#i literally told them word for word what to say in the original email and they did not type a single fucking thing i said which is why

[cowb0ycrime]

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[buckets-and-trees]

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for quite a while. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond anything you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your above, over, and below the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, andI've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

[taissaswifelowkey]

Yellowjackets calling/texting you 🗣️‼️

a/n: i hesitated between choosing a modern or sticking to the original timeline ngl 💀 love love love doing these sm but i love that people read it even more youre all the best 😎🔥 italics: text messages

warnings: none, self-indulgent obviously 🙄 proofread bc i forget to do it most of the time

1996 timeline

📚 okay so taissa prefers seeing you in person but that wouldn’t stop her from sending you a message, meaning replying to your texts. like you would text her the most random thing ever like “im gnawing on this apple” (ifykyk) she would also send reminders telling you to drink water or that your assignment is due this week. uses “ok” and elipses or periods but her messages still mean well :((

I passed my oral exam!!

Congrats. I’m proud of you.

Can you pick me up later on after class?

Ok.

Don’t forget we have practice tomorrow…

I am going to live tomorrow?

🛹 LOTSSS AND LOTSSS of random text messages with van!! she would page you every ten minutes, every two hours. and so would you tbh.

i don’t understand this assignment

what assignment lol

also sends you letters! you sent her a letter back and everyone is just like “???? can’t you call or text each other???”

they don’t know understand how classic you two are and like to be :(

🕷️ i feel like nat would sneak off to a payphone to call you or just sneak off to your place. like taissa, she prefers to see you in person. it was mostly bc you kinda told her off for calling you at a random pay phone at god knows what time where anything could happen.

“i was perfectly fine and safe kevyn was waiting for me in his car.”

“oh so it was kevyn’s idea to drive you to a payphone at one in the morning?”

you’ll definitely make it a point to remind kevyn not to entertain her ideas anymore.

🦉 misty would call you. she LOVESSS the sound of your voice. talk to her about anything but ask her about her a day and she would def twirl her hair ngl 💀💀 the simplest of questions about her makes her stop to think every two minutes and you’re on the other line wondering if the connection got cut or something.

“what about your day? anything interesting happened in english period?”

“well…my day, you mean? as in…my day?”

she would have to be careful just bc of the phone bill. is the type of person to say “you hang up first 😜😜😜” and you did it once UNINTENTIONALLY.

🎀 jackie would text or call you but sometimes she would forget to answer you though. she mentally answers them. your logs is basically just you texting her, and her replying like two three business days.

Hey, let me know what I should get for lunch!!

Chicken dumplings please <33

? I asked you that a WEEK ago.

I know but can you still get it pls

and if she doesn’t answer your text messages she would just do it in person. though most of the time you’d forget what it was about. you two are seriously forgetful but catch up once you’re with each other. lottie is just better at talking than texting. if anything, i feel like it’s also bc she’s lowkey stressed

🧸 jackie would call, text, email, kick her feet and twirl her hair. would still text you right after calling you. would either feel bad or kinda grumpy if you take your time though.

I miss you

We literally just got off the phone

Wow, SORRY for MISSING my GIRLFRIEND.

Besides we got off the phone 30 mins ago. What were you doing then???

I was showering????

would send you so many “ily” texts, would spam your inbox with heart emojis.

🪵 answer shauna’s texts on time or she’ll be grumpy. definitely said “without me?” when you told her you were going to sleep. an avid “lol” user

Hi lol

Hiii <33

You left your sweater at my place lol

Okay, I’ll get it tomorrow. Whats with the lol though?

Idk lol

like misty, when you call, she loves the sound of your voice. her brain is focused on every syllables and consonants, and the way you would accentuate certain words. definitely twirled her hair and caught herself in the mirror while doing so and got the ick.

[dieabadass]

Hearing my almost ex husbands voice screaming at me about what a piece of shit I am and how he believes I’m a super villian who constantly hacks into his phone/ emails whatever the fuckhearing him say that I try and copy the girl he cheated on me with about everything I post to try and be just like her in hopes that he will see it and make him wanna be with me cuz it reminds him of her and how I somehow also hacked into her phone and texted myself from her phone saying horrible shit to make her look like she was the victim in this whole thing is seriously so far from the truth and makes me WANNAFUCKNDIE.. at the same time kinda flattering he thinks I’m smart enough to do such a thing i wish I was that smart and I mean I am hella fuxkn smart but seriously ? What the fuc he’s a man obviously so he doesent know the wicked shit us girls are capable of doing and i take responsibility in being equally as wicked and petty but what wife would my act out to the childish immature girl who reminded me everyday that she was filling my shoes and stole my entire life with him and future hopes and dreams I ever wanted with my husband…. I mean he doesent even know that when I found out who she was and contacted her that we texted back and forth and she swore she wasn’t that type of woman and she thought it was repulsive that a married man would try and hit her up and just because he wrote her a long ass message on Facebook or Snapchat or whatever the fuck it was that didn’t mean she believed a word of it and felt sorry for him and that if anything they were just friends and that the only man/boy in this world was her son that she was trying to see again and be in his life again and was trying to change her life and go to rehab . I seriously started to feel bad for her honestly and told her if she ever needed a real friend that if she was really just my husbands friend then she could be my friend too she was in a bad state and situation at the time dealing with people constantly stealing from her and fucking her over. She also was fresh out of a toxic relationship with the father of her kids and was heartbroken , still madly in love with him and wanted to die. I felt like maybe just like m she needed a real friend too I sent her 50 bucks cause that’s all I had in my cashapp at the time and told her to use it to get whatever she wanted so she could go to rehab with some new stuff for a new start… in a weird way she reminded me so much of myself…. Little did I know she was far from a stranger and she had been in my life for many many many years but for some reason we never crossed paths. A wolf in sheep’s clothing Not only did I give her my respect for being so brave and strong for wanting a better life but not even 24 hours later , she not only was trying to have. Better life and change and get sober and go to rehabBut she was trying to do all these things with my husband the puppy (who the universe and good karma literally brought back to me) after my husband took her from me and then allowed this girl to take over and let her call her my baby’s new mommy and how she loved her new little life and family with them…. I mean just really cruel shit I didn’t deserve. … funny how karma works tho. And that all being said yes I was enraged with furry and wanted nothing more to seek revenge on this situation and looking back I’m ashamed I acted out and went on an app and posted a description of her and about the situation of my baby girl poppy roo being kidnapped from me, unfortunately for her I wasn’t the only one she wronged and as I was writing this post on this app about my situation there were a few other females there with me and wanted to also put there 2 cents in on about this girl . Unfortunately for me I didn’t proof read what was added and because it was in my account it ended up being a whole lot more then what I originally wanted to say. But that also being said after the girl and my husband saw it and called me all kinds of untrue things that I’m ABSALUTLEYNOT;I ended up showing the post to 2big homies&gave it the green light

Karma

[midnight-in-town]

Hi, sorry for troubling you. Actually I need some advice. If you think I’m too much of a nuisance please ignore me. I don't know other country’s history (not that I know much about mine). A few weeks ago I came across a post that the writer had used some historical terms to justify a character’s behavior. It had nearly 100 likes and seemed legit and persuasive like she was very knowledgeable but it sounded off to me. Those were just eliminable comic relief scenes and the character was caricaturistic. A human with a healthy mental state, average IQ, and a little sense of social grace wouldn’t act like that. The writer’s tone was hostile, too and she turned an accuracy question into a moral one. She liked that character so much that didn't even try to hide her anger. Even though the asker was anon she implied that she/he is a sucker for pretty boys and a misogynist. How would she know? I was convinced that something was off and with no hope of getting an answer, I emailed a history website and ask them if she was right, the reply was really surprising. Not just the character and those scenes but many other things are imaginary and her interpretations of those terms and conclusions are false. They told me that even the literature from that era can’t be trusted or used as reliable sources because it’s the nature of fiction to be fanciful and misleading. I sent the email to her adding nothing, assuming she’d feel guilty for implanting false knowledge in fans, but she said she had no time for haters. I don’t know anybody on Tumblr or that fandom, and no one would believe an outsider. They are already satisfied with the lies. If one cares about the truth, one searches for it. Even so, is there anything I should do? Do I have any obligation to do anything? Thank you.

Hey Anon! You are not a nuisance at all :)) although, to be honest, it's hard to give advice when I'm not fully aware of the situation you're asking about.

From my understanding, you disagree with how a blogger justified a character's behavior in a work of fiction, which was done by quoting wrong historical facts, therefore providing false information to other fans, and you're wondering how to rectify it? I hope I understood properly?

To start with, I'm sorry to say that this happens very often in fandoms across the internet.

Browsing through the internet, you will always find people who do not share similar views about characters, theories, world building, romance, authors' inspirations, etc leading to a huge gap amongst fans, depending on who agrees on what.

The reason why that exists is because people aren't always neutral when reading, therefore their opinions and expectations can color the story they read in a certain way, leading to some misconception and bias.

This literally happened in every fandom I know, so the first thing I would advise is to keep in mind that, even with good arguments, you cannot always change the mind of everyone you disagree with, because everyone reads/watches a story through a personal lens.

In other words, pick your battles: what do you accept to disagree on and what do you think is unacceptable misconception? That's for you to decide and to act on, knowing that even with good and reasonable arguments, some people just won't take your side.

Speaking of which, as a second advice: you strongly disagree with the original poster and you really don't want to let it go? Well, act on it !

Friendly reminder that, from the moment you're acquainted with a series and you enjoy it, then you already belong in its fandom. Who cares if you just joined Tumblr or if you just discovered this series? You're as much a fan as anyone else and you have a right to your opinions, just like anyone else.

So, what to do? Open the debate by reblogging the post and explain to the original poster why you disagree with her, by detailing your arguments.

Nowadays, not a lot of people comment or reblog posts anymore to offer additional thoughts: they'd rather hide behind anon mode but anonymity doesn't always allow for an open debate, on the contrary!

Myself as a blogger who receives some anon asks, I can guarantee you that I'm always nicer and more open to discussion if someone comes to me off anon, especially if it's to disagree with something I said. Because I put a blog's name on an idea and it brings a lot more humanity in the discussion. :)

Additionally, some people also think that disagreeing means being disrespectful, but that's not the case at all. You can always peacefully and kindly explain to someone why you disagree with them.

So gear up and be brave ! You disagree and it's important to you to explain why? Well, state your opinion high and loud with your blog's name, like a proud of fan of whatever series or character this is about. And again, even if you don't change their mind, that's okay, at least you stated what you had to say and that's what matters.

Lastly though, a word of caution.

To quote you : "The writer’s tone was hostile, too and she turned an accuracy question into a moral one. She liked that character so much that didn't even try to hide her anger. Even though the asker was anon she implied that she/he is a sucker for pretty boys and a misogynist. How would she know?"

As I was saying above, I think unfortunately anonymity in asks is used way too often and bloggers are from time to time fed up with getting asks or opinions without a name to address directly.

Additionally, a lot of asks are sent without necessarily taking the time beforehand to check whether or not the blogger was open to discussion on different subjects in the first place. Hence the hostile tone in answers from time to time.

Take my blog as an example: after ten years on this site, there are certain subjects that I either won't ever want to discuss or some opinions on some characters that I'm beyond fed up with. So anyone barging into my askbox as an anon on either aspects will end up deleted or blocked or maybe answered with a rather hostile tone, because I already stated my opinion ten, twenty or thirty times.

Sure it's not very nice and it doesn't please me to answer this way if I even answer, but I believe, as far as I'm concerned, that it's stated very plainly and often, enough so that people would know if they bothered to check for a second before sending an ask.

So I understand that the hostile tone and the misogyny allegations that you're describing aren't pleasing, but be sure to check why the hostility exists in the first place: is it really that the original poster is narrow-minded and can't be reasoned with ? Or is it that they are often faced with anons who don't bother acknowledging what she said in the past before asking ? Because that will definitely factor into how open-minded the original poster will be if you go for a debate.

TL;DR You can always disagree and discuss why with anyone in any fandom. However, choose your fights and, mostly, choose your weapons well:

state your opinions with your blog's name, in a reblog or in a comment, and definitely not as an anon, if you want to be taken as seriously as possible

always check beforehand about the blogger you want to debate with, so that you can understand who you're talking to a little bit better

be respectful as you disagree and all will go well

I hope it helps? Sorry if not. Have a good day Anon! ^3^

[stars-in-a-jam-jar]

So like. Privacy and consent. Are things very close to my heart. If I'm not being charged with a literal actual crime, and I don't need you to know a piece of information that I am a source of, and I don't want to give that information to you, the very act of demanding access to the information from me is a breach in (at minimum) basic etiquette.

I say this because I saw a person say 'I don't believe in private information' and while in context, the gist of it was that if a piece of information exists, it then cannot be owned and arbitrated by any individual therefore attempting to cordon off 'private' and 'public' information to control the flow of said information is not a valuable task and in fact easily connects/could lead to abusive censorship; while I realized as I kept baffledly reading this was their true thesis when they said 'I don't believe in private information', I knew in my heart that they were looking at and using the words 'privacy' and 'information' all wrong.

I am always hesitant to make a new online account for something, to give an email, a phone number, answers to questions like 'What was your mother's maiden name?' And 'What was the name of your elementary school?' to a little machine someone has placed in front of whatever it is I need the account for. A machine that now has that information as long as the servers it operates from exist. I've given information that represents pieces of me to something that can't understand the concept of privacy and consent, it just runs its routines and does what it's built to do. Keep everybody's login organized and keep track of the when's and the where's and how many times you got your password wrong or changed it in a huff. I like the little machine, it's doing its job the best it can, and there are things worth sharing the information on how I can be reached and little pieces of trivia about me for when I can't remember the original thing I agreed to use to pass through.

But that doesn't mean I am not the information's arbiter. It all belongs to me, even if I share it for a utility or a small luxury. And in that same way, if I share a piece of information with one person- a piece of information understood to be personal and private like a truth about my personal situation or the location of something of personal importance -and they turn around without consulting me and tell it to someone they know: that is no longer a breach in etiquette. That is a breach in privacy and consent. The hypothetical information was not some tidbit I or they came across, not something I publically shared, not a fiction I shared with them for entertainment. To spread it as though it isn't my information to dole out now that I've told one person in confidence is a kind of disrespect and disregard for privacy and consent that makes my blood boil.

I didn't mention this at the top, but that phrase I saw was the result of a philosophically leaning back and forth about the whole situation going down with the AIs scraping Ao3 among other sites for raw materials to develop and train its neural networks all without so much as notifying the original writers, and I still think my convictions on privacy and consent hold there, just in a different form than person to person exchanges or little machines filing away information that could be easily misused if cracked by a malicious actor.

When a person publishes a piece of their writing, that piece as they wrote it is now public. If it's fiction, it's a public story. If it's an article, it's public information regardless of the information's factual, farcical, or opinionated nature. Even when the piece is made to pull in a profit for its existence, the information contained within is irrevocably public now and you cannot then say 'No, I want full control over who sees this, how they see it, and how much of it they see. I reserve the right to dictate the Correct Way to process and interact with my work!' It's not a breach in privacy or consent if someone or a group of people you don't like see and know information you publish publically. (It's a breach in Basic Decency for someone or a group of people to harass an author for daring to make something they disliked, but that's neither here nor there.)

It is a breach in consent to quietly and with the goal of profiting personally, take the time and thought and work of another person and use it without credit or warning for something they did not volunteer their time and thought and work towards. It doesn't matter that the information they published stopped being private when they published it, the context under which they consented to make their works public did not include the presence of roaming little machines taking their work, blending it up with countless works of people they don't know to turn it into a sludge of patterns and data points and subroutines, and repackaging and regurgitating the form of a real person's time and thought and work to make a fun new toy for people who can't be bothered to go to a real human person for their writing or to develop the skill within themself.

The thing is, the little machines can conceivably do lovely things. It's wonderful that people want so much to expand what their coding and programs and 1's and 0's can accomplish. But at the end of the day, the little machines can't understand the concept of privacy and consent. They just run their routines and do what they're built to do.

And I don't trust the people who built them. Because those people clearly have a malformed understanding of privacy and consent.

[usedtobethelegendcreator]

PSA:

I feel like people don’t know this, but here it is. I have an AO3. My user is TheLegendCreator. That, or some variation of it, is my username literally everywhere. My original Tumblr account is TheLegendCreator. I can’t access it anymore (long story), but it’s there. That’s where all my Encanto fanart is.

I write more than I draw, so my AO3 sees a lot more action. As in, I’ve been there for a little over a year, and just hit 101 fics. Two of those aren’t technically mine (more on that later), but I beta’ed them. One of those 101 fics is a 24-chapter Beyblade Burst fic I spent at least a year working on while I was still on Wattpad. Since I had to delete my Wattpad because of a court case (another long story), I uploaded most of my fics from there. That 24-chapter fic originally had 80+ chapters. I put the many, many one-shot series together.

The two fics that aren’t mine are by NOT-TLC, which, if you actually look, is a pseud. NOT-TLC, aka Leah, is my friend from school. She doesn’t have an AO3 account, so she’s been using mine. I set it up for her. So if you thought I watched Hazbin Hotel and Naruto, sorry. That was her. I beta’ed her fics because, as I told her, if she’s going to post on my account, I’m going to polish them. All of AO3’s emails go to me, so I send her screenshots when a fic she subscribed to updates.

I have only one unfinished work on AO3. That’s because it was a collab. I tried to add my co-author on AO3, but they had some kind of filter in place. They later blocked me. To this day, I have no idea why. So if you wanted an update on Two-Faced, sorry. It’s not happening. Probably ever.

