask you too. Do you want to?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want it, moron." Patience has run thin. Now that you're reassured you don't have to be ashamed and embarrassed anymore, you can simply be annoyed as you get with him.

Honestly, you're still feeling abashed but he doesn't need to know that.

"Quit being mean. It's not my fault I'm slow." He says, faking deep pity and it does make you snort. "Okay, well..."

"Well, indeed."

"You're making this awkward!" You roll your eyes. Feels like you can sort this out. If you do take out the very blatant, scorching awkwardness, it's a very regular interaction between you. Sounds like any other day except in a second he's going to press a finger to his phone in hopes to make you cum.

"Your whole existence is awkward."

"Shut up. Let's just fucking start." He groans as if you're the one belating the initial step –you are but so is he.

"I don't have the fucking remote." He tells you to shut up again, and this time, when you hear him hum to himself when he's opening the app, there's a recognizable brushing noise falling directly in your ear.

"You put your earbuds on."

He doesn't answer but you're sure he's registered the question.

Fine.

If he doesn't want to give you an answer you'll just make up your own. Don't you put earbuds on to hear better? Just saying.

"Put the thing on."

"Oh my God, Jungkook-" You take back your own admission. He's the one, solely, all alone, making it painfully awkward. Sounding like a newly pubescent teen trying to initiate sex. "Could you be any smoother?"

"But-" He sighs. "Do you want me to?" How do you ask your best friend you've may have been in love with for officially a couple of months to please act like an ideal lover even if it's just very short-termed? He sounds willing. But asking is the most difficult part. "I can be- or do whatever you want, I just don't know-"

"I like it when you call me baby." Your whole face is scrunched up in a perfect picture of your intense embarrassment. Formalities need to get fucking out of the way and it's precisely what you've just tried to do. But holy shit, it's painfully embarrassing.

"Oh. Do you now?"

Here comes the smirk. Can't see it. Can hear it clearly. It's pretty much louder than his words even.

You want to tell him to forget it all. That it's not going to work if each fucking second he makes you feel like he's going to be using whatever you say or whatever you do against you later on. You decide to demonstrate exemplary patience, reminding yourself that he's not cruel. Admittedly.

Perhaps you're the idiot and it's all your fault. Because you've just admitted (without him even asking) that you like (and into these circumstances, that it turns you on) to have him call you baby. Thing that he does already every time he starts coddling you.

"Okay then." He startles you, clearing his throat. You wonder if he's as anxious as you are, or at least, a tiny bit nervous. For the most part, he doesn't seem like it. Then again, he's quite good at pretending.

It shows soon after when he starts again, this time with the gentle, soft voice he hardly ever uses with you. There's a tiny newcomer, a certain edge that gives it some firmness and that enchants you. That's exactly what you wanted him to be. "Put it on, babe."

You nod wordlessly, omitting that he can't see you and do as told. Slipping the toy under the waistband of your panties, guiding the ears aside your clit. There's a very faint buzzing coming from them. You barely feel it and you suppose it's just there to have you accommodate better.

"Are you still dressed?"

"It's just my panties and a big shirt." Your shirt you'd add if you had a bit more courage. You hope he's going to let you keep it.

"Take your panties off." The part of you who's his best friend wants to nag, tell him that maybe he should have asked that before demanding you place the toy on your cunt but you feel generous and merciful, and also desperate and tired of your orgasm being stalled for so long. "Are they soaked from earlier?" Okay, this shit's going to be hard. There's no coming back. Strangely, it's just now that it's really hitting you. Even if it's going well, there is no way, you'll ever forget his velvety smooth whisper saying those words. There's no way you're helpless cunt ever forgets.

They are, by the way. You don't even get how you've been able to keep them on and ignore the uncomfortable stickiness for this long. Just sliding them along your thighs feels disagreeable.

