#(number one person to say they should fuck nasty and never be friends) u know its serious.... like its all just racism when it comes down

[raven]

astarion really exemplifies every issue with modern fandom. in the game, he is an interesting character with a complicated relationship with sex that is deeply tied to his backstory and not often seen in video game romance options, imo. and then on a metatextual level, because of the way he's a white twink, he is given a million times more content than everyone else in the game, which is frustrating at best. and of course because he's a white twink the fandom is absolutely insane and oversexualizing, when a major point of his romance arc is not wanting to have sex with you even though he's attracted to you because of how he's been treated in the past-- and fans are doing the exact same thing, treating him like an object-- so thats literally how people who don't know the game see him-- UGH.

[local-space-case]

Bakugou Katsuki is Not A Loser

Word Count: IDK

Rated: T (mention of abuse, self-loathing, cursing)

AO3 Account: FerociousFerret (out here only posting first drafts on a whim why?)

When Bakugou sees the looming  silhouette of Endeavor at the hospital outside of Todoroki’s room, he thinks he feels a million emotions at once.

Some he’s familiar with like fury, annoyance, and the protective fire he venomously denies exist are the ones off the top his head. But there’s also fear. An emotion he’s embarrassedly familiar with. A deep anxiety clawing it’s way out of his chest while still somehow keeping a tight grip on his lungs. It commands he stay rooted in the middle of the bleach white hallways that even so quiet he thinks they must be louder than he is. He wants to say something. He wants to yell, scream, curse, kick the fucker out the goddamn window, but he can’t.

Until the number piece of human shit takes a step closer to the door.

“OI! You can’t fuckin’ go in there!”

It comes out like the nasty snarl he was hoping for. The pro hero glances at him with a look disdain before reluctantly taking a step away from the door. Bakugou assumes he must not want to cause a scene. Doesn’t stop the stubborn shit from arguing with him though.

“He’s my son, I have a right to visit”. His tone was clipped, formal, placating, like he was delusional enough to think Bakugou was going to lose this fight.

Bakugou Katsuki was not a loser.

“Last time I checked, trash belongs outside not stinking up disinfected air.” He lets his gaze linger on a door across the hall. “Besides, I don’t listen to losers.”

Endeavor seems to puff up like a pissed off cat. God, so that’s where Strawberry Shortcake gets it from.

He looks like he wants to beat Bakugou into the ground and Bakugou lives by the philosophy of ‘If it can crawl, it can brawl.’, so he’s up for anything this fucker has to offer. But he doesn’t, instead he closes his eyes and inhales like he’s having an fucking asthma attack.

“You shouldn’t insult your elders.” Endeavor says after a beat. Bakugou huffs a laugh.

“Or what? You’ll hit me?” It’s an attack and based on the way the hero recoils, he knows it. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows it because it was broadcasted on live television. It was like a car crash, so gruesome but you just can’t tear your eyes away until you see that everyone is okay.

However, like a car crash, it’s abundantly clear that no one in the Todoroki family is okay. But, Bakugou didn’t find out when the crash happened. No, he knew the truth deep down when he saw the unsteady swerves of one of the drivers who had the audacity to essentially give him first place at the Sports Festival.

Bakugou thinks about that moment a lot. Usually at night when he can’t sleep because he feels like someone’s watching him, he wonders what Todoroki saw that snuffed out the fighting spirit he’d paraded around before their round.

He’s young, but he’s not naive. Not anymore. He knows, undoubtably, that during their fight Half ‘n Half didn’t see Bakugou’s drive to win, he saw his father’s flaming fists.

He feels his usual scowl paint itself onto his face, “How does it feel knowing your entire family is afraid of you?” The older man doesn’t say anything, deciding that floor is much more interesting than the conversation Bakugou wants to have. The conversation he needs to have.

“Number One Hero, hah?,” he mocks, “You know, that’s really fuckin’ funny. That’s a hoot ‘n holler. You could be a stand up comic.” he gives a pause waiting for a reaction. He doesn’t get on.

“Too bad they don’t like sacks shit lyin’ around.” A pause. “You didn’t answer my question by the way, so tell me, how does it feel knowing your whole family is afraid of you? That you have no friends because you decided you didn’t need them, you only needed to be on top. Well,” a sharp bitter laugh echos through the hall, “congratulations.”

He stalks up to Endeavor and gets up in his personal bubble. He can see a blue eye trained on his own red ones. With a pointed grin, the blond knows he has the man’s attention now, so he keeps going.

“How does it feel knowing that you lost? And before you open that fuckin’ cavity ridden mouth of yours, you’re gonna listen and you’re gonna listen good.” Endeavor had tried to open his mouth to object because apparently the idea of losing something was getting to him. Bakugou could deal with this.

“How can you call yourself a hero after everything you’ve done? How do you do that? How do you sleep at night knowing that the so-called number one hero can save a civilian but fuckin’ torment his family?”

Endeavor is trying to ignore him. He can tell because his eyes are once again back to the floor. He won’t let him though.

“How does it feel knowing that, after all these years, even though you won, you lost.”

Bakugou is, and has always been competitive. He wants to be the best, he needs to be the best, because only the best people can be heros. He’d always adored All Might growing up, but not the same way Deku did.

When Deku saw All Might, he saw a beacon of hope, a peace bringer, an unstoppable force of nature. He saw a role model. A mountain of a man who was as strong as a tiger, yet gentle like a rabbit. Someone who uses their power for good instead of evil.

When Bakugou saw All Might, he saw a winner. A strong man who beat villains into the ground and obtained more money and praise than anyone else could ever hope for in a lifetime. He didn’t see a man, he saw a king who had kept a tight hold on his crown. He wanted to take it. So, yes he liked All Might for his position of power, but he respected Endeavor.

Endeavor may have been the number two hero, but Bakugou saw himself in him. He saw the fights on tv with the walls of fire, the punches, the yelling, he saw it all. Endeavor was not like All Might, he never backed away from a fight, never bothered to try and find a peaceful resolution, but he always won. He won with fiery fists and scowls and he didn’t smile for the press, he wasn’t fake.

Bakugou thought he felt hate for Deku, but now he knows better. This is hate. This feeling in his heart that’s screaming, hurting, burning.

This is hate.

This is hate because he can see his reflection in this monster draped in human skin.

He sees himself pushing Deku away because he thinks he’s superior, kicking, hitting, burning, screaming, he can see it all. He can see Deku become smaller and smaller and he remembers how happy it made him because Deku knew his place and that meant he won.

He sees Endeavor hitting his wife, screaming til he’s blue in the face at Todoroki, his siblings tear-streaked faces when they realize Touya is never coming home. He sees Todoroki’s determined expression flicker with fear before dropping to the ground like a rag doll. He sees Endeavor’s please smirk turn into a sour scowl because his son didn’t get first, he didn’t win. He sees Todoroki sitting in the main area while all their classmates pack up to go home for the holidays with raised hackles and paranoid glances at the slightest noise. He sees what once was Todoroki Touya on live tv telling the whole world his father’s sins and he wants to make him pay.

He sees the ambition, the anger, the low tolerance for anything that isn’t the best, the need to be the best at everything all the time but, Endeavor didn’t win, did he?

Endeavor became the number one hero because his rival fell, but he did not win. He was a martyr to the public, but a monster to his family. He was the monster under bed, the demons in their heads, the footsteps they should fear, and the man they should not love, but worship.

He took and took and took until his family had nothing left to give. He sleeps at night uncaring that his family don’t have a home they have a graveyard full of phantom memories of the lives they never got to live and the dreams they never got to chase. They get the ghosts in the mirror, a walking corpse for a body, and the perpetual state of mourning the love they’d never receive.

Then again, maybe Endeavor didn’t win or lose, because you can’t win a game you aren’t even playing. The moment he insulted, or raised a hand to his wife or children, he was disqualified.

Bakugou knows he’s no saint, but he’s not a loser. He’s worked hard to get his head outta his ass because he already loss. He lost his best friend and any dream filled nights that may have come to him. He learned.

Shaking his head out of his thoughts, he glances back at the man he’d looked up to and respected for many years. A man he hopes karma kills as slowly and subtly as he had with his family. He huffs.

“Yeah, I don’t like losers. Now, go the fuck home before I call security.”

He backs away but doesn’t leave the doorway as the sack of shit made the right choice and shuffled away. Bakugou makes a noise of satisfaction.

The explosive blond glances inside Todoroki’s room where the staff drugged him up on sedatives and silently wills him to get better. He’ll never say it out loud, but they were friends, and he did care.

(He also fears, that maybe, the news is right about how insanity runs in the family and that maybe he didn’t chase Endeavor off fast enough before Todoroki lost it completely like his mother and brother. Bakugou hopes that maybe he finally did something good.)

The vibrating of his phone jolts him from his thoughts and he reads the notification.

Shitty Hair: hey bakubro we wanted to know if ur still coming to movie night

Shitty Hair: no stress tho!!! a lots happened so we get it if u wanna skip

Another huff of laughter, this time less bitter, escapes from his lips.

He allows himself to smile and tells Kirishima he’s on his way and that they better not start without him. Yeah.

Bakugou Katsuki is a lot of things, but he’s not a loser.

[consumeconstantly]

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 5

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | ao3

3:00AM | CoffeeVamp: bb bat update us TheOG: ^^ more info on the situation in paris

3:28AM | Demonspawn: It is difficult to obtain information on Hawkmoth. The butterflies disperse after they are cleansed, and before they land their target, they don’t show up electronically.  Coffee Vamp: o how the mighty have fallen i thought u said u could best me bb boi

3:42AM | Demonspawn: I’d like to see you do better. Coffee Vamp: IS THAT A CHALLENGE Coffee Vamp: ill take u up on that gimme 24 hours and ur going down TheOG: he has had a whole month so dont be too sure of that LadyLady: would you guys SHUT UP its two and some of us have jobs to do Coffee Vamp: cmon babs u luv us dont deny it LadyLady: Don’t make me hunt you down, Tim. Coffee Vamp: oOooO proper punctuation im shaking TheOG: just shut off notifications Babs TheOG: Bruce does Jesus: i don’t think the man has checked this chat in years Coffee Vamp: wdym brucie checks the chat all the time hes just a silent lurker Coffee Vamp: he doesnt even set himself to invisible

3:57AM | Daddy is away. Coffee Vamp: im so glad i have admin privileges imagine if i didnt bruce would have a boring normal nickname like his actual name LadyLady: good lord, why am I even in this chat?? Daddy: You’re supposed to keep them under control. Coffee Vamp: SEE I TOLD U BRUCE IS A SILENT LURKER> THIS. IS. SOLID. PROOF. IN YOUR FACE TheOG: nobody said otherwise Coffee Vamp: also how are the people have you made friends Jesus: Demon spawn? Making friends? Id be less surprised if he told us he has a new fling Coffee Vamp: is j right? Got a winter fling? 

4:12AM | Coffee Vamp: ur lack of a response tells us nothing  TheOG: im sure he’s just adopted his usual icy persona Coffee Vamp: haha hes the bb of so many things Coffee Vamp: bb vamp bb demon spawn ice ice bb Coffee Vamp: getitt im so funny

4:36AM | Coffee Vamp: guys?

“I told you I could get her to write her number on your cup,” Marinette grins with pride.

“And I told you I didn’t want her to.” Damian scowls and kicks a pebble in his path.

“You’re still wearing the clothes I picked out for you,” she points out.

“You told me to wear it. I wore it. I’m not interested in her.” 

Marinette squints at Damian, evaluates whether he’s telling the truth or not. “Huh, you really aren’t interested. I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t wear the other outfit I picked out for you-- that one would have gotten her to ask you out on the spot.”

Damian groans. “We’re going to have to find a new coffee place.”

“Or we could just come when she’s not on shift and run away like mice when we do see her?”

Damian gives her The Look.

“But they have good coffee here,” Marinette whines.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before dressing me up and sending me to my death.”

“It’s not my fault! You only have your parents to blame for your looks.”

It’s true; both of Damian’s parents are good-looking. His whole family is, actually, adopted or not. All of the good looking people he meets are talented and have a tragic life story. Which is the cause and which is the effect, Damian isn’t sure. But it holds true even in Paris. All he has to do is look at Marinette or Adrien, though he’s not a hundred percent sure where the tragedy kicks in for Marinette. Probably the time when she was at odds with Lila, but he hasn’t looked much into the situation. He can even use Lila Rossi as an example. She has even worse color coordination than Damian is, but her features are model worthy. Lila Rossi is also definitely fucked up in ways that Damian doesn’t care to explore.

The effects of Marinette’s well-placed compliments has Damian thinking about himself in a positive manner that he never has before. Bruce is always stingy with praise, and the other senior members of the Justice League of America see him as another Robin that doesn’t need praise because competency comes with the mantle. Dick and Barbara compliment him occasionally, but that’s rarer now that his place is more firmly cemented in the family. Damian doesn’t think he’s ever had someone so willing to genuinely compliment him. Marinette’s compliments extend to more than just his looks, as well. She praises his technological skills as he sets up her website and has complimented him as he helps her out with whatever altercations she inevitably comes across on the streets. If he reveals his skills as Robin, reveals himself as Damian Wayne, will he receive even more praise?

“But since we did buy you that absolute knockout of an outfit, you’re going to have to wear it eventually. So whose heart do you want to steal?”

“I don’t want a relationship,” Damian repeats. They seem like more effort than they’re worth, and he always sees couples fighting and complaining about each other. Plus, they have to make time for each other and his alter ego doesn’t allow for that, though he supposes that he isn't Robin. At least, not right now.

“You don’t need to want a relationship just to flirt with somebody. Who’s it going to be? The intern at the Louvre? My parent’s newest hire? Oooh, how about Nicolette?” Marinette’s voice takes on a more mischievous tone. 

Damian will give Marinette this much: her taste in the aesthetics of people is far from bad. The intern from the Louvre is two hundred pounds of lean muscle with a devil-may-care smile and a deep, belly laugh that makes people laugh with him, but Damian and he don’t have anything in common. Her parent’s new hire is knockout gorgeous, with warm brown eyes, and definitely the kind of girl Damian would have gone for as a one night stand back in Gotham. However, he’s also 98% sure that she has a very possessive boyfriend who stops by the bakery every time she has a shift. Nicolette is considered her college’s belle, and her intense gaze paired with her surprisingly friendly demeanor might have been appealing to Damian if she weren’t ten years older than him. 

“I’m not into any of them,” he says, simply.

“Then who are you into? Surely someone has caught your eye in the past month?” Marinette looks genuinely curious, but her expression shifts into horror. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I never asked your preferences, if I was being insensitive, I’m sorry, I mean I’m pan, but you absolutely don’t have to tell me, it’s your right if you’re not comfortable.”

Damian does look slightly uncomfortable now that she’s looking at him more closely. His arms are crossed over each other, across his chest, and his hair is tousled. Then, he lets out a small laugh, and Marinette melts. “It’s fine, Pigtails. All of the people you listed are attractive, but I’m not attracted to them. I’m more of a personality guy, though I can’t say that personality has stopped me from things more than dates before.”

He’s had his fair share of hook-ups and makeout sessions in the past when feeling particularly frustrated with something that wasn’t going his way, though his primary method of relief is through sparring. Short missions and one night stands go fairly well together; he doesn’t ever have to deal with people wanting long term relationships, and even if they do, he’s gone before they know it. So far, he hasn’t hooked up with anyone in Paris, but then again, he’s only been here for a month and this is a long term mission. Whatever time he’s not with Marinette or at school is dedicated to piecing together the mystery that is the Miraculous and trying to figure out Hawkmoth’s identity. 

“Oh,” Marinette continues to blush.

She’s clearly too embarrassed to bring up any other topic, so Damian decides that he’ll shoot the same conversation topic back at her. Marinette is attractive, and people she meets ask for her numbers and dates often enough. She’ll accept the former if they aren’t a total creep, but she always turns down requests for dates.

“And you? Why aren’t you out there questing for love? No crushes or significant others that I need to beat off with a stick?”

This does manage to lessen her flush. She frowns, turns something over in her mind. 

“No crushes right now, no. I used to have a huge crush on Adrien just a year ago. He’s such a sweet person, but we don’t see eye to eye on important matters.” And also not into sex, either. Even physical affection hits him the wrong way sometimes, which makes Marinette worry even further for his well being with Lila’s constant touches. Still, he hasn’t said anything, and Lila hasn’t done anything more than grasp his arm or shoulders every now and then, to reassure the class that yes, they are the golden couple. Marinette also suspects that he is very unwilling to talk about the whole situation in general, and it’s not as though they’re super close.

Of course she had a crush on Adrien. Damian can see it now, Marinette looking at Adrien with her big blue eyes, her lashes fluttering when she gets close to him. Stuttering when she gets embarrassed or when she gets close to him. It makes his lungs constrict, but he’s not sure why.

“As for past relationships, there’s only really Luka. We had a pretty good run, but he’s out of the country, touring. He wanted to try long distance, but I didn’t really want that. But he’s respectful-- there’s no need to beat him off with a stick or anything.”

“I’m surprised a pretty girl like you doesn’t have more suitors,” Damian says, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk as they walk towards the park.

Marinette gags. “There are some other people who have been interested, but I wouldn’t exactly consider them relationship material. If you’re going after a girl just because she looks exotic, that’s sort of nasty. I guess I’m just unlucky in love.”

“At least you’re not as bad off as Ladybug is,” Damian jokes.

She looks at him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, first there was that creepy sculptor who must have been twice her age, then there’s Chat Noir who keeps flirting with her despite her requests not to, plus all of the random love akumas. I’m not even going to talk about the hordes of guys who chase after her, trying to get a date just because she’s a superhero. It’s not even like she can kick them between the legs because she has an image to uphold and all that.” He smirks, nudges her with his arm. “I’m surprised you haven’t done that with some of your stalkers.”

“Oh. You’re right, huh. Though, I don’t think Chat Noir has actually flirted for a while now.”  Chat Noir has been very subdued as of late, and it makes Ladybug worry.

Marinette feels uncomfortable with the way the conversation has shifted. How does Damian know about all of these past akuma attacks? As far as Marinette is aware, most information about anything Miraculous related is difficult to get a hold of abroad, largely because the Miraculous try to hide their existence as best they can, and partially because Mayor Bourgeois doesn’t want word to get out that he hasn’t flushed a supervillain terrorist out even though he’s had three years to do it.

“Copycat happened three years ago.” It’s a question, almost.

“I figure I might as well keep up with the heroes of Paris. I’m here and they’re interesting.” Damian figures this is as good a time as any to bring up his interest in Hawkmoth. Marinette has been nothing but helpful and she’s definitely the kind of person whose heart is in the right place. Not to mention that she’s definitely smart and seems impartial; the one time he asked her about her thoughts on the heroes, he found out that she didn’t see them as perfect. She was able to critique Ladybug in full, which seemed pretty odd considering the rest of Paris seemed to have nothing but glowing praise for the heroine. “You’ve had some awful luck with akumas yourself. Weird how Ladybug didn’t show up when you got kidnapped by Evillustrator. One of the only times she didn’t show up for an akuma.”

“And what happened to the other heroes? It’s mostly Ladybug now. She must be in an awful state with her civilian life.” He looks off to the park, occasionally flicking his attention back Marinette’s face, evaluating her expression.

She catches his eyes and he swiftly looks away, looking almost nervous. Marinette stiffens. He knows, he knows, he knows, he can’t know. But how? How does he know that she’s Ladybug? She hasn’t let anything slip around him. She's been careful not to. Everything she’s ever said about Ladybug has been brief and curt, taking on an almost angry tone.

“If you’re so interested in Parisian heroes, I’m sure you saw the press conference Ladybug and Chat Noir gave last year about why the other heroes would be showing up less often.” Marinette keeps her voice carefully neutral. She needs to play this safe. She’s probably over reacting-- she’s been on edge with Hawkmoth sending out an akuma attack nearly every single day for the past few months.

Damian shakes his head. “It didn’t seem like good reasoning. Ladybug and Chat Noir are too untrained. They haven’t beat two villains in three years. They should let someone else take over.” 

Marinette has come across a good number of Ladybug and Chat Noir haters throughout her time. Those who dislike the Parisian heroes often make the exact same arguments Damian is now. That they’re not fast enough. That they should have taken down Hawkmoth and Mayura already. This is nothing new to her, though it does hurt hearing it from Damian, for some reason. She can’t even argue with most of the points he’s brought up. Going mostly solo was because of her own, selfish reasons. She really should have beaten Hawkmoth and Mayura by now. 

“The only thing they have going for them right now is that they’re keeping their Miraculous out of Hawkmoth’s hands.” She pretends that the reason why Chat Noir doesn’t show up to battle is to ensure that Hawkmoth can’t get both of the Miraculous in one fell swoop. It feels hopeless to fight villain after villain without any movement forwards. Her mind wanders to the increasing frequency of akumas and smiles, sardonically. “Some people think it’s only a matter of time until Ladybug and Chat Noir lose.”

“Hawkmoth almost seems to be the better strategist.” The two of them pass store front after store front. “Do you ever wonder what they look like, under the mask? Who they are?”

Marinette stares at the concrete underneath her feet. Hawkmoth, the better strategist? Laughable, and entirely incorrect. Even the people who hate Ladybug admit that her plans almost always work out, and that her plans are second to none. Really the only person who can possibly think that Hawkmoth is a better strategist is--

She can’t think like that. Damian is her friend. He’s just curious about Paris. Her lack of sleep and increase in paranoia re making her imagine things that are impossible. Besides, Damian isn’t on her list of suspects-- he told her he’s only been here for a short time, and Hawkmoth’s Miraculous definitely has a limited range. It’s a real pity that the world of Miraculous makes concrete evidence hard to come by, otherwise, Marinette likes to think Hawkmoth would have been behind bars already. 

“No,” she lies. Hawkmoth haunts her dreams and every waking hour. She spends hours and hours on theories and scouring out information and people who fit the clues she’s painstakingly pieced together. “Not really.”

Damian’s eyes are a piercing green, and for a moment, Marinette thinks she stops breathing. “Is that so? I’m really interested in who Ladybug is under the mask. I’d love the opportunity to talk to her in person, especially about her Miraculous. The powers she has are… very interesting.”

No. There’s no way that Damian can be Hawkmoth, right? This is all just her paranoia speaking. Damian is just a foreigner who is interested in super heroes. It’s no biggie. Still, she can’t shake off the idea that there’s more to Damian than meets the eye. The way he walks-- no, prowls-- commands respect. Marinette can tell that he knows how to fight, and knows how to fight well. He’s very good at finding information on people-- she sent a whole case file to her on Renee and his situation with his mother within twenty four hours of going into the precinct, complete with video evidence Marinette knows should have been impossible to procure without hacking-- and keeps up with her critiques on Ladybug and Chat Noir’s techniques like he’s watched their battles over and over again. He remembers akuma battles Marinette has half forgotten, because they happened so long ago.

She stares up at him, hands shoved in the pockets of the jacket she chose for him when they went on their wardrobe makeover. Damian is surprisingly wealthy; he purchased anything she even glanced at with passing approval. He looks straight forward, apparently waiting for some response from her. Just because Damian is her friend, doesn’t mean she can immediately expunge him from her list of suspects. So far, she has taken all of Damian’s words at face value. It didn’t matter to her that he rarely talks about his family or his life before Paris. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t brought her to his home during all of the weeks that they’ve been hanging out together. Really, Marinette just figured that he had a rocky relationship with his family, and that he may have been on the poorer side and was embarrassed to show her where he lived. But clearly. Damian is well off enough to afford brand name clothes without batting an eye. Things aren’t adding up. All of the red flags that she’s blatantly ignored start to crop up in her head.

The book on the species of butterflies that akumas are made of, tucked under his arm. The way he showed up after every single akuma attack when she rarely saw him in the area before or during it. His knowledge of the three languages that form the basis of the Miraculous Tome-- Mandarin, Arabic, and English.

If he is Hawkmoth, what sort of emotions would he be feeling right now? Some sort of euphoria, maybe, realizing that he could get infinitely closer to Ladybug when she is Marinette. Anticipation, too. Has Marinette been hanging out with a super villain for the past month? Has she really come to the point where she can call a supervillain her best friend?

Marinette takes another look at Damian’s outfit. Master Fu said that the Miraculous Hawkmoth owns is in the shape of a brooch. Marinette sees no such object on Damian, which could either mean that he’s not Hawkmoth or that he’s just been taking it off whenever he’s with her. She’s really hoping it’s not the second option.

She needs to gather her thoughts, make a plan on how to proceed. When she’s sure that Damian isn’t looking, Marinette sets off the ringtone that is saved for her Maman’s texts and calls. This catches Damian’s attention, and she waves looks up from her phone as though she’s responding. 

“Maman wants me to do a delivery. If you’re looking for more information on the whole superhero situation in Paris, I can get you Alya’s number. She runs the Ladyblog-- I’m sure she’d be glad to talk with you.” Alya also has some of the worst conspiracy theories that Marinette has ever seen. She doesn’t often keep abreast of what the Ladyblog’s portrayal of Ladybug is, but back when Marinette and Alya were friends, she was subjected to wild theories that made her stomach nauseous with how little logic there was. Which means that if-- if-- Damian is actually Hawkmoth, he might be thrown off by what she says.

“I’ll see you on Monday? Jagged texted me last night and wants me to change the embroidery on his commission.” This isn’t exactly a lie; Jagged wants one of the smaller details to be changed, but it certainly won’t take as long as she’s suggesting. Marinette hopes that it’s enough of an excuse to get Damian off her back for the rest of today and tomorrow while she reevaluates her game plans and life choices. 

Damian waves her off. “I don’t think that Ladyblogger girl knows anymore than I do. She’s of no help to me. I’ll see you on Monday.”

#

Marinette’s reaction to Damian’s questions are weird. There’s an underlying tension that she exuded before they parted ways, and he’s still thinking about it a day later.

Marinette, who he always finds near an akuma attack right after it occurs. Marinette, who is emotionally and physically superior to most other Parisians. Marinette, who hasn’t been akumatized in a class full of idiots and other victims. Marinette, who doesn’t like Ladybug even though she seems like a fairly competent and kind hero, despite the fact that she hasn’t caught Hawkmoth yet. Marinette, who rarely talks about akumas despite all of the time he spends with her, which is highly unusual because even people he only briefly meets manage to slip in something about akumas into the conversation. Damian feels like there must be some sort of connection between Marintte and the akuma situation that he’s not getting, but it’s eluding him.

He sits down with his laptop in his apartment and looks up information about Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She’s definitely just as talented as he suspected; in her ninth year of schooling, she won a Gabriel competition, participated in a music video of Clara Nightingale’s, and collaborated with Jagged Stone on an album cover. So that was how she met him-- he wondered, but never asked. There are also a few instagram posts that have tagged her as a good samaritan and a few articles that detail a small, asian girl who’s going around Paris helping random people that are in need.

The weird things that Damian finds are contained in her school records. She’s apparently in very good company with her IQ, but what’s more interesting is all the dates that she is tardy or absent from school. They line up perfectly with all of the dates that akumas appear. He feels dread gather in his stomach. 