The reason I haven’t been posting much on Tumblr recently is because, well, that ATLA animatic isn’t working out for me. It just isn’t. I probably shouldn’t have gone for a rap song with two pages’ worth of lyrics for my first try. But it’s been nagging at me. Yes, I have been drawing a little, but I’m on a writing/reading spree.

I don’t usually post links to my stories, because this is predominantly my art blog. I draw here and write there. If you want me to start doing that, tell me. If anyone ever has anything to say, just tell me. I don’t bite.

If you bookmarked one of my works but hid it from me, I have no idea why. I know you’re out there. I can see you in my statistics. It’s mostly my smut fics. I don’t know why you feel the need to hide it from me. I wrote that shit. I know what’s in it.

Yes, I’m mostly a gen/teen fic writer now. Yes, I used to write explicit torture fics so gory that it got me sent to therapy. Yes, I used to write crack fics so out there that every comment was a variation on “What the fuck did I just read”. Don’t think I can’t do it again.

If you have fic requests, tell me. I used to do that shit all the time. I used to give people fucking outlines based on one idea. I can do it. I’m down for anything. Yes, even if it’s 18+. I did smut requests like they were drug deals. Unlike back then, I no longer have any shame. I once wrote smut for a fandom I’m not even in. I once wrote gay smut without using any variation of the word “cock” a single time. I don’t know what that says about me, but I did it.

Please. Please give me something to do. Writing prompts. Art prompts. Hell, anything. I’ll do it.

EDIT:

Fine. Fine. I’m in the Hazbin Hotel fandom now. Fate hates me.

[frogsandfries]

So this happened

There's a knock on my door. I'm thinking it's my package that got delayed--cool! Nope. It's a grocery delivery. I pick at it just a little, trying to see if there's any info, but I can't find any. I'm not looking too hard because I don't want the original recipient to yell at me. I put the cats away so I can have the door open.

It takes me around ten minutes to get ahold of Walmart. I tried a local Walmart, they said to try the delivery people, the delivery people said try the delivery CS

The records, your honor.

Finally, I'm told "Oh we're not going to charge you, do what you want with the groceries". Okaaaayyyyyyyy.

About fifteen minutes later, one of my lovely and definitely not g-word neighbors comes banging on my door. She wants the groceries. Dfq am I supposed to do. I tell her to call Walmart, that's what I did. That is literally what I did. As you can see, I made a few calls. I tried to give her the direct one, so she could complain directly.

Instead, she's out there, carrying on about how I'm a thief and stealing food out of her kid's mouth. Yada yada, threatening to call the cops and property management. She's on the phone, probably with a friend or some shit. I'm trying to imagine, if she has the cops on the phone saying I stole her Walmart groceries that were delivered to the wrong door, they'd most likely tell her what I'm telling her. Call Walmart. Duuhhhhhh.

But anyway, I'm CYA, I emailed property management like hey, I went through proper channels. I doubt this lady is going to tattle to property management. First, she went from whining that I'm petty and she has a kid, I stole from her kid, she saw the guy leave (literally impossible), she can just wait out there till I come out--joke's on her, I work from home. Then she gave up. I would just like to address, they were out there for more than fifteen minutes. It took me fifteen minutes to get permission from Walmart to bring the groceries in and actually bring them in. Apppaaaaaarrrreeeeennnnttttttllllllyyyyyy her packages get delivered to my door all the time, I must be new here. I am not that new. I get packages delivered literally all the time. Like, minimum every other week. Her packages either never come to my door, because I rarely get unexpected knocks on my door, or she thinks I'm dumb? Like there's something she can say to break me? What the fuck am I supposed to do, I put these things away like ten minutes ago. Am I supposed to have memorized your order? I already ate some of it because I already got permission to Walmart. They can mooorrrreeee than afford to replace your order, it's fucking Walmart. And take your nasty diabetes soda. Ew. Fucking aspartame.

So anyway, I'm sitting here feeling a little guilty, essentially for something I didn't even do.

Free cucumbers--I'm sad I had to bin them because I can't eat cucumbers. Free sponges, that was really cool. I wouldn't be feeling guilty at all if she'd just been a normal freaking person about it and bitched to Walmart instead of me. I'm trying to convince myself that I'm not a bad person and I did my due diligence. Honestly. If my groceries were delivered to the wrong door, it took me forty minutes to get to them and they were gone, I'd be whining to the corporation. Like a normal person who doesn't harass my neighbors.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have more archive stuff to do.

[dzpenumbra]

3/14/23

Storm's a'comin. Snow soon. That's the word on the street.

I say that as though I've been out on the street... that's what my mom told me.

She caught me at a difficult time. I was literally just getting ready to start working on my quartz knife. I was debating getting in the shower first, but it's weird to even consider that when I'm going to wet-sand stone, it's so messy, it always feels like a better idea to shower after. Now... it's past 2AM and I still haven't showered.

The whole conversation was just about how fucked my life is. It was initiated by me, I can feel it. I swear, therapy did a lot of good for me. It really did. But being in live-in therapy environments for extended periods of time, having no friends except therapists or people in a therapy environment... it's turned every conversation I have into a fucking AA meeting.

"Hi, my name is ______ and these are my problems, and I struggle with this, and this sucks, and I can be supported in these ways."

And I'm starting to notice that no one outside of therapeutic environments speaks that way. Most of them speak in fucking code, I've noticed. It's weird. Like... I haven't really spoken subtext that much in my life... at all... just in general... but isolation made it flat-out difficult and... damaging. Like, I will say very heartfelt things to people and they think I'm... trying to trick them? Or, online, "trolling"? Or they assume I mean something completely different? It's so odd to me. I get that it's a self-protective mechanism that apparently a lot of people have, but like... from my perspective, it causes a shit-ton more harm than good... like... it doesn't even seem to protect people.

Anywho, the conversation was about my stream last night and how genuinely scared I am. I got a fucking DMCA notice 1 fucking minute after I ended my stream. 1 goddamn minute. 1/4 of my VoD was automatically muted. And I honestly don't know what to get from that. Am I safe? Am I going to get a strike? Is Twitch protecting me from strikes? Can I play music? Can I play podcasts?

And again, PTSD functions off of a sense of feeling safe and secure. And when some fucking greedy shitbags threaten to shut down my only source of meeting new people because I was listening to music while drawing - as a professional artist - and they want to claim that I'm... trying to sell the music? Like the music even has anything to do with what I'm presenting besides just being background noise. And I can't appeal it. I can't even speak in my own defense. It's pretty much a guaranteed strike. Like, what the fuck is the point of Fair Use laws if you don't even get a fucking hearing?! They gave up on that shit like 3 years ago, it's the Wild fucking West out here. OH MY GOD. As I'm typing this, the stream I was enjoying in the background runs the second 8-ad block in the past half hour. What the fuck happened? Seriously! This place has gone to shit! I swear, no one even remembers what Twitch and Youtube used to be like.

Ugh. So much stress. Constantly. I need a pee break.

Okay, back to venting I guess. The thing that pissed me off the most was that I got a warning email from Twitch about broadcasting copyrighted music... to no one. And I don't think my mom could really understand that. And she was trying to nudge me towards... copyright free music - which I ranted about last night - and then getting a broadcasting license. I mean. Give me a break. I have zero fucking viewers and I'm getting a broadcasting license?! Tell me I'm the crazy one thinking that's a bit excessive...

Then we went to... the ideas I had the past few years. My brother is a musician. We used to jam together all the time. We recorded an album together. I offered to pay him to make me as much music as he could, good chill lo-fi. As much as he could make. It can loop, it can be repetitive, whatever. Give me a giant playlist of original, good music that you would like... spark up a bowl and listen to while you're... fuck, I legit can't think of a "normal people" analogy for drawing. I don't know, just chill music. Just nothing too dark or abrasive. That stuff, just put it on a different list and I'll use that for like... horror drawing night or something. You know? Vibes. All that. And every person that comes in, they get introduced to his music. Idk how that's not a win-win.

He, obviously, rejected that. Obviously. I'm guessing it was a creative control issue or something. Wouldn't even try. Then I asked him if he would be interested in browsing Soundcloud and throwing together a playlist of unsigned musicians that he found that are actually good. And get paid to do that. Since I just have too fucking much on my goddamn hands, I can't do everything. And I could really use the help. Nope.

I literally couldn't even pay my own brother to make me a mixtape for my stream. That's 2023. That's how fucked music is right now. Or at least... in my experience.

Dude, I remember when me and my buddy J (my bandmate) would go on rides late at night just to listen to music in the car. He had roommates and shit, I lived in an apartment building, so we would just go for rides and crank the music and just... listen to music together, driving on the dark highways at like midnight. The people I run into, they act like you can't fucking do that shit anymore. Like it went extinct in 2012 or some shit.

I will know for a fact that I've found someone I need to keep close to me, when I get a message at like... 11:30... saying "hey dude, do you wanna go for a drive and just listen to the new Periphery album? See what we think about it? And then park somewhere and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes and talk about like... what we liked about it and what surprised us?"

I tried to do that last night. I seriously... I just wanted more than anything to share that experience of listening to that album for the first time. That's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I will never experience that for the first time again, and I captured it, and it was fucking censored by corporate bots. That's why I was broadcasting, it's why I fucking hit "Start Broadcast", to spend time with people, to share that special moment with people, to share my passion and excitement. To share that time. And now, we can share time with people who are on the other side of the planet, with a 3 second delay on their goddamn phone. How fucking nuts is that?! So it's easier than ever to create these shared experiences. And yet I'm more alone than ever before. Why?

Because they all "grew up". Because no one has the time for this shit anymore. Because the people in my life disappeared and started families, or hide away in their daily grind. Or get buried in responsibilities. I don't even know anymore, it just makes me mad. This isn't how life is supposed to work.

This voice? The outraged "fuck the world" voice? I'm pretty sure that's a big part of my PTSD. It very bluntly expresses disapproval. It demands change. It often feels different, like different parts of my brain are lit up. It feels bitter, and oppressed. It feels like it can't give quarter, because it would be unsafe. It is very frequently misunderstood. The most frequently of all of my modes of communication, I'd guess. Which really sucks, because it's the one that has the most important messages, I'd say.

I try really hard to vet the messages that voice sends out before I send them. Fact-check, to use a trending hashtag. And at least keep an open mind that I may be reading into things a bit, or exaggerating. Because this is a self-protective mechanism I'm dealing with, and they do have a tendency to kinda... act first and sort out the details later. But... here... I'm pretty sure everything I've gone over here is pretty dead on the money. Which really sucks.

But... silver lining... this is a road map to what will bring me peace and happiness in my life. I need to find a way to open up my studio (share my art process/life) to the world... which doesn't involve threats of litigation. I need to find a way to connect with people over music... that doesn't involve risking having both my business and my social networking (personal and professional) shut down. The last person I heard that was a non-partner that got banned from Twitch was sending in appeals for over a month, and he was a comedian who was on a nationally broadcast sitcom, and he had to literally have a friend in the biz call in a favor from someone who worked at Twitch to get him unbanned. I'm not even fucking kidding. So... if I get canned? I'm fucked. Bye bye Twitch. Having security around that, that would make me feel much safer. And, I guess... I'm still mourning the loss of my brother and my former friends.

Might as well address that. Since I'm here. I say this with a heavy heart, because it's always hard to lose someone no matter how. I know loss pretty well. And... I know the two are different, and it might just be me... but in my experience... it's easier to lose someone because they're... gone... than it is to lose someone who is still here. They're just... ... how do I say this... I'm picturing Obi Wan lighting his lightsaber on Mustafar after Anakin force-chokes his pregnant wife.

Honestly, watching the scene again... I often feel more like Padme. I don't have the confidence Obi Wan has. Not anymore. And I don't have the willingness to enter combat, to stand ground and defend. And, unfortunately... look at how that ends for her. You know? I mean, not like Obi Wan's method was super effective either in the long run... And... I don't even know if there's a good way that exists to deal with people who have gone down a Dark path. I really don't. It just... it eats me alive to give up on people when I know their self is destroying them, their own pain and fear and anger. I hate giving up on people. Let alone... standing against them... when they turn on me. Even just defending myself in the moment feels like too much, let alone righteously opposing them.

Moments like that are a big part of why I want to seek out a spiritual group that has similar ethical pacifist beliefs as I do. I grew up in a super competitive family, my father being the most competitive of them all. I have no role model for these behaviors, so any new one is one that I've sorta... found through experimentation. I often feel very clumsy and ill-equipped. And I would really appreciate some form of... mentorship or something. On how to be a pacifist who is dealing with... possessed people. Haunted people. Traumatized people. Hey, maybe it'll even help me deal with myself, when my demons flare up. As they have been lately.

Let's not sugar coat this. I've noticed how I've been acting lately. I've noticed my fear and my anger. I've noticed my suspicions of people conspiring against me, all that shit. All byproducts of trauma. I see bits of Anakin in myself too. I know it's in there, and it's growing. And I need to get it out in healthy ways, and process it in healthy ways.

Meditation is helping, though it's extremely subtle and hard for me to really remember to do it.

My big problem with keeping this insistent "you don't understand, this is what's going on in my life and I just need blahblahblah and where the hell are my friends? Why is no one coming to my streams? Why can't I play music? Why? Why?" bullshit... is that... I actually do need answers to these questions. Like... how do I walk away from that? Just... not stream? I literally just started again. Then... do Instagram or YouTube videos instead of Twitch? Maybe. That's something. I don't know, it just feels like... giving up. Like I ask one person, they don't know... so I give the fuck up? But I have no one else to ask!

But again, the big problem with that... is that it's directly connected to my feeling of safety. Direct chain of events.

No music -> eventually no stream -> no new people seeing my art -> career over.

No friends dropping by the stream -> constant zero viewer count -> no new viewers, no one wants to go to a dead stream -> no new people seeing my art -> career over.

It all funnels down.

Ugh, this is so depressing. Like... I just wish I could workshop this with someone, have someone brainstorm shit with me who actually knows what they're talking about. Like... if I put on a 3 hour podcast, am I going to get flagged?

I need to get off of this topic. It's eating me alive. I didn't stream because of it today. For fuck's sake. I did 6+ hours yesterday, and I couldn't stream at all tonight because I just engaged with this line of thought when my mom called because I was still on-edge.

At least it wasn't a fight. Gotta count my blessings on that.

So... snow's coming. That's nice, huh? XD No electric board, but I can try to hoof it to the community car and swing over to the indoor skatepark, that's something. And I can snowskate, if the snow is good. That's good.

Today felt like a wash. Honestly. Just really stressful all day. Which really sucks because yoga wasn't too bad, meditation went okay, and then I did dishes and cleaned the kitchen, including vacuuming. Then it just went to shit. Because I went into AA-mode and just started unloading all the crap I was carrying from last night about DMCA and work and shit. Ugh.

I just want to make art, man. And listen to good tunes. And share that with other people. And if that's too much to ask... I don't know what to say. But I respect my non-existent viewers, and myself, too much to subject them to copyright free muzak.

Okay, here's a good one to reset the vibes. So... I had a really good idea today for another mala. I was thinking about the bead sequences and how the number of beads are sorta focused around important and powerful cultural numbers. And I had this really cool idea of having each bead be representative of a note within a key, color coded by note, and each section of the mala is representative of a chord, with notes ascending from lowest to highest. And the entire mala itself represents a chord progression.

Music is calling me. The big question is... do I engage with it before or after the skull? I'll mull it over tomorrow.

[daechwitatamic]

Chapter 4: What's Actually There || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: What Was Hidden (Masterpost)

Rating: explicit, minors DNI pls

Genre: college!au, angst, eventual smut, strangers -> friends -> lovers -> idiots -> lovers

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader, MYG x OC

Summary:  This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You’re assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg’s The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there’s a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one’s “true self” versus one’s “shown self”, darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

//

In which there is a waffle date, a soup delivery, and an argument.

Chapter Warnings: language, feelings get hurt left and right

Word Count: 6k

I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden

The Ghost Sonata | Scene III August Strindberg

Chapter 4: What’s Actually There

Wednesday, November 14th

Wednesday morning brings torrential rain, and it’s just cold enough that every now and then you’re convinced it’s actually sleeting. You stand in the middle of your room, squinting at the window, trying to determine if you are seeing rain or snow.

“Y/N?” Kiko asks tentatively, watching you. “You good?”

“I have to go to the library for tutoring,” you tell her. “And I think I might have to swim there.”

You bundle up, pull on a black ball cap to keep the rain out of your eyes, and grab your bag. 

“See you for lunch after?” Kiko asks you as you pull on a pair of tall boots.

“Yep,” you tell her. “Should be there right after twelve.”

You wave goodbye and head out, splashing your way down the stairs and around the path towards the library. Unlike last week, you beat Taehyung there, and you choose a table that’s in the middle of the large room. You’re logging into your laptop when Taehyung comes up next to you, shaking rain off of his bag.

“Hey,” you tell him. His hair is soaked, sticking to his face in places, and the grey hoodie he’s wearing is dotted with wet patches. You take in his drowned appearance and remark, “You’re going to get pneumonia.”

“No I’m not,” he says easily. “I was only in the rain for like two seconds, I parked in the student lot right here. You’re the one who had to cross campus.”

“How’s the Ghost Sonata paper coming along?” you ask, opening his tutoring document on your laptop.

“I think good?” he says. “I’m working on looking for the disillusionment parts in the text.”

You frown at him. “You were supposed to be done with that step for today’s session.”

“So sue me,” he says, pulling a face at you. “I was busy with that Ibsen homework, it took me such a long time.”

“So what do you need the most help with today?” you ask. 