"Y/N." Sounds like you're getting scolded. And even if you particularly like the way he just said your name, with that same peculiar edge from earlier, a little sharper then, how are you supposed to answer that? "What did you say earlier? That it can't only be for you, is that right?"

"Yes." You admit sheepishly because now you're definitely getting scolded. It brings flush on your only newly temperate cheeks and you don't even hate it.

"Then I'll give you everything, I told you I would but I'll need you to give me some back. Can you do that?" He sounds so strict, how can you like it so much? You can literally feel the electricity along your spine, sliding down to go faint in the hot mess between your thighs and that's ridiculous. You hate being talked to that way, usually, probably because it's never him doing it. Jeon Jungkook might be your ultimate kink. And somehow, he figured it all out. That whatever he'd do would fit you perfectly well. Also, he might be turning like that because undeniably, you're a brat. "Can you?" He insists again because whilst you've been busy trying not to hyperventilate, he's been waiting for one answer.

"Yes. Yes, I can. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's fine." You should want to bite him. Why insist so much if it's to end up leaving you off the hook so easily? You know though, for a fact, awfully bothersome to your ego, that if he were in front of you presently, you'd give him puppy eyes and batting lashes, sad pouty lips and probably tend your neck to invite him to gently pat your hair. "Tell me, are your panties soaked?" "I think I ruined them..."

"You did, didn't you?" He's laughing a bit, kind of full of himself for some reasons. Maybe he knows that it's mainly his fault they ended up this way. Maybe he knows they are not the only pair fallen victim to simply the thought of him. "Was it worth it?"

"You're taking care of me so I'd say yes." A chortle. A purr that you interpret into something you like a lot. It sounds like he's taken your response for exactly what you wished him to. A tease. He makes your belly churns and twists, turns your nerves from your heart to your noggins haywire. The least he can allow you to do, the least you'd like to do, is for him to be affected by you.

It starts with a gentle buzzing. It's nothing much. Nothing at all, you'd say if you'd let your greediness and impatience talk. There's something else doing it for you, for now. Jungkook's breath, sort of heavy, slow, rocking you with warmth. Knowing he's here and here to please you; you're laid in bed, naked from the waist down, wet and about to make it all better thanks to him; the picture itself makes it all for you.

"How is it?" Jungkook asks after some time. It's been silent. You haven't said much, in fact, you haven't said anything yet. Not that ready to demand more, and not feeling enough for moans or whimpers or whatever to be stolen from you.

"Boring." You admit. "S'not what you were supposed to give me." Through a thick pout, you deplore.

It doesn't work. He doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care when he's playing exactly the role you've implicitly asked him to play. "Have you said please, even once?" You hate that he's virtually pinning you down with exactly what turns you on.

"I- Probably." You haven't said much. You haven't been so explicit, so telling simply because you couldn't, but surely, you said please. Didn't you?

"Not probably. You did not. And on top of that, you're complaining." He's figured out exactly what you wanted, what you needed. Therefore, as naturally as it came for him, you fit it your own role easily.

"I'm not complaining. I was just- pointing it out. Sorry."

"You can apologize a lot but you can't even say please. Not once." Well, fuck. You never thought that he could be mean. Awfully mean. You wished, when you let your mind wander there one too many time, a bit too deep, that he'd be like that. Sweet and soft and tender the way he is, always, but also, bad, kind of harsh. "Ask kindly, once."

"Jungkook-"

"I'll give you everything you want. Just once."

"Please, Jungkook." You know he's satisfied with what you offer him because you don't have to wait another second for him to give you precisely what you were waiting for. It's timid, follows the crescendo built you were looking for except it's not intense. It's the first step however it's incredibly effective. It feels as good as the first time. "Plea-please." Manifestly, it is the secret word, the passcode to your pleasure because the intensity you're craving for finally reaches you. It does in an electrifying peak, that lasts long, just like you asked, it's so good, the feeling so perfectly indulgent to your needs, maybe even too much, you squirm, part the little ears from your clit, hissing. "Shit, Jungkook!"