A few more searches seem to cement his growing suspicions. Around the same time that Marinette obtained a truce with Lila matched up with when theorists believed that the Italian girl started working with Hawkmoth. He reads the instagrams and tweets of her classmates from the first year that Hawkmoth arrived, which talk about how excellent Marinette is at calming them down and guiding them to a better place. He also reads the posts of Chloe Bourgeois and Alya Cesaire and the articles about Marinette and Evillustrator that tell a slightly different story-- that Marinette is capable of manipulating others into more unpleasant situations.

Damian jolts. There is an incoming call from his father. 

“Are updates on Paris, Damian?” 

Should he give them a clue to his growing suspicions that Marinette is Hawkmoth? No, he can’t tell them until he gathers more information. 

“No,” he says. “Information about Hawkmoth and the Miraculous are hard to come by.”

There’s a sigh and what sounds like the rustling of papers from the other side. “I figured. Tim and Barbara can’t find anything over here, either, but the Justice League is worried. They want results.”

“The Justice League and I agreed that having Robin make an appearance would be beneficial. Gain Ladybug and Chat Noir’s trust, or find Hawkmoth. Information might come easier with your alter ego.”

“All right.” 

Another pause. He and his father have always had an awkward relationship. Bruce didn’t know of his existence until he was ten, and by that time, the most formative years of Damian’s life had already passed. Bruce Wayne may be many things, but good at dealing with children, he is not. Even after adopting so many children, he doesn’t know how to raise a child. Damian and his brothers have all raised themselves, with Bruce only stepping in when one of them is really going off the rails.

“Is everything else going well in Paris? School is good?”

“School is fine.” Damian wonders whether he should tell his father about Marinette. About the girl who is kind and capable and scarily efficient at dispatching criminals for a citizen and-- he can’t think about her like that. He decides against telling his father about her. She might be Hawkmoth, after all, and confirming her existence to his father means that he’s denying that possibility. “Gotham?”

“Nothing out of the usual. A few run-ins with the Joker.”

Another silence. The lapses in conversation aren’t awkward, but Damian thinks of the playful banter Marinette has with her parents and frowns. 

“Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodnight, Damian.”

Damian looks around at his empty apartment. There is nothing in it, except for his suitcase and a few pieces of furniture. It’s nothing like the manor, where he knows that Tim is up at all hours slaving away on another project that Damian rarely gets to see, or that Jason is in the training room with Dick joining him occasionally. He can’t pick a fight with Tim or have Dick try to mediate the conflicts between himself and Jason. No nightly patrols with three or four people talking over the comms, or near instantaneous backup when he gets into a tight spot. There is no Alfred or Barbara or Cassandra or Bruce here. Only Damian. 

He looks down at his laptop, at the various information and images of Marinette that he has up on his screen. In good conscience, he can’t continue being friends with her. Not with the possibility that she is the person he’s trying to hunt down. 

He remembers her saying that being lonely is different than being alone. 

Damian is lonely.

#

Patrol is a necessary evil. 

Ladybug doesn’t hate patrol. She’s not very fond of it, though. It cuts into time that she could be spending sleeping or designing or anything else, really. In the beginning, it started as a way to figure out how everything worked under the guise of the dark and without the constant threat of an akuma hanging over head. Then, it progressed into disproving the theory about Ladybug’s age, because civilians aren’t inclined to believe that a teenage girl who has school the next day would patrol every day in the early morning. Now, it shows the Parisians how devoted Ladybug is-- that’s something that she’s struggled with ever since withdrawing the Miraculous from all of the part time heroes-- and lets Marinette blow off any steam that she has. 

Right now, Marinette needs to blow off a lot of steam. Still, even as Ladybug, as much as Marinette wants to scream to high hell and back about how she’s been friends-- very close friends, she’d dare to say-- with the same person who has been terrorizing Paris for years, she can’t. If she screams, there will be media coverage on it, and she doesn’t want to deal with what the press would write up some article about how Ladybug was overworked and needed to bring back the other heroes, or that Ladybug wasn’t mentally sound enough to take care of Paris, she should just give up the Miraculous, or that Ladybug’s scream was [insert some poetic nonsense that English teachers wax about for hours even though the author never intended the audience to read that deeply into it].

Marinette doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s gotten close to Damian. She’s as close to him as she is with Kagami, Luka, Jagged and Penny. Damian knows that she’s MDC. He knows her hopes and aspirations. He knows her family, knows the majority of her friends, and knows what’s important to her. It will be so easy for him to tear her apart now. Marinette isn’t sure what Hawkmoth is waiting for, but she almost hopes that he’ll get it over with sooner rather than later.

What will Hawkmoth do first? Go after the website that he helped her make, probably. Cut off the financial support that she could use to run away and create another identity. Then, he’ll go after her friends, few and far as they may be. Renee next. Her family, last. She wonders who Mayura is, if he is Hawkmoth. She hasn’t seen anyone that’s close to him. Then again, Damian reveals next to nothing about himself. She’s never even seen where he lives.

There’s a shadow on the rooftops. 

God, of course Hawkmoth would send out an akuma today. He knows how horrible her mental state must be. There’s no way he wouldn’t take advantage of that.

She yoyos over to the shadow, not close enough to strike or apprehend, but close enough to easily give chase without the akuma being able to give her the slip.

“Ladybug,” the akuma says.

“Cut the crap. We all know you want the Miraculous, Hawkmoth. Let’s get to it.” The shadow steps forward where a street lamp illuminates its costume, and once again, she is assaulted by the barrage of colors on her eyes. After seeing how awful Damian’s color coordination was, it’s easy to come to terms with the awful designs of all of his costumes. Still, she’s surprised that the boy who dresses in the same outfit every day creates such outlandish costumes for all of his minions. 

The akuma frowns, tenses. 

“I’m not Hawkmoth,” it insists. “I’m Robin, a vigilante from Gotham. I’ve come to learn more about the current situation and aid you in taking Hawkmoth down.”

 Ladybug scoffs. She’s not sure what this akuma’s tactic is, but none of the others have tried to lie to her so blatantly about their identity. And ripping off an identity? That is a new low, even for Hawkmoth. She’s sure that the real Robin didn’t agree to this, and if she were close with the vigilante, maybe she could get him to throw a lawsuit or two at Hawkmoth once he was in custody, just for kicks.

Robin the akuma scrambles, apparently looking for something that can verify his identity. 

Ladybug strikes. There’s no pride in striking an opponent when they are distracted, but it’s a means to an end. If Damian is dumb enough to send out an akuma confused about its identity tonight of all nights-- a night where Ladybug is distressed and it would be all too easy to take advantage of her-- then she’s going to take advantage of it.

It’s easy to bind the akuma. Startlingly easy. The akuma is different tonight, then. His powers have something to do with close contact, maybe? Ladybug looks on his person for things that could be the point of akumatization, eyes flitting from Robin’s waistband to his mask.

She comes to an unpleasant conclusion. The measurements and the coloring are a perfect match. Hawkmoth has come to meet her in person.

“Damian,” Ladybug hisses. 

Damian’s eyes widen, like he doesn’t know how she’s pieced together his identity. How stupid does he think she is? He’s been dropping hints constantly. Information a transfer to Paris shouldn’t know. Never telling Marinette anything personal. Always being near an akuma attack when it happens. It’s almost like he wanted her to figure out his identity.

“How did you know?” 

“Please, Hawkmoth, did you really think that Marinette couldn’t connect the dots? You must have thought awfully little of her if you thought that your constant appearances near all of the akuma and questions about the Miraculous didn’t lead me to your identity.”

“Hawkmoth? Ladybug, I’m not Hawkmoth, I’m Robin.”

“And I’m the queen of England. Renounce your Miraculous now, Hawkmoth. Or I’ll beat you until you detransform and take it from you.” 

Damian looks confused before his face contorts to an expression of resignation. He recognizes a cold fury in her eyes that is distinct to people who won’t give up until they get their way, and there’s really no other way around this right now. He should have brought his comm with him, but he wasn’t expecting to meet Ladybug tonight; he just wanted to assess the situation as Robin, to get out from his apartment for a second. Rookie mistake. 

True to her word, Ladybug beats Damian unconscious and also until he’s black and blue. She’ll be lying if she didn’t say she took out some of her fury from the past years on him.

But here’s the thing; Damian doesn’t detransform. He stays in his god-awful costume that has the same disgusting shade of mustard yellow as that one top Damian owns. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. When Miraculous users faint, they detransform because it takes a sort of mental awareness to handle the powers bestowed upon them. Is it different because Damian is an akuma? Is there some sort of Miraculous bylaw that if a Miraculous user gets akumatized, they get to stay in their alternate form? Oh wait, that’s right, he’s an akuma, not Hawkmoth right now.

Ladybug stumbles forward, breaking all of the weapons that are on his belt, taking off his mask and breaking that as well. No akuma comes out. She tries his gloves, then his boots. She pats him down, seeing if there’s anything she missed. She rips his suit, too. Nothing. There’s no brooch in his personal effects either.

What is she supposed to do now? 

Seeing no alternative, Ladybug picks Damian up and yoyos back to Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie to safely detransform and figure out what the fuck is going on.

He’s not Hawkmoth, is the conclusion Marinette comes to after a side by side comparison of pictures of the vigilante and Damian. The horrifying conclusion: the person lying on the floor of her bedroom is actually Robin, the vigilante from Gotham. 

Marinette knows it’s better to err on the side of caution, but she still buries her head in her hands in embarrassment. How can she have gotten him so wrong? She really needs to get better at reading people, because deciding that random civilians are Hawkmoth clearly has not paid off. 

She also cannot believe that the Justice League has decided to step in now, and with a sidekick from America, of all things--Marinette is pretty sure that she sent the videos to the European branch. It must have been three years since her first notification to them. She contacted them immediately after Stoneheart, and again, after Syren when she was distraught at the death that surrounded her. With no response, there was nothing she could do. She has to start relying on herself and her own skills. 

Ladybug only contacted them once more, after Heroes’ Day. At that point, Ladybug had been thinking for a while that someone who was naturally superpowered or someone with a high grade of intelligence-- like the heroes affiliated with the Justice League-- would do more harm than good if they were allowed in the city. After the devastation of her teammates being akumatized, and the nearly week long battle that ensued, she was certain that she could barely fight her teammates, let alone trained professionals. So with shaky hands and red rimmed eyes, she said to please disregard her earlier messages; the situation in Paris wasn’t that bad, and Ladybug could handle it. 

Damian groans. Marinette jumps; he is waking up far earlier than she anticipated. She wants to transform back into Ladybug. Being in her spots gives her a pseudo sense of security. First, though, she has to restrain him. Even though he isn’t Hawkmoth, she’s not sure whether he’s a threat or not. She makes quick work of it, using the thickest zip ties that she has on hand and restraining his arms and legs.

She doesn’t get the chance to transform back into Ladybug, but that’s just as well, because at the end of the day, Marinette is the foundation of anything that makes Ladybug a hero to the public. Damian opens his eyes almost immediately after she has finished restraining him, taking in his surroundings and the person in front of him.

“Marinette? Where’s Ladybug?” No questions of how he got there; Ladybug can clearly carry her own weight and more. No questions as to why there are zip ties cutting into his wrists and ankles; he has seen too many of Marinette’s victims on the streets.

“What do you mean, where’s Ladybug?” Marinette is right in front of him. She might not have the suit on, but at the end of the day, she does have the Ladybug Miraculous, which means she’s Ladybug through and through, and Damian must know that. Otherwise, there’s no real reason for Robin to be spending so much time with Marinette. The fact that she feels more real and true to herself as Marinette than as Ladybug probably means nothing to him.

“She knocked me out on a rooftop. Didn’t know that you two knew each other personally. I’m not Hawkmoth, by the way.” He twitches, then realizes that he’s been tied up. “Why’d she leave me with you?”

So he doesn’t know that she’s also Ladybug? This whole thing keeps getting more confusing. Still, the less people that know about her alter ego, the better. Marinette will keep him in the dark. She attributes his blatant misunderstanding to the identity concealment magic of the Miraculous. It’s powerful stuff. If it didn’t exist, she’s sure she would have found concrete evidence as to who Hawkmoth is by now. 

“She asked me to assess whether you were a threat or not. Whether or not she casts the Miraculous Cure is contingent on my response.”

“Ladybug wants you to assess whether I’m a threat or not? Why’d she leave a possible super villain with a civilian?”

“I help Ladybug out with many things.” Her voice turns to clinical detachment. She uses this method to dissociate as Ladybug when things get overwhelming. Assess the situation. Get in, deakumatize, get out. Marinette needs to distance herself. It’s bad enough that the situation is this convoluted, but she doesn’t need Damian to doubt Ladybug’s capabilities as well. “Ladybug knows that you’re not Hawkmoth now, and she knows that I can handle myself with any run of the mill bad guy, even if they are a supposed vigilante.”

“Tell me, Robin,” Marinette spits the name like a curse, “Why should I tell Ladybug that you’re not a threat? That you are who you say you are?”

In all honesty, all Marinette wants to do is knock Damian out again so she can collect her thoughts. She’s not sure how she should address his presence as Robin in Paris and is still reeling from the whiplash of thinking he was Hawkmoth only for him to turn into a foreign vigilante. Next thing she knows, he’ll tell her that his name isn’t even Damian Grayson. Well, now that she thinks about it, he’s definitely not. After this encounter finishes, she’ll look up Damian and Gotham and see what she gets.

He looks flustered, like he never expected anybody to question his identity or presence. It’s laughable, really. Marinette doubts that the Justice League actually sent him; he’s probably here to explore on his own. That means he’ll only be a pain in the ass to deal with. Maybe she needs to get into contact with the Justice League again, if only just so she can deport Robin with more ease. 

“I can call Batman,” he says.

Marinette doesn’t think this is a very good solution. There’s no way for her to prove that the person on the other side actually is Batman and not some actor. But after racking her brain, she can’t come up with a much better solution. It’s not like Robin has any superpowers that she can request to see, and she doesn’t have a direct line to anybody from the Justice League.

“Fine. Call Batman.”

“It’s in the pocket near on my right side.” Marinette doesn’t bother going closer to him. She destroyed everything on him earlier, in case it was the akuma’s vessel. Ladybug thought she came across a phone, but now she’s glad she smashed it and left it on that random rooftop. He probably has some sort of tracker on his phone. In any case, Marinette thinks it’s weird for a vigilante to have a phone on them while on the rooftops. Shouldn’t he have an earpiece or something? 

“Your phone was destroyed by Ladybug. Tell me the number to call. I’ll put it on speaker.” Marinette isn’t sure if the number he’ll have her call will be some sort of secure connection or direct line that is only accessible through Damian’s phone, but she doesn’t particularly care because the Miraculous Communicators are exactly that. Miraculous. Master Fu assured her that all communications were private and impossible to crack unless they also had a Miraculous. Which is why she’s using the Miraculous Communicator to call Batman.

Damian winces, then speaks into the offered phone. 

“Batman, it’s Robin. I need to verify my identity in order to proceed.”

“Are you with Ladybug?”

So he is on a mission, then, and not just playing hooky. If Batman is involved, Marinette has no doubt the rest of the Justice League will follow soon. This will be a dreadfully unpleasant call.

“I’m making it a video call,” Marinette says. “And no, he’s not with Ladybug. I’m Ladybug’s point of contact, and she doesn’t take kindly to people encroaching on her territory without permission.”

“Robin, what happened?” Batman isn’t accepting her video request.

Marinette cuts off whatever Damian is about to say. “Damian was suspicious; I reported his activities to Ladybug and she believed that he could be Hawkmoth. Then, she caught him on the roofs and took him back to my place after verifying that he wasn’t Hawkmoth. Video call, Batman. I’d like to see that you are who you say you are, before I send Robin back to the states.”

“She knows your civilian identity? Two people know that you’re Robin?”

“Turn your video on. If you can’t prove that you are who Damian says you are, Ladybug and I will do everything in our powers to deport him and make sure that the Justice League is not allowed in Paris again. Ladybug said that she doesn’t need any unknowns in her city, and I’ve been hoping Robin came here of his own volition. It sounds like that isn’t the case.”

Marinette thinks that Batman curses in English, but she’s not sure. Fluent though Marinette may be, she is not well versed in curses, colloquialisms, or American memes. The camera turns on. It’s Batman, or at the very least, an actor wearing a very good knock off costume.

It’s annoying that Marinette can’t see his eyes. There’s some white film where his eyes should be, and the fact that his cowl covers more than half of his face isn’t doing her any favors in letting her read his facial expression. She moves herself so that Batman can see both her and Robin.

“Why is Robin restrained?”

“Like I said: he was suspicious. I’m not taking any chances.”

A moment of silence.

“How do you want me to prove my identity?” 

That’s good. He’s not asking who she is, though she’s sure that there are cameras pointing at the screen on Batman’s end, running facial analysis and background checks on her. The Miraculous magic will ensure that any connections between her and Ladybug will not come to light. Other than her identity as Ladybug, Marinette has nothing to hide.

“If you’re Batman, then you should have access to the League’s calls, European and otherwise. Play me the last video that Ladybug sent you. I know what she said.” She spares a glance at Damian. His jaw is tight, but when he looks at her, she finds what looks like regret. It’s not entirely Damian’s fault. A mission is a responsibility, and Marinette understands that in order to be a hero or vigilante, one must be willing to do anything to accomplish the mission. Really, she’s only Ladybug because she feels that heavy weight of the words duty and responsibility on her shoulders. Fu’s fault.

“Behave. If you try something, I’ll knock you out.” Marinette sets the communicator on her desk and eyes him. The zipties are so tight around his arms and legs that he is bleeding. Marinette feels a flash of sympathy, then pushes it away. It was his fault for-- why was he at fault, again? 

“I have the video.” Batman sounds even peakier than when they started the call. He plays the video.

“Justice League. This is Ladybug. I rescind my requests for help; I can take care of Paris with my own team. Any help from you at this point would be a detriment and could potentially harm the citizens of Paris. Hawkmoth manipulates strong emotions, and I don’t need to handle a metahuman or tactical genius to gain more power to wreak havoc on my city. I will not contact you with any further requests for assistance.”

It’s an awful video. Marinette had to wait a day after the Heroes’ week fiasco just so her eyes wouldn’t be red. At least her voice doesn’t waver in it. There’s a conviction in the whole video that was unique to that moment. 

Marinette looks at Batman, then at Robin. 

“Clearly the Justice League refused to listen. Ladybug doesn’t want or need your help at this point in time. Why are you here?”

“The Justice League is at fault for not paying attention to Ladybug’s other videos. But Mayor Bourgeois and President Macron can only cover such alarming incidents for so long. Ladybug and her… team clearly need help in order to find and take down Hawkmoth, so once the American branch of the Justice League found out half a year ago, we started to investigate.” Batman speaks in lieu of Damian. Marinette briefly wonders if Damian knows who Batman is under the mask. She bets he does. They’re probably close, what with how worried Batman sounds. 

“What makes you think that the Justice League is any better equipped to handle this situation? Ladybug and her team have been fighting for the past three years and resolved every akuma with no help from you. She needed your help in earlier years. Now she doesn’t.”

“Exactly; it’s been three years and she still hasn’t caught Hawkmoth.”

“You say that like the Justice League doesn’t have a team with more wealth and manpower than Ladybug does that’s been looking into Hawkmoth and the Miraculous for the past half year and clearly has not found any reasonable leads. Ladybug has only been actively looking for Hawkmoth for the past two years, not three. The police handled the first year, not that you’ve done any homework on the situation. Thought that a field agent would help your chances?” 

There is fire in Marinette’s stomach. Batman sounds so dismissive of all of the work that she’s been doing. It’s been hard on her; she doesn’t have the support that she needs and doesn’t have the experience or expertise to hunt down Hawkmoth on her own. She trained briefly under Master Fu to learn spells and ways to expand her powers as Ladybug, but that was an equivalent exchange: she no longer trusts that other holders won’t be akumatized. Her growing cynicism and physical training from Maman came at the expense of Chat Noir; after the whole Lila incident in her first year as Ladybug, she found out that Chat Noir and Adrien were one and the same. And Gabriel Agreste is not afraid to use his son until Adrien is stretched far too thin, which forced Marinette to nearly bench her partner.

“Three years,” Batman says again.

“If the Justice League can’t figure it out nearly unlimited resources and funding in half a year-- both ordinary and super human-- then clearly it isn’t a question of time. It’s a question of capability. Get off your high horse, Batman. You haven’t given me any reasons why Ladybug and I shouldn’t deport Robin here, and you’re definitely not making a good case as to why she shouldn’t go to Mayor Bourgeois and France’s president to ensure that the Justice League and its affiliates and ban hero travel into Paris. Bourgeois already doesn’t want information on it’s supervillain situation to get out.” 

“Marinette,” Damian pleads.

As Robin and as Damian, he doesn’t pose a threat. He hasn’t been helpful, but he certainly hasn’t messed with the status quo for the month that he’s been here. Still, he is a liability. If he stays in Paris, he is the gateway for the other members of the Justice League to fly in and try to commandeer the fragile balance that she has found. She can’t afford for something like that to happen.  

“You’re not any better, Robin. Why did you even hang around me? Thought I was a threat?” Her eyes narrow in realization. It makes sense why he decided to hang out with her, despite his initial cold front. He was playing a role.“You thought I was Hawkmoth.”

His silence is an agreement.

“We just want to help,” Damian says, and against her better judgement, Marinette believes him. 

Her shoulders round, and Marinette sighs. She can’t truly begrudge Damian for that train of thought, not when she believed the same about him. She’s been a little harsh on them so far, in part due to old resentment that they never responded to her in that first, awful year when she needed the help. 

There’s a dull tiredness that comes with knowing someone who she considered one of her closest friends suspected her of being a supervillain, though she did believe the same of him, so maybe they’re even. It still hurts, though. It hurts like when Alya decided that Marinette was mean-hearted enough to stop the members of their class from reaching their full potential. It hurts like when Marinette finally realized that she couldn’t repair their friendship, not to what it used to be. It hurts like when she looked around the classroom and realized that she couldn’t talk to anyone there. It hurts like when Marinette decided that she couldn’t risk helping her friends the way she wanted to. 

“What kind of help can you offer us? We don’t need any more of you to come out here.” Resources are nice. More money to fund therapy programs around town won’t hurt. Master Fu doesn’t help on that part. Really, he doesn’t help at all. Even though she has Chat Noir and had a team, she often feels like it’s herself against the world. Some days, she reaches up to her earrings and feels an aching emptiness, like there’s something more to the Miraculous that’s been sealed away.

“We can give you resources. Money, connections, experience. Robin is good with technology. He can help you track down where Hawkmoth is.”

Marinette’s laugh is bitter. “Sure, he can try, but the butterflies Hawkmoth sends out aren’t visible by the normal human eye or electronically until they’ve found their mark. Once they’re purified, they’re just normal butterflies, and they go off in random directions.”

“Normal human eye? It sounds like there are exceptions.” Damian readjusts himself. He has fidgeted his way into an uncomfortable looking seiza position, where his ankles are bleeding. 

“A true holder can see the butterflies at all times.”

Marinette also decides to throw them a bone so there’s no questions as to why a mere civilian is working with Ladybug. “That’s why Ladybug recruited me. I was Multimouse.”

Multimouse was in the file that Damian sent his father, but he asks, just to make sure. “The one that can split itself?”

“That’s correct. I guess now is as good a time as any for the two of you to get your questions answered.”

“Why are you the point of civilian contact instead of any of the other more frequently used heroes? Didn’t you appear only once?” Damian avoids looking Marinette in the eyes, and that makes her feel slightly better. He’s ashamed of his actions. Good. 

“Ladybug said that the other hero’s civilian forms were either compromised or not in a good position.”

“Ladybug knows who all the holders are.” Batman speculates. He looks less tense now that Damian is no longer tied up, but his voice remains gravelly and distrubed. Maybe that’s what he sounds like all the time.  “Who else knows? Do you?” 

“Only Ladybug knows.” Marinette lives in half truths. She’s not sure that they’re much better than lies, but they’re all she has. Secrecy is the only thing Master Fu has sincerely taught her.

“Why have all the other heroes disappeared?” 

“Ladybug said that it was too dangerous for someone who could be akumatized to hold a Miraculous. Rena Rage, Shell Shock, Queen Wasp-- they were all frighteningly powerful akumas. It’s also why Chat Noir has been showing up less and less; his home life is not the best, and she’s trying her best to ensure that he doesn’t get akumatized.”

“She’s not worried for herself or,” Damian’s eyes flick to Marinette, away from Batman. “For you?” 

“She knows that both of us are good at dealing with stress. We have our own methods of coping.” She looks at Damian, her mouth tightening into a frown. “If you want to stay in Paris, I’ll cut you a deal. We can work together for two weeks, and if we don’t get any results, you have to leave and the Justice League must promise that they won’t interfere again.”

“Two weeks isn’t enough time,” Damian objects.

“If you don’t think it’s enough time, just leave now. I’ll say now that I’m only willing to work with you during the night. That’s the time I work on Miraculous related stuff now, anyways. And stay out of the akuma battles.” She doesn’t actually think that working together will help anyways, and she wants Damian gone sooner rather than later. He’s been making her feel too much and emotions that are far more explosive and easy to take advantage of than Marinette has in a long time. She doesn’t want to be targeted by an akuma because of her inner conflict. 

“Two weeks, then,” Batman agrees. “Robin can contact me if you need any extra resources.”

Marinette hangs up and assesses Damian. He looks almost pitiful, with bruising around his eyes, tousled hair, a ripped suit, and cuts where his skin is exposed. She opens her trap door in a clear gesture for him to depart. Downstairs is dark; her Maman and Papa have long since gone to sleep, and it’s only a few more hours until they wake up to start baking. “We start tomorrow. If you need Ladybug for anything, tell me.”

He’s half way down the ladder when he looks back up at Marinette, into her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Marinette can’t breath. She feels like vomiting. His eyes are so green in comparison to the purple bruising on his face. She did that to him. She made him look that way. All she’s ever wanted to do as Ladybug is protect the people she cared for. But Damian-- Marinette doesn’t know. She doesn't know whether what Damian has done can actually be described as bad. He was just trying to do what Batman told him to do. Keeping an eye on a threat. Marinette wonders how long he thought she was Hawkmoth. She wonders if he ever thought they were friends. 

“I’m sorry too,” Marinette says, and shuts the trap door.

They’re both sorry for very different things.