“Finding the parts of the text about disillusionment,” he says quickly. “Can you help me? Can you tell me where to look for them?”

“Well,” you muse, chin on your hand, “the character experiencing the disillusionment is the Student, so I’d focus on his lines… and probably not Scene I.”

“Scene II it is,” Taehyung says, leaning back in his chair and digging around in his bag for the text. 

You start answering emails as Taehyung begins to read. You thought he was kidding about books putting him to sleep, but when you glance at him three emails later, his eyes are drooping, the book listing sideways in his hand.

“Taehyung!” you say sharply, and he jerks awake. 

“Shit, sorry,” he says, flushing red. “I told you.”

He’s settling back in to read again and you’re blinking at him in disbelief when you see them. Over Taehyung’s shoulder, you spy a head of hair that you’d know anywhere. Davis sits at a table, facing you, his laptop open in front of him. Erin sits beside him, smiling and leaning to say something close to his ear.

You feel nauseated. You feel like your throat is closing up. You fight the urge to sink lower in your chair to hide behind your laptop screen. Your fight or flight instincts are waging war inside you; you want to fling your laptop at Davis’s head, and you also want to fucking run. You can’t do either of these things - one is assault, and the other is against your tutoring contract. You are stuck with Kim Taehyung for sixty minutes, like it or not.

You can’t imagine which emotion is playing across your face right now: the anger you feel every time you see the two of them, the fear of being spotted, or the well of absolute shame that opens beneath you every time you think about how stupid you were last year. Whichever it is, Taehyung takes notice, slowly turning to look over his shoulder to see what caused the reaction. He turns back to you and says, his voice oddly gentle, “Do we not like them? I get the feeling we don’t like them.”

It takes you a second, but you finally find your voice. You’re stuck with him for an hour… but maybe you aren’t stuck here, in this library. “Taehyung,” you say slowly, voice hardly a whisper. “Could we - do you - would it be okay if we finished our hour literally anywhere else?”

“Yeah,” he says immediately, but he doesn’t move. He’s watching you carefully, eyes combing your face. Then he stands, closing his laptop and sliding it back into his bag. “Let’s go,” he says to you, and you’re up in a flash, grabbing everything you’d spread out on the table and dumping it all unceremoniously into your own bag. 

He leads you to the library’s side entrance, which looks out onto the student parking lot. You both stop, watching the deluge of rain outside. It’s raining like it’s angry, like the sky itself has scores to settle. 

“Mine is the silver one,” Taehyung tells you, pointing. “You ready to run?”

“Yes,” you tell him, feeling a jolt of adrenaline. “I’m ready.”

He throws open the library door and you both run, the rain hitting you like a slap. You shriek and splutter, each step you take causing water to splash all the way up to your knees. As you open the front passenger door and sling yourself onto the seat, Taehyung does the same on the driver’s side. You both sit there, absolutely dripping, listening to the rain assault the roof of the car. 

Then, Taehyung starts laughing. 

Once he starts, neither of you can stop. You’re wiping both rain and tears from your eyes, and Taehyung’s shoulders are shaking, one hand against his aching diaphragm. He uses both hands to push his wet hair away from his face, and you actually have to tip your bag to let some collected rainwater drip out. 

Taehyung looks over at you, a mirthful smile lingering on his face. “You in the mood for waffles?” he asks.

You smile, wringing water out of your hair and shaking out your hoodie from where it was sticking to you. “Yeah,” you tell him. “Waffles sound great.”

The roads are holding water, and Taehyung drives cautiously, which you appreciate. You’d have pegged him for a showy driver, but he’s surprisingly careful. As the car idles at a red light, heat blasting, he glances over at you.

“You wanna talk about what happened in there?” he asks, all signs of laughter gone from his face. 

And the thing is… you do. Not necessarily with Taehyung, or any cute guy for that matter. You’ve always been told not to talk shit about an old job when you’re on a job interview, and you think the same must apply to men. Right? But you don’t want to tell Kiko all about it, because it feels weird that you’re willing to share and she’s not, and as much as you love Bridget she’s really just invested in her next good time. And Nina has been… Nina. Maybe it’s your own fault for having such limited options. Maybe it says something about you that you don’t have more friends to rely on.

Is Taehyung your friend? 

Not exactly. But he’s been nice to you, and he’s asking. 

You sigh, looking at your shoes. “That was my ex.”

“Ah,” Taehyung says. “Got it. And his new girl, I assume? That’s tough.”

“I wish it was just his new girl,” you grumble. “That’s the girl he cheated on me with back in April.”

Taehyung turns to look at you, but quickly whips back to get his eyes back on the road. “Jesus,” he says. “No wonder you freaked out.”

“I didn’t freak out,” you protest. “I just really didn’t want to sit and watch them make eyes at each other for another fifty minutes.”

“You freaked out,” he asserts. “But I think it was valid. Does that happen a lot?”

“What, me freaking out?”

He gives you a look. “Running into them.”

You shrug. “Campus isn’t that big. It happens a lot, but usually I can leave.”

Taehyung is narrowing his eyes at you as he flicks on his turn signal and merges into the turn lane. “I think that guy comes to a lot of our parties,” he says, like he is solving a puzzle. There’s nothing to solve - Davis loves a good party. You used to go together.

“Sounds right,” you say. “Anyway, thanks for…” You almost say for getting me out of there but that sounds a lot more ‘damsel in distress' than you’d like. 

“Don’t mention it,” Taehyung says, even though you never finished your sentence. “I love an excuse for a waffle.”

He parks outside a diner, and you grab your bag before you both sprint to the front door. Taehyung holds the door for you, and you mumble a thank you as you scoot past him. The hostess seats you two in a booth near the back, and you both immediately start pulling out laptops and notebooks, setting back up for tutoring. 

Next to your booth, the rain pounds against the window. It’s so dark out there it could be the middle of the night. The diner is pleasantly full - you can blend into the hubbub. It’s the “I love large parties” type of intimacy that F Scott Fitzgerald talks about in Gatsby. It’s the kind of vibe where you feel like you could bare your soul and let the consequences roll right off you, if you were that kind of person.

“The whole facade theme has been rolling around my brain all week,” he tells you after ordering hot tea for him and coffee for you. 

“Oh yeah?” you say, glancing at him as you log back into your laptop.

“Yeah, it’s like I’m seeing it everywhere now,” he tells you, voice thoughtful. “I’m thinking about everyone around me and how it applies to them, even myself. Like…” he trails off, collecting what he means to say, “Like what I present versus what’s actually there.”

“That’s kind of heavy,” you observe.

“I dunno,” he says, looking at you, steady. “When you’re aware of your own ‘facade’ it can help you work on being more genuine, if that’s what you want. And it can help you notice it in others, see them for the darkness that’s actually there.” He’s still looking at you, gaze heavy, almost like a challenge.

You meet this with silence. Is he implying something about you? He barely knows you, and you’re half-tempted to call him out on it. 

“And that’s a good thing?” you ask, as the waiter comes by and places your plates on the table around the mess of papers. “To go around trying to poke around behind the masks people put on?”

“You don’t think so?” he challenges. “Wouldn’t you rather know - and connect with - someone’s true self over their… facade, so to speak?”

“I think people show us the parts of themselves that they’re comfortable with sharing for a reason,” you counter. 

“But that only gets you so far,” he says. “You don’t actually know somebody until you break past all that and see what’s hidden.”

You twist your lips. You feel like you want to argue, but logically he’s right. You take a bite of your food, using the bought time to examine why you’re heated. It certainly couldn’t be because you know how few people you let in. Definitely not.

You drop your gaze, losing the unspoken game of Chicken. “I guess that’s true. Anyway, you should work on your notes,” you say quietly.

He purses his lips and reaches for his Strindberg text obediently, popping a bite of waffle into his mouth. “Fine,” he says. “But I’m considering this a debate victory.” 

You roll your eyes, and you two don’t speak again until he asks a clarifying question about the themes behind the vampiric cook. When you’re done eating and the plates are cleared, you reach for your wallet when the check comes.

“No, no,” Taehyung says sharply, pulling the bill away. “You’re not paying.”

“Yes, I am,” you insist. “I’m paying for my half.”

“I owe you for the free tutoring you gave me over the weekend,” he reminds you. “Let me buy your damn omelet, Y/N.”

You huff, but let it go, thanking him for the food and for the ride when he drops you off outside the academic buildings for your afternoon class. 

“See you tomorrow night?” he asks as his car idles outside of the building students call The Mansion. 

“Yep,” you say as you gather your things. “Hopefully we won’t be chased out of the library by my ex again. I’m really sorry about that.”

That night, as you lay on your bunk watching crappy tv on your laptop, Taehyung facetimes you again. You consider letting him look at the ceiling again, but he already saw you soaked from the rain earlier today, so at least you look better now.

“Homework problem?” you ask as you answer, trying to keep your voice down. Bridget’s up on her bunk, and you’re not sure if she has headphones in or not.

“You remember the ‘what can haunt us’ theme we were talking about?” he says, no preamble.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting to get more comfortable against your pillows. “You adding that to your paper?”

“No,” he says, rubbing his chin. “I was just thinking about it…”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” you quip, and he gives you the finger right in the middle of his screen, making you laugh.

“I just think,” he says as he replaces his hand with his face on screen, “that you left out a pretty big one when you were listing all the stuff people can be haunted by.”

“I did, huh?” you say playfully.

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly serious. “Our pasts.”

You’re quiet for a minute. It’s a lot, everything he’s said to you today. You don’t know if he’s talking about you and what happened today with Erin and Davis, or if he’s talking about himself, or neither. 

“Yeah,” you say finally. “You’re right… that’s a big one.”

He licks his lips quickly, glances to the side. “That was all. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung,” you say quietly.

On the bunk above you, where she clearly had been listening in, Bridget lets out a gleeful shriek. 

Thursday, November 15th

When you wake up on Thursday morning, you can tell that you’re sick before you even open your eyes. Your head is pounding - not the hangover kind - and your throat feels like there’s glass in it. You’re so congested you can barely breathe, and your back hurts, the deep ache that’s a telltale sign of a fever.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you groan, getting up and shuffling towards the bathroom. You rummage in the medicine cabinet over the sink until you find your thermometer, and pop it in your mouth. Sure enough, when it beeps, it reads out a number that sends you right back to bed.

You open your laptop blearily and email both of your professors for the day, apologizing and asking for any work you can do to maintain your grade. Then, you email Bianca to let her know you’ll have to reschedule Becky and Taehyung. Then you close it, bury your face in your pillow, and fall back asleep without even getting under the blankets.

Bridget wakes you up two hours later, shaking your arm gently.

“Babe,” she says, peering at you. “Don’t you have class in ten minutes?”

“I’m not going,” you mumble into your arms. “I have a fever.”

“Ugh,” she says, standing back up. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep then.”

“Okay,” you say - or, you think you say it. You drift in and out of sleep for a few more achy, restless hours. The next time someone shakes you awake, it’s Kiko.

“Have you taken anything?” she asks as you blink at her.

You try to ask “What?” but it comes out more like hhwhuu?

“Medicine,” she says flatly. “Have you taken any cold medicine?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes again. She pokes you in the arm, and you realize a minute or two must have passed because she’s handing you a few tylenol and a water bottle.

“Take those,” she directs. “At least get your fever down.”

You follow her orders wordlessly, waking up by degrees. After you twist the cap back on the water bottle, you reach for your phone, scrolling through your accounts with your blankets bunched around your head.

“I’m going out for a few hours,” she says. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say. “It’s just a cold. Thanks, Kiks.”

The fever-reducer works its magic, and about half an hour later you feel good enough to get up and take a hot shower. That helps almost as much as the medicine, and when you step out, you feel significantly more human.

You comb your hair and change into clean sweatpants, plopping back on your bed and searching for something to watch. You’re scrolling through, trying to choose, when your phone goes off.

[5:01 PM] Taehyung: ☹️

You sit up with a jolt, thinking he’s waiting for you to show up at tutoring.

[5:02 PM] You: you didn’t get an email from the dept? i’m sick. we’ll reschedule.

As you expect by now, your phone buzzes again to indicate an incoming facetime call.

“Taehyung,” you groan as you answer. “You have got to start texting like a normal person. I do not want you - or anyone - looking at my face right now.”

He frowns at you. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” you mutter, still cranky. “I have a cold - I woke up with a fever. It’s probably from splashing around in the rain like that yesterday.”

His frown deepens, as if you’d accused him of doing this to you. Which is not what you’d said. 

“It’s fine,” you insist. “I already feel way better than I did when I woke up.”

He sighs a little, and you peer at him. He looks like he’s at home, on his bed. It definitely looks like a bed-pillow behind his head. You thought he’d gone to the library for tutoring and called you because you weren’t there. Apparently he knew tutoring was off, went home, and still called to check on you.

Hm.

“I…” he trails off, twisting his mouth a little. “I was kind of worried that you canceled because of yesterday?”

This baffles you. “Yesterday?”

“Just, y’know… I said a lot of personal stuff… you said yourself some of it was heavy. I thought maybe you were, uh, needing a little space after that. I thought that’s why you canceled.”

You shake your head. “Taehyung, no,” you say, stupidly feeling like you want to reach out and give him a reassuring touch. “I really…. I liked our conversations yesterday.”

“Okay,” he says. “You sound sick, so I guess I believe you.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about it,” you tell him. “I’m painfully honest.”

He laughs. “Don’t I know it. Hey, did you know your roommate is here?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I did not, but I’m not surprised. I heard she’s been there a lot.”

Taehyung lowers his voice, clearly not wanting to be overheard. “Do you know what Yoongi’s doing right now? He’s downstairs cooking her soup. Like… it’s so domestic. I don’t even know who he is right now.”

You laugh. “Kiko’s one of the coolest, best people I know,” you tell him. “So good for him, I guess.”

You’re both quiet for a minute, and then Taehyung says, “Okay, well, feel better, Y/N. I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “We’ll reschedule today’s session to another time. The department will reach out.”

“Not you?” he asks, voice teasing.

“It’s gotta be done officially,” you tell him. “I don’t make the rules. See you, Taehyung.”

You’re smiling as you hang up.

About an hour later, Kiko comes through the door, a plastic grocery bag in her hands. She stops next to your bed, one eyebrow raised.

“Would you like to tell me why I’m carrying soup right now?” she asks tartly. 

You raise an eyebrow right back at her. “You felt bad for me and brought me sustenance?”

“No no no,” she says, shaking her head, her black hair swishing. “I was instructed to bring you soup. It was not my idea. So I ask you again: would you like to tell me why am I carrying soup right now?”

You sit up, biting back a smile. “Would you like to tell me where you got the soup, Kiko?”

She freezes, caught, and then you both crack up. She moves to sit at the end of your bed.

“So, Taehyung is just unnecessarily worried about his tutoring partner,” she deadpans.

“You first,” you insist.

She sighs, knowing this is fair. “I don’t really know what to tell you,” she admits. “I’ve never done this before, I don’t know what the landmarks are that I’m supposed to share.”

You shrug. “It’s different for everybody anyway. You make your own landmarks.”

She plays with the bag in her hands, avoiding your eyes. “Well, I don’t know, we started texting and he mentioned the music he’s working on and he sent me some of it and it’s really good, Y/N, like it’s so good and then he asked me to work on a track with him?”

You look at her, mouth agape. You don’t even know what to ask first. “Yoongi makes music? You make music? Why didn’t I know that?”

“He’s really good,” she repeats. “He wanted me to do some vocals for him? I don’t know, I don’t talk about it a lot, I get embarrassed.” 

You blink a few times, still trying to process. “So you’ve just been working on music together? That’s it?”

She blushes. “I mean… that’s not all we’re doing.”

You cackle. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Shut up,” she tells you, but she’s smiling. “So? I don’t know? I’m just… taking it one day at a time and seeing where it goes? But I really like him… and he seems really into it, too.”

“That’s amazing,” you tell her sincerely. “I’m so excited for you.”

“I’m trying not to be excited,” she admits. “I don’t want to jinx it.”

You shake your head. “Being afraid of it won’t change if it works or not. In fact, it definitely steers it towards not working if you go in with zero faith.”

“It’s not zero faith,” she grumbles defensively. “It’s just a healthy dose of trepidation. Now, what’s up with you and Taehyung?”

“Nothing,” you say, a knee-jerk reaction. She holds up the soup, as if to say, the proof says otherwise. “I mean, officially we’re just starting to be friends?”

“But?” she prompts. 

“But… it feels like the potential for more could be there?” you say uncertainly.  “It’s hard to tell. Nothing beyond friend boundaries has happened.”

“He demanded I bring soup to you,” she says. “That’s not friend boundaries. That’s scream my love at the sun boundaries.”

“We definitely aren’t at that level,” you tell her, chuckling despite yourself. “Maybe you’re thinking of Yoongi?”

“Okay, we’re done here!” she chirps, which makes you laugh more. “Here’s your soup. Yoongi made it, it’s delicious.”

You take a selfie with the soup container covering the lower half of your face, your tired eyes peeking over the top of it, and send it to Taehyung. He sends back a row of smilies.

Friend boundaries.

Right.

Saturday, November 17th

You stay in Friday night again, and by Saturday morning you’re feeling more like yourself. But when Bridget tells you that the guys want you all to come have a more low-key night at the house - drinks, snacks, and a movie - you’re kind of relieved. You don’t hate the idea of a night of socializing where you actually get to sit most of the time.

And, well, you’ll be happy to see Taehyung. It’ll be nice to hang out in an environment that isn’t forced schoolwork or a loud-ass bar. Maybe you can start to feel out what’s there between you two, and get to know him a little more.