"Too much, baby?" The hypocrite, with his concerned tone, doesn't even take a break from activating the vibration, from keeping on building the intensiveness. You can tell it's he too, him really doing it live, as in it's not absolutely regular, the built sometimes takes longer, sometimes the volume stronger, other times weaker. It's undeniable, every minute of it feels different from the next, you can't even omit for a second that it's him doing it. And he's doing it so well.

"Per- fect, just- sensitive." You moan out. Back arching, right leg twitching. The next brush is particularly nice, goes so far you believe you might come on the spot. Now you definitely can't hold back even if you wanted to. The sounds that come out of your mouth, foreign to your own ears, are not even yours. They come straight from your body, straight from an excess of pleasure you try to deal with, to handle, when you clearly can't. You're alone, and it's you ultimately controlling the power on your own body, you can pull out, even slightly, every time it comes hard and strong and you ought to twitch uncomfortably. You wonder how it'd be if he were here with you. If he forgot just for a while that you were his best friend, the girl who used to be older and taller and has turned, with the years, into this tiny little thing because he just kept on growing and growing, sprouting like a fucking redwood, and now feels like he needs to protect and care for you. If he were there, and he could forget that, you bet, his present voice, heated, scorching, is telling you this, that probably, he'd hold you down, crush your body with his, hand pressing your thighs down and apart, and force you to take the pleasure in its entirety. You imagine him merciless, slipping sweet words in your ear, while he'd have you literally scream from overstimulation.

And then his voice, the perfectly alluring thing, concludes to let you know it won't happen like that. His voice will make you come.

"You sound so good." Especially, if he keeps saying shit like that, with this tone, soft yet strong and highly, terribly affected. He's breathing hot and heavy in your ears. Is he touching himself?

"Please, Jungkook." You implore, vainly, hips slowly grinding against the toy, pressed by your palm on your sensitive centre.

"Especially begging, 'sound so, so good." He's not touching himself. He sounds bothered, but not enough, he doesn't stutter like you do, his voice doesn't jump and dip, stops momentarily like yours does. Shit, you wished he would play with his cock. Fuck, you want to play with his cock. So fucking bad.

"Y-you like it?" You ask, not because you're curious to know, he's said it already, but because you won't ever get tired of hearing him say it, in all those different ways.

"I do, baby. I love hearing you." You can't help the curse that leaves your lips a bit harsh. You're so close. So so close. Eyes filled up to the brim, tip of your nose wet. How many times have you thought, already, that you were seriously going to fall over? "You gonna cum?"

"I can't-" You sob, whine. There's a tear spilling from your right eye. "It's too much." So attentive to your every word, the intensity drops drastically. It still buzzes, discreet, way more tolerable. Ironically, if you can now bear it, you know it's not enough to lead you to your climax either. "Help me, make me cum, Guk."

"Use your fingers." He's been nice, essentially, you can only be good to him. Without even having to think about it, you dip your fingers in the mess that is your cunt. Two fingers slip in between your lips too easily, you could add a third if only there wasn't the bunny taking a bit too much room, and your fingers were longer, and your hips not so twitchy. If Jungkook was here, if only he was here, he'd fit his two fingers and it'd be enough. You bet it'd be enough. You bet his pretty, long, tattooed fingers would stretch you so well and make you come in a heartbeat. "Fuck yourself with them."

It's so gratifying. Having him humming in your ear encouragements and compliments. He's sweet, sweet, sweet. Excellent with his voice. Fuck, he must be unreal with his fingers, with his mouth, with his fat cock.

Diligently, you drag your fingers in and out, it's only mildly agreeable when you're sopping wet, almost gaping. Until he draws on his phone the same magnificent pattern from before.

You wish it'd last longer. It's precisely what you needed, the ideal combination. Along with his words.

You know if you come he'd have to stop. He'll stop calling you baby, stop saying how sexy you are, use all those nasty words he never does and talking like that, with this voice, with this heat in his tone. It's a bothering thought at the back of your mind you have to actively push away.