[codename-adler]

Kevin Day and his Oblivious Literature Lover, pt.IV

In times of college finals, aftg is my coping mechanism of predilection. hope it helps some :)

>> Table of Contents,TW and other parts here!

i’ll let you guess what Kevin and Juliet chose for their project

oh, yes

the letters of Hamilton, Eliza and John + Hamilton: The Musical

i will fight you on this

at first, when Juliet suggests it, Kevin stares at her so hard bc really?? a musical??

but then she lends him the 50$ leatherbound official book of the musical (you know the navy blue and beige one? you know what i’m talking about, right?) and reads it all in one evening and wow

lin-manuel miranda? genius. ron chernow? Genius. alexander hamilton? Dumb Genius.

oh yeah and Juliet? Absolutely mind-blowing genius.

as Andrew & Neil grow closer and the match agaisnt the Ravens rounds the corner, Kevin finds himself looking more and more forward to the time spent at the library with Juliet

she is just so focused on their project and so oblivious as who he really is and doesn’t really care if sometimes he is more anxious, if freaks over everything to be perfect, if he babbles on&on&on&on about any bit of history he discovered

she’s just there, smirking, stiffling her laughs and asking for more

they’ve exhanged phone numbers and she installed snapchat on his, and although he never sends her anything, she always has a short video and a funny caption that pop up from time to time; they’re that little reminder that the world goes on outside of exy and that he exists outside of exy

she introduces him to funny videos and he didn’t know absolute dumb shit could make him snort??

his favorite is the peanut butter baby

at first the Foxes give him this judgemental look when he ugly-snorts in the locker room or at Eden’s, but eventually they just get that glint in their eyes as if they were in on the jokes

sometimes, Juliet’s so focused on writing down bullet points in her notebook, peeling the skin off her lips, so unaware of Kevin’s personal hell of a life, that he just wants to spill out everything

although he’s not sure if it’s because he wants her to know him and stay, or because he wants her to reject him and therefore spare himself the trouble of getting attached...

she takes the decision for him

on a Thursday afternoon, on their planned study session, she doesn’t show up

she doesn’t answer her phone either

he even tries out a completely blacked out snap with “r u alive?” in caption

no answer

he gives her space, sending her occasional cat videos he thoroughly researches

if she watches them, she doesn’t say anything

on Monday afternoon, she doesn’t come to class

that’s when the panic Kevin’s been reigning in just... bursts

what if it’s Riko? 

what if it’s the Master?

what if it’s Ichirou?

what if, somehow, it’s the Butcher’s people?

that afternoon’s practice is hell for the Foxes, Kevin is ruthless and an asshole and very agressive

Dan waits for him outside the boys’ locker room as all the other Foxes leave (not even Andrew and Neil want to wait for him)

“Spit out your goddamn problem before I tell Coach to bench you next game”

oh, how Kevin wants to cuss her out

and then he looks  at her face, ready to vomit words, when he sees her worrying her lips

just like Juliet

it shouldn’t be enough to make him tear up, but it does

he still manages to keep as much of the truth to himself as he possibly can

“My EAL partner isn’t responding to my messages or my calls and she didn’t even come to class today and it stresses me the fuck out and what if it’s like with Neil, Dan?” he says in one breath, trying to tear out the net of his racket

Dan recomposes her face and gets that very serious look, the one she usually gets when someone touches her family

“It’s not, Kevin. That’s over. We got Neil back, we got you back, you got Jean back. The team didn’t even know who that person was. The most info we’ve gathered is what you just told me now. Yeah there are some bets but it’s mostly for funsies, nothing even remotely serious. You wanna look for her?” she soothes him.

“I don’t even know...”

“She lives on campus?” she asks.

“I don’t- I don’t know, Dan. I spent months with her and I can’t even vaguely say where she lives! How fucked up is that?” Kevin yells.

“It’s not even remotely fucked up, Kevin. You should know that. Does she have instagram? twitter? Or like, facebook?” she questions some more.

“God, I don’t know. She only sends me stupid fucking videos and I never even respond like the goddamn asshole I am...”

“Shut up. We’re all assholes at the end of the road, ‘kay? You ain’t better or worse than others. Now she sends them to you in text or somewhere else?”

“Sometimes texts... Sometimes the yellow app, the chat one. Why.”

“Oh great, that’s great. We can locate her, with snapchat, if she forgot to turn off the sharing. And if you’re comfortable with that, too. I know you’re not a creep like that. You’re creepy sometimes, don’t get me wrong. But, not a creep.”

“Gee, thanks, Dan.”

“Hey, shush. You down or what?” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“Okay,” he answers, unable to make the fear go away without knowing for sure.

And so it turns out Juliet’s location is, in fact, knowable. Dan grabs one of Kevin’s shoulders as he leaves the court, squeezing her affection into her grip; he nods emotionally in her direction, as far as emotions can translate unto his face.

he doesn’t even know what he’ll do once he finds her, his brain is solely focused on the animated map that brings him closer and closer to Juliet

the more he progresses, the more he realizes he is far from Fox Tower, on a campus area he has never even seen

he stops before a decrepit building, old and moldy-looking

Jackie Kennedy Hall

student dorms? this shabby? she can’t possibly live-

except that she can, because there isn’t another building close and the map has brought him here, and he doesn’t really know her...

so Kevin straightens his shoulders, inhales deeply, and goes inside

he could go on and on and on about everything that is just wrong with the place, from the smell to the decoration, but he makes a beeline for the front desk (he’s lucky there’s even one)

he asks for a way to contact someone, flashes his press smile at the women behind the desk, gives up his ID in exchange for the room number

Juliet Grier, 418

stairs, stairs, stairs, stairs

heavy door, right, 412, 414, 416...

418

what, now?

Kevin hesitantly knocks once, twice

no answer

he knocks again and decides to speak up, in case she didn’t hear

“Juliet? It’s Kevin. Day. From EAL? Can I speak with you?”

still nothing

maybe she isn’t home... no, the map says she’s here. maybe she’s sleeping...

he decides to try one last time

“We really should finish that project, you know? I think we could both use the free time...” he says without his heart into it.

without surprise, no response still

he decides to take a loose paper from his sachel and writes down some words

Greetings Hi,

My friend Dan helped me look for you, but you don’t have to worry about your privacy; it’s because of the yellow app. You should turn that off if you don’t want other people to be nosy. 

You weren’t in class today. I’ll share my notes if you want them. But, you should come to class, it’s better. For learning. 

I’ll wait a few in case you’re asleep. 

Text me or call me or whatever when you’re ready.

- Kevin D. (your partner from EAL)

quick, efficient, to the point

Kevin slips the paper under the door, and waits

he refreshes the map too many times, to see if her location changed or if somehow there was a glitch

it stays put

he ends up sitting on the hallway floor, his back sliding down the wall

he catches up on a book for another class, checks exy stats and watches many, many videos of Jeremy Knox on the court and in interview

some students pass him with a nasty look, eyeing the lack of earphones on his phone

some other students walk by him and will themselves to keep going, because holy shit it’s Kevin Day in Jackie Hall

it’s at least an hour and a half before the doorknob slowly and quietly starts to click

Kevin was absorbed deep into whatever move Knox was making before scoring

the 418 door opens

Kevin gets up in one move, all things Jeremy Knox and exy forgotten

she’s loosely holding Kevin’s paper in one hand, the other clutching a large scarf that covers up the majority of her body

from what he can see, though, she’s wearing sweats from head to toe; her hair’s tied on the top of her head, but most of the curls escaped and it looks unwashed and her curls, dry

her skin’s turned pale, dark circles under her eyes, a haggard look in them, her cheeks stained with dry tears

Juliet looks terrible

“Hi...” Kevin attempts

she finally looks up from the paper and gives him a bored look that could rival Andrew’s

with a rough voice strained from cries and many days without speaking, she asks, “My EAL partner?”

“Well, yes. In case.”

“In case of what.”

“I-”

“I know who you are, Kevin.”

and isn’t that both his most ardent wish and his worse fear?

with that, she turns around and goes back to her dark room, leaving the door open behind her

is that... an invitation?

Kevin’s never been to another person’s place, apart from the Columbia house, Abby’s and Wymack’s

he reminds himself why he came in the first place and decides it would be a waste to leave now, right?

the small studio is a mess, much like its occupant

there are clothes everywhere, on the floor, on a chair, on the bed, on the desk

all the curtains are drawn, no light is on, the only source coming from Juliet’s laptop somewhere amongst her bedsheets

it’s like she made herself a nest and hasn’t moved from there for a long time

maybe even since last Monday, the last time he saw her

Kevin doesn’t understand the scene he has before his eyes

he’s never seen such apathy in someone that is not Andrew

and at this point, apathy is pretty much Andrew’s default state of being

not Juliet’s

Juliet is a soft glow, toothy grins, wild curls, countless jumpers, dumb jokes and references, color-coded notes, an organized mind, unwavering focus and determination, flowing words and warm, kind eyes...

so what is this?

then Kevin realizes he spoke aloud

and Juliet can only chuckle sadly, almost mockingly

“This? This is why I don’t have friends. This is why I don’t mix with people. This is why I’ll never amount to anything in life. This is my dirty laundry, both metaphorically and literally. This is it. That’s... That’s it. This is what I get,” she answers flatly

Kevin’s mind is spinning

he doesn’t understand

he needs to understand, though

“Explain it to me,” he says

Juliet looks at him like a brick just hit him on the head and made him speak Swedish

“Why.”

“Because, surely there’s a way to work with it.”

she laughs

it doesn’t reach her eyes, nor her lips or her cheeks

it’s just a desperate sound

it makes him think of Andrew again

and that gives him an idea, a gut feeling, if you will

“Can I try something out?” he asks

“Kevin... I can’t- I’m tired... It’s not a good idea... I’m tired, Kevin,” Juliet responds, pain noticeable in her voice and her movements slow

“I know, I- I know. Someone I know... He plays this game. It’s really not a game, it’s more like a communication thing. He calls it “A Truth for a Truth”.  In exchange for something I tell you, you tell me something. And in exchange for something you tell me, I’ll tell you something else. It’s made me... work through some things... before,” Kevin explains calmly

Juliet keeps on observing him from her bed, silent

“Look, can I just stay here to do homework? I have nowhere to go right now,” Kevin asks, almost blurting out “Please” before Andrew’s ghost caught it in his throat

she lies back down, burries herself in her covers, a silent “yes”

Kevin ends up falling asleep sitting on the floor, books open, head resting at the end of Juliet’s bed

he wakes up around 2 AM

he’s got multiple texts from Aaron and Nicky, one from Andrew, and one from Dan

“told everybody you spent the night at Coach’s. take care.”

he silently vows to thank her later

now he either really goes to Wymack’s to finish his night there, or... he stays exactly where he is

Juliet is still sleeping soundly

in a haze, he palms for a pillow or cushion, pulls his hoodie on and lies back down on the carpeted floor

he’s only awaken in the late morning when he brutally gets stepped on

“What the shit?? Kevin! How...???” Juliet yells

“Um, ow? No, no, don’t apologize so quickly. You just, you know, crushed my lungs and a couple of ribs, no worries, Jules!” Kevin groans

“Ju- you know what? I’m not sorry. Right now I gotta pee, so you better have a damn good explanation when I get back,” she replies and leaves her room to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall

instead of dread, Kevin feels calm about the upcoming conversation

he doesn’t prepare lies, doesn’t run away, doesn’t resort to assholery

he just stays put where he is on the floor, snuggles deeper into his hoodie, and waits for relief, for the truth

he waits for Juliet

[johobi]

The Devil In His Details

Word count: 9.2k

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drug mentions, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), assplay, prostate milking, edging

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686617

A/N: So this was supposed to be 1k words long for an anon that requested bad boy!Jimin in a drabble prompt game. Clearly that didn’t happen. I hope you enjoy it more than I did editing lkfjwalkjf.

Evil comes in many forms. In this instance, it’s a 5′8″ pretty-boy with an even prettier dick. And you’re the form you want him to come in.

Park Jimin.

A slender, regal nose. Two sly eyes that mellow with laughter. A white smile with just the one, imperfect tooth. Cheeks you'd find on a cherub's face, but a jawline hewn with the devil's input.

Everything about his face is an infuriating dichotomy of soft and sharp. And, God, his lips. Full, unfairly alluring, and begging to be kissed. But this is not a man who does much of that. Begging, that is. Kissing? Oh, he does a lot of that. It doesn't extend to you, though, no matter how much you wish it did.

Jimin is the object of your latest fixation. Well. You may say latest, but in reality you've been harbouring something hot and nasty for this guy for most of the academic year. To the faces of your friends, you blame the heartbreak inflicted by your ex-boyfriend. The thing is, you've been over him for months. Without that as a plausible explanation for your misguided crush, though, you have little to offer in substitution. Jimin isn't the type of guy any sensible, law-abiding girl should be cranking her Rabbit up for. Sure, he's so beautiful that his face can cleanse troubled minds. But he’s flying so many red flags it's like swimming in shark-infested waters.

He manspreads across from you in the campus square, leather jacket and black jeans lacquering his body and a cigarette dwindling limply between his lips. A smile occupies his mouth and eyes, the latter until they're mere, charming slits. You find yourself smiling, too. Oh, God. Get yourself together, ____. Fucking infatuated idiot.

You should know better. Jimin is aposematic with his lurid, magenta hair. He's a beacon of rebellion amidst the drab of campus conformation. And, yeah, maybe he looks cool because of that.

But he’s nothing but trouble.

A criminal.

You don't know the extent of his many and varied illegal activities, but you do know that you'd be an idiot to ever involve yourself with him. The lesser of his crimes begin with him not even being enrolled at the very university he utilises as his base of operations. And nor is he shooed away for his overt disregard for campus rules - and, generally, the law - because security lives snugly in his weed-stuffed back pocket. Yep, he's a dealer. Street racer. Brawler. You don't know how many times you've been torn from sleep by his gang's maniacal laughter as they rough up a rival, less attractive one.

He's also a heartbreaker.

And as ridiculous as it is, that's the thing that gives you most reason for pause. Not the drug-peddling, not the violence, but because you're in so deep you want to be sharkbitten. Consumed, bone for bone.

But he never looks your way. Ever. You're not so much a Plain Jane, you don't think, but desperately shy. Especially where your heart's involved. It forgets its function when confronted with someone you like. You take care of your appearance. You've had a few, long-term boyfriends. But whenever you're dumped back at Square One: Single, you're as hopeless in romance as you are in cooking. And all the cuisine you can conjure involves a microwave.

Scenarios of seduction circulate your mind as you ogle him from afar, your thoroughly bitten lip again between your teeth. If only you possessed the confidence your best friend insisted lay latent within you. It would be nothing to strut up to him now and toss your phone into his lap, arms crossed and an expectant smirk curling your mouth. "Gonna give me your number, or what?" you'd sigh - exasperated for the sake of drama - his beautiful face wiped clean of its cocksure facade.

Yeah, that'd be real cool.

But you're still sitting here, legs bobbing out of habit. Jimin is still there, smug and sexy, imparting something hilarious enough, apparently, to wind the comparably attractive guys with him. It's then that your phone purrs between your hands, clutched and previously forgotten.

It's Jisoo, said best friend.

[13:56] slut #1: heyyyy

[13:56] slut #1: guess what

It'll be one of two things. Either she needs your notes because she slept-in in lieu of doing the set reading, or—

[13:56] slut# 1: our floor's having a party tonight

Party.

[13:56] slut #1: come or ill break your legs 

The severity of her threat comes down to your repeatedly declining her invitations. It's not that you don't enjoy parties, because you do. In fact, there’s rarely a time you feel more alive than getting smashed and exorcising your anxiety for those few hours. It's more the fact that it takes a month's worth of mental energy to prevent you flaking out in the lead-up.

Today, though, you're game. Your introversion has been well and truly catered to these last, barren weeks. You're at full charge.

[13:58] yeah, why not

Dots dance across the screen.

[13:58] slut #1: serious???? holy shit that was easy for once

[13:58] slut #1: come to my room at 9

[13:59] the party's in your room?

[13:59] slut #1: no dumbass it's like the whole floor, idek whose party it is but u gotta meet me somewhere right

[14:00] kk. see you then

However unlikely, a feeble hope tugs at your fragile, besotted heart. Maybe he'll go? The organ stutters in your chest when you raise your eyes to where Jimin sits. But he's gone. Suddenly, it all seems like a terrible idea. It's just not meant to be. The universe is communicating it to you as gently as it can.

I need a firm slap. Irked by your nonsensical infatuation, you shoot to your feet and make off in a storm, bag not so much slung but catapulted onto your back. I need to get the fuck over this.

The campus square is a sizeable, open space with the central fountain being its only obstacle. However, by how solid the object is that you suddenly collide with, it seems to have sprouted another.

"Shit!" you gasp, nose flattened sharply, painfully, against something immovable. As you rub it, brows sharp in offense, you peer up into eyes of the thing you've blindly marched into.

Fuck.

Jungkook.

One of Jimin's lackeys.

Before you can locate his magenta-headed leader, however, Jungkook fills the entirety of your field of view. His narrow lips draw tighter; eyes, too. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“U-Uh—”

“Uh?” the musclehead mimics, stooping into your personal space. By instinct, you shrink. At odds with his adorably prominent front teeth, the sneer he wears is nasty. “Anything else?”

An errant glance over Jungkook’s shoulder finds you Jimin. He hangs back, hands in pockets, nonplussed by the confrontation. It’s likely pretty tame in comparison to their usual run-ins. But it frustrates you, nonetheless, that the boy won’t look at you, even now, when the spotlight is searing you.

Jungkook snaps his fingers at the end of your nose and you’re back in the room. “Well?”

“I’m sorry. It was an accident. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You hack for breath when he exhales a plume of cigarette smoke directly into your face. “I-It won’t happen again.”

The other one with them - Seokjin, the half-ass in your business studies class - claps a hand on Jungkook’s seam-straining shoulder. “‘Roid rage. Sorry, sweetheart. You’re a finance major too, right?”

Before you can even process the unexpected civility of his question, Jungkook rounds on him in ire. “The fuck? You know I don’t take steroids.” His cigarette flares at the corner of his mouth. Like a showboating pidgeon, he puffs out his muscular chest. “This is all hard work.”

Seokjin is clearly unmoved. He blinks an unnecessary amount of times, like it’s a tic of his. His glasses ride up as he crinkles his nose. Then: “Okay. Didn’t know you were too stupid to get a joke though. ‘Roids must be shrinking your brain as well as your dick.”

“What—”

An Off-White jacket streaks across your vision.

“—the fuck—”

A white t-shirt follows it soon after.

“—did you just say?”

Jungkook ripples, shirtless, with such unabated fury he distorts the air surrounding. Or maybe it’s the heatwave.

It’s then, beholding this sudden, aggressive display, that your fear finally surfaces. “Oh my God, what the fuck is happening?” you whisper exclusively to yourself, because to attract attention is to court an ass-beating.

And it’s then, of course, that Jimin finally takes heed of your existence. With a quirk of his head, he stares you down. Well, not so much stare. What he does expresses far less effort. His eyes meander the length of you in their own, good time, before landing on your blanching face. The laziest of smirks possess his lips.

Your heart sprouts wings.

His smirk widens.

Fuck, your heart’s airborne. It’s gonna launch itself out your mouth.

Seokjin dispels Jimin’s sorcery with another, unwisely provocative comment. “Your dick’s shrivelled? Or your brain? I don’t know which one offended you.”

Jungkook pounds his chest once, like an oversexed silverback. “Why you always gotta do me like this, bro? Is it ‘cause I fucked your mom that one time? I thought you were over tha—”

“Fuck you!”

Just when you’d established Seokjin as the pacifist of the group, he begins throttling Jungkook double-handed. The pair slip into an awkward grapple while Jimin looks on.

Looks at you.

Doesn’t even spare a glance for the groups of hurried, whispering students migrating across campus.

Guttural grunts float up from the ground as Jungkook and Seokjin’s scuffle escalates, but their leader pays them no mind in that moment. It’s your opportunity to say something more, but you don’t. Your vocal chords never pull together.

Moment missed.

Jimin sweeps a lock of magenta from his eyes, finally animate. A testy sigh siphons from him. “Get up. You’re making me look bad. Put your fucking shirt on, Jungkook.” His voice, usually soft, strikes like a serpent. Venom coats his tongue. “You represent me, dickheads. Plus, you’re scaring this girl.”

The absurdity of the situation, the apprehension you feel, is muffled for a moment. All you can hear is the rush of blood and Jimin’s vocal acknowledgement of your existence ricocheting in your mind. Girl. You.

It’s stupid. Demeaning, even, snapping up these scraps like a slobbering mongrel.

But exciting.

Having captured Jimin’s attention, you bow to him the gratitude you can’t vocalise. The plan, as you rise, is to hit him with a seductive smile, but you're certain your mouth only stretches awkwardly. Nevertheless, his pretty lips purse for a moment before pulling up, too. “I’m going.” He addresses them, but his eyes are on you.

Jimin takes his leave without further ado. As he passes you his gaze lingers too long, demanding he turn his face. His body ghosts past without contact, but a chilly thrill descends upon you like he's drifting right through your bones. And then he struts away like he owns the place, because he does.

And, God, he owns you, too.

His in-fighting entourage scrabble to catch up with him. Jungkook's hastily gathered clothes scrape the floor as he runs, their expense forgotten. “‘Min-hyung! Wait! We’re sorry!”

"Bye then," you comment, quiet, to their retreating backs. It wasn't quite the first encounter you'd prophesied, but considering Jimin's reputation, it should've been.

Anyway.

Your eyes fall to your phone and this evening's plans.

Party.

---

Jisoo's generously highlighted features bob before you in the muted light. Parts of her face are so illuminescent it looks like scaffolding. "Anyway, I'll be back soon. Get some drinks, loosen up. I need to find Namjoon."

"Okay, but are you actually gonna come back?" Your first beaker of jungle juice is already souring your lips. "'Cause if you're gonna find Namjoon, I don't think you're gonna come back."

Her eyes are everywhere but on you, glossy mouth twisting. “I'll really try! But I also really wanna see him, now I know he's here." Suddenly, your free hand is in her meticulously manicured clutches. "I'm not saying I will disappear, but I might. Please understand! I need dick so bad. Please." And now her eyes are on yours, black as night and just as dangerous. Jisoo is never more serious than when cock is at stake.

You shake yourself free of her flimsy grasp and flimsier promises. "Do what you want, but I don't know anyone in your dorm. If you don't come back in an hour, I'm gonna go."

That was an hour ago.

Within that hour, you consumed three cups of awful booze, lingered awkwardly by the party lights, and recovered zero Jisoos. The only noteworthy happening was some plastered guy insisting you were his boyfriend. So insistent, in fact, that you doubted your own identity by the last of the 15 minutes he spent calling you Yoongi. He lamented endlessly about how difficult it would be to survive the evening without getting in your tight little ass. The only thing that convinced him of the truth to your identity was said, tight-assed man appearing and dragging the lightweight away. Yoongi did have a nice ass, you observed, as they fell back into the throng.

Oh.

And Jimin was here.

Skulking the fuchsia shadows like a perfect predator. Thing is, he's already top of the food chain. No hunting required. Very much evidenced by the girls that swarmed him all night like a shoal of pilotfish. The music was too loud and the light too dim, but for every instance he opened his mouth, his accompanying partygoers exploded into laughter. This seems a skill of his. He has dominion over men and women both.

And you're no exception.

Whenever he was in sight, he drew your eyes. When he was dancing, he drew them lower. And there they remained, never straying from his swivelling hips and straining thighs. The girls danced in circles around him like they were worshipping a pagan idol. Understandable. You coveted him, too, from afar.

But now he's gone. Your cup is empty. Jisoo is getting Namjoon'd.

It's been an hour. You're going home.

There’s enough trash at your feet and liquor loosening your morals that you feel no guilt in dropping your beaker onto the pile. Polished, black shoes with pointed toes enter view and crumple that which you’ve littered. You look up.

“Juh—”

Jimin. It’s Jimin. Neither your mouth nor brain can co-ordinate sufficiently enough to identify him verbally, though. Instead, you gawp, inches from his breathtaking face, bathed in romantic light. “Littering, huh? Kinda rude, don’t you think?” He taunts, tongue between teeth. When you don’t rebut him, he slides an arm up the wall behind you. Sinks closer, until your eyes meet on an intimate level. “What are you doing here, campus girl? Didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”

Righteous indignation roils in you. As for why, it’s unclear. As are most things when relatively tipsy. “How would you know what my kind of thing is? You don’t know me. Also, don’t call me campus girl.” At this proximity, you’re acutely aware of the alcohol on your breath. You dial it down a bit. Turn your head and snort. “That’s rude.”

The alcohol, apparently, has also robbed you of your self-preservation skills. Because never in the light of a sober day would you be slighting a delinquent like this. And not the one you’re besotted with, either. That, then, dawns on you. As does his closeness, and the sweet smell of his own poison of choice.

“Well, I don’t know your name, do I?” Charm inhabits his tone, his smile. God, it’s flustering. Jimin toys with you, thwarting your attempts to evade his eyes. His face follows yours, until it’s all you can do but stop and stare. Fall fully and deeply into him. “‘Cause you’re shy, aren’t you?” He wets his lips then, unfairly. They’re dewy and full and even rosier in this light.

“Let me suck your dick,” you blurt, hypothesizing it being just as juicy. Just as tasty. Your inhibitions are low, but not enough that this is a mistake. Jisoo is right. There’s confidence in you, somewhere. You tap it when you tap a keg.

Jimin looks scandalised. His eyebrows vanish into his hairline. Giddy laughter streams from him. “Pardon?”

“I said, let me suck your dick.” Power floods your bloodstream. Liquid courage mingles with. “I’m pretty good at it, and I really want to. Like, so bad. I think about it a lot.”

If he says no, you no longer have to wonder.

If he says no, you never have to look at him again.

If he says no, you can chase someone wholesome and virtuous.

If he says yes, you get to suck his dick.

“Yeah?” Interest kindles in Jimin’s keen, black eyes. He’s close enough, now, that his body heat feels akin to weight against you. His voice drops below the bass of the music. “What did you think about?”

Are you gonna dirty talk in public?

A quick glance around and they aren’t so much the public anymore as parading monkeys, high on lust and low on decency. Just over from you, there’s a girl getting the least discreet fingerbanging of her life.

So, yeah. You lose a little of your rigidity and tip back your head. Lick your lips with a deliberate tongue. “How pretty your cock probably is. How it’d feel on my tongue, in my throat.” Unconscious or not, Jimin’s pressing to your hip. The subject of your conversation starts soft in his pants, but stiffens with your salacious description. Fuck, you’re tingling, too. “How you’d taste, coming down my throat—”

“Are you for real, campus girl?” Jimin interrupts, breathy. Disbelieving. He almost sounds distressed. Like a donkey that doesn’t wanna walk miles for a dangling carrot. Jimin doesn’t seem to get it, though. He’s the carrot, and dear God you wanna chomp down.

“I told you not to call me that. Guess you’re not interested,” you bluff, because not only are you provocative on booze, you’re also an absolute fucking idiot. There’s a significant chance he’ll tire of your tsundere bullshit and find another open mouth. However, as you turn to leave, fate smiles on you. As does he, when he sandwiches you to the wall, his chest to your back and his mouth a ghost on the nape of your neck.

Chills.

Chills spread where his breath is hot and wet. But still, his lips don’t touch. You can, however, hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me your name.”

The stutter sabotages you somewhat. You’re breathless. “I-It’s ____.”

"____," Jimin repeats with a flick of his tongue, wetting your nape with the slightest of saliva. "Are you for real, ____? Or are you drunk?"

His fingers spread like wildfire across the tops of your thighs, testing the give of your flesh. You exhale as if he's squeezing the soul from you. "I'm for real. I'm not drunk, I've just had enough to realise that if I don't say this now, I never will. How often do you talk to me, after all?"

Jimin's throat rumbles as he contemplates. His lips part by your ear, vocal fry caressing each, careful syllable. "How often do you talk to me?" he poses. The steady, rigid throbbing against your ass suggests that this could've happened sooner.

Reluctant as you are to disturb your clinch, you’re not here to stare at the plastering. It would be a crime to deny yourself the chance to ogle his beauty close-up. With this in mind, you twist against his body, bringing your fronts flush together. God, he throbs all the more potently like this, pressed to the crotch of your dress. Jimin's still smiling, of course, all illegal charm and zero reserve.