You (and Bridget, who has been fully updated) are also very interested to see Kiko and Yoongi interact. You feel like a walking, talking sideways-eyes emoji.

It’s overcast as the three of you walk the twenty minutes to Jin’s house in the dark. The night is very still, you think. The air feels almost heavy. You wonder if it’s supposed to snow. You’ll have to ask Mister “Party Trick” when you get there.

Jin lets you in when you three arrive, and you step into his living room as you have several times before - but it feels like you’ve entered a brand new world. You’ve never seen the inside of his house with all the lights on, you realize. Nor with the furniture in place - instead of a dj booth shoved in the corner and the living room floor acting as a dance floor, Seokjin actually has a decent set-up of two couches and a lumpy reclining chair around his sizable tv. 

Jungkook is sprawled on the floor with a few pillows and a bowl of popcorn. Jimin’s sideways across the reclining chair, leaning backwards over it so that he can have a conversation at eye-level with Jungkook. There’s a girl you don’t know on one of the couches, chatting with the boys, and she waves at you all. Jin leads you into the kitchen, where he’s got a ton of food and drinks spread out.

You’re all standing in the kitchen, listening to Jin’s food explanation, when the back door opens. Taehyung steps through, rubbing his hands together briskly to warm them up. You smile at him, lifting a hand to wave, and then you see the pretty, dark-haired girl step through the door behind him. She rests one hand lightly on his upper back, as if he’s leading the way through a dark cave and she has to feel him to find her way out.

“Hey!” Taehyung says, smiling big, and you try to keep your smile up. Behind you, Kiko pokes you once in the ribs. 

I know, shut up, you think, as if she can hear you.

Bridget, oblivious, starts to make her drink. “Do you want one of these?” she asks you over her shoulder. Distracted, you tear your eyes away from Taehyung and his companion as they head back into the living room. 

“I should probably stick to soda tonight,” you tell her. “I’ve still got cold medicine in my system.”

“Smart,” she nods, handing you a plastic cup. As you wait your turn at the ice bucket, you meet Kiko’s gaze across the kitchen. She raises her eyebrows at you, and you give her a tiny shrug back. 

You’re glad you’re not alone and she can’t actually say whatever it is her eyebrow is saying. What would you even tell her? Taehyung can do what he wants with whomever he wants. You’re barely friends, and nothing beyond that has happened (sans soup delivery), so you’ve got zero reason to feel upset.

Though, reason be damned, your stomach is clenching, your throat feeling a little tight.

Yoongi appears in the doorway, and you take a second to take a good look at him, glad for the distraction. You never paid much attention to him before this thing started with Kiko. He’s good-looking, you’ll give him that. He carries himself with a subtle swagger, an easy confidence. You think to yourself that he strikes you as someone who cares if they look cool, but before you can fully complete that thought you watch him greet Kiko with a giant, gummy smile and that thought goes right out the window. 

“Hi,” he says to her, somewhat shyly, and you’re suddenly wanting to drag her ass out to shop for a wedding dress. 

“Hey,” she says, smiling back, a flush on her cheeks almost instantly. 

Oh, my god, these two clowns are goners, you think.

Kiko follows Yoongi out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with Bridget and Seokjin. 

“So, they’re head over heels in love with each other,” Bridget says to you, and you shoot a quick glance at Jin, not sure how Kiko would feel about you discussing it in front of him.

“It’s cool,” he says, holding up his hands. “It’s hard not to know if you live here. They’ve been doing this all week.”

“Have you ever heard his music?” you ask, oddly curious. “Is it good?”

Jin nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, it actually is pretty good. I’ll send Bee his soundcloud link and she can share it with you if you’re interested?”

“Could you do that, Bee?” you tease. She chucks a potato chip at you and it bounces off your shoulder before skittering under the kitchen table. You grin at her and make your way back into the living room.

Taehyung and his girl are on the couch with the girl you don’t know; he’s got his arm draped over her shoulders and she leans against him, her legs tucked up next to her. Yoongi and Kiko are on the other couch, heads bent together as they both look at something on Yoongi’s phone. You sit by them gingerly, angling your body to get them as much space as you can. Bridget ambles in from the kitchen and plops between you and them, leaning against you and nestling in. You pet the top of her head affectionately and try not to look at the other couch as Seokjin picks up the remote and starts setting the movie up.

As the movie starts, you struggle to focus. Your mind is a whir, and feelings are being felt, and you feel like what you need most right now is to organize your head a little bit and put the situation into perspective. 

Yes, things with Taehyung have felt… a little like something could be starting there. Yes, you were hoping you’d get to talk to him a lot tonight; if you were being honest, you’d kind of hoped you’d sit by him for the movie, before you knew he had a girl with him. 

But nothing was going on with you and Taehyung yet - he’s been nice to you a few times, and you’d felt like there was some chemistry there. That’s all. He doesn’t owe you a single thing, and you have no right to feel jealous. 

Bridget nudges you gently with her elbow and cocks her head at Kiko and Yoongi, pulling you out of your head. You follow her gaze to see that the new “couple” are holding hands. You smile and start to turn back towards the tv. As you move your gaze from the other side of the couch to the tv on the wall, you notice that Taehyung isn’t looking at the tv either - he’s looking at you.

You meet his eyes for a split second, too quick to read anything, and turn determinedly to face the tv. You will yourself not to look away, despite not following the plot at all.

About halfway through the movie, Yoongi gets up and heads into the kitchen, but instead of returning to the couch he heads to the basement door and down the stairs that you’d fallen down last time you were in this house. Kiko lets another five minutes pass and does the same.

You text the groupchat - titled Roomies 💕- “u think ur slick, huh?” and she sends you back a kissy face. Bridget taps back a “haha” on your message, shooting a smirk at you from her side of the couch, where she’s spread out now that Kiko and Yoongi vacated their spot.

You have barely any idea what’s happening in the movie - characters are fighting, someone is crying, you don’t know why - and your cup is empty, so you rise and head towards the kitchen. You stop behind your couch, leaning over the top of it to ask Bridget if she needs anything from the kitchen. 

“Ooh,” she says, reaching down to the floor to retrieve her empty cup from near Jungkook’s foot. “Yes, please.”

You take her cup and head into the kitchen, where you mix her another healthy serving of vodka cranberry. As you pour yourself some soda, you hear footsteps behind you, and you glance over your shoulder. It’s Taehyung, and you get a little bit of deja-vu from when he followed you into the kitchen at Jin’s last party.

“Hey,” you say, turning back to what you’re doing. “Am I in your way?”

“No,” he says slowly. “Y/N… are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”

You turn to look at him, surprised. “What? Of course not.”

“You haven’t talked to me all night,” he points out. “You won’t even look at me.”

You feel frustrated suddenly, and you can’t put your finger on why. “I’m trying not to mess things up for you!” you say defensively. “How do you think it would look to your girl if I did all that? I’ve dropped guys for less.”

He scoffs. “She’s not my girl. We aren’t - ugh! That’s… not what that is. It’s really not.”

You shrug. “It’s not my business, Taehyung.”

“That’s your favorite line, huh?” he challenges, crossing his arms. It’s your first time seeing him in a t-shirt instead of a hoodie or sweatshirt, and you can see that the scar, thick and textured, starts at his hand and ends very nearly at his elbow. You keep your eyes on his face, feeling defensive and a little angry.

“It is when it’s true,” you say evenly.

“I’m not sleeping with Leslie, Y/N,” he says, very seriously, like he needs you to hear him. It’s so straightforward, so point-blank, you have no idea how to respond to that. You blink at him.

Jesus.

“Good for you. I don’t know why you feel the need to tell me that,” you admit.

“Based on how you’ve acted all night, apparently I do need to tell you that!” he explodes, and you both glance out to the living room to see if you’ve been overheard. 

“You don’t,” you shake your head. “There’s nothing going on with you two? Great. There’s nothing going on with us, either. I don’t care what you do.”

This line hits him like a slap - you watch him physically recoil from it. His mouth drops open a little bit, and he closes it again, looking away.

“Cool,” he says, his voice suddenly very low and very flat. “Glad we sorted that out.”

He turns and stalks out of the kitchen, leaving you standing there, unsure what just happened. 

–

You and Bridget walk home around one in the morning, after confirming via text that Kiko is under no circumstances going to walk back to campus alone later - since she’s still sequestered in Yoongi’s basement lair, doing god-knows-what. 

You don’t say goodbye to Taehyung. You fill Bridget in as you walk; you feel worse now than when you saw that girl enter the kitchen. 

“Whatever,” you say bitterly, as you finish the story. “It’s not like I actually lost anything.”

Bridget glances sideways at you through the dark but says nothing - unlike her. She reaches over and takes your hand, and you walk like that until your four-story dorm building looms ahead of you.

Next

:) :) :) I would say sorry but I don't like liars.

Anyway, thank you for being here! I appreciate every single interaction, whether it's a like, comment, DM, ask, or reblog!

A huge thank you as always to @kookstempo for being the entire reason that the Earth still turns and also for beta-ing!

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal​

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the  ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

[jisungscaramel]

vexation | hyunjin

❀ genre; smut, college au, enemies au  ❀ pairing; hyunjin x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 2.7k 

[warning] strong language, explicit sexual content, dry humping, (mild) begging, hate sex

There it was: Hwang Hyunjin, name beautifully printed right above yours. You shuddered in complete disgust, not believing that you were paired with him of all people for your history presentation. There were 34 students in the class; that meant you had a whopping 97% chance of being paired with literally anyone else, but no. Your professor, Dr. Zhang, just had to pair you with him. 

Overachiever: that was an understatement. He was the type to want all of the glory for the taking, the type to enjoy making others feel like they were dumb, the type who had no issue in forsaking common morals for his own gain. 

You couldn’t fucking stand him. 

Begrudgingly, you stood up from your original seat, trudging your feet to sit next to him - at your professor’s instruction, of course. You planned on at least being polite, and you thought for a second that he might do the same, but he didn’t even bother looking at you, staring through to the front of the room, eyes stoic. If he was trying to provoke you, it was definitely working. 

You dropped your backpack to the ground, unceremoniously, sound drowning in the increasing levels of chatter in the small lecture hall, but clearly loud enough to make his composure teeter; his head jerked back a millimeter, a minuscule gesture but it was painfully obvious to you. And you let out an equally obvious slew of snickers before sitting back in the seat, neck meeting the old frayed fabric as you tilted your head back, arms stacking on one another as you folded them, woman spreading to occupy more real estate than you actually required.

You had to at least try to keep yourself amused. 

Hyunjin began scribbling mindlessly on a blank piece of paper - still acting as if you were not even there. 

He slammed the white sheet down on your knee, sending vibrations straight up your leg rather rudely. 

Asshole. 

Oh, baby, he hadn’t even started yet. 

“Okay. We’re doing our paper on I-Hotel and… I’m gonna write it. All you have to do is find these books for me at the library.” He turned to look at you with a very aggravating smirk… maybe you’d notice the tiniest hint of flirtation if the feeling of overwhelming irritation didn’t encompass you. 

But the chance passed when his countenance morphed into counterfeit concern, tapping his chin in contemplation for added effect, “although, I think the library’s computer system is down… I guess you gotta find them the old-fashioned way.” God, you just wanted to smack that smug grin right off his face. “I’d love to help you with that... but I’m just too busy…” It should’ve been illegal for intolerable people to be that gorgeous.

You blinked in complete confusion. “Ummm… excuse me?” 

“I’m… sorry… do… I… need… to … talk… slower…?”

You gingerly picked up the piece of paper, promptly getting up from your chair, glaring at him. You made sure your backpack was secure on your shoulder before dramatically lifting the note in front of his face to tear what he wrote to shreds, scattering the bits over his laptop’s keyboard. “Stick a motherfucking cactus up your ass.” 

You stormed out of that hall with your head high, not daring to look back despite your innate desire to see his response - you were sure it was priceless. 

‘I’ll just have to do this damn thing on my own.’

Oh, if it could only be that simple. 

The first thing that popped up on your laptop when you opened it from the safety of the library was an unexpected email. 

Since you ripped up my list - rather rudely I might add - I’ve attached the list of the books I require. I will be at the library at four PM sharp. Please plan accordingly. Hyunjin 

“Fuck.” 

‘Plan accordingly,’ your ass, according to you, your plan was to minimize the amount of time you had to spend dealing with Hyunjin, and you had been 100% sure he had the same sentiment… so much for that. 

Speaking of the devil, as soon as you decided to dismiss his outlandish request and settle in to get some of your research started, Hyunjin yanked your attention away from your laptop with merely his presence, almost as if your nerves were hypersensitive to his saccharine dipped aura, and most definitely not to the signature sway of his frame as he walked. 

You didn’t dare grant him the luxury of your direct gaze. Instead, you kept a close eye on him in your peripheral, hoping you’d blend in with the people around you… but there was still at least a 92% chance he’d see you.

“Did you get my sources?” and now he was right in front of you, nothing but a measly table in between. 

Your nostrils flared in an effort to not retort back at Hyunjin, eyes still fixed on your screen in a successful attempt to ignore him. 

Then he pushed your laptop closed, hand planted firmly on the device rather invasively. “Excuse me, I’m talking to you.”

You gritted your teeth, tilting your head up in a menacing stare, eyes narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you want?” 

God, you didn’t know his smile could get more fake than it already was. “I told you to get my sources for me,” his tone was exaggeratedly slow, “did you get my sources?” 

You shoved his hand away from your laptop. “Get your own sources.” 

Immediately his fake smile turned into a sincere snicker, rolling his eyes off to the side. “Uptight bitch.” 

His words sank in for a moment. “You wanna say that again?” 

He leaned over the table, face a mere six inches from yours. “Uptight,” you could feel your fists involuntarily clenching, digging into your palms what would soon be prominent crescents in a matter of seconds, “bitch.” 

You almost raised your palm to gratuitously slap him across the face but the simmering mellowness in you kept a tight grasp of your boiling anger. You leaned back in your seat in an effort to widen the physical gap (or the lack thereof) between you. “Fuck off.”

<><><><><><> 

“Hyunjin, y/n, can you both come down to the podium,” Dr. Zhang added at the end of his lecture, halting your plans to b-line straight to the library. 

As the aisles began to empty, you made your way down the steps to the front of the room, purposefully standing at the side opposite of Hyunjin, frankly paying no mind to him for all intents and purposes. 

Your professor glanced between you two, clearly noticing the oddity of the image but purposefully choosing to ignore it. 

“I noticed that both of you submitted first drafts for your paper, and at first I thought it was an accident, until I opened both files and realized you’re writing completely separate papers. Care to explain?” 

“Yeah y/n, care to explain?” What a fucking dicktard. 

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you wracked your brain for some feasible excuse. “Well,” but nothing came to mind… oh fuck it, “we’ve had issues working with each other.” 

Dr. Zhang raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Elaborate.”

“We really don’t get along.”

He sighed, crossing his arms. “Well you’re gonna have to try to find some middle ground. I’ll give you two a second chance to put a first draft together. If you can submit a collaborative piece by midnight, I’ll still give you full credit for that part. If not, it stays as a zero. Subsequently, you will keep getting zeroes for the following checkpoints if you submit them separately. Any questions?” 

“No, sir,” much to your surprise, that was the first moment thus far wherein both you and Hyunjin were on the same wavelength. 

“Good, that is all.” 

You felt like two negatively charged magnets as you walked side by side up the aisle to the exit. “I’m not getting a zero for this,” Hyunjin spoke up. 

You rolled your eyes. “At least we can agree on that.”

As the cold, crisp air of the outside refreshed your nerves, he lightly gripped your shoulder, swerving you to face him. “Look, I know we’re like oil and water, but I’m willing to at least try to get along for the grade.” His fingers trembled on your shoulder; his teeth lightly grazed his bottom lip, eyes searching yours for a sign of truce. 

Needless to say, the sentiment from him was unexpected. You exhaled deeply, brushing his hand from you. “Fine.”

<><><><><><><> 

But two hours spent alone in a library study room proved to be more difficult than originally anticipated. Trying to work together felt like pulling teeth - a true collaboration of absolute vexation.  

“What about this passage?” You pointed to some text in a book you were sifting through. 

He swiveled his chair around, only looking at your find for a solid half a second before, turning back around. “Nah, that’s not good enough to use as evidence.” 

“What the fuck, Hyunjin? You didn’t even read it.”

“I didn’t have to. I assumed whatever you found was as subpar as everything else you’ve ‘found.’”

You dropped the book on the table with a loud plonk, partially in shock at what he said and partially due to a natural tendency to want to irritate him. “Well let’s see what you ‘found,’” leaning over the table in a relaxed manner, carrying a dash of nonchalance as you scrolled through his writing. “You call this good evidence?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh at his defensive tone. 

“It’s obvious that you’re framing your own narrative by taking shit outta context. Not to mention all the ellipses and brackets are terrifically horrendous, visually. You’re taking literally all the credibility out.” 

“What do you know? I doubt you even read that article,” he dismissed your legitimate critique in a manner you unfortunately predicted. 

“As a matter of fact, I did… two. hours. ago. And you told me the article didn’t seem ‘reliable’ enough for you, but here you are… you must think I’m fucking stupid.” 

The side of his lips curved up in the slightest smirk. “Not true, I think you’re annoyingly absentminded.” 

You rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time in the past minute, whispering, “fucking cockmaggot,” under your breath, diverting your attention back to your screen. 

“What did you just say?” His tone suggested he wasn’t being rhetorical - he really didn’t hear you. There was something cute and innocent about his ignorance, the way his lips formed a subtle pout unintentionally, nose wrinkling in distaste. You mentally shook the image from your head, cursing yourself for thinking he was… ‘cute’ to begin with. 