There's nothing you can do when harshly, yet with a please, he demands you to cum.

You can feel your cunt, wide open from both your spread legs and the excitation, getting wet, growing soaked. You can actually feel it as it happens before you explode. Clenching violently around your fingers, spilling all over them, you might squeak and scream and moan his name continuously, you barely hear yourself through your ringing ears.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." You sigh. Laying there, boneless, hand dripping up to your wrist. He's chuckling. "Fuck."

"Feeling better?" You hmm in response. Words sound like too much effort right now. Your brain is working slow. Extremely slowly. There's a multitude of thoughts forming though, germinating from a strange ground.

One, in particular, does, enlarging ridiculously much next to the others. You could enjoy this luck. You could just bathe in the lovely, perfect haze. Accept that the sky is perfectly blue without a cloud, with even a rainbow somewhere. Maybe a double rainbow even.

There's a very, very dark, very, very large cloud invading your perfect sky though. And because tears, of another kind, have already located your eyes, the new ones fit in, mixing up with them and taking over them with utter ease. What the fuck have you done?

"Jungkook, I'm so sorry-" You start with a tremble in the voice. There's a fat lump in your throat.

"Why? What's going on, baby?" He's sweet as honey, back to his usual self, worried, and you're horrible.

"Your- I didn't even think about her and-" There's a sob bubbling out of your mouth. "It's not me. I didn't mean to-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jiyeun." The taste in your mouth when you say her name, is unbearable. You know full fucking well you shouldn't say her name. You shouldn't be allowed to. How dare you. Spoil it when you spent way too long virtually getting in this guy's, who's someone else's boyfriend, pants.

"Dumbass." It makes you choke on your own sobs. "It's over. With her, I mean. We broke up." Ah. You want to ask a billion questions. Starting with "again?". Soon followed up by a "why didn't you say anything, dickhead?". You spent the whole fucking night, getting shit faced and spiritually crying in the club over a couple that does not even exist anymore. Then you'd ask for how long they are planning to be over. "For good, this time." You're barely drying up your fat crocodile tears when he calls you an idiot again, says something about how he's not that kind of guy and you should know it.

Feels better. The thunderstorm is gone.

Alcohol and horniness and hardcore loving are such a terrible combo you need to avoid.

"Cuddles." Tiredly, half-dead, but still alive enough to be greedy, to feel sensible, skinned and want him to give you more. "Come cuddle." He's late to answer, delays it as if you don't desperately need his response.

It's terribly quiet and still. The dark of the night seems even more sombre. He can fix everything if only he'd give you the answer you desire.

"You sure?"

"Always." You say, maybe too honest. He doesn't seem to mind, agrees with a snort.

"Alright."

He appears in front of you in the blink of an eye. Literally. That blink does last longer than usual. The orgasm may have crushed you. You close your eyes and when you open them back up, he's here. Standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, dressed in all black and oversized, as usual. You look up, eyes squinted, bothered by the light coming from the hallway. He's staring. Gaze brushing, from your head to your toes, seemingly slowing down when they reach your naked thighs.

"What?" You mumble, embarrassed, one hand sliding down just to make sure the hem of the shirt is covering your crotch. You didn't even put your panties back on. You may or may not have wiped yourself clean enough with the wet wipes wisely sitting on your bedside table -you thought about it really hard but you can’t remember if you actually did it.

"You never mentioned it was my t-shirt you were wearing." You shrug. You'd have a better come back if you weren't so tired and if it wasn't simply true. "Would have been nice to know." He says, kneeling down next to your bed. The latter is low, mattress barely raised from the ground and even when he's crouching down, he's hovering above you, looking down on you. "Easier to picture." He adds quieter the closest he comes to you. It's enough words to know who he is at the moment. In what form, what version of your Jeon Jungkook, has come to visit. It's the gentle one. The one whose voice doesn't raise, doesn't feel as animated as his usual one when he spends his time being a clown to make everyone laughs. The one that made you fall, the first time. Not exactly the one you had on the phone with you earlier and even if you like him, if you adore him in fact, you feel sort of uneasy, worried. He might be gone forever, this one.