A nervous lick of lips. "You're terrifying. Especially when you're surrounded by those guys all the time. That's why I don't talk to you." It’s a half-truth. The other half is your incompetence in flirting.

"And here I was, thinking you were shy," is Jimin’s riposte. "But, clearly, I'm wrong." Those plush, pink lips descend on you before you can blink away the unreality of it. They're softer than any piss-poor imitation of a man's mouth that's come before them. Softer than silk, even. And when they open, syrupy. A mire of heat and wet tongue, caressing away all your prior fears, even if they're legit. It really doesn't matter. Not when you're tasting this sublime man. Not when he suckles at your mouth so sensually, so gently. He can't be that horrific a person when he's holding you with such careful attention. It's too soon when he unties your tongues. "You don't need to be afraid of me," Jimin murmurs thickly to your lips. The lop-sided smile he wears says otherwise. It's a little too close to a sneer. "Well, ____—" he steps back. Lures you with him. "Wanna make this a reality?"

You're giddy as fuck. So much so your legs feel like a Newton's cradle. "Y-Yeah. Take me somewhere—" to speak his name is to make it real— "Jimin."

People blur, merge shapelessly around you as he weaves through their mass, leading you by one, dainty hand. It's not the drink. You're dizzy - high, even - with anticipation so intense it renders all outside his svelte figure indistinct. All there is is him, and what you're about to do. It doesn't even feel like you're tripping up the stairs when you do. You're floating, actually, because he's pulling you up and smirking so salaciously that you're weightless. The only weight is the one nestled deep in your abdomen, punching at your cunt like it knows well what that smug mouth could do.

The two of you stagger into an unoccupied bathroom. It's as grim and grotty as you'd expect of student lodgings, but that matters very little right now. Even though you're painfully germaphobic. The priority is realising you're about to suck off Park fucking Jimin. It hits you so powerfully that, for a very long second, you want to reconsider. After all, he likely has expectations. Confidence flees from you.

"Okay, then. On your knees, ____."

And then it floods back. As does desire.

Jimin perches atop the toilet with poise, its seat flat beneath him. You briefly speculate its cleanliness, but he’s already slinking the denim down his legs and over his knees. They cling in a pool at his ankles, likely impossible to get any further. His visibly wilting cock lounges against the crotch of his CKs, waiting for your intervention. It'll have to wait a little longer, though, because there's nothing on God's awful earth that will hinder your leering at this visual feast. His muscle-strapped thighs are somehow all the thicker hugging the bowl of the toilet. And the tiny, toned waist they taper to is all the confirmation you require to understand that this man is way out of your league. Like, forget international league. You're 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. "Fuck."

The curse is all he needs to understand. Whether it's for the sake of wanking his ego or to titillate you further, Jimin tenses his quads until they're as hard and smooth as varnished oak. All you want is to ride them like a fucking rocking horse. "You making me wait?"

Hell no. Before he can even finish his taunt you're at his feet and kneading his thighs like dense dough. Jimin feels fit. He isn't pliable like lovers gone. He's zero body fat, all thew, all sex. He's everything.

And you're nothing to him.

Tonight, though, you’ll become something.

Your fingers continue upward. And as they do, inward. Where he's slightly fleshier, and by the twitch of his covered dick, more sensitive. "How do you like it?"

"I'm as predictable as any other guy," Jimin half-shrugs, reclining against the cistern. His fingers curl into your hair, though not in any pushy, possessive way. It's almost as though he's simply appreciating its texture. The curve of your scalp. Tingles spring from his touch and arrest your body. "Deep as possible. Don't neglect the shaft. Play with my balls a little," he reels off his litany shamelessly. "If you can take it, lemme fuck your face?"

Each of his suggestions make both your mouth and cunt salivate. You want all of those things and more. That other thing. "We'll see," you say as much to yourself as you do to him. "Let's see what we're working with." You lunge for his waistband with both hands, eager to steal them from his body. Jimin halts you once you peek pubes.

"I'm not sitting my bare ass on this toilet." The grunt he makes is indignant. Adamant.

But you have plans. And so you whip a towel from its rail and coax it beneath him, the makeshift mat feeling dubiously damp. "If you want me to do it good, let me have you without your underwear."

Jimin complies, shifting his weight. Then, with danger perverting his tone: "Then you better do it good, ____."

You perform well under pressure. The pressure that comes with academic deadlines and 10th grade theatre, at least. However, it doesn't extend to sucking the cock of, arguably, the most intimidating, most captivating man you've gawped at from afar. Your previous lovers were diffident and easy to please. It's only through your own, bored invention that you delved deeper into the art of oral with them. You hope it serves you well tonight. "I'll try my best," you challenge, brow cocked, Jimin's boxers successfully purloined. The front of them are tacky to the touch, and this alone incites you. God, you can taste his salt already.

To your dismay, he doesn't resume his careful caressing of your scalp. No, once his bottom half is nude, he splays his thighs obscenely and leans back, fingers curling around the towel-covered toilet seat. From here he peers down his nose at you, a smirk all the while. His torso is one rigid, smooth slope, and you wish selfishy to see it exposed. Asking for that, too, though, might be too much.

And now that your gaze plummets, it doesn't matter. His cock is enough. You'd think it impossible for such an awkward looking appendage to ever earn the term pretty. But, uniform with the rest of him, his is. What he lacks in length he makes up for generously in girth. His cock is chubby and blushing, and, yes, pretty. God, so pretty.

Yes, you'll let him face-fuck you.

The tinkle of Jimin's earrings disrupt your awed silence. He projects impatience: Chewed lips, raised eyebrows, a slight, inquisitive tilt to his head. "This your first time or something?" Magenta falls across his eyes as his focus slips down his own body. He cages his cock inside a delicate fist, nurturing it to its full, thickened capacity. As it grows, so does his filthy smile. "You don't need to lie to me. I can go easy on you."

"This isn't my first time." Your resentment is palpable. Apparently, he enjoys it. As he pumps himself harder, his tongue probes disrespectfully at the corner of his upturned mouth. That only inflames you. "Is it your first time? Are all the rumours false?" Your comeback is risky, but the mood suggests banter is welcome. Perhaps all this big, bad wolf wants is a little, red-faced riding hood to provoke him.

The dare pays off. With one last, long stroke, he lets loose his erection, the concrete appendage slapping his stomach with an admirable thud. Resting back on one hand, he gestures to his waiting cock with the other. "Totally. I'm a good boy, ____. Now stop talking and fucking spit on it."

Your clit jumps. As do you, right into action. With your palms canvassing his inner thighs, you take one last, unenlightened breath before you dive face-first into his musk, pulling aside his cock to nuzzle at its base. To fully savour his scent and warmth. Jimin fills your hand to the extent you're unable to form anything close to a closed fist. Your thoughts are possessed only by your imagination and how wide he could stretch you. How full he could make you. A fucking stampede thuds through your pussy.  "Mm, you have such a nice cock," you murmur around the root of him. It's not so much meant as a compliment, but a statement of pure fact that must be expressed. You're sure he's heard such professions many times.

Yep. "I know, sweetheart." The timbre of his voice is a little heavier. Breathier. As your tongue flicks lazily under the round of his balls, it quivers, too. Nevertheless, he maintains his stoicism. "Why you teasing me down there? You know what I want."

When you pull one of his testicles into your mouth, however, he emits a quiet noise. One that sounds a little like it's something he wants. "Yes, daddy," you mouth around him, full irony. Jimin reacts to it, though. Pushes into your slack grip, looking for friction you're not about to give. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes. Still, you don't know where the limit to his patience lies. And so you relent and pull your mouth upwards, dragging his sac with your reluctant lips. Jimin tenses when finally you free him, wet, sticky, and back to hanging. And then you're ascending his fat, veiny shaft, lathering the underside with your tongue. Ekeing from him the most delicious gasps of air. His hands go back into your hair, though with far less care this time, grasping at your roots as though to earth him.

"Yeah, that's it, ____. Keep going." Jimin's encouragement is sweeter to the ears than any lauded music. And so is the stifled whine that streams from him when you glaze the tip of his cock with saliva, enough to dribble down its entire length. Once he’s sufficiently spat on, you follow with your mouth. Fuck, it’s a strain to accommodate him. A feat not to scrape him with your teeth. He's so thick you must look vulgar stuffing him between your lips like this. A wayward glance tells you he's enjoying the lewd visual, though. His mouth is parted and breath puffs quickly from him. His eyes, normally sharp with wit, are dull. Fully blown. Jimin devours the sight of your struggle, as you do his uncomfortably chubby dick. His nails imprint crescents of self-restraint into the skin of your scalp. "F-Fuck. Yeah. Suck me."

You do. More fervently than you have any mouth-watering candy. Your lips work the head of his cock with measured pressure, back-and-forth, to the tune of his increasingly whiny vocalisations. Instinct takes him, sometimes, and he jerks without thought into you. Your teeth graze him, then, but it seems like an ineffective deterrence. No, sometimes he moans when you catch him, and for that you reward him with tongue on his frenulum.

That gets him the most.

His thighs ripple, his back bends. His head of magenta hair falls back.

"You—mmmmh—like that?" is your an attempt at a taunt, dulled by the cock wedged in your cheek.

"You suck dick like a fucking slut." Jimin is panting now, a sheen of perspiration oiling his face. Fuck, he looks dewy and downright dirty. The crotch of your panties is saturated with want for him. "You pretend you're all innocent and shit, but, Jesus, you're a dirty bitch."

With an enthusiastic flex of his thighs, he struggles free from the jeans binding him and props up a foot, knee bent and accentuating just how shapely his calves are. Spread like this, he's sordid. Wanton. He's getting desperate, and, against all expectations, unafraid to show it. Men with his level of machismo are typically reserved. It turns you on, dials you into overdrive, just how unabashed his enjoyment is. "Deeper. Can you take it deeper, ____? P-Please," Jimin whimpers on cue, resolve thready.

Briefly, you alight from his cock. He whimpers about that, too. This man is the terror of your college campus. And now he’s a needy, sex-swollen mess. "Depends. Can I edge you?" You're actually decently sober at this point, but bravado still brews in you nevertheless.

Jimin, no longer basking, purses his lips. Glares with the fury of a thousand blue-balled men. "Don't you fucking dare. Try it and I'll take over. I’ll come all over your smug little face."

The threat, in actuality, is more a solemn hope of yours. "Okay, okay. I won't edge you." Your hands keep busy while your overtaxed mouth relishes its moment of emptiness. You funnel your energy, instead, into keeping his cock stiff, five fingers twisting along its lubed-up length. With the other hand, you return to your earlier fixation and palm tenderly at his distended balls. A delicate quivering radiates from his core muscles. "But I really wouldn't mind you coming all over my face."

Everything about him tenses, then releases. His eyelids, low, bear the weight of arousal. "For real?"

"Might as well, my knees are already gross. You can get me dirtier if you like, Jimin." And then you're pulling down the straps of your dress until your breasts spill out, already pebbled and desperate for a fondling they won't get tonight. "Or here. Or everywhere. Just go to town."

Jimin gulps down stuffy, humid air. Concentrates a little too hard on your uncovered tits. Rocks a little too enthusiastically into your undulating grip. "God, yeah. I wanna come all over you. Spit in your fucking mouth." Suddenly it's not just your sole fist grasping him. He's clutching you, clutching him. Squeezing your knuckles until they're white and his cock is very, very red. "I'll bend you over the bathtub and fuck you 'til I break your hips. 'Til your pussy's dripping cum."

“Jesus—”

You’re so luststruck by his vulgar fantasies that it’s almost too late when you come to your senses. Jimin fucks your hands so ferociously it’s clear that the beast has taken him. You snatch away your hands before he wastes himself all over them. His come away, too, hovering in the air and demanding answers.

"Okay, well you just edged yourself." A giggle slips out while you watch him heave breath like he's nearing death. In a way, it's cute. Jimin's cheeks are full and flushed, eyes rounder than moons. He himself seems taken aback by his lapse into unadultered lust. "Don't take away the only reason I came here."

Despite Jimin's earlier, emphatic disapproval of being edged, he sure seems appreciative now. He basks in the near-rush, mellower than before. Gently - perhaps affectionately? - he cradles the back of your head and draws you in, a thumb pressing caresses to your cheek. This sudden sweetness, it's abnormal. Harmful. You don't want it. You don't want to see his good side, nor fall for it.

But here he comes, eyes searching, lips begging.

"Then deepthroat me like I asked."

Nevermind.

The pompous smirk is back. He reclines, his one leg up like an ode to Michaelangelo, dick tall and looking just as self-important. You're decided. It's time to make him squeal. "Okay. No edging. But let me make it feel even better?"

Jimin drips scepticism. "How?"

Fully anticipating rejection, you're direct. "Lemme stick a finger up your ass."

Again, he surprises you. Insomuch that revulsion doesn’t immediately sour him. "The fuck?" A husky chuckle rattles in his chest, instead. "Is that your secret technique?"

"Kinda." Your shoulders draw inward as self-consciousness consumes you. "I totally get it if you don't want to. But the other guys I've been with enjoyed it."

"Then do it, whatever. Don't let me go soft, though, ____," Jimin warns with pouty lips. His cock leans demonstratively forward, threatening flaccidity. "I'm feeling neglected."

"Tragic," you coo, feigning empathy. Looking as petulant as he, you suckle softly around the head of his dick, enkindling his passion before it fades. Your tongue does work around its bulbous ridge, teasing where it makes him squirm most. Then, with his demands in mind, your mouth descends over his modest stretch of shaft, worshipping each, precious inch as you go.

“Yes, baby. That’s it, that’s it.”

You dip and rise, tug and suck in a tantalising advance toward his base, wringing the precum from him. It's salty and sticky and you love it on your tongue, love smearing him with his own mess. Want to smear him with your mess.

“Fuck, yeah. K-Keep—unh!—going!”

The more of him you gobble, the more erratic his body behaves. Beneath your hands, his sweat-tacked thighs are tremulous, tensing without rhyme or reason. Jimin has little control over  any of his extremities. His hands are uncomfortable fists in the back of your hair, like he's reining in a wilful mare. And then there's his beautiful, unstopped moaning, so sinful your clit thumps like a bass drum between your legs. You moan, too, slurping the end of his leaking cock to the back of your throat so he can better feel it. The reverberations must reach him, because Jimin bucks, then, wildly enough to trigger a gag. "Ugh, y-yes, fuck!"

You can't so much as master Savasana in yoga, but what you are adept at is gag control. And though you cough a little, slaver a little, nothing but sudden death will stop you now. Nose-deep in Jimin’s considerately trimmed pubic hair, you trap him momentarily there, the whole of his cock nestled deep in your throat's constraints.

Jimin looks half-way gone. His hands hover above your shoulders, fingers curling and twitching peculiarly, like he’s about to astral project. Indeed, all you can see through the sliver in his lightly-closed lids is the white of his eyes. Every so often Jimin rolls his pelvis towards you, but you stymy his attempts to face-fuck you until you're ready to see him over the finish line. Grasping his hips, your thumbs take the liberty of feeling the lines of his obliques, and, God, you've never hated an item of clothing more than the t-shirt he's wearing.

"More," he splutters, then, swivelling against your hold like he's compelled. "More, give me more. I'm so close, I—I wanna fucking drown you in cum—" an ungodly groan bursts forth as he whips himself into a frenzy of his own making— "Fuck, you suck cock so good—so good, baby."

Of all things, baby is what heats your cheeks. The endearment feels like long-coveted validation. "Bear with me," is what you try to communicate, but considering the weight of his cock is pinning your tongue, it comes out garbled. Jimin doesn't even notice, so rapt is he in your mouth's luxury. Occasionally, he rewards your efforts with globs of pre-ejaculate that slide smooth down your throat.

Not wanting to interrupt his well-earned crawl to orgasm, you bob on his cock hands-free, employing them instead to locate one of the condoms populating your purse. Keeping pace is difficult enough that it's not long before Jimin, unsteady on his perch, growls in caution.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," he grunts through gritted teeth, scrutinising your every, unrelated move. When he sees what it was you sought, the growl becomes a snarl. The disdain his eyes convey is almost comical. "Don't make me come in that. I'm not coming in that," he snorts, placated momentarily by your refocused efforts on his plump little dick. As you tear open the wrapper, you tongue his cock hole like a striking snake. "Oh, sh-shit!—H-Hey, if you don't want me to come on you I won't, but—"

Slobber splatters the towel in your haste to cut him off. "It's not for you."

Rather than court more questions, you demonstrate. Hastily, you unroll the condom over your longest finger. Then, with his unerring attention, you squat back on your heels and hike up your dress, allowing him a view onto your panty-wrapped cunt. Jimin doesn't even notice that your mouth is gone from him while he’s leching. It’s just long enough an opportunity to dip your rubber-sheathed digit deep into the wetness of your pussy. He makes noises as you do, quiet ones, ones that stress how much he wants to be inside it. When you withdraw, your lips lock back onto him, kissing his cock where it's most swollen and sensitive. "Try and relax, okay? It'll feel good quicker if you do," you offer in advice, your cunt-slick finger bypassing his balls and slithering along his perineum. Already he's reacting, even from this slight, external stimulation.

"I'm relaxed as fuck," Jimin puffs defiantly, despite his initial recoil. "Show me what you're all about, ____."

"Alright then." Ever so carefully, you wheedle the tip of your finger past his asshole, stopping when his body tells you to. "Jimin, if you can’t handle it—"

They're unextraordinary words, but, apparently, the magic ones. Immediately he loosens around you. "I can. Shut up."

You do. By engulfing his erection without warning. Drawing on it like you would a drinking straw, enough to fluster him into distraction. The result is an easy, sailing entry into his ass, right up to your knuckle. It's not difficult to locate his prostate from there, as deliciously swollen as it is. With a cursory couple of taps, Jimin's body responds in new, mesmerizing ways.

"W-What the fuck—ah!" he cries through his confusion, the unfamiliar feeling prying his eyes wide. Jimin can only watch, overwhelmed, as you manipulate him from within, his back arching clean from the cistern. He's suspended by sensation, a wobbling tension keeping him upright. As you slurp mercilessly at his cock, you fix him with a look. Jimin's not there to receive it, though. His expression says his brain short-circuited the moment you started stroking him internally. And then, with a choked gasp, he returns to the corporeal, yanking at your hair like a man possessed. Only, he's pulling you away. "Stop, oh fuck, I'm gonna piss in your mouth." Distress and arousal fight for his features. The latter is winning, if the stutter of his hips is anything to go by. He's caught between two worlds of pleasure; bookended by penetration and your softly nursing mouth. All he can do is thrust from one to the other.

You come away with his hands, just briefly. Kitten-lick his purpling cockhead. "It's okay. You won't pee, it's meant to feel like that. Just go with it, unless you don't like it."

The blush dusting his cheeks deepens. You can't imagine it's because he's embarrassed, but for a moment he looks vulnerable. Human. Beautiful. Your heart trips. "Whatever," he attempts nonchalance, but his needy fragility is fooling no-one. "I like it, so don't stop. As long as you're sure i won't piss in your mouth. I mean, I don't care if I do, but you might—ungh!"

Swallowing a man's cock is as good as gagging them. Jimin falls quieter than night when you welcome him back into your warmth, working his shaft as well as your aching jaw will allow. Your tongue, too, is tiring, and yet you only twist around him all the more ravenously. It's not just his body that’s contorting when you pound at his prostate, now. His mouth hangs open unchecked, all thought for appearances gone. Within, his tongue writhes, articulating nothing but bodiless sounds.

You rub harder. Suck harder. More insistent. Jimin's eyebrows knit so tightly his nose crinkles. And when he does, a flood of runny, salty liquid squirts into your mouth, catching you off guard and in-between breaths. It's a wonder you don't drown when it keeps coming, this thin, bountiful expulsion. "F-Fuck, God—what is that—" he whines between milkings. As it seeps from your stuffed mouth, Jimin is enraptured. With his focus on you, you regurgitate it noisily over his cock, dousing him in his own fluids. "Fuck, i-it feels so good. I want more." His hands are either side of your face, fingers at your temples, palms pressuring your cheeks. "More." With a grunt, he hoists his previously dangling leg onto the toilet seat with the other. He squats, open and obscene, the picture of aroused anguish. "More. Harder," he jerks, marionette-like, to fuck himself on your finger, to propel his cock further down your throat. You're prepared for this onslaught now, mouth wide and tongue laying dormant as he rams his tip to your tonsils. Each thrust pushes more of his leakage from your mouth until you're drooling like a starving dog. And he's transfixed by it, teeth grinding, gripped by a terrifying hunger. "Fuck. Take it, take me, oh, shit—t-ta—"  

Nothing much else comes from Jimin but discharge, his face contorting as his body does, locked and straining. The motion of his hips slows until it ceases. There, he floats, with unseeing eyes, his orgasm approaching in an unavoidable swell. The throbbing that radiates from his buried cock is the final tell you chance before you cough him from your mouth, kneeling tall before him, breasts and face a blank canvas. You don't push him that last step so much as hammer him, battering his prostate until his mouth twists in devastation. Jimin's eyes are so wide it's like you're fucking the fear of God into him. He rises from his squat, millimetre by millimetre, as you slap your palm to his taint; his bloated balls. "C-Coming, I'm coming—" is all he can rasp as his soul departs and streaks your face once, twice—your eyelids fall closed as thick, viscous white weights down your lashes. Robbed of your sight, his groans hit louder, deeper. They resonate with agony, almost. And still he paints you, your throat, your neglected tits. "Oh my God, I—"

“That’s it, Jimin. Empty yourself on me.”

As the deluge dies away, you wipe your eyes free of cum and slide yourself from his spasming asshole. You expect to see him sat there, clutching his softening cock, but instead he’s sat back, hands-free and seeing constellations on the ceiling. "You came without touching your dick? Damn. That's restraint," you chuckle, your mouth feeling oddly loose. Too big. Too empty. When Jimin doesn't respond: "You okay?"

He stirs briefly from catatonia, though he continues to stare spaceward. "I'm good. I'm good. I think." A laugh comes out, but it's like he's forgotten what they should sound like. "Well, that was fucking awesome." A few, dumbstruck seconds later, Jimin returns to earth with a shaky sigh and that damn smirk. Finally, he looks at you. "Whoa. I got you messy as fuck."

A deadpan blink is all you can spare him when most of your body is protesting some type of pain. Your jaw, particularly, feels unhinged. "Yeah. You didn't notice that before?" You slip the latex from your finger and lob it at the trashcan. You miss.

"I did, but I was, like, coming my brains out. I didn't know what the fuck I was seeing, other than it was good." With an unsteady hand, he flattens back his soaked bangs and stares at you, eyelids heavy. His cheeks are stained pink with exertion. "You look so hot like that. Fuck." And though his body must be leaden after satiation, he pulls you up to your knees, until your torsos nearly touch. Stops just short of smearing himself with his own ejaculate. Instead, he cups one of your soiled breasts with a small, soft hand, thumbing his cum across the nipple. Being touched here, now, after such deprivation, it's like a kiss of life to your cunt. It roars back to life with a bitter vengeance. But Jimin remains modest in his touches. Doesn't stray much from your one, sticky breast. No, he's more focused on you. Your face. Studying all there is to know about its shapes. And he's inscrutable as he does it. It makes you nervous. "Well." It's scarcely more than a whisper. "Thank you," he mumbles, soft and awkward, like he's never before expressed appreciation for anything. And then he kisses you again, though it feels like it's for the first time. It's slow, intimate, with lazy tongue and spent breaths in between. It makes your heart race for several, terrifying reasons. You break apart, then. "Can I do anything for you?"

"N-No, that's okay." The proposition is unexpected. And with the way you're feeling, dangerous. "I got what I came for. I had fun. Thank you, too." You rise to standing, weathering the crack of your joints as you go. "I'll just clean up quickly."

Jimin is already towelling down his own, comparatively unscathed body. He stands, too, though with far more grace. As he feeds himself back into his too-tight jeans, he extends the towel to you. "If you're sure." A tinge of something colours his tone. Disappointment? "Maybe next time."

Next time?

Jimin's semen begins to crust on your chin. The towel twists in your hands. "What?"

There's an indifference to his body language that doesn’t quite ring true. He shrugs on his jacket. "Yeah. Next time, right?"

For several seconds you both stand there, locked in an unsaid exchange. The air is pregnant with meaning.

The door flies open.

"There you are!" In Jungkook strolls, bleary-eyed and with no clear bearing on his surroundings. "Someone said they saw you come in here." His gaze is hazy as it lands on you and your poorly shielded tits. And then it’s on your face again, where Jimin's spunk is heaviest. "Holy shit."

What feels like a century of shame passes, but it's no more than a microsecond before Jimin is slamming the point of his boot into Jungkook's abdomen. "Get the fuck out!" He bellows, octaves deeper than all this past half hour. Masculinity oozes from his squared shoulders and jutted jaw. The hardness is in his eyes, too. They're like steel as they cut Jungkook down, unchanging even as the younger man claws at his gut and stumbles back. "Don't fucking barge in on me again. This ain’t for you to see."

"I-I'm sorry, 'min-hyung." Jungkook slurs his words past comprehension. "C-Call me wh-when yuh wha-wanna split."

Jimin folds his arms. Tucks balled fists inside. "Yeah, now go."

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the gang-leader catches that last, errant look at your naked breasts. And for that he is rewarded with another swift kick; to his retreating backside, this time. Though you can't see him behind the door, you hear the impact of his fall to all-fours and grimace. Jimin's line of sight tracks low. Jungkook must be crawling away. "Go and sober up, you stupid piece of shit. We're going soon."

The door slots back into its frame. Jimin lingers there a little longer than necessary, his head bowed to the panelling. "Uh." Again, he's different. Transformed. Someone more timid stands in Jimin's place. Ruffles the back of his well-tousled hair. "Sorry. He's a dipshit."

"It's okay," you laugh. You have to, because the entire scenario is astounding. "You didn't have to kick him, though. Twice."

Arms criss-crossing his chest, Jimin watches as you wipe away his residue. For some reason, you’re more self-conscious now than when he put it there. "He deserved it. He's an idiot. Idiots don't learn unless you kick them in the ass. I didn't kick him in the balls, at least. And for that, he should be thanking me."

Clearly, your views on appropriate punishment diverge. Jimin inhabits a different world to yours. It's unnerving. And a little exciting, even though it shouldn’t be. "I'll defer to your judgment in his case." Your straps come up and over your shoulders. On inspection, suspicious white stains dot your dress despite your attempts to prevent that. Hopefully everyone is so smashed by this point that they can’t distinguish it from any of their other surroundings. "Okay, I'm gonna go. My dorm's just across from this one."

"I'll walk you. It's not safe." There's a certainty to Jimin's words that speaks of his experience. Ironically, it's probably safer out there while he's tied up in here. "Lots of scumbags out there that will target girls who are alone."

Fully covered, now, you clutch your purse in front of the worst of the splattering. You want to say something, so you do. You feel like you've earned it. "Not you?"

So self-assured, Jimin is. For a moment, though, he isn't. His smile flickers. "Never. I'm not about that. And I'll thrash anyone who is."

The answer pleases you. Diminishes his other activities somewhat. Somewhat. Just enough that you can go home and fuck yourself into a guiltless coma. "Okay. Well, it was fun. Don't worry about walking me. It's literally just across from here and there are still people around. I gotta find my friend first, anyway.”

Another shrug. Then, with the same nonchalance, he offers up his phone to you. "'Kay."