“Nothing, My Liege, nothing at all,” mocking sarcasm spilled from your lips as you parted them to give them a disapproving smack. “This is complete shit; we can’t submit this.”

Hyunjin slammed his laptop closed, standing up abruptly. The action took you by surprise, making your neck shudder in a startle. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” Pent up rage was slathered all over his face, eyes twitching, eyebrows tightly knitting together, jaw unhinging from an excess of epinephrine. 

His anger diffused to you, violently charging your nerves. There was no way you were just gonna take his shit sitting down. “Why do you,” you stood up, chair rocking back from the velocity of your limbs, “have to be,” you turned around and gripped his collar with both hands, “such an insufferable asshole?” 

He was dumbfounded, wordless much to your satisfaction, but his eyes were unwavering, devoid of reaction. The time you spent stabbing each other with your unfaltering gazes felt like a goddamn eternity, tension coarse, sinfully tangible on your skin. 

It was fucking stifling. 

Before you even realized what was happening, your lips were latched together in a fervent frenzy, tension thickening for an entirely different reason now. 

There was something so breathtaking about the way his lips tightened against yours - literally. It felt like he was siphoning your soul from your body - any thought that dared to grace your mind oddly dissolved into nothingness as Hyunjin molded your lips into submission, tongue colonizing your oral cavity in an authoritative manner that was so in character for him. 

Not that you gave a fuck. 

His hands aggressively tugged at your waist; the impact of your body crashing onto his sent pangs up your spine, and in seconds, your back thudded against the wall, maintaining the momentum. You had to grip his shoulders purely for support, and definitely not because you were immersing in the moment.

You felt his grip loosen as his hands roamed downward, playfully drawing patterns on your skin with his fingers en route. And then they constricted around your thighs, lifting them up to his hips, and you hooked your ankles around his back as if it was the natural thing to do. 

The fabric of his pants became taut around the building frustration underneath, becoming oh so apparent to you when he started steady grinding against the thin fabric of your underwear - why did you have to wear a skirt today of all days?

You passed a reluctant whimper through his lips, wholly unable to deny the way your pulsing desire radiated heat through your core at the increasing friction. 

You broke away from the kiss, gasping. “Hyunjin…” you whispered almost breathlessly, desperation filling you as he continued his tantalizing test of your patience. 

“Hmmm?” There it was: that signature smug grin, but by this point, your senses were too preoccupied to even register it. 

“I can’t take this anymore.”

“Is that so?” He lifted you off the wall, pushing your laptops to either side so he could lay you on the table, spreading your legs to give him clear sight of your dampening sex. He snickered. “You look much better like this…” While ghosting one hand around your inner thighs, conveniently avoiding the place you needed him the most, he undid the button and zipper of his jeans with the other, sliding them down to his knees. 

You found yourself licking your lips at the silhouette of his bulge, now more prominent with less restricting fabric. Of course, he noticed; “so these are you true colors… I never would’ve thought you were such a dirty girl.” He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your underwear. “Where do you need me?” He pressed his thumb on your clit, “here?” 

Your teeth pressed down on your lips in an effort to stifle a moan. “Yes…” and even though you were successful the first time, there was no stopping the sounds from seeping through your lips when Hyunjin slammed his clothed erection on you once more, picking up exactly where he left off just moments ago. 

“Please, Hyunjin…” he pushed your thighs further apart, keeping them in place. 

“‘Please,’ what?” 

“I need you inside me, please.” 

His sinister laugh filled the small room. “I don’t know if you deserve it.” 

“Fucking asswipe.” 

“Now that doesn’t sound very convincing…” 

You groaned in pleasurable displeasure. “Hyunjin… please, I’m begging you. I really can’t take this.” 

“Don’t you care if someone tries to come in?” He raised an eyebrow, partially in curiosity, mostly in amusement. 

You glared right into his eyes. “No.” 

He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he stood back. “Get up.” Any urge you had to defy him before was long gone; you did as he asked and he harshly turned you around by your waist, pushing you toward one of the windows. 

While pushing you down against the glass with one hand, he reached in his front pocket with the other, grabbing a condom. He ripped the packaging with his teeth, skillfully sliding his boxers down to slip the vinyl over him. 

Not wanting to wait any longer, you aided him by pulling your panty down leaving yourself completely exposed for his taking, and you quickly pushed your hands on the glass, bracing yourself for the next few seconds, but nothing could’ve prepared you for that stretch that came. Your wrist slid down on the window pane to bite back a scream. 

“So tight.” 

 ><><><><><><><

A/N I’mma be honest: I had a fucking field day coming up with all those weird insults

[messymindofmine]

While I don't think bullying is quite the right word for what happened between Miguel and Robby in S1 and 2, rivalry isn't either. Honestly, I think we've all gotten so caught up in the semantics that the original discussion has been forgotten altogether. The fact of the matter is, for every fight in S1 and 2, Miguel was the aggressor. Then in S4, the only time Miguel and Robby had any interaction was during a dojo face-off. Their first encounter after Robby found out about him and Sam was when Hawk was bullying Kenny. Even then, it wasn't actually about Miguel for Robby. In fact, he ignored him until Miguel actually spoke up. Yes, what Robby said then was definitely a low blow and I would've been pissed if I'd been Miguel as well. But that doesn't change the fact that nothing actually happened beyond Miyagi-Do pranking the Cobra kids. Then, the next real encounter they had was at the prom. Yes, Robby and Tory went their with the intention of ruining their night but lest we forget both have plenty of reason to be angry at their former significant others. I definitely feel that Tory's attack on Sam was completely unwarranted. Her fight should've been with Miguel. But she does have lots of reasons to be angry with Miguel and Sam. Tory's reaction to Sam's snobbery was out of proportion but that doesn't make her reason invalid. Robby also had reason to be angry. Sam cheated on him twice. Even if the first time was more her being taken advantage of by Miguel, it doesn't make Robby's hurt invalid. And then he had to see them together at the dojo after he got out of juvie. When he called Sam out on it, she tried to turn it around on him by saying that he never answered her emails. Never mind the fact that Robby was in juvie and the last time they'd seen each other before that was when Robby found out that she'd kissed Miguel. I mean that alone would be reason enough for him to believe they weren't a couple anymore. Robby pointing out that its hard to respond to emails when you're getting the shit beaten out of you in juvie is not him gaslighting or manipulating Sam. He's simply pointing out the truth that we literally saw with out own eyes. Because Robby did try to respond but Shawn shut the computer off and started harassing him. Then the next time he saw Sam at the skatepark, he was still willing to hear her out. But Sam spent the whole time talking about her feelings and what she wanted. Not once did she even consider his feelings. After that, the next time they see each other is at the prom. Actually, I'd say that Robby and Tory's plan to get back at their exes by attending prom together was actually the most age-appropriate plan that any of the characters have had. But even that they abandoned pretty quickly and decided to just enjoy prom together. Which they actually did have the right to do. Tory, as a student, had just as much right to attend prom and bring a date as Sam and Miguel did. Plus, it was Sam who actually started the fight. She could've ignored them and just focused on her date but she chose to start a fight. Even Miguel was upset with her for that. Even during that fight, Sam refused to acknowledge her own wrongdoing and told Robby he'd broken her heart too. Even if she'd meant that in the way of someone being hurt by their friend leaving them it's still not fair. Sam is the one who cheated twice. Sam is the one who has treated Robby as nothing but a token of peace between Johnny and Robby without even considering what Robby's feelings might be. Robby owes her nothing. Also, everything that happened at the cafeteria fight does not trump what happened prior to that. After all, there is a reason why that fight happened in the first place

[sonnetthebard]

This is kind of a crack idea, but I don't really care and I'm throwing it out anyway

Curt and Owen have to go undercover in a show for a mission(keeping an eye on one of the members of the cast maybe?). The show? Either Spies are Forever or a Hatchetfield show, take your pick -S

S anon... you have been waiting a while for this, and I apologize. With Headless, I needed a moment to recharge. So this is going to be a Modern! SAF fic. And as a treat, we're going original cast in an AU. That's right folks. Extra meta content. You asked for crack, you're gonna get crack. Please note: Most of the stories pertaining to the real people involved in this oneshot are made up based on what facts I know about them/ what I’m able to pick up on personalities. I don’t know any of these people personally, though. This is going to be such a ride, so buckle up.

Genre: Comedy/ Action/ Fluff

Words: 5639

TL;DR: Curt and Owen take the stage in order to monitor Chimera and one of their operatives. The thing is, they only have a vague clue as to who they're going after: he was one of the writers.

TW: Swearing, Guns, Fighting- But not much, this is mostly just gonna be a joke.

_________________________________________________

"Next we have... Curt Mega?" The longer-haired one read off, looking at Curt. "Cool name! We might have to use that- if, of course, that's okay with you."

"Oh... yeah, that's fine." Curt chuckled softly.

What, precisely, was Curt doing? Only the thing he'd vowed to Owen that he would never do (other than, of course, leave him): auditioning for a musical. Owen was a total theatre kid, and he'd done his share of musicals. Curt was always in the audience, but he'd jokingly told Owen that he would never be joining him up there. But... here he was. In an audition room. Curt never broke promises, not even joke ones. But these were... extenuating circumstances. In other words, this was for a mission and he had no doubt that Cynthia would actually kill him if he didn't follow through with his orders. Owen gave him a sly, triumphant smirk from across the room, where he was waiting for his audition. Curt got up, following the guy back further into the studio where they were holding auditions.

This mission was an odd one. It was monitoring a potential operative with Chimera Worldwide. Sure, they had the world by storm now- but A.S.S. was getting intel telling them that they might be breaching the privacy rights of people all over the world. In fact, Chimera may be a lot more criminal than they would seem to the naked eye. There was evidence coming to light of plots that could very well end in world domination. The worst part: apparently they were pretty plausible. One world government, puppeted by Chimera. That's why MI6 had sent Owen, and A.S.S. had sent Curt. They were their best agents, and a duo that had proven to work well together.

What did all of that have to do with a musical? To the average joe, nothing. Oh, Chimera had done well. They'd even declined to offer these guys a production grant so as to not seem shady. But... the A.S.S. had reason to believe that one of the writers and producers for the show that they were about to audition for was an operative for Chimera. Now, this play in and of itself may be an independent project. It may have nothing to do with Chimera. But... it was looking like the easiest way to monitor this operative, and so here Curt and Owen were. Owen was thrilled! He loved doing shows. He usually had to slot them into his schedule carefully, though. He couldn't do them during missions. So a mission where he was doing theatre was basically a dream come true for him.

Curt and Owen had chosen roles according to their experience with theatre. Curt had chosen to keep his name as his theatrical stage name, and Owen already did keep his name as a stage name. It was risky, but it also provided their names with a solid cover in the world outside of espionage. Owen had a legitimate resume built. That was why he was going for the lead, currently named 'JB' for 'James Bond' (subject to change). Curt, on the other hand, had stolen his resume from another actor named Curt Mega (who had fully agreed to that and signed an NDA and luckily enough happened to look like Curt). He had literally no acting experience, so he was going for a smaller role: The Informant and Ensemble. Both would likely have eyes on different parts of the production process and the cast. Hopefully they'd get a good idea of what was going on and who their target was. Maybe they'd even get to eliminate the threat! That was Curt's favourite part of missions.

"So, Curt... you did Glee?" The guy who had initially called him asked as they walked.

"Yep!" Curt lied.

"I recognize you! You were one of the Warblers- nice job on that solo in Uptown Girl, by the way." The man chuckled. Oh good. He was passable as the other Curt Mega. "I did Glee too. I was only there for, like, an episode though. But my buddy Darren... well, you probably know him."

"Yeah. He did a phenomenal job as Blaine." Curt smirked. Darren was also on an NDA. The government was being extremely careful.

"I'm Joey Richter. Me and my friends Brian and Corey wrote this show." The man introduced himself, extending his hand. Curt took it, giving him a firm shake. Joey smirked. "Damn... you've got a good shake."

"Thanks." Curt chuckled. He liked this guy. It was hard to imagine right now that he could be talking to an agent for one of the greatest evils known to man since... probably the Nazis. "I'm Curt... I mean, you know that, I just..."

"Yeah, I get it." Joey chuckled along with him. They walked into a room. Inside there were four other men. Two sat behind a table, Curt's supposed 'resume' and headshots laid out in front of them, a stack of papers on the side. Two other men shared a piano bench stationed by a keyboard. None of them were dressed particularly formally. Actually, they were all dressed pretty similarly to Curt. Short-sleeved patterned button-ups were about as formal as it got. So Curt and his black, white and gold striped short-sleeved button-up were in good company. "Hey, guys! This is Curt!"

"Hey! Welcome to the auditions for Spies are Forever!" One of the men behind the table smiled brightly. God, all of these men looked... so innocent. Curt couldn't see any of them being traitors to their country, much less mankind.

"Okay, so that's Brian. The guy beside him is Corey." Joey introduced. Corey waved. "The two guys at the piano bench are Clark and Pierce, our composers and band."

"Hey, Curt." Clark smirked.

"You brought your sixteen bars?" Pierce checked.

"Yep." Curt nodded, popping his 'p' and passing him the binder with his sheet music in it.

He'd brought Being Alive from Company, which Owen said was "such a cliche" and "a terrible choice for a comic show", but it was the song Curt felt most comfortable singing. So he was singing it anyways. Owen was very adamant that Curt had to be careful to actually be cast in the show, but Curt held that that song was his best chance. Curt had always thought he was an okay singer. He had his range that he shined in, and he used that. He never performed though. He wasn't that good. That's why he was going for a mostly non-singing role. He went over his cut with Clark, who was actually the one who would be playing for him. Then he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and gave it the old college try.

The odd thing, Curt thought, was that they seemed very into it. Either they were being very nice to him or they were genuinely enjoying the performance. Curt was a bit surprised by that. Owen was the performer among the two of them. Curt supposed it could just be the song. But then... something else unexpected happened. They asked Curt to do his cold read as 'JB'... and change the name to his own. 'Agent Curt Mega'. It was all getting a bit real for Curt. They liked him. And they liked his cold read. They were laughing during his cold read- and at all the right times! Curt was very confused. This wasn't where he was supposed to shine. He walked out of the audition room, and Owen was called in.

Owen really could not have come out sooner. Curt was anxious. What had he just done? He had given it his best because he thought that the best that could get him was ensemble. Was it going to get him more? Was he ready for more? He was past the point of no return, but... God, what had he just done? Owen came out of his audition, smug and content with himself. Apparently they'd asked him to read multiple sides. Curt hadn't the heart to tell him they'd asked him to read for the lead. A few days passed. Curt almost forgot that he'd even auditioned. That it had been so successful. Basking in the California sun could do that to you. But three days later, it all came back to him all too vividly.

"Curt, I got the email!" Owen announced from where he was lazing on the couch across from Curt in their hotel room. He sat up quickly, eager.

"What does it say?" Curt asked eagerly, sitting up with him. Owen scrolled down on his phone.

"Well... I'm in the show..." Owen furrowed his brows. "But... not in the role I thought. I got Deadliest Man Alive."

"Oh." Curt frowned. "I'm sorry. I know you really wanted the lead."

"It seemed like a juicy part." Owen hummed, still a bit dazed by the rejection. "I was looking forward to it."

"I know, babe." Curt sighed, getting up and wrapping his partner in a hug. "Maybe this one will be even juicier!"

"Maybe..." Owen nodded. "Thank you, love. For trying to make me feel better."

"Yeah, no problem!" Curt smiled softly.

"Did you get your email?" Owen asked.

"I... haven't checked." Curt admitted.

"Well go on, then! Sit! We'll check together!" Owen urged him. Curt sighed, sitting beside him and opening his email. Owen peered over his shoulder. The email from the Tin Can Bros was the first one that popped up right at the top. "Open it, Curt!"

"Okay..." Curt chuckled nervously, pressing the email to open it. He scrolled down, sighing in relief. "I got in, O."

"Congratulations!" Owen cheered, grinning. he was genuinely happy for Curt, and excited to be in the same show. "What role?"

"Let me scroll down..." Curt chuckled, before his heart stopped. Naturally, his laughter stopped with it, and his face fell.

"Love, what is it?" Owen furrowed his brows, concerned by the sudden mood shift. Immediately, his mind went to the worst-case scenario. "Curt, is there anything in there indicating that we might be compromised?"

"No..." Curt shook his head, staring at the role.

"Then... darling, what's wrong?" Owen blinked, before looking over his shoulder. His face fell to a state of shock almost equal to Curt's when he read the words, bolded on the screen: We would like to offer you the role of 'JB', renamed Agent Curt Mega. "Oh..."

_________________________________________________

Rehearsals for Spies Are Forever were potentially one of the best times Curt had ever had. Everyone loved him! Apparently, his voice was much better than he'd given himself credit for, as was his acting. Even Owen admitted it. It turned out Curt was perfect for the role. The songs fit right for him, the personality was spot on... the spy was even gay! It was as though it was written specifically for him to perform. Curt truly was having the time of his life. And Owen was loving the role of Deadliest Man Alive. It turned out it was a significantly juicier role than Curt's- funny, dark. And he even had a minor side comedic role to take on, Dick Big. So he could flex his chops in different area. There was a bit of a minor complication with the characters, though.