Unless it is him. His hands reach forward, large and warm, they lie on your thighs. The fingers brush up a bit, to the hem of his shirt, and they stop there. He looks up from them, straight in your eyes, smiles, digs the tips in the meat of your thighs before he lifts you up, aiming for the border of your bed.

God. You hope it'll happen again. But differently. More in-depth. He'd be less dressed, he would manhandle you, before he'd do some unnamable things to you. But another day. One when you're not almost dead. When you feel hornier and less soft and desperate for direct comfort to your swollen heart. It could be tomorrow when you wake up. If he's up for it. Please God, make it so he's up for it.

Jungkook hops on the bed behind you, huffs comfortably, holding your cover by a corner to bring it up and over the two of you. He fits behind you too naturally for it to be the first time. He doesn't seem to mind that you're so underdressed, compared to the other times, that you still have some remnant of your orgasm on you, that it's different. His arm sliding around you, holding a bit too tight, pressing you a tiny bit too hard, you're still hot from earlier. It's perfect though. You don't want him to move an inch and you hope, the hand that's wrapped on his forearm, makes him understand.

"M'not too clingy?" His own cheek pressed hard to your own, he asks, which is weird. How could he still wonder? He's never ever been too clingy. Even when you were kids and he followed you around before even asking if he could, he wasn't too clingy. The closest, the better. You deny with a uh-uh. He calls out for your name when you're fighting to keep your eyelids open. It's the most comfortable, the warmest you've ever felt. Like a cocoon of pure love and adoration. On top of it, there's his hard arms around you, his hard thigh pushing against yours, his crotch -with the feel of his member, slightly stiff- glued to your butt, and his chest, as hard as the rest, holding your back up like a strong wall. "I promise I didn't plan the whole toys thingy for that."

"For what?" Sleepily, you wonder, actually confused from exhaustion. To cuddle with you? Like you haven't in so, so long. Why would he try to apologize for it? "To use them with you."

"What a shame." You don't think he can understand. Diction is not something you care for at the moment. The hard laugh bubbling in his chest, rumbling, shaking your whole, lets you know he did, in fact, get it.

"You're so-" He starts but the thought dies way too soon for you to even try and complete it yourself. "I'll have a billion questions for you tomorrow."

"No." You whine. Because he's fucking up everything. If he believes you'll say it all to him, there's no way you can. There's no way you will. He chuckles.

Doesn't seem to be taking you seriously.

"Yes. And you'll answer every single one of them." He gives a sweet but pressing kiss to your neck.

"No."

"I adore you." Fucking hell. "I broke up with Jiyeun because I adore you too much. I realized I want to spend all my time and energy on my best friend." You don't even know what he means. You can't even hold your eyelids open now, you can't even keep your hand on his arm, it being too heavy and sleep having taken over most of your body.

You bet he's saying that just because he's guessed it. He's figured you all out and the asshole doesn't mind playing with your soft heart. He knows he'll get anything from you if he's this good. Hopefully, tomorrow, he'll have forgotten about his little interrogation because you're not sure you'll be able to lie. For now, he's holding you way too close for you to care. Whatever. May it last forever, this feeling.

A/N: DON’T HATE ME OKAY?! i know i have an issue with angst and endings, for some reasons, i don’t want to hurt my characters but i can’t get myself to write an actual fully happy, non-ambiguous conclusion, and i’m really sorry for it lmao.

i sincerely hope you enjoyed the last part of The Wishlist! Thank you immensely for anyone who’s followed along, please let me know your thoughts, i really really want to know :)

for now, i’m sending you lots of love and kisses, take good care of yourself and others, see ya very very soon :]

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