Eyes on him rather than the device, you take it from him. "What's this?" The screen displays a newly created contact. The phone number is blank. The contact name, though?

Litterbug.

It's hard to scoff at it when you love it so much. "What the hell? That's me?"

"Yeah. Gimme your number?" Jimin grins, brazen-faced. The temptation to kiss him is almost insurmountable. "I wanna see you again, litterbug."

You smile, too. Until you don't. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea. I didn't plan on anything past this."

If Jimin's shaken by the snub, he hides it masterfully. His smile isn't quite so burnished, though. "Neither did I, but then this happened, and I want it to happen again, ____. Let me show you just what I can do for you."

God, it's tempting. A bite of that apple is worth being cast from Eden. But your heart is weak and liable to entwine far too easily. And he's not the type of man that should occupy space outside of your depraved fantasies. "How many girls with cute pseudonyms do you have on there?" you deflect, knowing well the answer. Hearing it might temper your hopes somewhat.

"I don't give out my actual number to anyone." Jimin doesn't miss a beat of breath. "Only those that matter to me. Or might do," he adds, quieter, losing his bullishness altogether. "But, do what you want." His palm lays flat in expectation of receiving his phone back empty, but you hesitate. Look down at the vacant space. You could fill that.

You want to.

"Okay, there I am." With a flourish of thumbs and a final tap, your name is input and the contract sealed.

The Devil smiles. "Cool." His fingers linger on yours when you return the device. They're soft like charmeuse, and just as expensive. Because this will cost you everything, you're sure. "Can I see you tomorrow? So you can explain to me exactly what it is you just did to my ass?"

Tomorrow? Jimin’s keen. And you’re smiling again. “Sure. I’ll give you a practical demonstration.”

[axther]

Heyo, can I get a bnha matchup? I'm a bisexual ENTP, but am mistaken as an introvert often due to being bad at social interaction and liking alone time. I talk a lot with people I'm comfortable with though. Sometimes I joke in serious situations. I don't worry that much and am carefree, though I can get randomly anxious sometimes. I'm a bit bad with emotions, but I've been told I can cheer people up because I'm optimistic. I'm a deep thinker and have been told a lot I'm smart.

Fnkdaofdnskao i really took a hot second with this one tbh 🥴 but here u go!! Also, since there was no gender listed, i just went w they/them pronouns!! If u want smth different, then just hmu and i can change it!! Also, i am so sorry i made the second one as more of a scenario?? And it was...oof. yikes. Sorry. This has become my style. Scenarios disguised as matchups. Im a liar 

AS OF 05/25/2020 IM A LIAR ITS OUT TONIGHTTTT

#1 is…Denki! 

okokokokok SO

Y’all meet during a training exercise! 

It’s something similar to USJ, except it’s across several different schools and classes

And y’all had to find a bunch of objects 

So there’s a mixed bundle of people 

It’s a sort of competition

And everyone is sweating bullets 

And honestly??

You’re just vibin

And i mean this like, you don’t really seem concerned. 

You’re just chilling while everyone’s fighting, trying to find the best solution. 

Naturally, you’re worried, too

But you know that it’s kinda useless to try and talk over Monoma and Bakugou 

Now

Denki’s staying pretty quiet, too. 

While it looks like he’s just vibing, too, but honestly? 

He’s crazy nervous 

Because here are all these super talented heroes-to-be, he feels like he’s gonna be glossed over 

So as everyone’s duking it out, the two of you are just kinda...hanging in there

Now the thing is 

You guys are avoiding eye contact. 

Not in the sense of ‘oh my god, you atrocity to man,’ 

But in the ‘two bros chilling in a hot tub’ way. 

So as the entire thing is falling on its head

You look over and notice that he’s trying desperately to remain chill. 

He’s kinda fiddling with himself

And you nudge him a bit 

And as he turns to look at you, you may or may not be screaming ‘what the FUCK did I just do??????’ in your head

But when he faces you, you just give him a thumbs up 

Like that 

And he’s kinda at a loss 

But he takes it, and gives you a smile and a big ol’ thumbs-up, too!! 

There’s no interaction again, until he nudges you 

“Do you think they’ll come up with something?” 

You shrug. 

“Considering that the only brain cell in my class went to the Class Rep, and it doesn’t look like these guys their class brain cell, I don’t think so.” 

Denki pulls back a snort before wiping his smirk off his face. 

“Do you think...we could try? On our own?” 

“Maybe.” You shrug again. “You’re the shock quirk user, right?” 

Denki is stunned

Did someone remember him? 

Woah

From here on out consider him whipped 

“Yeah! What’s your quirk?” 

“Crystallian.” 

You watch his face go through a journey of emotions before settling on muffled confusion. 

“Warping, basic elemental magic.” You play with some of your hair. “It’s all tied to a crystal I keep at home. If it’s safe, I’m safe.” 

Denki nods.

He hadn’t heard of quirks where they have a variety of unrelated uses 

But he’s there for it!! 

You two begin to make your own plan to succeed in the exercise 

And once y’all look over and realise that the arguing isn’t going to change, thanks to Monoma egging Bakugou on 

Y’all dip 

And by that, I mean you warp him and yourself to the highest point in the building 

Took one (1) look at the lights 

Shared a glance 

And y’all took out the power

Within about thirty minutes, y’all have all the goods!! 

Most folks are still trying to get used to the lack of light

So when your group presents the stuff to the teachers, Aizawa is tired but takes it 

And so you guys pass!! 

You and Denki talk more after 

And he finds out that you’re part of a special school for kids with special quirks

Which off the bat sounds really bad 

But you meet folks that are like you

and you tell him that he’d probably fit right in. 

He’s over the moon!!! For once!! 

Someone that takes him seriously!! 

Y’all exchange numbers and the entire class can’t begin to fathom that holy shit Denki Kaminari got a s/o before anyone else in the class

Throws them all for a loop

And meanwhile Denki’s thriving w hugs and cuddles 

#2 is…Momo! 

Momo is...complicated

She’s in a rich family with a strong quirk

She’s got more than enough pressure on her shoulders

Especially since she was in 1-A, so the entire literal country of Japan has their eyes on her 

And all the while she’s doing her best to focus, focus, focus

She wanted one day where she could be like Mina, Ochako, Tooru, Jirou, Tsu…

Normal.

So she does it

One morning, while her parents are gone, and before anyone else is awake

She ties her hair up and places it into a gaudy blonde wig 

(Which was a massive pain in the ass, but that was the price of freedom) 

She dons sunglasses, an outfit that in any other case she would die being caught in

Leaves her phone on her bed

Tiptoes down the stairs 

And leaves 

The moment she’s past the gates of her house and out of view, she lets out an enormous sigh 

She has no idea what she’s going to do 

But her heart races a little, because that was the beauty of it!!

She finally had no rules, short of the law 

So she waltzes down the road, the city wakes up, and as the first hour drips by, she notices a distinct wave of youth

They’re not doing much, just relaxing in cafes and alleys

and Momo wonders if anyone is planning to send truant police

but considering she’s doing the same exact thing, she’s not gonna call them out  

But as she passes by an arcade, she notices a group

They’re a bit more subdued than most of the others, just watching one of their friends play a dancing game and fail horribly

But most notably, Momo sees you 

You’re snorting at the lanky girl who’s tripping over her own feet, but at the same time, it looks like you’re cheering her on 

Momo’s curious, of course, but she also doesn’t want to intrude 

But then one of them, a boy, turns and waves her over

She jumps because oh my god and makes her way over 

“Hey, did you want to play? Sorry that Tsukki was hogging the game.” The boy says, and you turn and glance at her. 

At first, Momo’s wondering if she should really join in, but then she sees you, fully…

Ohnotheyrehot.jpg

Unfortunately, you seem a bit closed off because you start talking to the last member of the party 

Momo brushes it off and nods quickly

because goddamnit that’s what she’s here for

being a normal teenager

So she starts playing Tsukki

And Momo wipes the floor with her 

Tsukki takes it well, fortunately, but it sparks conversation 

“Where’d you learn to play?” The boy, Seong-Jin, kept on asking 

Momo wasn’t crazy comfortable telling the Korean transfer student that she had ballroom classes 

But as she’s about to make an excuse

She sees Present Mic out of the corner of her eye 

And immediately panics 

But before she can tell the four that she needs to hide, you come in clutch

You notice her look of panic and take off your jacket

And you drape it over her and pull up the hoodie. 

At that point, all you can see is the bottom half of her face 

(seeing as she never took off her sunglasses) 

And a tuft of blonde hair 

Present Mic even pops by for a second to ask how the kids were doing, and he didn’t recognise Momo

So crisis averted 

Almost immediately afterwards, the five bail from the arcade and ask Momo why she freaked out 

But then you speak up 

“She doesn’t have to tell us. But next time you might need to bail, feel free.” 

You gave her a soft smile, and when I tell you Momo’s face lights up 

You two stick together for the rest of the day 

And Seong-Jin, Tsukki, and the last person, Keito, are here for it

Bit by bit, they start separating into groups 

That is, the Momo/YN group and the Everyone Else group 

Soon enough, the three disappear to do something while Tsukki is shouting

And you and momo decide to take a break by a cafe, on a wall with foliage hitting your back 

and you guys are talking as the sun begins to set 

You guys talk about everything and anything 

And Momo confesses it was the most fun she had in years 

The way you talk to her is almost methodical, with how you seemed to tip toe around any insinuations or trauma.

“I know I only met you today, but if you ever need a place to crash…”  

You trail off, playing a bit with your hands, but more out of awkwardness than anxiety.

Momo’s heart swells. 

She manages out a ‘thank you’ before hesitantly leaning on your shoulder 

And you take a deeeepp breath in 

But you don’t nudge her off

And slowly she begins to fall asleep, and her wig is tilted and her sunglasses are askew

but you glance at her out of the corner of your eyes and give a soft smile 

(that was not the last time you two met, and five years later at the altar, she’s wearing the same damn wig) 

#3 is...Kirishima! 

PINING

This sounds really simple 

But Kirishima would absolutely pine after you for 3.8 million years

Y’all went to the same middle school and you were friends 

And he’s all over you 

Sometime between the first and third year of middle school he just fell head over heels 

And so he tags along with you the entire time 

But after the Giant Figure incident, and he says he’s won’t go to U.A., you get lowkey pissed 

You tell him that he’s worked so hard, he’s come so far, why give up now, he’s only fourteen for god’s sake. 

But he doesn’t listen

And you two don’t talk after that 

After he decides to go for it and not live a life of regrets, he’s doing his best to become someone he wants to be 

But the biggest looming regret he had was the fallout with you

And it was a nasty fall out-parents stopped talking, kids took sides, teachers knew 

You went to a completely different school than what he thought you were

And he was pretty sure that due to the fallout and the constant movement of time, you changed your number 

So he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as just saying ‘You were right, sorry.’ 

It starts consuming him

Half of U.A. knows that he’s thinking about something 

But it comes to a head when he’s sparring against Bakugou 

And all he’s really doing is blocking

And bakugou loses his shit

“Get your fucking head out of the clouds and focus!” 

“Sorry, dude!” 

“What the fuck has you acting so damn stupid?” 

Kirishima tells Bakugou, who gets it, but doesn’t really try to help 

“Just tell her.” He hisses 

But Kirishima’s nervous 

And by the end of the week, he’s gotten a flurry of suggestions 

People are coming up to him left and right, telling him what to do

And he just gets overwhelmed

On Saturday, he locks himself in his room until Mina knocks 

She comes in and they start talking about you 

And she mentions that she has your number, and that it really would matter if Kirishima was the one to text first

“YN supported you, and then it got rubbed in the dirt, and then ignored again. You need to be the one to say it, honestly, otherwise it’ll mean nothing.” 

So he gets to work

He spends the rest of saturday trying to write it all out his emotions 

But eventually he gives on getting them all neat and tidy, and just lets them ooze out 

Sunday morning he gets up early and types it all out, willing his hands not to shake too much 

Mina and Bakugou are there with him, and though Mina keeps making jokes and Bakugou doesn’t offer much in way of help, they’re there to support him 

So when he sends it and lets out a sigh, Bakugou pats him on the back

“And now, we wait.” Mina murmurs, watching the phone with wide eyes. 

And watching

And watching

And watching

And three days pass before Kirishima gets any sort of response 

He’s expecting to be chewed out, to get the text equivalent of a teary welcome back

Not fucking eight ball. 

But he clicks on it 

And he wins, surprisingly 

There’s a moment between his win and your text where he doesn’t dare breathe, just stand still 

Before you text back 

So. 

ur in ua huh 

guess you did it after all. 

Yeah. 

Again, sorry. I didn’t think a lot of stuff through back then. 

figures lmao 

u free next week? 

For you? 

I always am. 

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart - Part 2 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

Out of drag, Brock feels smaller. Vulnerable.  He knows he’s still a giant Canadian, but without Brooke’s stilettos and hip-pads he almost feels fragile.  Maybe fragile isn’t the right word, maybe it’s - ordinary.  He goes jogging along Cumberland River and no one notices him. He wears grey sweatpants and Tragically Hip t-shirts like camouflage and blends into whatever setting he’s in. He’s like wallpaper sometimes. People look right past him.

No one looks past Brooke Lynn.  They wouldn’t dare.

Not that he can’t turn a look when he wants to. When his friends drag him out to a club, he can usually find someone who isn’t too intimidated to pick him up, take him home.  He likes being anonymous sometimes (that probably sounds ungrateful, and God help him he never wants this ride to end, but he doesn’t always have the energy to be Brooke Lynn. Especially on his nights off.) 

Back in Nashville he texts Nina every time a new episode drops.  He forces himself to watch each one in public, in a crowded bar or group of noisy friends, sometimes he even hosts the damn watch-party.  At least with people on all sides of him (arms around him, buying him shots, hands on his back) he can’t fuck off without reason.  Can’t run out into the streets or scream without someone coming after him, making sure he’s okay.  So it’s better to do the watch-party thing.  Safer, at least.

“Your fucking face,” he texts Nina during the Monster’s Bal episodel.  On the flat-screen above the bar, Nina’s just taken off her mask and is grinning horrifically at the camera.

“Your fucking mom,” Nina texts back.  Class act, that one.

“Tell me you aren’t actually selling Branjie hats,” she adds a few seconds later. 

Brock shuts his eyes, swallows. His hands don’t shake as he texts back.

“4 charity u want 1?” 

Nina sends him a series of emojis that are just indecipherable enough to be insulting.  And maybe the hats were a cynical move but the proceeds really are going to charity.  It was all Brock’s agent’s idea, and they ran it by Vanessa of course but - the worst part is that Brock’s actually getting some fucked-up kind of relief from it.  From the people online who think the whole sad story was a publicity stunt.  It’s like, fine, that’s all it was, here’s a fucking hat.  You wanna buy a piece of our relationship? We accept Paypal. 

It’s easier to think about it this way, then - the other way. His hand on Vanessa’s chest, heartbeat singing warm and low beneath Brock’s palm.  That harsh, rowdy laugh across the werkroom, making Brock laugh in return no matter what he was doing, and then blush with embarrassment.

(“I’m your jush, hey?”Lips close to Vanjie’s ear, arms draped over her shoulders.

“Aw, bitch, what you want me to say?” Vanessa’s focused on her sewing, but she still gives a cautious glance upwards, smiling with the corners of her mouth. “You need a ring or some shit?”)

That line becomes a bit of a joke between them, though it hasn’t shown up in the episodes yet - and if there’s any justice in the universe it never will.

(“You need a ring or some shit?” after Vanjie wins a mini-challenge, reaching out for a hand to hold.

“You need a ring or some shit?” after Vanjie lip-synchs for her life and throws her arms around Brooke as soon as they’re off-stage, away from the judges and the harsh white lights, smelling like sweat and hairspray and baby powder and -)

Stop.

If Brock ever hears that question edited dramatically into a confessional, he might break a television with his knuckles.  

At the very least, throw a high-heel.

“Are you okay?” Nina texts, too high-achieving for slang or abbreviations.  She even uses punctuation like some sort of monster.

Brock puts his phone down, lets the drama play out on screen for once. Nina doesn’t need a response to the question.  She already knows the answer.

* * *

The first time they kiss, the cameras are not on them. 

Brooke wouldn’t have done that, wouldn’t have wanted to make it something sensational.  She knows there’s a limit to how cuddly they can be before the editors start building a story out of it, putting pieces together that will inevitably lead to some awful climax and a lot of think-pieces on Vulture. It’s best to keep - whatever it is behind Vanjie’s dark eyes - under wraps.

They’ve been trading glances across the werkroom but Brooke tells herself it doesn’t mean anything special. Vanjie is a legend, a rock star, and even though Brooke slays the first runway challenge (all hail Detox, Patron Saint of Latex, hallowed be Thy name) it doesn’t make her think she’s earned any extra notice from the other queens. Maybe a couple of shady glances here and there, but that’s to be expected.

And if she looks a bit too long at Vanessa Vanjie Mateo (all wrapped up in red silk, the sticky-sweet colour of maraschino cherries and candied apples) no one’s going to notice.  Vanjie’s fine as hell in and out of drag; you’d have to be blind not to stare at her.  

Brooke’s clearly only fooling herself because that first night (the fucking first night!) A’Keria slides up beside Brooke in line for craft services, pursing her lips.

“Oooh girl, you be careful.” 

“Why?” Brooke grabs some salad before it runs out. Fuck knows the P.A.s won’t order more of it. 

“Play innocent all you like, but I see you lookin’. Don’t be stupid, now.” A’Keria is too smart for her own good, and too damn cool to be chatting with Brooke over paper plates full of iceberg lettuce. “Any of those producers catch you, they’re gonna be all over it, know what I’m sayin’?”

“I don’t,” Brooke Lynn says, and A’Keria rolls her eyes. 

But Brooke knew.  And she really should have listened.

It’s after the “What’s Your Sign” runway (which Vanjie stomps like she owns it, dripping with red roses and a goddamn Libra, Jesus Christ - Brooke’s so predictable.) 

She takes off her paint and sneaks outside for a smoke break before the producers come to round them all up, pack ‘em into the van back to the hotel.  No one follows her.  The cameras usually leave a queen alone if she’s by herself (not enough drama to waste the film) and Brooke hurries to take advantage of that fact. 

The smoking area is just a nasty little square of pavement with a couple of chairs and an ashtray, but it’s quiet and Brooke can almost see the stars.  For a few moments she’s completely alone and after the chaos of shooting for sixteen hours – it’s nice.  Nice to not have to be “on.” Nice to just be.

And then the door creaks as it opens, and out walks Vanjie.  Back in boy clothes, but still a bit glittery.

“Hello, hello, hello Miss Brooke Lynn.”

Brooke exhales a laugh that tastes like ashes. “You don’t smoke.”

“Nah.” Vanjie sits down on a chair across from her. “But those girls take forever, I’m growing old watching them. Look, baby, I got wrinkles.” She turns her head from side to side, gesturing to (non-existent) lines at the corners of her eyes. 

Brooke wants to tell her she looks perfect, flawless, untouchable.  But she doesn’t. Instead she sucks on her cigarette, tells herself to be cool (for once.) “You were so good in the challenge. It was amazing.”

“I’m not a regular dad, I’m a cool dad.” Vanjie tugs at the shoulder of her hoodie with that low, rasping laugh of hers. “You weren’t so bad neither.”

Brooke shakes her head, old enough to know bullshit when she hears it. “Don’t even.  That voice - that whole character was a mistake.”

“Haha, well.  It was a choice, bitch, a choice. Good thing you turned it out on the runway.” Vanjie tilts her head back, looking up into the dark. “Hey, I can almost see stars. That’s a star, right?”

Brooke follows Vanjie’s pointing hand, but can’t make anything out besides smog.  She closes her eyes instead of looking at her any longer (sometimes looking at Vanessa is easy and sweet as breathing, and sometimes it’s like holding the palm of your hand over a candle) and thinks of how far away from home she is. Old homes, and new ones, and all the places in between that felt like home at the time. She thinks of how long it’s been since she’s seen winter, the sky going grey-gold with falling snow.

When Brooke opens her eyes, Vanjie’s watching her.

“Don’t go getting down on yourself, Miss Brooke Lynn,” she says. “Mama Ru will clock that self-doubt and come after you. She eats. That. Shit. Up.”

“Right. Jesus, you’re right.” Brooke concentrates on the glowing ember at the tip of her cigarette, and not the way the dim lights catch Vanjie’s cheekbones. “Anyway, how are you holding up? Feel different than last season?”

“Since it’s been a minute and I’m still here? Fuck yeah it feels different. Ha!” All the teasing electricity in her eyes goes soft, and Vanjie’s quiet for a moment. A smudge of glitter still sparkles at the hollow of her throat. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m back.  That they let me come back.  Shit.” 

“Fans would have rioted if they didn’t bring you back.” Brooke fills the air with smoke as she breathes.  “I certainly would have.”

“Yeah?” Vanjie raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I should start smoking, since y’all making it look so good. Sitting out here in the dark like a tall glass of Clearly Canadian.”

“I don’t think they even make that any more.”

“Know your history, bitch.”

Brooke laughs again, helpless in the face of so much charm. “You know you have glitter on you? Your neck. Just -”

She reaches out to wipe it away, but before she can make contact with skin, Vanjie’s hand catches hers. Holds. 

Brooke doesn’t move.  She isn’t generally a reckless person - she’s poised, efficient, ruthless. (She wants all those things to be true. She wants to be smarter than this. She wants to feel the pulse point beating in Vanjie’s wrist like a metronome.  She wants -) 

“Shoulda known you’d be a Pisces,” Vanjie says before she kisses her. 

(As kisses go - it’s in the Top Three of Brooke’s life.

Number One: hasn’t happened yet. That’ll come later, violins and roses and all that shit, payoff worth the wait and then some. 

Number Two: her first kiss.  First with a boy anyway - drunk and seventeen and gasping with the realization that she could have this. This was okay.  It was okay.

Number Three is Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, tasting like mint and still glittery, hand clutching tight to Brooke’s (who isn’t shaking, she isn’t.)  There’s a hint of tongue at the corner of her mouth, and it’s all Brooke can do not to clutch fistfuls of that hoodie and drag Vanjie against her.  Hold her tight.  Keep her close.  Brooke doesn’t know how she’ll ever manage to pry her hands away.)

Then the door creaks as it opens. 

Brooke has just enough self-control to pull back before Yvie’s coming out, digging into the pockets of her skinny jeans for a lighter and scowling.

Not looking up.  Not looking at them.

“We’ve apparently got five minutes to get to the van.  Christ, that paint did not want to come - oh.” She glances up. “Didn’t know you smoked, Vee.”

And Vanjie grins, showing the white of her teeth (“Ain’t I full of surprises, bitch?”) and Brooke swan-dives to the pavement, through the ground, clean through the centre of the earth. 

She was already half-way there, but fuck her life: she falls.

[shurisneakers]

espresso [6]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: swearing, near panic attacks, angst (?)

A/N: this is my entry for the exuberant @odinhson‘s writing challenge thank you to @samingtonwilson for beta-ing this for me

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 5 || Espresso Masterlist

Becca: binch

Becca: if i don’t get my nourishment i will Wilt and Die

Becca: if i get out of this bed rn i will literally Cry

Becca: pls get me a coffee kind sir,,, i will be gr8ful

You: um

You: i’ll get it later ok lov u

Becca: wtf why

You: im going to meet fucky at the library

You: *bucky

Becca: youre going to meet my brother again?

You: yes he said he was studying there anyway so I could go meet him there

You: why

Becca: nothing it’s just

You: it’s just?

Becca: nvm it’s nothing go see that smelly bitch biscuit

Becca: but get me the drugs when u come back

_____________

The library was fairly populated for seven in the morning. And, though everyone looked like they could use at least a week’s worth of sleep, they trudged on.

Walking through the aisles, you let your fingers run over the spines of every book, relishing in the feel of their old leather under your touch. It didn’t take log before you found Bucky in the classics section, his back leaning against one of the bookshelves as he scanned the ones in front of him.

“Looking for something specific?” you asked quietly, making him snap his head towards you. He gave you a tired smile before reverting to his original state.

“The Catcher in the Rye. I wanted to borrow it again,” he sounded distant, like his mind was preoccupied.

“Again? You’ve read it more than once?”

“Three times,” he answered, eyes lighting up as he reached forward and grabbed an old, worn out book with a tearing paper cover. His fingers dusted it gently before he opened to the last page, his eyes skimming over the words.

“It’s your favourite book?”

 “I wouldn’t say it’s my favourite book, to be honest.” He flipped it, examining the cover from back to front. “Just the most memorable one. It sorta stuck with me throughout.”

“Why?” you asked curiously, watching as he flipped through the pages, seemingly searching for something within the lines.

“Don’t ask, it’s just gonna come off as pretentious as shit,” he chuckled, shking his head bemusedly, but you could detect a hint of something else behind his words. Bucky loved writing. He loved words. This book obviously meant a lot to him.

“I don’t know who hurt you Bucky Barnes, but I’d sure as fuck want to know why you love that book so much.” You heard a hush on the other side of the bookshelf, making you peep through the shelves only to catch the disapproving glare of the librarian who apparently caught you using unparliamentarily language.

“No one’s hurt me, it’s just-“ he paused to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, letting his hand linger there. “I didn’t think anybody would care.”

“Oh.” You nudged his foot with yours, making him look at you in surprise. “Well, I care, so go ahead.”

He eyes never left yours and you could see a faint blush spread across his cheeks. Cute ass motherfucker.

Wait-

“Um, I guess it’s kinda because– the thing is– see, I–“ his mouth was moving at a speed much swifter than his brain, you could see it. It was like he had so much to say, almost too much. You gave him an encouraging smile as he took a deep breath to calm himself down before beginning again.

“I’ve read it three times. Every single time it means something different to me, you know? It’s like the words are familiar but everything’s changed,” he tried to convey what he was thinking, but it was clearly something hard to talk about because Bucky rarely ever ran out of words.

“‘Don’t ever tell anyone anything, if you do you start missing everybody.’,” he recited from memory finally showing you the page he stopped on. You shuffled closer to him, leaning on his shoulder to get a better look at the book in his hand. “It’s really hard for me to let others in. Everything becomes too intimate and when they decide to pack up and leave because they can’t handle my shit, it just—it hurts. It’s one of my favorite quotes.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly, as he looked at you for a few seconds in silence, not making an attempt to say anything.

“Right, so-“ he cleared his throat, pulling away to put the book back where it belonged. “His name’s Loki. He’s slightly difficult at first, but all he needs is just a little love and attention and he’s good to go.”

“Are we talking about a succulent or a person?” You remained where you were, feeling strangely lightheaded. Bucky glanced at the big clock overhead before returning to you.

“You’ll see.” He winked, shifting from one foot to another. “Now go! I have an hour to spend with calculus and you are going to be late for your first class.”

“You got a shift at the coffee shop today? I could come see you after,” you asked, facing him while walking backwards, your feet moving automatically.

“Not tonight, fam. I’m busy,” he said, looking down just for a second.

“Whatcha up to, barista boy? You got a hot date?” you teased him lightly, shoving your fists into your pockets, delaying your exit.

“I do, actually,” he fired back, making you freeze in your tracks.

“You’re going on a date?” you asked incredulously, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yeah. Met an old friend of mine last week and we’re going out tonight.” He shrugged, giving you a half smile.