It turned out Curt's was not the only name that they'd liked. The Tin Can Bros had thought Owen's name was absolutely perfect... for Curt's partner turned villain. Romantic partner turned villain, to boot. They liked the ship name Curtwen. Ironically, both Owen and Joey were playing versions of Agent Owen Carvour- Owen playing him when he was in disguise as Deadliest Man Alive, Joey playing him out of disguise. Owen didn't make a fuss- he couldn't in the position he was in. But he didn't like being portrayed that way, or his name being used that way. The truth was, Owen had used to be morally grey. He'd had a phase where he'd almost betrayed his country and Curt. He'd very nearly done some terrible things. He wouldn't way who for, but Owen had implied it might have been Chimera. But he and Curt had worked through that, and he saw the error of his ways. It hurt seeing his name associated with villainy again. But for the sake of the mission, he literally could not complain.

As for the mission, they weren't really getting too far yet- and that wasn’t for lack of effort. As hard as finding a balance between rehearsal and espionage was, they’d managed to find a routine and stick to it. The work they were doing really should have been productive for them. They'd bugged all three writers and the two composers, but HQ (who was monitoring those so that the boys could focus on rehearsing so that they didn’t become too suspicious) was saying that they'd not gotten any suspicious activity from those except for Joey constantly being with an unidentified girl. But it seemed like that was his girlfriend and not another operative. So either this operative was smart and onto them or taking a hiatus from their work. Background checks were pretty clean. They were going purely off their interactions with these writers, which wasn’t really helping. All five of them were lovely. All five of them were also extremely smart. And all five of them had acting experience. Right now, though... Joey, Clark and Pierce weren't their main suspects. Joey was just too genuine to be bad, as were Pierce and Clark. Plus, if we're looking at technicalities (as Owen tended to), Clark and Pierce were composers, not writers. It was between Brian and Corey- unless something changed. Truly, it was anyone's game.

Owen and Curt were on break. It had been a hard day of rehearsal so far. Curt had just had to rehearse his pseudo-love-song with Mary Kate (who was lovely, but he was a bit jealous of- Owen had called her 'gorgeous' on multiple occasions now), and though it wasn't physically or musically demanding it was hard not to just start laughing. Especially with Curt, a gay man who had experienced this before. And Lauren played his meddling mother during the song, which only made it harder not to laugh. His own mother had no idea what he did or who he was seeing, and it was better that way. She just thought he was a single banker. He liked Lauren’s version of his mom better. She was way funnier. It had taken a bit of time just to get a run in where Curt wasn't giggling the entire time. The song was just so well written! He knew it was so unprofessional (and Owen had certainly reminded him of that) but he couldn't help it! And the Bros were laughing with him, so it was all good. He was glad to be on break, because his sides were killing him. He scrolled through his phone, checking for anything from HQ, before he felt a hand on his back.

"You know, Curt, I don't know if I've told you this lately but you're really, really great!" Joey told him.

"Thanks, man." Curt chuckled. "Thanks for the opportunity!"

"Thank you for coming out for our show!" Joey smirked. His voice dropped to a lower volume. “Listen... you and Owen are dating, right?”

"Yeah..." Curt furrowed his brows. He and Owen had chosen to be open about that. They were all pretty supportive of the LGBTQ+ community. The actor playing Susan and The Informant had even confessed to him that they thought they might be nonbinary- maybe even female leaning. 

"Okay, so for the whole anniversary thing..." Joey fidgeted a bit nervously. "I mean... I've got an anniversary coming up, and, like, it's not my first, but... I think I’ve used every trick in the dating book at this point, and-"

"Wait, you're dating?" Curt blinked.

"Oh! Right, you're new!" Joey started to laugh. "Um... yeah! It's me and Lo."

"You and Lauren?" Curt smirked. He chuckled. "I knew it!"

"We're not public about the relationship yet, though, so... keep it quiet?" Joey pleaded.

"Oh yeah, you're safe." Curt assured him.

"So... any ideas?" Joey asked. “I really want this to be special for her.”

"Have you guys done the beach yet?" Curt offered. "Like, just a picnic- something you both love to eat- out on the beach."

"Yeah, did that two years ago." Joey sighed.

"Alright... how about a museum?" Curt offered. "It can be any museum that has something the two of you could bond over. But... I mean, Owen is super into experiencing art together."

"That we haven't done... not by ourselves on a date." Joey considered. "It doesn't even really have to be art, does it?"

"Nah, that's the beauty of museums! There are museums out there for everything." Curt smirked. “Maybe you two could go to a movie museum.”

"That’s probably more our speed.” Joey chuckled. “Thanks, man!”

"No problem.” Curt winked playfully. Then, he got an idea. He trusted Joey, so hopefully this worked. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

"I mean, I kinda owe you one." Joey chuckled. “Ask away!”

"Have you noticed anyone... acting a bit weird? Like... different from the way they usually do." Curt whispered.

"I... think I know who you mean." Joey nodded. "With Mary Kate... I think she honestly just misses Sean, you know? The rehearsals are a long time for her to be away from him. Those two are so close."

"Yeah... yeah, that must be hard on her." Curt hummed sympathetically. That... wasn't what he'd been going for.

"But I don't know what's going on with Brian." Joey confided in him. "I mean, it's not like he's been acting weird, per se, but... I mean, he always used to be down to just hang after work. But recently, he's been too busy to do that? I honestly thought it was just me who was picking up on that, but like... you're noticing it too?"

"Yeah. Yeah I am." Curt lied, all the sympathy he could muster in his tone. Bingo. He'd just gotten some really, really good intel there. If there was anyone who would be able to know when one of the writers was acting shady, it was Joey. They were his best friends. And Curt tended to agree with Joey anyways. Corey just didn’t give off villain vibes. Neither did Brian, but out of the two of them, Brian gave off more. “Glad it’s not just me.”

"What's he saying about me?" Brian rolled his eyes playfully, approaching his bag from behind them to grab something. Shit. He must have heard his name. 

"Uh..." Joey blushed.

"Oh, he was just telling me about how you two met." Curt lied. Joey gave him a questioning look. But Curt remembered him mentioning it in another one of his longwinded vents. "U of Michigan, Freshmen year. You two got into a lot of trouble."

"He's not telling you any of the bad stuff, is he?" Brian teased.

"Nah, man- I respect the bro code!" Joey scoffed playfully. Curt gave Joey a wink, and Joey gave him a grateful look in return. The wink hadn't gone unnoticed by Brian though.

"Oh god, he is telling you the bad stuff, isn't he?" Brian groaned playfully. "Listen, if Lauren asks, none of it was us."

"Oh don't worry... I'm great with secrets." Curt chuckled. He kinda wanted context now. Knowing those two, it was nothing serious- Joey had a heart of gold. He wouldn't be involved in anything bad. Especially not with his soon-to-be-girlfriend. So probably pranks, or other such shenanigans.

"Guys... I already knew it was you." Lauren rolled her eyes. None of them had noticed her by her own rehearsal bag picking up her water bottle. "It was so obvious... I may have believed you when you blamed Holden like... once? Twice? But you literally signed off half of the time."

"We did?" Joey blinked, looking at Brian.

"Okay, look, some of the time... I was pretty proud of our work." Brian defended himself.

"Dude!" Joey started to snicker. "And here I was keeping secrets from my girlfriend for you!"

"Sorry, Joey." Brian winced. 

“Eh, I guess I have to forgive you.” Joey rolled his eyes, chuckling. “You’re my best friend.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Lauren asked, noticing a pink piece of paper sticking out of Curt’s rehearsal bag. Curt blushed profusely. That was the letter Owen had written to pick him up. he took it everywhere with him in case he panicked so that he could read it, remember those days and calm down. It helped. He’d meant to keep it hidden. 

“Oh... it’s nothing.” Curt lied. 

“It’s not nothing, is it?” Lauren smirked. She gave him a genuine look. “Is it personal?”

“Oh, it’s nothing too bad.” Owen chuckled. Curt blushed further, feeling Owen wrap his arms around his waist. When had he gotten there?”

“What’s going on over here?” Corey asked, joining them. It seemed they had formed a rather large clump. 

“I think Lauren might be about to read the first letter I ever wrote to Curtis.” Owen smirked triumphantly, clearly not embarrassed by that prospect. 

“Ooooo romantic!” Tessa teased Curt. When had she shown up? God, for a spy, Curt was not very observant. He took a brief look at his surroundings. Ah. Everyone was there. Fantastic. 

“Oh hell yeah I am!” Lauren smirked. She plucked the paper out of Curt’s bag. 

“Oh god...” Curt groaned. 

“You okay with this?” Corey checked with Curt. Curt nodded reluctantly. 

“I mean, as long as O is.” Curt sighed, relenting.

With that, Lauren used the rest of their break to overdramatically read out Owen’s letter. Curt was a blushing mess, and Owen was grinning like an idiot. Evidently he was proud of himself- as he should have been. It was a good letter. At least Curt and Owen now had an idea of who to look into: Brian Rosenthal. It was a bit odd to think that Brosenthal might be a Chimera operative. He was a funny, quirky... he didn’t seem ruthless enough. Maybe they were wrong. But this was literally all the intel they could get at the moment. Mind you, they needed concrete evidence before they could actually do anything, but... at least they had a lead. Even if it was a weird one. The thing about espionage was that leads were usually weird. So they... well, they managed to bug all of the writers’ houses a bit more to give HQ more to work with, but especially Brian’s. That way the minute they had solid evidence, they could act. Well... not the minute. More like within about twenty minutes. But same difference. There was nothing else they could do. 

________________________________________________

Nothing happened through the rest of the rehearsal process. Literally nothing. No one did anything suspicious. Honestly, Curt and Owen were starting to think that their superiors were wrong. They were performing their shows- with excellent reception, might they add. People were loving Curt. The real Curt Mega was getting huge acclaim on Curt’s behalf. And the fans... well they were going mad. It was looking like the show would be a huge success- which meant two things. One, Curt was going to have to do more theatre. Cleary he was good at it. Two, his life as a spy was about to get more... complicated. IT turned out these guys had a bit of a cult following because they had been involved with a theatre group called Team Starkid? Curt knew about them from his mission briefing, but honestly he’d never thought that they were that big of a deal. When he’d confessed that to Owen he’d gotten a long lecture. Apparently Owen was also a fan, and that was half of why he was so excited to be doing this show. But that was a topic for another time. 

It was about the third show in when they finally got the evidence they had been looking for. It... was not when they’d planned to find anything. Actually, it was at the least convenient time. Between acts. It was also in the least expected way. Curt had to get his props for the top of Act Two. Owen decided to go with him, mostly to make sure he wasn’t a total and utter child. Honestly, they just meant to get their props before places. They were the only ones in that area backstage- the stagehands were resetting the stage and helping with costume changes/ tech issues. Well, they thought they were the only ones backstage. They should have been. But it turns out that someone else had anticipated the lack of people, and was using that to his advantage. At first, all Curt and Owen could hear were murmurs- not distinguishable in the slightest. Bey both gave each other a look before pulling out their real guns (which they hid on their costumes just in case) and following the sound. And that was when they saw him. The culprit behind all of this: Bri- Corey Lubowich? They lowered their guns a bit, staying dead quiet. That wasn’t what they’d been expecting. {erhaps this was a false alarm. 

“I am in the middle of a- no, I get that my work with you is important! Believe me, I know!” Corey hissed. “I just... tonight is one of my shows! I’m going on as the Prince! I- well can it wait half an hour? I mean I’d prefer two hours, but if I have to whip out my laptop backstage, I- well I’m kinda insisting on- come on, you guys know my theatre is important to me!”

“Okay... so we were wrong...” Owen whispered. 

“We don’t know that...” Curt reasoned. “It could be his family.”

“Of course I’m loyal! When have I not done what you said? I have sacrificed so much for you!” Corey fumed quietly. “Chimera is my life now! Not theatre, not my family or friends. Chimera! Do you know how fucking weird that is for someone my age?! I’m too young for all this corporate shit! No! No, of course that’s not what I’m saying just- can I have my night? Come on, this is really important.”

“Okay, I take that back.” Curt blinked, stunned. He was just a bit too loud. Corey’s head snapped in their direction, and both men raised their guns. Corey’s eyes fumbled, and he pulled out a gun of his own, haphazardly aiming it at them. 

“Okay... shit, guys, I’m going to have to call you back... we’ve got a situation.” Corey muttered. His face fell and he rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “No, not a theatre situation. An us situation. I’ll fill you in- look, they have guns. Just- I really don’t have the time for this anymore- NOT MY JOB WITH YOU! This conversation! Jesus, I’ve got two guns pointed at me! Let me go! Okay, fine! Bye!”

“You...” Curt spat, glaring at Corey. 

“You guys finally figured it out...” Corey sighed, raising his gun fully at them. 

“You know who we are?” Curt blinked. 

“How?” Owen asked him coldly. 

“Chimera has eyes and ears everywhere.” Corey rolled his eyes. “Just like in the show. I knew you were coming, and I knew you were looking for me. I just didn’t think you’d actually find me.”

“Are you insulting our intelligence?” Owen scoffed. 

“No. I just thought I set up Brian pretty well.” Corey admitted. “It was pretty easy, too... all I had to do was point out to Joey that Brian wasn’t coming to as many of our hangouts as he used to. You trusted Joey. Joey relayed that to you. Threw you completely off my scent.”

“Yeah, aren’t you just the friend of the year.” Curt rolled his eyes. “You threw your bro under the bus.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t get a false tip-off and eliminate him.” Owen hummed in agreement. “You’ve no clue the kinds of things that could set our superiors off.”

“Well... It’s Brian. The chances of him doing anything sketchy are slim to none.” Corey reasoned. 

“Corey, I’m going to need you to put that gun down and put your hands behind your head.” Curt sighed. 

“Alright, guys, places!” Joey called out to them. Everyone was backstage- except, oddly, Lauren (who was usually pretty punctual on cues). Shit. Their timing was awful. “You can play with the... are those our prop guns?”

“No... those are too modern.” Brian furrowed his brows, approaching them to get a closer look. He blinked before stumbling back. “Holy shit, guys... are those real guns?”

“Yes, they are... and you’re going to need to stay back.” Curt told them levelly. “Lubowich, gun down, hands behind your head.”

“We outgun and outman you.” Owen reminded him. The fact that Corey was so reluctant was astounding. “And we have a license to kill if you don’t cooperate.”

“Okay, guys, what the fuck?!” Joey exclaimed. 

“Can we just... put the guns down and talk this out?” Tessa pleaded. 

“No... we can’t.” Curt shook his head. “My name is Agent Curt Mega, American Secret Service. My partner is Owen Carvour, MI6.”

“Our credentials...” Owen muttered, pulling them out with one hand and holding them out to Brian, who was closest. He hesitantly took them. Corey shot Owen while he wasn’t in peak position to shoot him. Curt shot Corey back with no hesitation. Neither shot was fatal, Corey’s hitting Owen in the arm and Curt’s hitting Corey in the shoulder. The impact was enough to make both men stumble back. Owen stayed on his feet, but Corey fell. Curt kept his gun trained on Corey. 

“Holy shit, they’re not lying...” Brian mumbled. 

“Okay, Corey... what the actual fuck, man?!” Joey fumed, definitely feeling a bit betrayed. 

“Corey... why are you fighting the secret service?” Mary Kate asked coolly, trying to be the level-headed one. 

“He works for Chimera.” Curt told them, knowing they might not get a clear response from Corey for a bit. 

“The assholes who wouldn’t fund us?” Brian groaned. Corey grunted in admittance. “Come on, man! This just keeps getting worse and worse!”

“Okay, guys, I’m here. Sorry I took so-” Lauren started, rushing out. She saw the scene playing out and blinked. “Holy fuck! What’s going on?!”

“They’re actual fucking spies, Lo.” Joey hissed. “All three of them.”

“Pretty sure Curt and Owen are the good guys.” Brian added in a whisper. 

“Oh yeah, Curt and Owen are definitely the good guys.” Tessa gulped. 

“Corey is an agent for Chimera.” Curt explained. 

“Please tell me this is an elaborate prank.” Lauren chuckled nervously. 

“No, Lo... this time it’s real.” Joey sighed. 

“Okay, but... Chimera’s just a huge global corporation, right?” Mary Kate reasoned. 

“Not really.” Corey croaked out. 

“They’re plotting world domination.” Owen grunted. 

“Corey...” Joey breathed. 

“World domination makes it sound bad.” Corey grimaced. “We more just want control over every world government... and then maybe to take all of them out and form one Chimera government.”

“That doesn’t make it sound any better.” Tessa winced. 

“Why?” Brian asked Corey, hurt. “Why are you doing this?”

“Honestly, I just needed a bit of extra money in college.” Corey muttered, trying and failing to find his footing. Clearly he wasn’t a field agent too often. 

“So you turned to espionage?!” Lauren scoffed incredulously. 

“Honestly I started as a delivery boy and then I found out some shit I should never have known...” Corey sighed. “It escalated really quickly.”

“God, this is a mess.” Joey groaned. 

“Curt, love, can you give our superiors a ring?” Owen prompted him. “I’ll deal with our former friend here.”

“On it.” Curt nodded, pulling out his phone. 

“So... do we stop the show?” Brian asked Owen as he pulled out a zip-tie- another essential item Owen always kept on him, even in costumes.

“Oh no... the A.S.S. is the epitome of discretion. Believe me, you’ll have no clue what’s going on. Just see if you can find a friend in the audience to go on for The Prince.” Owen told them, tying up Corey and forcing him onto his feet. “Owen will take him outside and... he should honestly be ready to go on after We Love The Prince.”

“Holy shit... okay...” Lauren sighed. 

“I’ll make an announcement that we’re having technical difficulties...” Joey planned. “Let’s, um... just take a moment to breathe and get back into the right headspace.”

“We’ll be back in a moment.” Curt told them as he and Owen took Corey outside. 

“Rot in hell, you asshole!” Brian called after him, sniffing. Was he... crying? You know what, it was completely fair. That was one hell of a betrayal. 

So Curt and Owen passed Corey onto their superiors, and Spies Are Forever was able to go on. They got Nick Lang to play The Prince, which only made the fans more excited. Curt and Owen were allowed the opportunity to finish their run with the show- which Curt was so, so grateful for. He loved theatre. he never thought he would, but he loved it. And Owen loved that he loved it. Spies are Forever was the first of many shows for Curt. He got into the habit, like Owen, of doing shows between missions. In fact, he actually got to make Owen a little jealous later on- he got into a Starkid show. Mind you, they knew who he was. Fully this time. They even supported him- helped him build a public backstory. The real Curt Mega’s wife even played wife to him publicly when she needed to. It was a new start in Curt’s life and one that he hadn’t even known he needed. Finally, everything seemed like it was okay.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Awaken

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Hwang Hyunjin (some mentions of Y/N x Seo Changbin)

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: Explicit smut and language, use of vibrators, Hyunjin is kinda obsessed in this one

Genre: College AU; Professor AU

Summary: When Y/N transferred into a prestigious all-girls university, she never expected to be on the receiving end of a very handsome professor’s near-constant attention.

It had been a difficult decision - transferring from my previous school into one of the most Elite universities in the world. I understand that it might seem contradictory, but there were several uncertainties that impeded my ability to make a decision. The first being an existential dread surrounding the idea of leaving behind my best friends, including my off-and-on again boyfriend, Changbin. The second reason involved my new university’s strict mandate that it would only accept female applicants.

Yes, the school only admitted women, and as someone who maintained a diligent sex life with previous boyfriends, I was not excited by the prospect of being forced into celibacy.

But the pressure from my parents and close academic advisors eventually forced my hand, and I found myself dragging most of my belongings out of my dorm room with a few friends helping me along. “What the hell is in this suitcase, Y/N?” Jisung asked, grunting with the effort of dragging my bag along the sidewalk.

“Probably just clothes,” I said, shrugging because I was trying to remain perfectly nonchalant about my transfer, even though I was having a total meltdown on the inside.

“I think that’s all of it,” Changbin said, and he was giving me that same somber look that I was starting to hate - the one that told me he wasn’t very happy about my transfer. “You know,” he continued, bracing himself against the side of my car. “If you ever need me, I’m only a phone call away.”

“Quit trying to get your dick wet, Changbin, and grab something!” Chan snapped. “Or, are those arms just for show?”

Changbin rolled his eyes, but he leaned down to grab my laundry basket before bringing it to the trunk. “Are you gonna miss us, Y/N?” Jisung asked. 

“Not as much as you’ll miss me,” I said. “Who else will edit your essays, Han?”

Jisung frowned as if he was actually thinking deeply about my question. “Maybe I could just email them-”

“Jisung,” Chan interrupted, knocking against his shoulder with an affectionate smile. “There’s still one more box inside.”

“I’m on it!” Jisung shouted, and I grinned at the sight of the younger boy pumping his arms as he jogged back up the staircase.

“He doesn’t really get the severity of the situation,” Chan said, leaning next to me to against my car.

“It’s okay,” I said, looking down at my shoes. “I’ll miss all of you.”

“Y/N,” Chan said, “I thought we weren’t gonna cry until after you left.”

I sniffled around the rising urge to do exactly that before tossing my arms around his neck for a long embrace. “You’ll come see me, right?”

“Of course,” Chan agreed, pulling back to meet my gaze. “Ya! Don’t cry over this, Y/N. It’s supposed to be your big opportunity.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, but it didn’t really feel like it anymore, and when my eyes connected with Changbin’s, I couldn’t help but feel a terrible weight pressing down on my chest.

Maybe this was the worst idea ever, but I was already enrolled for the upcoming academic semester. I would do my best, of course, but I desperately hoped that my parents might reconsider another transfer. Because these were my friends  (and my sometimes boyfriend), and I belonged with them.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Chan instructed me firmly. “Call us if you ever want to hangout.”

“I will,” I promised him, and he brushed a friendly kiss across my forehead. It was the ultimate sign that I had truly signed my life away on the enrollment papers for the school in the next town. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad once I made new friends, but at this moment, everything hurt and I was doing my best to hold myself together as I drove away with my old life waving goodbye from the rear-view mirror.

Upon the start of the Spring semester, I was officially moved into my new dorm room which I was sharing with an very enthusiastic young woman named Claire. Her optimism was unmatched, and she had spent most of the day dragging me around campus while pointing out anything that seemed remotely interesting. “You’ll love it here, Y/N!” she promised, and I feigned a smile mostly for her benefit.

“It seems nice,” I told her later on after we returned to our shared dorm room.

“Oh, yeah, the teachers are great!” she said. “What’s your schedule like?”

I shrugged with vacant dismissal, reaching into my bag to hand her the folded piece of paper I had received earlier that week. “You got in Mr. Hwang’s class!” Claire abruptly squealed. “You lucky bitch!”

“What’s the big deal?” I grumbled, snatching my schedule back out of her hands.

“The big deal!” Claire shrieked like I had just committed an unforgivable crime. “He’s only the hottest teacher on campus!”

I rolled my eyes because I should’ve anticipated something superficial. But I was beginning to understand that most of these poor girls were thirsty for anything remotely attractive, and I had even witnessed one girl lusting over a much-older professor just because he still had all of his hair. It was everything I feared about an all-girls institution, and I was beginning to experience the same mania as the rest of them.

But my thoughts usually went to Changbin, and there was no way I would ever fantasize about one of my teachers. “How old is he?” I asked.

“He’s only 27!” Claire giggled. “I’m not kidding, Y/N, it looks like he was literally sculpted by the gods!”

“That’s original,” I muttered. “Well, I hope he’s good at poetry.”

“Oh, he’s the best,” Claire assured me, but I didn’t think I could take her word for it because she was certainly biased when it concerned his looks. “He’s been published all around the world!”

“He must be decent,” I said because the school’s academic reputation wouldn’t allow anything less than acceptable.

“My friend had a class with him last semester,” Claire continued, and I regretted not changing the topic earlier. “Apparently, she could hardly concentrate on the lesson because she couldn’t stop staring at his ass.”

“Your friend sounds dedicated.”

“There’s also a rumor going around campus that he only got his position because he seduced our admissions advisor!”

I snorted at the idea. “I doubt I’ll be that interested in him.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” Claire sing-songed. “You’ll change your mind when you see him.”

“I highly doubt it,” I muttered, and I glanced over at the side table where my phone was waiting. “I’ll be back,” I said, and I left the dorm room and found myself in an isolated study room which I ensured was locked before dialing Changbin’s number.

Then, I settled down against the couch and closed my eyes, shoving my hand underneath the waistband of my sleeping shorts to gently graze my fingers against my clitoris. 

Graciously, Changbin picked up after the fourth ring: “Y/N?” he said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Changbin chuckled, and the static from the phone made it sound far more guttural. I bit my lower lip as I dipped one finger inside my tight heat. “How’s your new roommate?” he asked. “Chan told me that she was unbearable.”

“She’s chatty,” I said, taking a deep breath before asking him: “Changbin, I miss you.”

He was silent from the other end, and I could only pray that Changbin had read the situation correctly, especially when I offered a quiet moan into the receiver. “Are you touching yourself, Y/N?” he asked, and I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“I wish you were here,” I told him, and I smiled at the familiar sound of Changbin’s zipper as he tugged his pants down those thick thighs that I loved. 

“I’m here, babe,” he said, and there was a slight desperation to his tone. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” I said, hissing around a stuttered exhale when I grazed a sensitive spot. “I’m thinking about your cock, Changbin.”

He moaned from the other end, and the slick sound of Changbin lubing up his erection was particularly raunchy. “I want you here with me, Y/N,” Changbin said, and I could easily imagine him jerking off his cock from behind my eyelids. “I’d have you on your hands and knees, fingering that little pussy of yours.”

I gasped at his words, arching my back against the couch as I shoved my fingers even further inside. Changbin had an uncanny gift for dirty talk that I attributed in large part to his irresistible baritone voice. “Tell me more,” I begged him.

“Are you wet?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Changbin growled. “I could just slide right in.”

“Oh, fuck,” I cursed, and I imagined everything as he continued to describe it to me - moving my fingers even faster at the phantom sensation of his cock filling me up so well like he always did whenever we had sex together. “I want to come so bad for you.”

“Then do it,” Changbin said, grunting from his end as he undoubtedly brought himself to completion.

And I eventually came with a loud moan - shameless despite the thin walls of the surrounding dorms. But I was on cloud nine, savoring the necessary heat of my well-deserved orgasm. “Call me tomorrow,” Changbin said after a while, and I had almost forgotten that we were still talking.

“Yeah,” I panted around a sigh. “I will.”

The bell-tower struck noon when I entered Hwang Hyunjin’s poetry class for the very first time. I had already anticipated a large class, but I was still surprised by the sheer number of students who were crowding the front rows of the classroom. I rolled my eyes because I was forced to sit at the back, and it certainly did no favors for my poor vision.

Regardless, I was also frustrated because there was a small part of myself which remained curious about this mysterious teacher. I could tell that all the other students were practically gushing with excitement, but I schooled my expression and slumped down in my seat as I pulled out a fresh notebook. What the hell were they expecting? A striptease in the middle of our lecture?

However, the most frustrating part of all was the grand entrance of the elusive teacher who had enraptured most of the population. And I couldn’t be any less impressed with him as I rolled my eyes over his tall, lean form. Yeah, he was pretty to look at, but he certainly wasn’t my type. I sighed as my mind instantly reminded me of an image of Changbin; specifically, a sweaty Changbin who had just finished up in the gym - wearing nothing around his waist except for a towel.

“Good morning, everyone,” Mr Hwang finally spoke, and there was a deeper aspect to his voice that I wasn’t expecting. “My name is Mr. Hwang, and this is our poetry 278 lecture.”

There was a collective sigh over his words, and I held back my laughter at the pathetic way everyone was swooning over him. “Let’s start with introductions,” Mr. Hwang suggested, and I groaned because I loathed ice-breakers. “When I call your name, you can give me your year and intended major.”

God, was this Elementary school?

Nevertheless, I waited for my turn, listening as the other students went above and beyond the call of duty to provide Mr. Hwang with as much unnecessary additional information as they could. “I study political science,” one girl said. “I was the leader of my high school’s debate club, and I won an award at the state convention.”

“Impressive,” Mr. Hwang said, and I briefly entertained the idea of the girl fainting on the spot. “Y/N?”

I glanced up to meet Mr. Hwang’s gaze. “Third year,” I replied. “I just transferred, and I’m studying English.”

“Oh, really?” Mr. Hwang inquired. “Do you have any interest in writing an honor’s thesis?”

I blinked twice at the question because he hadn’t bothered to push anyone else for something more. “I’d like to in the future,” I told him, and I squirmed around uncomfortably in my chair when his gaze lingered for several beats too long.

Thankfully, he quietly moved on, and I was able to relax in my seat once again. The lecture proceeded from there, and I sighed when I realized that we would be talking about Emily Dickinson who I had already studied numerous times in my other classes. But I guess that left me the rare opportunity to doodle nonsensical images on my notebook while thinking about my friends, wondering what Jisung, Chan, and Changbin might be doing at that moment.

In another universe, we could be sharing this class together, and I felt a pang of homesickness for my previous school as I listened to Mr. Hwang’s voice at the back of my head. But after another hour, our class concluded and I breathed a sigh of relief as I packed up my belongings. I wasn’t able to finish my picture of Munchlax, but maybe I could work out the details later on. In the meantime, I hoisted my bag over my shoulder as I tried to fight my way around the crowd of students who were all waiting around Mr. Hwang’s desk.

And I was almost at the exit when his voice suddenly stopped me. “Y/N,” Hyunjin said, and I paused mid-step because I wasn’t expecting to hear him call my name. “Can you stay behind for a moment?”

“Sure,” I said, even as I bristled at the thought of having to wait for those other girls to leave first.

They all insisted that they had so many questions to ask Mr. Hwang, and I was left to stew in the corner while crossing my arms over my chest. I had another class in half an hour, and I couldn’t afford to stand around all day while I waited at the behest of a teacher who had somehow won the affections of every student in this stupid school simply by being the prettiest in the room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mr. Hwang said with a bright smile to the last girl who scampered out of the room with a breathless giggle.

Finally, it was just me and Mr. Hwang, and I hesitantly walked over to his desk. “You needed to see me?”

“Yes,” Mr. Hwang said as he looked up at me from his grade-book. “Is there something wrong with the way I teach?” Mr. Hwang asked, and I was surprised to see him pouting at me with his lower lip sticking out.

“Uh, I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Hwang,” I said, adjusting the strap of my bag.

“Well, it didn’t seem like you were too invested in my lecture,” Hyunjin explained.

Oh, great, he caught me daydreaming about Changbin. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, searching for an excuse. “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Mr. Hwang nodded. “You transferred here for the new semester.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, and I chanced a step back towards the doorway. “I’ll do better in the future.”

“Well, hold on for just a minute, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang said. “I’m here to help my students when they’re struggling.”

“It’s not really a struggle,” I said, but I held my tongue when he pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something at the top.

“Here,” he said, holding out the paper for me to take. “It’s my personal phone number,” Mr. Hwang added with a wink. 

Personal number? “Oh, thank you, sir,” I offered in return because I wasn’t sure what the appropriate response might be in that situation.

“Call me anytime,” Mr. Hwang insisted, and I couldn’t help but notice the mischievous gleam in his gaze like we were playing some kind of game and I was the one who was losing. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

One Week Later

Despite my new school’s formidable reputation, I was doing exceedingly well in all of my classes. Most of my instructors were greatly impressed, and a few English teachers had already brought up the prospect of mentoring me for the honor’s thesis. Yet, there was one class that I couldn’t quite get a handle on, and I was shocked to see another giant C- written across the top of my latest essay. 

I swallowed hard when Mr. Hwang returned to the front of the room to conclude his lecture. What the hell was I doing wrong? I had even sent this paper to a former TA at my previous school who offered to look at it before I submitted the damn thing.

But instead of feeling disappointed about my failure, I sensed a rising anger directed at the man standing in front of the room. Everyone else around me celebrated their A’s while I was left with a nasty letter grade that would hardly reflect well on my GPA. What could the rest of my classmates be doing differently?

“That’s it for today!” Mr. Hwang announced. “We’ll pick up on this again next time!”

I frowned as I stuffed the essay at the bottom of my bag. It still wasn’t too late to switch out of this stupid class, and then I could finally re-orient my focus. “Y/N!” Mr. Hwang called out when I passed by his desk. “Can I have a moment of your time, dear?”

Dear?! “Sure,” I grumbled, once again waiting for the masses of Mr. Hwang’s admirers to leave the room before I confronted my teacher.

“Well,” Mr. Hwang began with an exaggerated sigh. “What will we do about these poor grades of yours?”

I bristled at the comment because it sounded strangely hostile - perhaps even threatening. “Don’t worry, sir,” I said. “I’m transferring out your class. You don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

I turned my back on Mr. Hwang as I started for the exit. “Don’t be silly, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang said. “I’ve spoken to your other teachers, and they tell me that this a requirement for your major. And I’m the only person who teaches the subject.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed under my breath, but I did my best to retain a neutral expression as I returned to his desk. “What’s the problem, sir?” I asked. “I had the last essay peer-checked by a former instructor.”

“Our grading standards are much higher, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang informed me haughtily. “I think the real issue is your attitude.”

“My attitude?” I repeated - completely dumbfounded by the accusation.

“You don’t really show any engagement with the material,” Mr. Hwang elaborated. “You always come to class, but I can tell that your attention is elsewhere. And you don’t even bother to come to my office hours to talk about the topics we cover.”

“I didn’t realize, sir,” I said, and I was shocked that he considered me disinterested in my studies.

“It’s okay to ask for help, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang explained. “You’re the only student who never stays behind to talk to me.”

Because I have better things to compliment your face! “I have another lecture after this one,” I offered as a response.

“Then it seems to me like I should make an effort to meet you outside of designated hours,” Mr. Hwang said. “I have an apartment off-campus. Maybe you can come over this weekend?”

For a moment, I was completely stunned by his proposal. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Mr. Hwang,” I said, taking a step back away from him.

“Why not?” Mr. Hwang asked. “It’ll just be me and you.”

“Uh, I don’t know...”

“Oh, Y/N, I have to insist,” Mr. Hwang said, and I watched him open his grade-book. “You won’t even muster a C in this class if you keep going at this rate.”

It seemed preposterous that I could make straight A’s in every other class but still fail this one at the same time. “I’ll think about it,” I said while doing my best to ignore his pleased smile.

It was late that night when my phone lit up with an incoming notification. I groaned in response because I wasn’t expecting anything from the boys, but then again, maybe Changbin needed fresh jerk-off material, and I could always send him a picture of my tits. But I was surprised to realize that I was wrong on all accounts, and my heart started beating faster when I read the message:

From Unknown:

Y/N, it’s Hyunjin from your poetry class.

Hyunjin? Oh, right, that was Mr. Hwang’s first name.

To Unknown:

Me: How did you get this number?

From Unknown:

H: The student profiles.

“It’s still an invasion of my privacy,” I grumbled.

H: We can be very casual with one another outside of class. Wouldn’t you agree?

I narrowed my eyes at the informal suggestion. 

To Unknown:

Me: If that’s okay with you, sir.