“Oh shits.” Well, that was new. It had been ages since Bucky had gone out with someone. “Use protection, ya nasty. Don’t want any mini versions of you running around.”

“Yeah, totally. We’re gonna go grab something to eat and fuck behind the church in my pickup truck.” He rolled his eyes, laughing to himself as you snorted.

“You’ve always been a huge part of the Jesus fandom,” you called out, grimacing when you heard the librarian hiss a ‘Quiet!’ at you again.

“Have fun, James. I’ll catch you later.” You shoved your hands further into your pockets, turning around and jogging out before he could get another word in.

_____________

You didn’t expect the goth version of Sabrina the Teenage Witch at the entrance of your building that evening, sporting a look of disdain with a hint of boredom, gracefully covered up with a smile. He was dressed to the nines in all black, which matched his dark hair and starkly contrasted his fair, almost too pale skin.

“You’re Y/N, I presume?” you could hear the remnants of an accent that wasn’t common to your area. He sounded tired but it looked like he was making an effort, so you weren’t completely put off.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Loki, right?”

“That’s me. Did James tell you where we’re going tonight?”

“Bucky doesn’t take the effort to tell me anything useful, so I’m pretty uninformed.” You followed him as he walked towards the gate of the compound, his fingers toying with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“That’s weird because I swear he asked me for everything ranging from my birth certificate to my social security number. He wouldn’t even give me your dorm address without it,” he said drily, his smile actually making him look really nice.

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah, so there’s that carnival or a fair or something that’s come up. I figured we could go check it out.” He gestured to his car.

“Sounds fun.” You offered him a helpful smile, accepting his invitation without much hesitation. Maybe a distraction was exactly what you needed.

_____________

The whole fair was illuminated with lights from the different stalls and you could smell the calories in the air as kids ran around with cotton candy and popcorn and funnel cakes. The ratting of the roller coaster tracks and peals of laughter subconsciously made your heart lift and a grin settled on your face.

“What do you want to do first?” you asked loudly, trying to speak over the crowd.

“I don’t know. It’s so noisy. I wish everyone would just shut up.” He scrunched up his nose in disdain, leaving you to stare at him.

“How about grabbing something to eat first? I’m starving,” you suggested, earning a nod from him as you both made your way down to where most of the food stalls were.

Churros, funnel cake, caramel apples, popcorn and just about everything deep fried was put on display and it smelled pretty fucking great.

“D’you want to try out the hypertension or diabetes on a stick?” you laughed, eyeing everything separately.

“Uh—“ he paused, flinching. “I think I’m good.”

“Not even cotton candy?”

“Definitely not.” He shook his head, eyebrows crinkled in disgust.

“Well, okay, man.” You shrugged, not letting his preferences stop you from going ahead and buying the first thing that caught your eye and had your mouth watering.

He followed you silently through the entire process, only passing an occasional comment on how greasy it was or how unhealthy it was. You took it as a personal challenge to count how many times he nearly gagged.

“Rides or stalls?” You could already predict the kind of night you were in for and at this point you were too tired to not have fun with it.

“Rides, I suppose. We’re too old for the stalls.” He clicked his tongue, putting his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans, staring disapprovingly at you.

“Oh, you are so right. Papa forbade me from playing games lest I fall victim to pride and immaturity. So pleased that throwing balls into holes is age restricted.” You threw some more popcorn into your mouth, feeling his stare burn into your face as you looked at him without any emotion.

“Didn’t you grow out of them after you turned, I don’t know, fifteen? How old are you?”

“You’re absolutely correct. We should hit the rides soon. I may not last fifteen minutes more. I’m practically decomposing as we speak.” You grinned at him making your way to the roller coaster, leaving him to match your pace.

“Roller coasters?” He called after you, rushing to catch up.

“Yes. Do you not like them?”

If this somehow greasier Tommy Wiseau said anything worse, you swore you literally would tear-

“I just think they’re too jumpy. And erratic. And noisy.”

You spun around wildly to face him, mouth dropping open. “What exactly did you expect from a fair, Lucky?”

“Loki.”

“Gesundheit. Have you ever been to a fair before or-“

You were just about to launch into a large rant when someone’s grip on your shoulder cut you off.

“Mario? What are you doing here?” The all-too-familiar voice made you instantly calm down as your best friend’s brother, your lord and savior, stepped near one of the most annoying people you could have met.

Which would be met with a more enthusiastic response had it not been for the presence of a girl with the most curly red hair accompanying him. She had her arm around his waist whilst his was secured around her shoulders and you immediately felt your words die down in your throat.

“Ah, James. We were just on our date.” He narrowed his eyes at you and you rolled yours at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Hey, man. I thought you were taking her to that restaurant down the road?” he questioned as the girl with him sent you a smile. Of course she’d have dimples.

“Thor told me this would better fit her,” Loki replied wearily.

“Wait a minute- you know Thor?”

“Know him?” Loki scoffed. “He’s my brother.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Given, we’re adopted siblings but I have to put up with his nonsense regardless.”

“Oh my fucking God, you’re the bitchy drama goth brother Thor talks about.”

“Bitchy drama goth— you’re lucky you got set up with me and not our sister.”

“I guess this date went super well?” Bucky piped up before you both clawed each other’s throats out.

“Simply wonderful.”

“Great.” He smiled awkwardly, before seemingly remembering who he had with him. “Oh shits, yeah—this is Dolores. Dot. Doll. I don’t know-“

“Dot is fine.” She smiled again, extending her hand in a shake. She had a flower tucked into her ear, matching the colour of her long skirt. Of course she did.

“This is Y/N, my sister’s best friend and that’s Loki,” Bucky introduced live-action Merida to you, as she gracefully replied with a small nod.

“You guys done?” Dot asked, switching her gaze between Loki and you.

“Yup, just finished. Loki was about to drop me off at my place. How about you?” You ignored your date altogether, instead focusing on how relaxed Bucky looked, none of his usual creases to be seen on his face. You liked it.

“I think we’ll hang around for a bit more. What do you say?” She looked up at him and Bucky nodded, a soft smile taking over his face.

“Sounds good to me. Text me when you get home, okay?” he reminded you, suddenly meeting your gaze. Your eyebrows furrowed at the intensity with which he was looking at you, but you gave him a thumbs up, agreeing.

“See ya tomorrow, Mario. Get home safe, please?” He waved one more time, as did Dolores, before they both made their way into the crowd, but not before Bucky threw you one more glance over his shoulder.

“Are you this hostile with every person your friends date or only James?” Loki sniggered from besides you, earning a sharp glare.

“One more word from you Severus and I will buy the oiliest piece of funnel cake and shove it down your throat.

But his words didn’t go over your head. You knew exactly what he was talking about and apparently it was so glaringly obvious that even others could see it.

Yikes.

Part 7

[mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank]

@70srogertaylor tagged me! thank you!!

rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 people

A- age: 🤫🤫

B- birthplace: tennessee babyyy

C- current time: it’s 10:39 pm as i type this;)

D- drink you last had: dr pepper oops

E- easiest person to talk to: my best friend madeleine, @alpacasdancing, and @bilbobagginsbicycle

F- favorite song: in the lap of the gods, liar, or shotgun by george ezra. i can’t choose one!

G- grossest memory: nasty ex who’s favorite hobby was kissing other people then managing to make me feel like it was my fault

H- horror yes or horror no: horror NO. i don’t do scary movies and i never will.

I- in love: with roger taylor’s falsetto😩

J- jealous of people: i get jealous vv easy but don’t say anything about and just let it stew until i explode

L- love at first sight or should i walk again: love at first sight is not a thing. you have to truly know someone to love them.

M- middle name: elise!

N- number of siblings: i have one brother. he’s pretty great.

O- one wish: that we can stop fucking ruining our planet;)

P- person you last called: my friend madeleine but it was just to show her my ringtone. it’s radio ga ga.

Q- question you’re always asked: none? other than i get asked how tall i am kinda a lot bc i’m Smol

R- reading anything right now: To Kill A Mockingbird!

S- sing you last sang: sail away sweet sister! a good one.

T- time you woke up: around ten

U- underwear color: hm. i’ll leave it at that.

V- vacation destination: i’d like to travel around europe

W- when was the last time you laughed: a few minutes ago at a funny video

X- x-ray: ??i’m confusion

Y- your favorite food: literally any pasta

Z- zodiac sign: cancer!

tags: @alpacasdancing @bilbobagginsbicycle @fatbottomedgwil @haikyuumanga @jovialpeanut and anyone else who wants to:)

[michaelskinkyshit]

https://www.reddit.com/r/BDSMcommunity/comments/4vsqxz/extreme_dirty_talking_and_you_a_guide_v30/

One day...

It struck me just how much I enjoyed talking dirty. It wasn't enough to just describe what I was going to do, or listen to how great I was, I wanted things to get extraordinarily nasty. Honestly, subs who can please me on this front have been few and far between and I believe it is the responsibility of the top/dominant/sir/ma'am/domme/daddy/mommy/master/whatever to educate and train (at appropriate times).

For this 'lesson' I'm going to use a less dominant voice; I’ll write so that if you don't like my kind of dirty talk, the advice given will still be applicable, as well as applicable to both top and bottom roles.

From previous partners (both vanilla and kinky) I've enjoyed hearing about everything from random thoughts ('There was a cute guy on the train to work today and I wanted to lift my skirt up and tell him he should use my ass in front of everyone') to deeper desires that we would never do ( 'I'm so nasty I want you to watch dogs use me.' (for the record, I'm not into zoophilia, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find that previous statement hot as hell). I love hearing about how my partner has had X sexual partners, and how I'm number Y, and she enjoys me the best. The best dirty talkers find a way to spin their words so they aren’t lying and can still justify saying ‘you’re the best, my favorite’ et cetera.

When it comes to dirty talk: don't restrict yourself or second guess what is valid; sharing is caring, experience is the greatest teacher, knowledge is power.

But, why dirty talk?

If I boil it down it goes like this: two parts. Part one: this kind of dirty talk serves the ego. And it does it in two ways. First, it lets me know what an amazing Dominant I am. Second, you saying these things is 'slutty' and 'dirty.' Now, not only am I an amazing Dominant, but this slutty girl (slutty implies high-experience and demanding libido, things that other males value) not only wants/desires/needs me, but chose (choice being sexier than force or coercion) me to be her Dominant.

Second: it clarifies things. If we’re playing that means I trust you, the words coming out of your mouth give me information that I accept and boom, I know more about you, furthering the connection, and my arousal.

Also, people are perverts, and so when perverts find each other it should be a celebration! Share, share, share. It lets us perverts know we aren’t alone in the world. When you confess to anyone that you have similar thoughts about fucking those random people you see, or that watching Star Trek gave you an idea for an amazing porno, it turns people on! Things like that bring us together through common ground, that we can then fuck on. On top of not feeling alone, mutual understanding is incredibly erotic, as I somewhat mentioned before.

Now my brand of dirty talk is all about degrading and humiliating my bottom, not in the sense of making her dumber or embarrassed, but in the name of legitimizing her alleged 'slut nature.' My goal is to take that allegation and turn it into a fact, a reality, that we can prance and frolic around until there are no more bodily fluids left. Think of dirty talk as a verbal certificate of proof.

We’ve covered my personal interest, and my ideas of general interest. Now we come to the actual how to section of this guide. It’s broken up into two parts. The first are the four rules, start with number 1 and once you feel you’ve mastered and taken all you can from it, work your way down the list.

Rule No. 1: Say Anything

We all have to start somewhere whether it’s ‘that feels good,’ ‘fuck me,’ or ‘use this filthy fuck slut!’ you’ve gotta have a base of what to say. Think about this, write things down you can say, find porn where there is a lot of dirty talk (I’d recommend stuff with Jenna Haze if you’re a girl, and for a guy... James Dean is pretty good) and copy them.

Now that you have this: practice! My favorite time is either when I’m masturbating, in the shower, or masturbating in the shower. Any thoughts of ‘I’m an idiot talking to myself’ that come up, ignore them. Focus on your end result, your goal: you want to be better at talking dirty, this is how you do it. Who cares how you get it? Just get it.

Another train of thought to follow is Dan Savage's gonna do, doing, did.

1) Say what you're gonna do (I'm gonna fuck you!) 2) Say what you're doing (I'm fucking you so hard!) 3) Say what you did (I fucked you so hard!)

Rule No. 2: Repeat

Now that you have some ground work (or maybe you are working off your partner who already has) it’s time to make things stupid-easy. Just repeat the premise of whatever they said. Do this until you feel you’ve mastered it, but it will seriously help you up your game, as well as not have to devote a ton of mind power to constantly being fresh which is hard for beginners.

An example for subs

I say to my sub: 'Are you a stupid fucking slut?'

her answer:

'I'm a stupid fucking slut.'

If you’re a dom and your sub says:

‘I love fucking your cock, sir.’

You respond:

‘I know you love fucking my cock, slut.’

For dominants repeating, I’d recommend providing whatever variation you can on it, at the end of the day, you do you.

Rule No. 3: Escalate

You’ve got a base, you have repetition in your tool box so you can use that when you need to. Now it’s time for escalation. You want dirty talk to go to eleven. This is hopefully as easy as the repetition, and can be combined as well. Using the example from repetition, I say to my sub:

'Are you a stupid fucking slut?'

her response:

'I'm the stupidest, dirtiest slut you've fucked.'

Escalation doesn't have to be exact. Now, the dom example:

I love fucking your cock, sir’

The dom’s response

You live to fuck my cock, slut, you need it every day!’

Rule No. 4: Variation

Try not to, though we all have favorites, repeat too much. Don't use a word or phrase over and over and over and... well, you get it. Variety is the spice of life and also the spice of extreme dirty talk. That said, we have favorites. For me it’s the title slut, and the modifier little. Switching things up, weaving in and out, creates a symphony. I don’t think many people want to hear the same key on a piano played over and over.

Rule No. 5: Creativity

By now you've gotten into the swing of things and no longer need your partner to guide you or give you something to repeat.

Time to get creative, step outside your box (vagina joke) and see what you come up with. Go back to those pornos or sit down with your partner. Real talk: you're probably going to spit some shit that sounds pretty crazy, but honestly sometimes that's the best shit to spit. The whole dog thing is pretty extreme--and was shocking--but I totally dug it.

Creative wise, or even just building basic dirty talk, you'll want to start with these categories.

Confess:

Revealing a secret, whether it be one from the past, or present. Or just making a blanket statement is cool too.

Sub Example:

See the whole guy-on-the-train example from earlier as a confession, or this basic statement: 'This stupid slut needs your cum in her filthy holes.'

Dom example:

‘I’ve wanted to use you all day, little slut.’

It’s a simple statement, but you’re still confessing something. Confessions don’t have to be big or grandiose.

Request:

Beg, plead, desperately (or confidently) request something.

Sub Example:

'Please, please, please, I need your dick in me. I don't care which hole, just use me like the filthy dumb cum dump I am.'

Dom Example:

‘Now, will you please get on your knees like a good girl, bend over and show me those fuck holes.’

Demand:

The opposite of requesting, but equally as exciting.

Sub Example:

'You better fuck me like the nasty whore I am.'

Dom Example:

‘Take my cock down your throat right now, slut!’

Compliment:

Who don't love themselves some compliment?

Sub Example:

'I fucked all the guys at school but I like you the best.'

Dom Example:

‘You have such a perfect little ass, and I love the way it serves me.’

Worship:

This is, to an extent, just an extreme version of compliment. Worship is defined as:

the feeling or expression of reverence and adoration for a deity

Try and take that on when you worship, appreciate that person as a goddess/god.

Reluctance:

Something I recently discovered and really turns me on.

Sub Example:

'please don’t tell anyone what a slut I am.’ ‘Why is this making me so wet?’

Dom Example:

‘I shouldn’t be fucking you, but you’re such a slut...’

They meld a bit with requests, confessions, et cetera, but that’s okay. Combine and see what you get. (Credit to u/01291987 for sub examples)

Resistance

This can be sarcasm, or playful banter, or flat out resistance as a means of escalation. I personally don't enjoy this in my dirty talk, but if you enjoy playing with or as a brat, this is a major piece.

One thing I enjoy in my dirty talk is having my sub speak from the third person. 'This slut, your fuck-toy, cock-toy, she, her, it.' Sometimes she'll use her title: 'Slut wants to have sex. Will you please give cum-pig your cock?' But, even if it's 'Mmm, Jane is such a nasty cock toy' I still go crazy. This is due to objectification, which I find to be a huge turn on. Doing this all the time can be a bit old, but 50 to 70 percent of the time, that seems to be the golden ratio.

Never take action out of fear, and never avoid taking action out of fear. Brain storm with friends, use word games. Creativity is kind of strange in that it can come at strange times. Don't judge yourself for being weird. Jump in, or take baby steps, whatever works for you.

And like everything in life, if you want to get better at something: practice.

All the best!

Edited for formatting, added Dan Savage's sage advice, spelling cause grammar hard...

[movedto-dazaipositive]

urban fantasy + jackparse

big thanks to @taggianto and @restfulinsomniac because they yelled at me when I asked them to I couldn’t have done it without you 💙 🌌brought to you by the parseposse 🌌

Bob was human before Alicia turned him

but she turned Bob only after Jack was conceived

so Jack is a halfie from the start

and in their real forms, vampires are unnerving. they have waxy, bloodless skin and sunken eyes but in artificial light they’re sparkling_heart

and Jack gets all his mom’s good looks and his dad’s love for hockey

but they know that putting him in hockey is unfair because humans just can’t compete

he never grows up with hockey as a burden on his shoulders. he’s allowed to be a geeky, chubby history nerd who loves taking photos of random stuff

Jack goes to samwell

the Samwell campus (since I can’t remember canon right now) is next to/in a lil town

right? and Kent is just this lonely sixteen y/o boy who has a little magic and he can talk to ghosts

and in Jack’s first year, this girl on campus and her boyfriend are found dead in the woods behind the Haus

and then weird shit starts going down near the Haus and their Captain, who is superstitious as fuck even by hockey player standards, is like. nope. we gotta do an exorcism

and he puts Shitty and Jack on the task because the frogs gotta be good for something, right? and so they ask around and someone gives them the game of someone who tells them about Kent

Kent lives alone. he got kicked out when he was 13 bc his dad was like, no fucking devils in my house. Kent finds this dilapidated cottage just a little bit into the woods on the other side and the ghosts there are friendly and kind and give him instructions on how to cook and which herbs to pick at what time for witchcraft and which herbs the florist will buy

and Kent survives and occasionally someone will ask him to do an exorcism and Kent will charge them to talk to some poor confused ghost who doesn’t know what’s going on

which is what Jack and shitty ask him to do, or so he thinks, so he shrugs and agrees. and I want it to keep in mind that this is Jack without hockey. he’s a slightly chubby, awkward history nerd who takes a camera everywhere and happens to be half-vampire by complete accident

he’s like, the last person you’d expect to have vampire parents

he’s adorable, okay? Kent can’t deal with this stupidly beautiful soft boy. he just can’t. he reacts in typical Kent fashion by being a jackass to Jack (ha!) who’s like ?? about it

(Kent is going to melt the first time Jack hugs him)

Kent is so going to melt, though. he’s been alone with nothing but ghosts for regular company since he was 13 and Jack is large and warm and he smells like maple syrup and almonds and he’s always wearing dorky sweaters and he’s got a slow, wonderfully calming heartbeat. Kent doesn’t stand a fucking chance

I think Jack doesn’t even need to be a vampire for this fic to work he just needs to not play hockey

anyway. Kent goes with Jack and Shitty to the woods behind the Haus and they a have a campout for 2 days where they toast marshmallows and wait for the ghosts to show up

Kent hears someone crying on the second night after Jack and shitty are asleep. he goes to investigate, like the entire dumbass that he is. who goes it turn out to be? the girl who was killed, ofc. and she’s all bloody and horrifying and shit and I won’t go into details bc I have to sleep in 15 minutes but she scary

but Kent is like, np. hey, can I help you out? what happened? starts talking to her in a normal person voice until she calms down somewhat. and she’s just getting somewhere when shitty pops up behind Kent with a really loud leaf cronch sound and the girl starts screaming again

Kent is like, good job, asshole. and they aren’t getting anywhere with the girl so they just go back to their tents, where Jack is taking photos of the fire and looking Hot As Fuck (ha!) and Kent is extremely flustered bc he is a smol teenagered boy. and they all go to bed.

Kent wakes up just before dawn, yelling. his nightmare is bad enough that he nearly strangles himself trying to get the fuck away from whatever it was and Jack and shitty don’t get what’s going on but Kent is terrified and won’t stop crying so they take him back to the Haus, where Drew, their manager, makes waffles for everyone but especially Kent

who is by this time wearing one of jack’s sweaters and also has their softest blanket draped over him like a cape

(interlude because I fell asleep)

so where I left off, Kent is sitting at the table, eating waffles courtesy of Drew, the SMH’s genderfluid manager and Lardo’s predecessor

Jack is hovering nervously bc Kent has been crying for half the night and vomiting for a quarter of it

but Kent insists he’s okay now, and Jack is hovering because he’s! worried! Kent is tiny and Jack doesn’t want anything to happen to him

Kent, between shoveling waffles into his mouth bc he’s only had them once before in his life, tells them briefly how the girl died

and the way she died is like, gruesome. it’s this horrible thing involving a high school cult and this girl was a witch with real power that got trapped in this thing and they tried to kill her but it didn’t work and it’s bad. let’s not go into too many details about it

and she told her boyfriend, who was a lax bro, and he was like, I’m gonna beat these people up, except there was a demon stuck somewhere that these stupid cultists set free and it killed her and her boyfriend

bad, long drawn out deaths

and once Kent is done eating waffles–which takes a while, because he eats a lot–he slams his fork down and says, grimly, “I’m going to kill them.” and Jack goes ummm? no? ur 16 u r a child?

they fight. loudly. there’s a lot of Jack yelling you are a child and Kent screaming, I’m the only one who can do this

Kent does not like Shouting he has a lot of bad memories of it.

shitty, walking in: we can,,,,,,all go,,,

Jack:

Kent:

and drew is like, the hell you guys are leaving me behind. I’m the only adult in this room and y'all all are kids

restful: (drew has adopted three children? somehow?? but they are all drew’s children and drew loves them)

restful: (one of them lives in the woods and needs more waffles in his life, another goes by the name ‘shitty’, and the third hangs around with the hockey team despite not playing hockey but they are all drew’s kids)

me: (the lax bro feud starts in jack’s sophomore year and it is 100% Drew’s fault. drew didn’t have to humiliate the entire team because zey were bored)

Drew uses zey/zer/zers

drew is a messy edgelord parent

so Kent and shitty and Jack and drew all go on an Investigation

(I feel like this fic should be written like an Enid Blyton novel)

so they around and ask people weird questions until Kent sees someone who has magic. people who have magic (and other supernaturals) show up in Kent’s vision with weird coloured auras.

and they go up to this dude, a Muslim guy in his third year who recognises drew, and this guy is like, yeah totally. I know about that cult of fucking weirdos that followed Allison around. I helped her get a restraining order on them

so they go track down the restraining order. the cop they meet first is this nasty cishet dude who refuses point blank to use Drew’s pronouns, casually calls Kent a slur, and won’t look at Ahmed and sideyes shitty suspiciously. this is where jack’s occasional vampire charm helps (or maybe it’s because Jack looks like a Fellow CisHet) and the cop agrees to dig up the file

Jack is not a Fellow CisHet and is very uncomfortable at being mistaken as such but he plays along because he Must

and everyone acknowledges the brave sacrifice that he’s making

restful: Jack, staring longingly at Kent’s every move. “Uh, yeah. Het. I can pretend to be that.”

me: [about Jack] me? heterosexual? yeah, uh, totally. I’m not. gay. or bisexual. *staring at Ahmed’s ass in those jeans * I’m Straight

Kent, also staring at Ahmed’s ass: I’m not

drew: you’re all dead to me except Ahmed, who can have my number whenever he wants

restful: Ahmed, wide-eyed and trying to decide which of them to stare at. “all of you can have my number, please use it.”

Ahmed: except you, Kenny. also, does anyone know to file for adoption?

the head of the (I had to google this) precinct is a butch Native American woman who shows up to ask them why they want records.

Captain: can someone explain?

Drew: please take me I’m gay

Kent explains the situation to her and she’s like, yeah totally. u can have the records. Allison’s restraining order was before i transferred here but totally

so they go thru the records and find the names of the people Allison restrained. and then they go track down those people

drew gets the captain’s number 'just in case we need some help’ but we all know zer True Motives

(Ahmed and Drew are gonna get together and work out a relationship where Drew gets to have as much sex as zey like and Ahmed gets to remain faithful to zer which is ideal for both of them, partly because Ahmed is just a lil grey ace? he’s uncomfortable calling himself that but he doesn’t like sex nearly as much as Drew does)

anyway, they have a showdown where Ahmed shows off his karate moves and Drew splits zer time between fighting (badly, needs to be rescued) and 😍@ahmed

drew is such a bad fighter because zer entire technique is to flail and screme

Ahmed loves his idiot person, okay? he’s made his peace with it

Kent meanwhile tries to exorcise a demon and he has no fucking clue what’s going on

or what he’s doing. but he cuts a deal with the demon that amounts to 'you can have the cultists but plz go from here, begone etc’. demon is okay with this, partly because Jack is being a threatening bloodsucker in the background and this demon isn’t that strong–demon boi might win. but he might not. boy ain’t chancing it

Jack and Kent become awkward friends who meet for dinner every week and they go trekking in the woods and pine horribly over each other. it’s gross. Kent is still living alone in a cottage in the woods and he still needs to be hugged about 6 times more than he is right now

but on the plus side, he has friends now! Jack and Drew and Ahmed (who’s teaching Kent magic !!) and *looks at smudged writing on hand * Skittles

and the entire hockey team.

and the Captain, who takes one look at this idiot boy and invites him home and feeds him and does it regularly enough that Kent is living there before he knows it

Kent goes back to school. he s t r u g g l e s to get grades good enough to get into samwell next year (he hasn’t been to school in 4 years ok) but he has Jack to help him study!

Jack kisses him at graduation

it’s just a quick little omg you made it kiss but Kent is! so happy! he feels like he’s bursting with it

he has everything he wants, he’s loved and hugged, he has a little kitten who’s his familiar, and even if he doesn’t get into Samwell he’ll still finds have magic and community college and he wants to become a teacher

the end

[sweetnestor]

odlt extra #2 | a plethora of difficulties

March 2018, aka the night of ethan’s drunk stream. drink responsibly kiddos.

PREVIOUS FICS (u should read these if ur new here)(srsly this is ethan x oc)

The magic number for this month was nine. I was one week away from being exactly nine months sober. I was proud, and I had also run out of people to give my chips to. The last person to receive a chip from me was Amy, and that was two months ago.

Anyway, every anniversary I always end up reflecting on my progress. Yes, I quit drinking. That meant I had to find other ways to cope with my never ending, always frustrating social anxiety. That was a particularly hard thing to deal with, and it was really annoying.

Drinking excessively? Over it. Suicide attempt? Like it never even happened. Depressive episode who? Don’t know her. Social anxiety? Yeah, she’s a BITCH.

I was trying, though, and Ethan told me that trying always counts.

I’ve managed to be around my close circle of friends (Mark, Amy, Tyler, Kathryn, and Jack when he was in the country) without feeling the deadly temptation. I was comfortable around them because they’ve witnessed my bad moments with alcohol… and my bad moments in general. If I ever was feeling triggered, I had my ways to combat it.

One thing I have found useful and productive in my sober time was my unconditional and insatiable need to mother the shit out of my boyfriend when he couldn’t do it himself. Over time, I had become the permanent designated driver for not just Ethan, but also his friends outside the team. It helped all of them save Uber money, and it eased my mind knowing that they all got home safely. It also helped me get comfortable around the friends I didn’t know as well, so then maybe I could actually be out and about with them in the future. Yeah, Ethan threw up in the passenger seat one time, but at least it was in the safety of my car. And yes, it was a bitch to clean up. And no, the friends that witnessed that moment have not let him live it down.

Aside from blowing chunks in inconvenient spaces, the times when Ethan would drink a little too much were tricky to deal with. When I would get him inside his apartment, he wouldn’t make it to his room. He would settle for the couch and insist on taking me with him. He was also very handsy and always wanted to kiss me, despite the liquor breath. Once I made it clear I wasn’t interested, he would back off and fall asleep.

Tonight was a little different. I headed over to Ethan’s apartment after working at the office like I normally would. He was walking out of his recording room as I entered the apartment. It took a second for me to notice his droopy eyes and dopey grin. And then I saw the bottle of Jack in his hand. Oh.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked as I closed the front door behind me.

Ethan looked up and smiled wide. “Bella!” He opened his arms and walked towards me.

He was a cuddly drunk too. Can’t complain about that.

“Me and Brian just recorded some videos,” he told me as he pressed my head against his chest. “Mm, I missed you.”

I giggled as I pulled out of his grasp. I looked up at him, trying to determine just how intoxicated he was. “So how much have you had?”

He chuckled and held up a finger, like he had some big, rousing story as to how he got in this situation. “Listen… when you watch the videos, you will understand.” He spoke slowly and fumbled on his speech.

“How much?” I asked again.

“Ten - No, twelve shots,” he replied. “Twelve, I think.”

I hid my shocked expression well. “I see. And what are you gonna do now?”

“I’m gonna go pee. And I’m taking this with me.” He held up the bottle. “‘Cause you’re not allowed…”

And he strode off into the bathroom.

It’s one thing to drop him off at his friend’s house or at a bar. It was easy for me to have that distance and do my own thing. Now I was torn between going home and staying to take care of him. I should go home because I still get triggered by alcohol and being around drunk people. But I should stay because Ethan was hammered and he was alone in his own apartment. Who else was going to take care of him?

I took a deep breath and marched over to the fridge. As soon as I opened it, all I saw was beer and expensive whiskey. But no, I was better than this. I’ve stayed in Ethan’s apartment many times, knowing there was alcohol in here. It took me a moment to reach for the orange Gatorade, but I did it. However, I did pretend it was tequila or vodka as I drank some of it. Just because you’re clean, don’t mean you don’t miss it.

Then I heard gagging and retching in the bathroom. It was quick and followed by the toilet flushing. Guess I can’t have Gatorade now.

Ethan stepped out of the bathroom like nothing happened. He walked over, still having a grin on his face.

“I’m gonna stream now,” he said casually.

I chuckled. “Okay, sure.”

“No, really. I already tweeted it.”

This was going to be harder than I thought. I checked my phone, and there was indeed a tweet linking to Ethan’s Twitch channel. Dammit.

“Are you sure, bubby?” I asked, trying to get on his sweet side. “You just got sick, don’t you wanna go to bed?”

Ethan took two clumsy steps towards me. He reached up and stroked my bottom lip with his thumb, evidently smearing my lipstick.

“You can wait for me in bed, baby,” he told me as he attempted to wink. “Keep your lipstick on. I like it.”

I would have laughed had it not been for the circumstances. Here I thought he listened to me better when he was intoxicated.

“Maybe you shouldn’t drunk stream,” I suggested, getting anxious as I wiped just below my mouth.

“But the community!” he whined. “I can’t disappoint them! I promised a drunk stream! It has to happen, Bella!”

I rolled my eyes, now getting impatient. “You’re gonna regret it tomorrow, but go off!”

Ethan’s face fell a little bit. “Don’t be mean to me… I’m just trying to have fun!”

“I’m not-” I stopped myself, realizing there was no point in arguing. “Okay, you made the decision. Have your fun! And take this too, you’re gonna need it.” I gave him the Gatorade.

Let him regret it in the morning.

“Okay, I’ll try to be quick.” He leaned in and kissed the top of my head. “I love you.”

“Love you,” I mumbled as I went over to the couch.

Of course I watched everything go down from my laptop. It was entertaining to say the least, but it also made my stomach feel heavy. Should I have tried harder to stop him?

I hesitated to mod the chat on Twitch, but I eventually signed on and made my presence known. First message I saw? “Bella, come get ya mans!” Honey, I fucking tried. I figured, as long as I don’t make it known that we’re in the same apartment, it shouldn’t be a problem, right? People don’t have to know that I let him get this messy, right?

“Oh, hi Bella,” Ethan said in the stream when he looked at the chat. “Everyone say hi to Bella!”

“Hiiiiii Bellaaaaa,” repeated his friends in exaggerated, flamboyant tones.

The first response I noticed in the chat was from Kathryn. And that was only because she texted me over the phone first.

“Should we be worried?”

On Twitch: “sup fam”

I responded in the chat first. “Hey queen.”

Over text: “He should be fine. If things get even messier then I’ll step in.”

Kathryn replied quickly. “Oh you’re there with him? You good fam?”

“lol yeah it’s all good. Keeping an eye on the boyf keeps me occupied.”

As the stream continued, Ethan took two more shots. He also drank the Gatorade I gave him, so he was attempting to stay hydrated. He was already really far gone, though.

“Brian, Brian… I love you,” Ethan slurred, clearly out of his mind.

“I’ll kill you!” Brian replied, causing everyone to laugh.

“Don’t let your girlfriend hear you say that, Earthan,” Joey added.

I snorted. My boring, sober ass couldn’t keep up anymore.

“Bella knows I love her,” Ethan told them. “I love her so much…”

“Here we fucking go,” I mumbled as I typed in the chat. “lol I could never come between you and the bagel.”

The chat went wild. Ethan missed it because he had accidentally called his mother. What I would have given to hear that conversation.

After that, things got weird. Ethan somehow logged himself out of the Discord chat with his friends. He was confused, and it showed on his drunk face. His eyes were also drooping enough for people in the chat to take notice. To top it all off, Ethan put his head down on what I assumed was the microphone, but it shifted and he practically went limp.

That was when I got up and went to the recording room. Ethan was pulling off his headphones and talking to Siri. He slowly turned towards me as I entered the room. He was so out of it.

“Is the stream over?” I asked quietly, not wanting to be overheard.

“Yeah, I ended it,” he replied softly. He moved to get up but suddenly paused. “Ugh, I don’t feel good.”

I quickly ran out of the room, grabbed the bin from the bathroom and returned. Ethan took it and held it in his lap, waiting.

While he puked up the alcohol, I went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found the Tylenol. As I went to the kitchen, I heard Ethan retching into the trash can. I got a glass of water and took it to the bedroom. I placed the glass and the painkillers on the bedside table, and then I pulled the blanket back on the bed for when Ethan wanted to lie down.

He came out of the recording room with the little trash bag tied up. He was wasted and he looked miserable. I gently took the bag from him.

“Brush your teeth and go lie down,” I told him.

“Yes, Miss,” he slurred back.

“And don’t be nasty,” I added before going to dump the trash.

As I went out to the dumpster, I mentally prepares myself. The end of the night could be good or bad, depending on how much Ethan drank. Tonight was already a bad night, I just had to get him to sleep soon. Remember when I said Ethan was handsy?

Okay, let me clear this up: I don’t mind having a cuddly drunk of a boyfriend. It’s actually really sweet. Most times, he just wants to be held as he falls asleep. That’s usually after a reasonable amount of alcohol. I wasn’t sure what to expect after 10+ shots. It also goes without saying that the alcohol breath was very difficult for me to deal with, which was why I didn’t like to kiss him in these circumstances.

I walked back into the apartment to only hear silence. I took a deep breath and went over to the bedroom. Ethan was lying on his side in the space I had made for him. His eyes were closed, so I carefully crawled in under the covers next to him.

He wasn’t asleep. As soon as I was on my back, Ethan scooted closer to me, wrapped his arm around my waist, and leaned in towards my mouth.

I quickly turned my head away from him. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Let me kiss you…”

“Only on the cheek.”

He did, and then he lied his head on my chest. I stroked his hair and rubbed his back, hoping he would fall asleep soon.

“I love you,” he mumbled against my shirt. “I love you so much… so fucking much…”

“I love you too, bubby,” I said. “Try to sleep, yeah?”

“M’kay…”

~

Ethan was the one who drank into oblivion, yet he still woke up before me. Granted, he was still in bed when I woke up, but he was sitting up with the TV on and playing a game. He was still in the same clothes he wore yesterday, minus the sweatpants.

I rolled into my side facing him. Ethan looked down and grinned.

“Hey Siri,” I mumbled sleepily.

He paused the game. “Goddammit, not you too…”

I chuckled. “Is it a meme now?”

“Yeah…” He sighed and lied down on his side too. “So… I kind of remember when you showed up. And I barely remember the stream.”

“Have you watched it back yet?”

Ethan nodded. “Yup. And then I took it down. It’s, uh, not my finest hour.” He rolled onto his front, hiding his face in the pillow.

“I mean, it was a fun stream!” I reassured as I rubbed his back.

He groaned and it was muffled by the pillow.

“It’s okay! It happens to all of us!”

Ethan picked his head up and sighed. “Never let me get that drunk again.”

I chuckled. “Well, I did try to talk you out of the stream. You usually listen when you’re drunk.”

“Did I try to make out with you again?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. You gave up when I said no and you passed out.”

“Well, thank you for looking out for me,” he said sincerely. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be. Oh, and I also got rid of the Jack Daniel’s, and I stashed away all the other alcohol. Just in case you were triggered or something.”

“I’m always triggered…” I admitted.

There was a pause. Ethan turned and lied on his back, resting an arm behind his head.

“You know you don’t always have to take care of me when I’m drunk,” he said after a while. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to stay.”

“It’s okay. I like taking care of you.”

“Well, I’ll try not to get so hammered next time. I’m never doing a drunk livestream ever again.”

[stevebabey]

you can have physics, but we've got chemistry — p.p

im here, im queer, im disappointing because i’m leaving to go skiing rip sorry about tags and all that i’ll fix it when i get wifi

(not my gif yo if you know who’s it is please hit me up so i can credit) 

You didn’t hate Peter Parker.

On the contrary, if you had once looked past your stubbornness on competing with him academically, you two could’ve bonded over Jurassic Park and your similar music tastes and overall, would’ve been probably great friends.

But, no. Instead, you had sworn some sort of grudge against him when your physics teacher announced they had a new top of the class - bumping you into second place, Peter was taking first place. You were pretty level headed most of the time but physics was your best subject – and you were the best at it. To say, you weren’t the happiest camper with your silver medal.

So, no. You didn’t hate Peter Parker but you certainly didn’t like him. At least till now.

“What’s up, airhead! Get beaten out by Parker again?”

A flick in the head was accompanied with a barked laugh by none other than Flash Thompson. He smirked as your disgruntled frown quickly morphed into a glare, and he saw the opportunity to clap his hand onto your books, sending them to scattered across the ground. Fucking perfect.

Today, it seemed, was just not your day for a number of reasons– broken alarm clocks and no breakfast made up your rushed morning. You didn’t even want think about the crushing amount of homework you had due. You already felt like curling up on your couch and crying. Well, more so than usual. 

You sighed heavily, too tired to hold your glare at Flash’s retreating figure—though the word asshole did come to mind, one of many nasty insults. Looking at your strewn books across the hallway floor, you sighed again as you swallowed the cold string in your chest. So many things were going wrong today you couldn’t help but feel the unwelcome sting of tears behind your eyes. 

Oh god, not now, you thought bitterly. God knows what rumour would be spread if the wrong person saw you crying. Blinking them away furiously, you dropped to your knees and started gathering your books and papers, swallowing hard. Fucking Eugene with his fucking big fucking head who thinks– your bitter thoughts were interrupted as to your surprise, someone was suddenly crouching beside you, helping you.

Peter Parker, who you were sure disliked you as much as you did him, was holding out your chemistry book.

“U-Uh, I k-know it’s not really my business but– you, um, y-you’re smart, you know that right? Flash doesn’t know what he’s talking about and I’m like 100% sure you’re smarter than me. S-So, don’t worry about that.”

You stared—not a single intelligible thought was going through you head other than how different Peter seemed all of sudden. Every rotten thought you’d had about him seemed so pointless (seriously, what had you been thinking?) as you stuttered, trying to spit out a thank you that was getting caught on your teeth.

Finally, you managed to move, taking the book from Peter’s outstretched hand with a nod and a small smile Peter had never really seen before. And with a weird but adorable smile of his own, he stood and left. You watched him go, not even noticing how his words lightened the heaviness in your chest.

It was the moment you realized, you didn’t hate Peter Parker. In fact, you quite liked him.

“I do not like Peter Parker.”

“Mmhm.”

You glared pointedly at Michelle, best friend and partner is crime, from your spot on the bed beside her. It was your Saturday night sleepover, which consisted of snacking to the max, discussion of what new books should be read and a cheesy movie—Michelle would always pick out the faults & problems in them whilst you threw popcorn at her and tried to enjoy it. Both of you thoroughly enjoyed it so it became a tradition.

But unfortunately for you, somehow your conversation on the storyline in Clueless—“Okay, but it’s weird that- I mean, they were step-siblings.” “Yeah, but 5 years ago!”—had turned to the topic of Peter Parker.

Michelle had definitely noticed the subtle changes within you. Firstly, you didn’t completely object to sitting with Ned and Peter at lunch, where there was usually always some resistance. And secondly, you had smiled at Peter today—that was a definite warning bell that something had changed. You didn’t even notice how much you had changed; you didn’t even think that your ‘friendly’ actions towards Peter would be due to a growing crush that would soon be out of control. Not like you knew that.

But all it took was some expertly picked questions—“So when did your crush on Peter begin?”—and soon, you were trying to hide a your blushing cheeks and thumping heart and Michelle already knew.

“Just admit it, y/n. You’re into him.”

“I am not.”

Arching a brow, Michelle sighed disbelievingly as she turned her full attention to her friend, ignoring the movie playing in the background. Staring hard at the bed spread, you fiddled with your fingers as you awaited her next comment that would likely kill your already failing argument.

“I’ve seen you looking at him in class.” She stated nonchalantly.

“I was glaring!”

“Looked like sexual tension.”

“MJ! O-Oh my go- no! I am not lusting after Peter Parker.” You spluttered out, obviously tripping over your words as your cheeks flamed at the very idea (I mean, the thought had crossed your mind but you’d never tell MJ that.)

Michelle smirked slightly, knowing just what the red in your face meant but let it linger in the air. She already knew you were crushing on him—that much was obvious. It was just a matter of whether she could get you to admit or not.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she smiled wider as you shifted, knowing you weren’t really succeeding in hiding your affections for the Parker boy. “Besides, you don’t glare at him anymore.”

You rolled your eyes in an attempt to look casual. “So, what if I don’t?”

“So, you like him.”

There was a moment of silence. MJ watched as you buried your face into a pillow in frustration, as it seemed there no was no real use in denying it any longer. 

You groaned into the pillow as you felt the heat creep up your neck again—why did you always get so flustered every time you thought about your crush? He was just a boy—a really cute boy with an adorable love for science and Star Wars with nice hair and sweet eyes and—you stopped your train of thought, blushing again at how carried away you got. You waited, your face still shoved in the pillow, for a few moments more before you retreated, a resigned sigh coming from your mouth.

“Okay, fine, yes—I’m crushing on Peter.”

Michelle smiled knowingly, not at all surprised as she threw a piece of popcorn into her mouth, turning back to the movie. You could see the smirk hidden in her face at her success of getting you to spill and you resisted the temptation to throw popcorn at her smug little face.

“Now, all you have to do is tell him.”

You laughed sarcastically at her words, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn to eat as you scoffed at the idea. “Yeah, that’s likely.”

Michelle turned her head back to you in a second, narrowing her eyes at your response. “No, okay? We’re not doing any of this pining shit that you love in all your books—you are going to tell him, because fuck leaving the first move to the guys.”

“It’s not about that, Michelle. Besides, he probably hates me for being such an asshole to him.”

“Flash Thompson is an asshole. You are not.” Michelle pointed out and you rolled your eyes, though couldn’t help but agree with the first of her statements.

“Fine, so he doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t like me either.”

“Oh no, he definitely does. All those time you were gazing at him with your sex eyes?”

You blushed deeply again, opening your mouth to deny it but thought the better of it. Michelle smiled at the notion, loving the fact she could tease you to her heart’s content now.

“He was looking at you whenever you looked away.”

It was almost dumb how your heart skipped a beat at her words, your mind tripping over thoughts as you pictured the scene. Man, you definitely couldn’t deny having a crush on Peter anymore—not that you’d really want to.

“I called it! I totally called it!”

It was Ned who was excitedly yelling in the crowded hallway of Midtown, you desperately trying to shush him as you shot a glare at MJ who did nothing to help. She even had the nerve to look amused.

“Leeds, so help me if you don’t shut up—“

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed, a grin slung across his face with excitement clearly visible. “I just totally called it. This is so exciting, I’ve seriously been rooting for you and Peter ever since he—“

Ned stopped talking abruptly as he realized he was about to spill a secret he wasn’t allowed to and you frowned, wanting him to desperately finish his sentence. “Ever since he what?”

Ned grinned, looking way too giddy for your liking, giggling at your frustrated expression. “Sorry y/n, that’s classified information.”

You wanted to press him for more but the bell sounded throughout the hallway, Ned looking pleased at its timing. You groaned in annoyance, but started down the hallways besides your friends, narrowing your eyes at Ned as you walked. “We may not be partners in Physics but don’t think I’m forgetting about this. I want answers, Leeds.”

You wish you’d never spoke.

At the words ‘partners’, Ned’s expression changed as he peeked around you to see if MJ had the same idea as him—a devious but brilliant idea. You glanced between your friends as your eyebrows furrowed, watching a silent exchanged as it ticked over in your head.

“Oh, no. No. Michelle, you can’t abandon me! I need your answers to keep up in class.”

Your trio had reached the classroom, slowing to a halt outside, but you feared entering it as you looking at your friends with pleading expressions—don’t do this to me, guys. MJ, however, only grinned, agreeing with Ned for probably the first time in her life.

“’Today, you can copy off Peter.”

“Who’s copying off me?”

You jumped a little, startled at the new voice that joined the conversation, turning quickly to see Peter, a backpack slung over his shoulder and curious expression on his face. Not now heart, you whispered internally as it picked up in pace at the sight of Peter and his messy curls.

“y/n is! She’s real stuck so she asked to sit with you today.”

You flushed, scowling at Ned and his lie but unable to stutter out your denial as the four of you entered the classroom, yourself, very reluctantly.

“W-What? y/n, as in, best in class, top of science y/n?” Peter glanced quickly at you for confirmation, a nervous expression on his face with a tint of a blush on his ears. Though you weren’t really sure why he was blushing—his nerves could be blamed to the fact you were cold to him throughout the majority of your relationship but blushing? Different thing.

You froze as your thoughts wound on, stutters clambering up your throat till all you could do is nod, an unwelcome blush settling on your cheeks.

You were going to kill Ned.

Following behind Peter, you quickly flipped off your two other friends as they both waved merrily—you had no idea how you were going to survive an hour next to Peter. Last week you had an extreme dislike for the boy so you’d never had a problem with how you acted around him.

But now. Now, you were overcome with dumb little butterflies and feelings and you were sure Peter would be surprised if you showed him even a smile. How were you going to last an hour?

Clearing your throat, you awkwardly perched on the science stool as you debated scooting in as far from Peter as you could or using this as a chance to get closer to him. Physics was usually more book work than practical which you couldn’t decide if that was good or bad—practicals meant talking and you really didn’t want the wrong thing to come out of your mouth. And the chances of that happening were highly likely with being so close to Peter—it was almost embarrassing how nervous you were to sit beside him.

On the other hand, bookwork meant the awkward elbow bumping plus watching an adorable Peter Parker with his pencil behind his ear and a messy scrawl of, probably correct, answers. The scratch of the chalk on the board told you the page to turn to and your fate it seems, would lie with bookwork. (You couldn’t lie, you were upset about not being able to see Peter nerd out up close but bookwork would suffice.)

“D-Did you really need help?”

Your head shot up and Peter gulped, waiting anxiously for your reply with an awkward smile–while you might’ve disliked him, it didn’t stop Peter’s heart from becoming a kickdrum whenever you were near.

It was the most heart aching thing to watch you sneer in his direction when all he wanted was a smile. MJ definitely wasn’t the only one to notice the change in attitude- and he was soaking up all your millisecond smiles like it was sun. He wouldn’t admit it to Ned, but the reason Peter was having the best week was all due to your small smiles and waves that he cherished far too much.

You hadn’t replied and Peter swallowed nervously again, stammering out more words. “I-I mean, it’s not all that tricky if you need help—n-not that I think you need help, I mean, you’re smart! Like r-really smart and I don’t think, uh, I’m…just gonna…stop.”

Restraining the urge to smile giddily at his adorable blushing face which he was hiding as he pretended to read his book, you were reminded of the quiet smiles that you shared in the hallway, not even a week ago. “Uh, yeah, help would be great.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he tried not to turn his head too quickly (couldn’t let you know how excited he was that you were talking to him). You paused for a moment, swallowing the knot in your throat as you pushed out the next words as least awkwardly as possible. “I—um, I never got to thank you for what happened. With Flash.”

Peter met your eyes for a moment, surprised at your soft tone of voice– nice y/n? Error, Peter doesn’t know how to function. So surprised, he opened his mouth and spat out the first words on the top of his head. “Why do you hate me?”

Pausing in your thoughts, you ignored how his disheartened face made your heart jump and tried to pick the words to explain. Why did you hate him again? He hadn’t ever done anything wrong, not to you at least. So what if he was the top in the class?

“I-I don’t know?”

“Was that a question or a statement?” Peter nervously laughed but the grin was uneasy.

“I mean, I guess the top spot was always easy to obtain? Nobody ever really tried to compete against me. Well, except for Susan Posper but we all knew she wasn’t smart enough.” Peter chuckled at your words, remembering how you had once slammed Susan Posper in debating during English- the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

“Then, you came along. And everything changed–now, I have to work extra hard and to be honest, I have been falling behind and I guess that is why Michelle thought that me needing help would be a good cover up.”

“Cover up? For what?” Peter inquired, his voice confused and you froze on your stool, a tiny panic exploding in your chest.

“O-Oh, um n-nothing. I need help. I obviously need help. That’s it. Nothing else.” You awkwardly stammered out.

“y/n? What’s wrong?” he asked, watching as you fiddled with your fingers in a nervous gesture before peering up at him through your lashes, searching for something. You took a deep breath and Peter prepared himself for the hey i actually hate you, this lab partnership isn’t going to work. “Peter, I–”

“–y/n y/ln. Since you’re so up to talking today, can you please come solve this equation on the board?”

With a deathly glare, Peter watched as you nodded and stood but not before furiously scribbling into the corner of their book before pushing the stool back and stalking to the front, glancing over you shoulder at Peter. Curiosity overpowering him, Peter’s eyes quickly skimmed over your scrawled message.

hi yes i have a crush on you peter

Nine words messily scribbled that made Peter’s heart clang around in his chest, his eyes shooting up to the board where you had just finished the question. You were waiting, holding your breath in anticipation.

Peter beamed. It was all you needed. He had questions of course, but right now everything was just giddy. He’d never felt more like a teenager, biting his lip as he shifted excitedly on his stool and you quickly took a seat next to him. Mirroring grins, this time the silence wasn’t awkward somehow as you both wondered what this meant for what would happen next.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You laughed at his fast reply, unsure what to do next. You glanced at Peter who seemed to be thinking the same thing, fiddling with his fingers but sending you a smile every couple of seconds as well as flicking his eyes down to the corner of your book where the message was- checking it was real.

Peter let out a tiny gasp of surprise when you reached across and took his hand in your own, gently holding it beneath the desk. With wide eyes, he leaned back and peered under the desk as if to actually check this was happening. Grinning stupidly, he then turned to look at you and you grinned back, squeezing his hand ever so slightly.

Somehow holding Peter Parker’s hand under the desk in science was slightly better than beating him in Physics. He could have top of class; you’d take holding his hand over that, any day.

tag list: @holywinchesterness @emiilysdesk @rnayparker@agentmalfoy24601 @the-masked-martyr @thequaksonclackson @palebun-16 @underoosie @marvelsdaughter @parkerroos @captainswriting @tomhollandisthicc @nedandpeter @lil-spidey @spideyboys @grant-valdes-holland @hufflepuffholland @ladybeewrites @focused-on-holland

[xgojou]

vena amoris | one

pairing: jungkook/reader

genre: fluff and v light angst (i’m not sure since the actual plot ain’t there yet)

warning: cursing

word count: 4477

summary: a soulmate au with idol!jungkook where everyone has a soulmate number embed on their wrist. when the person exchange their first words with their soulmate, their soulmate’s name would materialize on their left ring finger, written in gray that is similar to their own handwriting. and once they make skin contact with their soulmate, the gray script would turn darker, the name would be defined with jet black ink, and that’s when it makes the two soulmates certain that they’ve found each other. the real summary is: how would you reach out to the one and only jeon jungkook?

[11:32PM] Lisa: Y/N, gurl, are you up?

You blinked your newly awoken eyes rapidly, checking your phone for any notification. There was nothing in there except for Twitter, notifying you that your favorite boy group posted a picture, and another one, a message that came from your best friend, so you clicked that chat, yawning after reading the question. You weren’t in the mood to fangirl, your head was throbbing and you probably won’t feel all giddy about the status update so you just ignored it and swiped it away.

You went drinking with your squad on broad daylight around two o’clock in the afternoon, and Lisa was your wingman. There was an unspoken rule between the two of you that once the other is already intoxicated, they’ll have to take her home, even though they haven’t had their share of fun yet. So when ten shots of pure vodka had been laid out in front of you after a few minutes of preparing, you downed them all, not even hesitating and caring about its nasty taste or the way it burned your throat. After fifteen minutes, you felt your head spinning, body unconsciously dropping on the floor and all you could remember was that your squad was forming a circle around you dancing, as if you were some sort of campfire. Lisa took you home immediately when you passed out on the floor.

You did not want to stay in the bar for long, that’s why you took every drink laid out in front of you fast without even pausing for a chaser. It was two in the afternoon and all you wanted to do was stay at home and weep over the fact that you’re already nearing your mid-twenties and haven’t met your soulmate yet. People, including your family and friends, met their soulmates when they were around eighteen to twenty years old. So you knew that yours was really becoming more and more delayed as more time continue to pass by. It was a moving-on-party that they organized especially for you. You didn’t get what was it exactly that you’ll move on from, but you believe that they’re just trying to cheer you up, to indirectly say that you should just have fun and not get so sad and worked up over the fact that you’re still single. 

During the past few years of your life, you did not care about finding your soulmate. All you did was study, hang out with your family, happy thursdays with your friends and etc. Never did looking for your soulmate ever crossed your mind. In your teenage years, you were pretty concerned about it but as you turned eighteen, you didn’t mind it that much anymore, since you thought it would eventually come within two years. You had your fair share of flings, but they were all because you were feeling rebellious, all of those love affairs were petty and just for fun. And besides, that rebellious stage only lasted for a year. You still took the soulmate system serious, yes, keeping in mind that the person you’re having the moment with also has a soulmate.

When you turned twenty-three, you were starting to get anxious, troubled on why you haven’t met anyone with the same numbers as the ones on your wrist or why you haven’t felt any of the serious sparks they were talking about, or why nobody’s name has made its way to your ring finger yet. You’ve heard scary stories and seen some elders grow old alone, not having met their soulmate yet, only marrying and settling for the ones alike to them, the ones that haven’t met their own soulmates, too. You were afraid, what if you became like them? They were content, but not as happy as the ones that have met their other halves, the ones that filled their happiness to the brim. You certainly did not want to have a content, but loveless marriage. You were terrified, you did not want to feel that way, which is what you’re starting to feel as you get near your mid-twenties. You thought, that maybe in your next life it would be fine to not meet your soulmate, that this lifetime should be the best one, that maybe the you in the your next life would be able to accept such fate.

[12:04AM] You: i’m wide awake

Yup, you are indeed wide awake with an awful hangover. Shit, you thought, after realizing that your body clock just got ruined again. It was always like this during your holidays vacation. You go to your family to celebrate then after two days, go back to your own house, have your own party, go to other people’s party, go to the bar or the club with your friends, hike a mountain, or just stay in and watch dramas or your favorite boy group’s videos.

[12:04AM] You: wide awake wide awake no lie

[12:04AM] Lisa: LMFAO STOP THAT WE NEED TO DISCUSS SERIOUS MATTERS RIGHT NOW

[12:05AM] Lisa: You know you’re the one that got me in to bangtan, right?

[12:07AM] You: yeah? why?

You browse through your Twitter timeline lazily, it’s been drought for you lately since the boy group you’re stanning is still preparing for their comeback. All of the members have gone MIA, pictures of their shoes or their dogs or updates on how their preparation is going are the only ones they could ever tweet, worsening the thirst everyone’s been trying to satisfy.

[12:08AM] Lisa: And you know how crazy I became for them, right?

[12:08AM] You: yes? why? get to the point please

Your head felt stuffed, it was pounding and you were getting lazier to even type anything. You’ve always had a short temper whenever you have a headache, so everything could annoy you easily, especially when people are getting extremely chatty when you’re obviously not in the mood to talk.

[12:09AM] Lisa: Do you remember how much I cried when they announced two years ago that Jimin found his soulmate?

[12:10AM] You: oh shit yes? you were a mess when i got to your house hah smudged eye make-up, my god, you looked terrible

You and Lisa are both strong, down-to-earth and independent women, but both of you, at the same time, have always been soft towards your precious boy groups, especially to your biases.

[12:10AM] You: but that’s how you met ten, right?

[12:10AM] You: that if it weren’t for jimin’s announcement, you wouldn’t have met your chittaphon in the bar

[12:11AM] Lisa: LMAO YES. DAMN. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A HAPPY AND PEACEFUL DAY WITH MY GREAT MAKE UP. But anyway, It was a win-lose situation.

[12:11AM] You: yup hahahhaha

[12:11AM] You: cancelled plans are the worst fgagfjgjak ten ain’t that bad tho plus he’s pretty handsome

[12:11AM] Lisa: I KNOW GAL, I GOT LUCKY 

[12:11AM] You: yeah u bitch hah so what was it that you were trying to say?  

[12:12AM] Lisa: Go check the boys’ twitter account. ;) I’ll wait for you hysterically knocking at my door, bawling your eyes out

[12:12AM] You: well fuck?????? do you mean??? 

[12:12AM] You: ……………….!!!!????

You typed your reply frantically in just a matter of what felt like milliseconds, very overwhelmed and confused at what she’s saying.

[12:12AM] You: are you saying that the last man standing, my baBY BOY jeON JUNGKOOK FOUND HIS SOULMATE?

[12:13AM] Lisa: Not really hahahahaha but go see for yourself, hun.

You immediately went to their Twitter account, scrolling down very fast that you almost passed your sole reason of going there. You clicked on the tweet that BTS made a few hours ago, it was probably Jungkook since there’s a hashtag of his initials at the end of the tweet.

‘I’m looking for someone with the similar numbers. Please contact me immediately by sending a direct message if you have or know someone who has the same digits. #JK’ 

You let out a sigh, relief washing through your body. Jungkook haven’t found his soulmate yet, but is looking for it. You can’t blame him, though. He’s growing older like you, and needs to find the one that complements him immediately. And just like how the rest of your friends found theirs, his hyungs a.k.a the rest of BTS are all already happy with their soulmates, just waiting for the right time to get married, while him, Jungkook, he’s the only who haven’t even met his soulmate yet. Before checking out the actual picture, you scrolled, reading the responses of his fans. One asked, oppa, is that your own soulmate number?!?! and to which he replied, yes. it is. 

Jungkook doesn’t care about that forbidden word anymore. He doesn’t mind it when fans call him oppa, as most of his older fans have already found their soulmates. So basically, most of his fans now are the younger ones who haven’t met their other halves yet.

You stopped reading the reactions, and braced yourself for the upcoming emotional breakdown, scared that his numbers might be different from yours, knowing all too well that the possibility of you being his soulmate is just so small, with the number of people in this world.

As you clicked the picture with bated breath and took in every single digit that was embed with jet black ink on his milky white skin, you sat up straight so fast that your vision filled with dark patches.

Your head was throbbing, hangover at its finest now that Jungkook just revealed his soulmate number. And you can’t process what your mind was trying to tell you yet but when the realization that the numbers you just read are all too familiar, you felt your heart stop for a moment, every part of your body felt tingly and cold. You stood up on your feet and looked at your own wrist then back to your phone.

With wide eyes, you continued staring at every single digit that was embed on your own wrist then back at Jungkook’s through your phone. Still incredulous about it, you dropped both of your hands and dictated your own numbers that you’ve memorized after looking at it several times for years. Then, you brought your phone up to your face again, seeing the same numbers, checking one last time if you’re just seeing things or if you’ve at least one wrong number. If someone was watching you right now, they would probably think you’re some crazy wench who’s high on marijuana, eyes still slightly red and wide from just waking up and with shock while looking at their wrist and phone.

Your body dropped, knees suddenly feeling weak. While staring at the ceiling, you suddenly screamed to the top of your lungs, you rolled on your bed and explored every side of it, while squealing to your pillow. You suddenly feel like a teenage girl again, crushing on the cute boys that pass by you and your friend in the mall. You’ve never been this happy about your soulmate mark that appeared at age 9.

You stumbled as you ran down the stairs, almost falling down on your way to the living room. You threw all the cushions that were on the sofa on the floor, feeling adrenaline pump through your veins. Then you decided to go back, walking back up the stairs all the way to your bedroom, not feeling even a dot of tiredness on your knees. Your head is still throbbing, but you’re smiling widely and you can’t feel the pain anymore. You’ve finally lost your mind.

Jeon Jungkook is your soulmate.

 After doing your rounds of crazy shit, you thought you needed to tell somebody, and of course, that somebody just had to be your best friend that informed you about the great news. You would tell your family eventually, once you finally get Jungkook’s contact.

[12:30AM] You: holy fucking shit, lisa i can’t keep my calm

[12:31AM] Lisa: It’s okay, gurl. I know, you’ll get over it. Jungkook is an ass anyway. The nerve that he has to still look for a soulmate… ew just annoying, right? 

You were about to continue what you were going to say after getting a reply from Lisa, but three dots bouncing after the other beside her icon meant she’s still going to add something so you pushed aside your exciting news, questioning why she said such things, and waited for her to continue what she’s about to say, confusion clouding your mind.

[12:31AM] You: what do you mean? does he not have the right to look for his soulmate????

[12:32AM] Lisa: You know how I disliked him for being such a fuck boy, right? And that I never got your point on why you still liked him despite having a bad reputation, remember?

[12:32AM] Lisa: Like, you usually un-stan an idol who dates a girl despite knowing that they aren’t soulmates or articles about them sleeping around came out. But you never got yourself off Jungkook, no matter how many times he let you down..

[12:33AM] Lisa: He even did the two things I said, dated girls who aren’t his soulmate and slept around… The two things you hate so much lmao…. Hitting home run for you but you still remained????? 

You were left speechless and expressionless as you read Lisa’s message. She was right. You almost forgot the fact that Jungkook just gained the title of a fuckboy when all of his hyungs found their soulmates, and he was the only one left and haven’t even met his yet, when Taehyung found his other half a year ago, the youngest boy became a mess. Then that came the time he just decided to give up. It was like he didn’t care about fate or destiny anymore. Your situation was almost similar to Jungkook, but you were stronger. You didn’t sleep around with random boys, no matter how many tried initiating doing such things with you. You’ve been there done that, and you certainly did not want to go back to your rebellious stage, your self-control is more solid, and you’re way more sophisticated, mature, and calm now.

[12:34AM] You: oh fUCK YES I REMEMBER UGH HE STILL DOES THOSE THINGS OH MY GOD LISA IDK WHAT TO SAY SO I’M COMING OVER

[12:34AM] Lisa: I’ll prepare the tissues now, oh and should we head to the bar after your wailing?

You didn’t have the time to reply to Lisa as you walked to the bathroom, brushed your teeth, washed your face and then made a beeline to your car, not even bothering to change from your onesie pajamas.

You knocked loudly, banged on Lisa’s door as hard as you can, but it didn’t take long as it only took her at least 5 seconds to get to the door, as if she was just waiting near it the whole time; just like how you did when Jimin announced that he found his soulmate, finally revealing the numbers on his forearm, digits that didn’t match hers.

“Oh, why aren’t you crying?” Lisa said as her eyebrows quirked up, eyes widening a little with slight surprise that you aren’t a weeping mess. She closed the door when you pushed by her, not even waiting for her to let you inside.

You flopped on her couch, and started moving around frantically, holding a cushion up your face to suppress your eardrum cracking screams.

“Shh! Ten is just sleeping inside!” Lisa shushed you, not wanting to wake the boy up. “Anyway, how are you managing?” she chuckled as she flopped beside you. You eyed her from top to bottom, she was wearing an over-sized t-shirt. Yup, you thought. Ten is definitely here. If the latter was going to wake up, you’re bound to get third-wheeled again.

“Oh, you don’t know how well I’m coping with everything.” you said with a wide grin as you looked at her

“Have you gone crazy?” she said, smiling as she raised an eyebrow up, “And are you like… semi-high? One of your eyes are red.”

“Semi-high, seriously?” you shook your head, you would never smoke. “I got soap in my eyes earlier,”

“I figured.” she mumble with a shrug.

“And also, yes. I officially lost my mind, my dear friend.” you said as you turned your gaze to the ceiling, clenched your fingers, and placed both of your palms on top of your forehead

“It’s okay, dear. I know that feeling.” she said, tapping on your shoulder, “I used to not care, before. Like, it’s okay if I end up with any of the members.” she said, earning a laugh from you as you two high-fived. 

You agreed with every word she just said. “Seriously, girl, any of the seven handsome boys would do, even if it’s not our bias. Heck, if only we could end up with the seven of them, that’d be the greatest thing ever.” you replied, hitting her arms hysterically as you two laughed your asses out.

When the two of you finally calmed down, she continued, “But now? I think I don’t want that big ass baby anymore. I pity whoever Jungkook’s soulmate is. Seriously, he’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

“Yep. It’s gonna be hard to tame that horndog.” you said with a worried smile plastered on your face.

“You’ve definitely gone crazy, mate. I can’t believe you’re smiling right now, and you could even laugh. Just be glad that you won’t experience the hard time that Jungkook will give his soulmate.” Lisa said, she definitely has no idea that you meant what you said, that it really is you that will have to tame that wild ass boy.

Lisa grabbed the remote, turning the TV on as you stood up and went to the kitchen.

After a few minutes of checking every single drawer and cabinet in the kitchen, failing to find the thing you were looking for: milk, you decided to call Lisa’s attention.

“Lisa!”

“What?! Are you looking for something, Y/N?!” Lisa screamed, noticing that you’ve been there for a while now.

“Milk! Also, so much for waking up Ten, Lisa!” you screamed back at her.

“You’re slipping away from sanity again, dear! You’re always like this when you’re sad about your soulmate! And, Ten is kind of a heavy sleeper!” you chuckled at her response, she definitely knew you. You just can’t stay still when you’re overwhelmed with feelings, you keep walking around, and your mind was always flying elsewhere whenever you were crestfallen. “Also, the milk’s in the fridge, dumbass!” she screamed again, maybe she was really forgetting that Ten is actually just sleeping in the bedroom, no matter how much of a heavy sleeper he is, with the amount of loudness you two were making, Ten is definitely bound to wake up in the next few minutes.

You suddenly felt stupid as you opened the fridge, the place where milk would most likely be, and started pouring it in the tall glass you were holding.

“Oh my god! Y/N! Y/N! Come here! Hurry! Look at this! It’s Bangtan on the show! And it’s fucking live!” she yelled and you immediately slammed the fridge door close, ran back to the living room, and spilled a bit of precious milk on the floor in the process. “Their first appearance in three goddamned weeks.” you nodded at that, it felt like it’s been two years for you.

While drinking the cold milk, you and Lisa watched the variety show featuring BTS, your eyes automatically searching for your one and only soulmate, Jeon Jungkook.

“Recently, you surprised everyone by posting your soulmate number, despite having not met her yet, making some fans sad, disappointed that it’s not them, some are even faking it up with the help of make-up! What made you post your number, Jungkook?” the female host asked

“I’m just.. I’m just desperate to find her.” he said with a shrug, you looked at his eyes, hints of sadness evident in them.

You now know the reason on why you just can’t stop fangirling on Jungkook, no matter how much time passes, no matter how much your friends distract you, and no matter how much he disappoints you, you just never get tired of him, the excitement never grew faint compared to the past groups you’ve loved, you could just never forget about him. He was your soulmate, after all.

“Why now?” the male host questioned with squinted eyes.

“Well, as all of you know, I’ve had my own few flings,” he said and paused for a while, “But not a single one of them has ever made me feel the intense spark that my hyungs were talking about. Not a single one ever triggered the mark that’s supposed to be on my left ring finger.”

“Own few flings, my goddamned ass, Jeon Jungkook!” you said mockingly, emphasizing the word few as much as you can, earning a hysterical laughter from Lisa. The number of girls he went out with for the past year was no joke. The pictures of him kissing female celebrities or random girls that circulated around the internet were too real. And you certainly knew with your own judgement on what was photoshopped and what was not. Jungkook just had too much love affairs within the past year that you could say it certainly wasn’t just few. 

“Oh! The intense spark that you feel when you meet your soulmate! And the mark that assures you it is indeed them!” the other male host said, nodding while he looked at his fellow hosts, and the rest of Bangtan.

“Yes. That spark that develops into a crazy and big, but pleasant wildfire when you start interacting.” Taehyung said while smiling widely, the boy is indeed still new to all of the soulmate stuff.

“Taehyung is so adorable, oh dear lord!” Lisa said, as you both squealed at the same time, admiring the boy’s cuteness.

“So, yeah. I guess that’s pretty much it. I want to feel something more intense.” Jungkook said, looking down at his clasped hands, looking a little dejected. 

The discussion slowly flew somewhere else, from their daily lives, to how hard they’re preparing for their comeback, etc. and nothing connected to the topic you wanted to listen to the most right now: soulmates.

The show ended, and you found yourself falling for Jungkook all over again, even more so now that you’re aware that you’re the said boy’s soulmate.

“He should’ve just posted it back then, when they still weren’t that famous. He shouldn’t have covered it all this time. He would’ve found her easily without that many people meddling.” you said, with a low voice and wide eyes, the fact that you’ll have a hard time to actually reach out to Jungkook hitting you so suddenly, that you’re starting to panic.

“Yeah, well, they wouldn’t hit it big then. Some fans are just immature, you know? When they find out that they aren’t their soulmate, they’ll lose their shit and not stan them anymore.” she said. Lisa has a point. That was probably the reason why idols never show their soulmate number to fans. Jungkook was the only idol to ever do such a thing.

“But look at all the replies on Twitter now. Crazy girls are covering their own number with make-up, and copying Jungkook’s soulmate number to their wrist.” you said while staring at your own wrist

“Yup, they’re beyond desperate. It wouldn’t do anything but cause confusion, though. Since their name wouldn’t really show on Jungkook’s ring finger.” Lisa said, and showed her ring finger to you.

“Wow. It must feel really great, huh? Everlasting love..” you said while eyeing the incredibly long name Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul on Lisa’s finger. “Even someone from Thailand, too.”

“Yeah. Nationality doesn’t matter, though. I’ll have you know once again that six members of Bangtan are soulmates with non-Koreans.” Lisa said with an excited smile, “It’s just a mere coincidence that me and Ten are both Thai.” she said with a chuckle

“Yeah, you two even met on a foreign land,” you said as you take a sip on your milk that has lost its coldness. 

“Who knows? You might meet your soulmate here, too. You are a foreigner too, you know?” she said, eliciting a shrug from you.

“I’ll let you know something, Lisa. ” you said as you put your glass back on the table.

“What is it?” Lisa questioned with narrowed eyes.

“Jungkook’s soulmate is a foreigner.” you beamed, proud of who your soulmate is. 

“How’d you know that?”

“Take a look at Jungkook’s soulmate number.” you said as you browsed your gallery, clicking on the most recent picture that you saved in your Twitter album.

You raised your phone for her to see, “Yeah?” she inquired.

“Look at my own number.” you said still not bringing your phone down, eliciting a frown from her as she squinted her eyes at your own fresh wrist next to the gadget, then back at your phone.

She gasped, and suddenly, you were feeling giddy again, letting go of your phone as you grabbed the cushion, putting it up on your face once again as you tried to suppress the loudness of your screams.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lisa yelped, bewildered but her face was painted with a wide and excited smile as she rubbed and wiped your wrist, trying to see if you were just faking it. “Holy fucking shit! You aren’t kidding!”

You put the cushion back down on your lap and looked at your best friend with the widest grin that the corner of your lips could ever handle. After five seconds of staring, at the same time as if on timer, you two bursted out into fits of yelping and screaming like mad people, and hugged each other, while still shrieking.

Ten suddenly came out of the bedroom door, with wide and bloodshot eyes, frantically making his way to the two of you, putting a stop on the crazy yelping that you and your best friend were doing. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked, panic painted all over his features

“Dear! Y/N’s soulmate is Jungkook!” Lisa said with big eyes and a wide smile as she turned her head to her own soulmate.

You screeched, “Yes! My fucking soulmate is the fucking Jeon Jungkook!” you said very loudly, throwing the cushion to the boy’s face.

“Seriously?” Ten asked as he caught the cushion that just fell from his face, confirming if everything was just a faux act to prank him or if it was all real. You nodded fast at his ridiculous question, “Oh my god! I’m so happy for you, Y/N!” Ten said as he joined in the hug, the two of you shriek once again making the boy pull back to cover his ears.

[totalkpoptrash]

Get To Know Me Tag

I was tagged by one of my favorite mutuals! @literally-just-yoongi-trash

Rules: answer all the questions in a new post and tag blogs you would like to know better!

A: Age - 28 ugh I’m old.

B: Birthplace - Everett Washington, USA

C: Current time - 2:31 AM

D: Drink you had last - Coffee

E: Easiest person to talk to - @lumenardens and @fueledbyrebecca are my go to when I need to vent. In general though, I find it pretty easy to talk to people overall, I’m not shy or embarrassed about much so I tend to overshare, if anything lol.

F: Favorite song - I’m LIVING for Dimple off Love Yourself, but oddly one of my all time faves that will never change is Hotel California by the Eagles hahaha. 

G: Grossest memory - Okay so settle in because this is gonna be a wild ride. (A little gruesome, heavy focus on a dead raccoon if that’s not your thing check out while you can) One day oh.... about 7 or 8 years ago now, it was HOT AF in the middle of Southern PA summertime, so think like 100 degrees but also 90% humidity to where you step outside, blink once, and then immediately get covered in sweat i STG I moved away from here for a reason and I hate myself for coming back this place is hell. Anyway.  So I am in a car with my boyfriend and his buddy, coming up the hill in the long ass driveway where my boyfriend’s uncle lives to see that his uncle is out in this big wood shed that he had full of tractors and stuff??? This is redneck country zone where people drive tractors down the actual street and you sometimes get stuck behind them it’s GREAT. So we come up this hill and stop the car because his uncle is standing there just motherfucking up a storm. So, the boys get out of the car and start talking to him. I am having none of that, I am in the car where there is still shade, but I DO open the windows because the air conditioner is off now that the engine is dead and the heat is already seeping into my bones. Apparently, somehow, there is a dead raccoon stuck in the wheel well of the tractor that my boyfriend’s uncle needs to use. And we are talking DEAD. Like, left there for too long, body bloated, flies swarming dead. And his uncle is trying to figure out how the HELL to get it out of there because pulling on it is not helping, since it’s all bloated and nasty.  Enter the genius boys. A pitchfork. They decide to try and SCOOP IT OUT USING A PITCHFORK. Great plan guys, except for the part where THEY ACCIDENTALLY DIDN’T GET FAR ENOUGH UNDER THE BODY AND MANAGED TO IMPALE THE DAMN THING RIGHT IN THE STOMACH WITH THE TINES!!!!  The. Smell. Have you ever smelled the insides of a decaying scavenger animal? No? CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY. Think dumpster full of baby diapers left in the hot sun combined with meat that got left in the garbage for too long or something, and then also add this kind of sickly sweetness. It is a horror I will never forget. Now, not only am i IMMEDIATELY assaulted by the smell of actual rotting guts, but then I also have to endure the VIOLENT RETCHING of three men as they try to figure out what the fuck to do with this thing. OH, AND THEN THEY DECIDE IT’S FUNNY AND WHILE STILL GAGGING, START CHASING EACH OTHER AROUND WITH A DEAD RACCOON ON A PITCHFORK!!!!  I rolled up the windows, and silently prayed for death. And that’s after I spent 15 minutes screaming and gagging.

H: Hogwarts house - Gryffindor

I: In love - Hmm, that’s complicated. The honest truth - Not like I used to be. But that’s okay.

J: Jealous of people - Sometimes, for various reasons, but that’s human nature.

K: Killed someone - Not yet ;)

L: Love at first sight or should I walk by again - This is a question I love to answer! I don’t believe in LOVE at first sight, but I am a HUGE advocate of INFATUATION at first sight, which I think is a wonderful thing.

M: Middle name - Don’t laugh at me. Elsie’Mae

N: Number of Siblings - 4, but none of us have both of the same parents. (I.E. Half siblings and a foster brother)

O: One wish -My wish right now is to get my life back to where I want to be. I’m making progress, but it’s slow going.

P: Person you called last - My husband

Q: Question you’re always asked - Always “How old ARE you, anyway?” And it’s my favorite game to play. A coworker guessed that I was ‘19 or 20′ today ahahaha. I am usually placed between 18-24 by people who don’t know any better 

R: Reasons to smile - BTS BTS BTS BTS and of course my friends who love me always.

S: Song you sang last - I think it was Outro: Her because I was listening along with Multifacetedacg on Youtube during her first listen of the album today.

T: Time you woke up - 12:30PM ish... I hit the snooze oops.

U: Underwear color - Kind of a purpley ish color.

V: Vacation Destination - I want to go to New York always, I would love to hit up a Disney park again soon, and Germany to see my lovely @lumenardens and of course Korea for an adventure. All in my future plans.

W: Worst habit - Hmmm I have a lot of bad habits. I would say getting distracted by something when I’m in the middle of a project, or adding more and more projects to my list of stuff to do all the time lol. I’m never done ‘doing stuff’.

Y: Your favorite food - My mom’s potato soup, my mom’s pumpkin pie, apparently I’m a HUGE fan of jjajangmyeon, uhhh I really like tacos also. And I like watermelon SO MUCH. I have a lot of favorites lol.

Z: Zodiac sign - Pisces and you damn bet it fits me like a glove. I will tag @artificialskyway who i see all the time in my notifs, @j-hellnah @hajunice and any of my other beans who I love <333

[multapohja966]

Alphabet soup tag

Tagged by @mara-kki thank u man!! 🙌🏻 sorry im so late this ffff i had this almost finished but then i forgot

rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better.

A: age | 18

B: birthplace | Finland

C: current time | 22:32

D: drink you had last | the extra juice you get when you de-freeze strawberries. nasty.

E: easiest person to talk to | i have .. four/five (i think) friends that i feel i can give my all to. And my mom is very chill, although she has a hard time understanding and accepting some things.

F: favorite song | "butterfly on your right shoulder" by len kagamine (its so bad and so good i will always love this song so much)

G: grossest memory | random dude harrassing my friend on this one club

I: in love? | I'm actually not at the moment and it's so fucking lit because it's been years since the last time i wasn't painfully in love. Ma dudes this is good!!!!

J: jealous of people? | f yea. although not so much anymore i think, since i don't care. mostly just from how people connect so easily with others!

K: killed someone | well i mean if you consider global priviledge or just like.. eating meat, yeah, me just being ignorant and existing has probably caused someone's death.

L. love at first sight or should I walk by again? | I'm lowkey the kind of person who needs to have known a person for a long time before i can consider starting a relationship. I need to truly know people. But i have fallen 'in love' with people i've only known for a day. and i get crushes like on a daily basis.

M. middle name | its kinda way too feminine and .. christian so its awkward to say. but ok i don't connect it to myself so have it, it's kristiina.

N: number of siblings | One little brother!

O: one wish | to find romantic love? I know it's lame and in a way not healthy to even look for romantic love, and in addition i have INCREDIBLE friends that honestly can never be topped. But romantic love would be so nice to have. My romantizising mind is starving lmao.

P: person you called last | my friend. i went to see him and had to know if it’s okay that i park basically in front of his door lol. 

Q: question you are always asked | "are you listening?" (im sorry everyone im the worst)

R: reason to smile | my friends who are so supportive and unique and nice!!! and making art and seeing others make art!!!

S: song you sang last | who dat boy - tyler the creator (ft. asap rocky). (i fucking love tyler’s wording. he has such a nice aesthetic in his videos and lyrics. although i only sing along like.. 10% of the words, i can’t rap and wont even try.)

T: time you woke up | first 07:45. i was supposed to do a few things but didn’t.. woke up again at 8:03. Fuck i was late.

U: underwear color | boeh... yellow atm.

V: vacation destination | japan. Harajuku. any fashion week.

W: worst habit | being afraid of conflict aka getting stuck with people i don’t like. spacing the fuck out. 

X: x-rays | few from my teeth. And something like it from my appendix.

Y: your favorite food | uhmmmmmm... mcdonalds.

Z: zodiac sign | scorpio 

Tagging: ummhhh @somebody-you-should-be-afraid-of @kirerin @hobta @youaresurelyfuckednow 

idk who to tag :o   but you don’t have to do this if you’ve already done it or if you don’t want to ofc!