I waited for several moments, but it seemed like Mr. Hwang was finally done texting me. I shrugged at the unusual conversation, but before I could place my phone back on my nightstand, it vibrated with another incoming message. This one had a picture attached....

“Holy shit!” I gasped, dropping my phone onto the bed as my heart started to thud violently inside my chest.

From Unknown:

H: Do you like it, princess?

“Is he crazy?” I decried, and my hands were trembling when I brought my phone screen closer. Because the attachment contained a very obscene picture of a dick, and I didn’t need more than two guesses to assume that it was Mr. Hwang’s. 

My fingers were shaking as I stared at the image - zooming in closer to observe the delicate bead of precum glistening at the tip. There was also a hand wrapped around the base, and even though I didn’t have much experience with sex, I could still acknowledge that it was a very nice cock. But did I really just get a dick pic from my poetry teacher?

To Unknown:

Me: I’m not sure what you expect me to say.

I sent the message before attempting to fan my flushed skin - feeling overheated because this was not what I had been expecting when Mr. Hwang sent me the first message.

From Unknown:

H: It’s alright, princess. I’m not much for talking either. Why don’t you come over this weekend so you can show me your reaction instead?

Oh, god, I was definitely teetering on the precipice of very dangerous ground. I’m talking the same kind of inappropriate that could get him fired and me expelled. What the hell was he even thinking? Was Mr. Hwang trying to hit on me?!!

I shook my head because it was suddenly very difficult to concentrate, but I was also feeling the vestiges of panic creeping around the edges of my vision. My hands could barely hold the screen long enough for me to type out a quick response:

To Unknown:

Me: Maybe some other time.

The next morning, I was still shaken from my unexpected text conversation with Mr. Hwang. For most of the night, I simply stared at the ceiling while my phone continued to vibrate with incoming messages. Eventually, I was forced to mute his number, and I still couldn’t fall asleep.

I was barely functional the next morning, but I was also strangely horny, which is why I didn’t hesitate to encourage Changbin when he sent me a message asking if he could come visit. I waited and chose a time when my roommate would be gone - sighing in relief when I heard him knocking on the door. I threw it open quickly, and he was clearly caught off-guard by my eagerness. “I’m so glad to see you,” I said, and I didn’t hesitate to lock my lips with his, kissing Changbin with all the nervous energy that I had tried to keep to myself all weekend. 

“Wow,” Changbin managed when we both pulled apart for air. “The no dick policy at this shithole has fucked you up.”

“Yeah? I need you to fuck me, Changbin,” I said, and he must’ve saw something in my eyes that changed his mind. 

He pushed us both into my room, turning around to lock the door before reaching down for the hem of his t-shirt. “Bend over for me, baby,” he said, and his voice was husky as I took off my clothes and braced myself against the desk.

“I really need this,” I told him from over my shoulder - shameless as I explored every inch of his toned form.

“I got you, baby,” Changbin said, and he moved behind me to spread my legs, taking a few moments to finger me with his long digits, stretching out my opening while stimulating my clitoris with his thumb. “You definitely need to be fucked,” Changbin remarked. “Your pussy is so tight.”

“Please,” I whispered, and Changbin was quick to replace his fingers with the same cock that I often drooled over when I masturbated late at night. He set an urgent pace from the start, grabbing my hips between his hands to hold me in place as he filled me with his cock over and over again. “Changbin,” I whined, burying my face in my forearms and trying to ignore the pain in my stomach from where he knocked me into the wood on every thrust. 

It wasn’t equivocal to one of our more passionate rounds of lovemaking, but it was everything that I needed. Enough to wipe all consideration of Hwang Hyunjin clear out of my head as I enjoyed the delightful friction of Changbin’s cock rolling against the constricting walls of my cunt. “It feels so good,” I whispered, and I closed my eyes in pleasure.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Changbin said. “I wouldn’t want your roommate to come back.”

However, the inherent risk of being caught by my roommate was also a factor in my rapid ascent to orgasm. “Coming!” I shouted while feeling myself unravel around his cock as he rammed himself inside. 

Thereafter, I settled on top of my bed while Changbin tied off his condom and tossed it into the trash. I smiled when he crawled in next to me, reaching for his jeans hanging from the edge and pulling out a package of cigarettes. “Open the window,” I instructed him. “I can’t have you polluting my room.”

Changbin chuckled, but obeyed nonetheless. He also drug the ashtray on the windowsill closer before lighting the cigarette and bringing it to his swollen lips for a long inhale. “I really missed you, Y/N,” Changbin said, taking another drag from his cigarette before placing it in the ash tray next to the open window. 

“I missed you too,” I told him, closing my eyes for a moment as I relaxed against the pillows - savoring the warmth of Changbin from next to me.

“I had a nice time with you,” Changbin added. “Maybe we could...try dating again?”

I froze at the words I had been dreading to hear. You see, Changbin and I had been dating off-and-on for many years at this point, and we both knew that we didn’t work well as a couple. Yet, that never stopped him from encouraging us to try again, and as much as I loved the sex, I couldn’t tolerate the complicated feelings involved.

“I don’t think so, Changbin,” I said, wincing when I heard him sigh. “You know that never ends well for us.”

“Yeah,” Changbin agreed, although it hurt my heart to see him look so sad. “I can’t help it, Y/N.”

“We can still keep doing this,” I said, reaching over to place a tender kiss on his bicep. 

“Maybe,” Changbin agreed, but something in his tone told me that this might be the last time I ever enjoyed Changbin’s company in bed.

“Could I at least show you around campus?” I asked him. “I’ll even treat you to lunch?”

Thankfully, Changbin managed a smile at my offer. 

By the time Changbin had left campus, I was feeling strangely alone when I settled at a cafe in the student union to work on some homework. I couldn’t help but feel like I had disappointed Changbin, and I prayed to anyone who was listening that we might still be friends. Because we had been close well before the sexting and late-night phone conversations that always ended up with an orgasm or two.

Changbin was the epitome of the type of guy I usually lusted after: strong, handsome, and intimidating. But we always argued too much whenever we tried the whole couple thing, and that was enough to ruin any preconceived notions I held about a relationship with the object of my most intimate fantasies. “You always manage to ruin everything, Y/N,” I muttered to myself, and it was suddenly way too difficult to focus on homework.

But I was still distracted enough that I almost failed to recognize the man who had just walked into the cafe...until he was standing right next to my table. “I always enjoy seeing my students outside of our lectures,” Mr. Hwang said with a smirk. “Do you mind if I join you?”

It took me a while to respond to his simple inquiry because my mind instantly returned to the picture of his cock that still sat in my messages. “Sure,” I eventually mustered, willing my stomach to settle down while ignoring the harsh smell of his cologne. 

“Is that my assignment you’re working on?” Mr. Hwang inquired as he took another sip of his coffee.

Is he just going to pretend like everything is okay? “Yeah,” I said, sliding my laptop screen closer. “For the author essay.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Mr. Hwang asked, and I shivered at the dark look in his gaze.

“I guess so,” I said, and I passed off my computer screen, observing the way he read over the words before sighing.

“You just don’t seem to understand, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang said, and I could feel myself almost snapping.

“What don’t I understand, Mr. Hwang?” I asked with barely constrained frustration.

“Oh, please call me Hyunjin,” he replied. “Mr. Hwang makes me sound so old.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “But the essay?”

“It lacks passion,” Mr. Hwang explained. “Your writing is decent, but it’s very by the books, you know? I’m looking for my students to play around with their words and have fun! We read enough academia as it stands.”

“Passion?” I repeated. “And how do you suggest that I learn passion?”

Mr. Hwang smiled, and I felt like I had just walked right into a trap. “You’re a very young and attractive woman, Y/N,” he said. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

“Several,” I said, keeping my responses short and vague on purpose. Because i couldn’t figure out where he was going with this strange conversation.

“Several?” Mr. Hwang repeated. “Well, that’s a shame then.”

“What do you mean?”

“The sex must be very boring,” Mr. Hwang said. “If you’re still writing this way.”

I didn’t even bother trying to stop my mouth from falling open. “I really don’t think it’s any of your business!”

“I have to make it my business when your grades are this atrocious,” Mr. Hwang insisted, and his eyes rolled over my form. “I find myself quite attracted to you, Y/N. Perhaps I can help solve this little dilemma of yours.”

Fuck it! I thought to myself as I leaned in closer - ready to risk it all because I wouldn’t tolerate his attitude for another moment! “To tell you the truth, Mr. Hwang,” I said, feeling triumphant when his eyes flashed in annoyance at my blatant dismissal of his earlier request. “You’re just not my type.”

“And what is your type?” Mr. Hwang snapped. “Certainly not that little jock you were walking around with on campus?”

“Changbin?” I said without really thinking, but then I found myself wondering how he even knew about that in the first place. “How did you know?”

“I saw the two of you,” Mr. Hwang said like it wasn’t a big deal. “I couldn’t help but notice, Y/N, and that poor boy was following you around like a lost puppy.”

“This is crossing a line,” I said, slamming my laptop closed. “I can see anyone I want.” 

“You’re not interested in doing better?” Mr. Hwang asked. “Trust me, Y/N. I was there once, and most college boys like him are only interested in sticking their dicks into something warm. I think you need someone mature who isn’t only interested in their own satisfaction.”

“Changbin’s sweet to me,” I insisted, and Mr. Hwang scoffed.

“I bet he is, especially if you’re always willing to spread your legs for him.”

“Like you could do any better!” 

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

I fell back into my seat as I slowly processed his words. “Sir, I-”

“You can’t possibly know if I’m your type, Y/N,” Mr. Hwang continued. “I think I deserve a fair chance to prove you wrong.”

I could scarcely believe how casual he was acting - like this wasn’t completely against thousands of school rules. It was entirely scandalous, and there were so many inherent risks if we were to ever get caught....but, yet, somewhere deep down inside of me, I felt the familiar heat of arousal.

“You’re thinking about it.” Mr. Hwang smiled. “Come over this Friday, Y/N, and I’ll show you what a real man looks like.”

I had never been this nervous before in my entire life, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans as I walked up to Hyunjin’s apartment. There was a far more rational part of myself that was screaming at me to run in the opposite direction, but the incessant desire to knock on the door far outweighed the consequences. And my breath hitched in my throat when I saw him standing in the doorway dressed to the nines in tight skinny jeans and a white, button-up shirt while I looked like I had just woken up,

“There you are,” Hyunjin said with a sultry tone, and he reached for my hand to pull me inside. “Sit down for a moment,” he encouraged me, smirking at the look on my face as I took in his lavishly decorated apartment. Still, I managed to obey him as I sat down on the leather futon in the center of the room.

“Your apartment is nice,” I commented, and I held my breath when Hyunjin sat down next to me - stretching out his long legs while he studied me with an impenetrable gaze.

“I have a few rules tonight, Y/N,” he said, and I forced myself to nod. “Are you aware of the color-light system?”

“Color-light system?” I repeated.

“How adorable,” Hyunjin said with a mocking tone. “You’ve made it seem like you know your way around a cock, but you’re clearly more innocent than I assumed.”

My eyes widened at his filthy language. “Sir?”

“That’s a good start,” Hyunjin said. “You will refer to me as sir tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and Hyunjin smiled at my easy compliance.

“As for the color system,” Hyunjin said. “I want to make sure that you’re comfortable, Y/N. Green means that you can handle whatever we’re doing, yellow means that I need to slow down, and red implies that we’ll stop completely. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Hyunjin purred. “Would you feel more at ease in the bedroom?”

I offered him a timid nod, and Hyunjin held out his hand which I accepted - hoping that he wouldn’t notice the evidence of my nerves. But I was half-way expecting something truly horrible, which meant that I was also genuinely surprised to discover a normal bedroom - sparsely furnished with a king-sized bed with a beautiful silk comforter. “Why don’t you take your clothes off for me, princess?” Hyunjin asked, and I shivered at the familiar pet name. “Lay down on the bed, and I’ll grab a few things before we start.”

I waited until Hyunjin turned his back to me before undressing and leaving my clothes in a neat pile on a nearby chair. Then, I hesitantly lowered my body onto the mattress while resisting the urge to cover myself. Especially when Hyunjin returned with a bundle of interesting items, placing them aside while he looked me over from head to toe. “Oh, princess,” he said. “What a beautiful body.”

I could feel myself flushing at his words and Hyunjin laughed. “Where’s that feisty attitude from before, princess? Or was it all for show?”

“Mr. Hwang-”

“Sir,” he quickly corrected me, and I stiffened when he presented a bright red blindfold. “We’ll put this on first,” Hyunjin said, and he ordered me to sit up long enough for him to secure the tie in the back - taking away my sight and leaving me anxious for his next move. “This will make everything feel so much better,” he said, and I jumped when his fingers started to trail down the smooth skin of my stomach. “Oh, you must be very sensitive,” Hyunjin remarked, and I didn't quite know what to do with my hands when he parted the delicate folds of my pussy. “Y/N, are you already wet?” he asked, and I tried to hold back a moan when he inserted one finger, moving it around before leaving me feeling empty once again. 

“Let’s try this,” Hyunjin said, and I gasped when I heard the familiar sounds of a vibrator. “You’ve probably used this plenty of times,” Hyunjin continued. “When you had to finish yourself off after those little boys tried to please you.”

He started with my nipples - moving in small circles around the hardened peaks. It wasn’t anything overwhelming, and I enjoyed the pleasant sensation. However, the soothing action didn’t last for long, and I gripped the silken sheets between my fingers, spreading my legs wider on instinct when Hyunjin trailed the vibrations down to my sensitive pussy lips. “Oh, shit,” I said, nearly exploding when the vibrator made contact with my clitoris. Especially when he increased the power - turning the damn thing up to its highest setting as he held it there in the same spot.

I was gone before it had even started, convulsing around nothing as I came hard against the sheets. And I fully expected him to stop since he had gotten his way, but Hyunjin only surprised me when he continued to move the vibrator against my throbbing clit, refusing to relinquish the stimulating vibrations as everything started to burn with the threat of yet another orgasm slowly building.

“Fuck, you’re leaking everywhere,” Hyunjin said, but there was only awe in his tone, and I could practically feel the weight of his gaze. “Such a good girl,” Hyunjin added, and he started moving the vibrator in faster circles while he refused to take it away from my poor, aching sex.

I moaned around my second orgasm - coming hard again, but there was also an undeniable sensitivity that had me trying to escape the cursed vibrator, but Hyunjin only used a firm grip on my hips to hold me in place.

“Please stop!” I cried.

“Color,” Hyunjin growled, and he continued to press down even harder.

“Y-yellow,” I stuttered, and the vibrations slowed down to a more acceptable level as Hyunjin circled the head around my clit.

“I want one more from you, Y/N,” he said. “Then, I think you might be ready for my cock.”

I almost fell apart at his words, and I found myself unable to deny that everything was so good with him. There was also a strange and foreign part of me that desperately wanted to please him, and I started rolling my hips in time with his circles, chasing another high as I nearly screamed from the intensity. “Look at you,” Hyunjin sneered when he turned off the vibrator, and I could feel the bed dip beneath his weight. He snatched away my blindfold, and I blinked rapidly at the returning light before focusing on the obscene image of Hyunjin jerking himself off in front of me. “You have to be honest with me, princess,” he growled. “Is my cock better than his?”

“S-sir?” I questioned, having trouble focusing because of the thick haze surrounding my frazzled brain. 

“That little prick you were with,” Hyunjin said. “Is his cock better than mine?”

I was smart enough to know the right answer, and I shook my head from side to side. “Your cock is better, sir,” I said, and Hyunjin brightened with a grin. 

“It’s big, isn’t it?” Hyunjin asked, and he was shuffling over me with a sardonic grin. “Why don’t you touch it?”

I swallowed hard, but quickly acquiesced, wrapping my hand around his impressive girth before allowing myself to give him several strokes - making sure to give some attention to the head. “Oh,” Hyunjin moaned, looking down at me with sultry eyes. “That feels good, princess, but would you rather have my cock somewhere else?”

I whimpered at his words. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me where,” Hyunjin demanded. “I want to know exactly what you want me to do, princess.”

“I want your cock in my pussy,” I said. “I need you to fuck me, sir.”

“Shit,” Hyunjin snarled, and he moved my legs apart to expose my cunt. “How can I possibly say no when you asked me so nicely?”

But I was a complete mess at this point - debauched and overcome with pleasure. Yet, when I felt the tip of Hyunjin’s cock penetrate my weeping sex, I could already feel myself growing excited all over again. He wasn’t gentle either - spearing me with one harsh plunge of his erection against the resisting walls of my pussy. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hyunjin said. “Are you sure you’re not a virgin, princess?”

There were tears in my eyes when I reached out for his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he started moving himself around inside of me. Pulling back to leave just the tip of his cock at my entrance, before thrusting forward with unrelenting strength. In spite of his skinnier stature, Hyunjin wasn’t to be underestimated. He knew exactly how to use his hips, and he continued to breach my constricting cunt with everything that he had. 

“You’re taking me so well, princess,” he said, forcing my legs even further apart, and finding a better angle to attack the delicate g-spot that rapidly sent me hurtling for my fourth orgasm of the night.

I was completely spent, barely holding on to consciousness while Hyunjin finally came with a hoarse cry of my name - dragging his cock in and out of my pussy as he milked himself for every last bit of cum. Then, he pulled himself out with a far more gentle touch, leaning down for the first time that night to connect our lips in a surprisingly warm kiss.

“Is that what you were expecting, Y/N?” he asked with a playful smile. “Am I still not your type?”

I shook my head because words were the last thing on my mind. But Hyunjin simply chuckled at my speechless state, and I watched him move around the room completely naked as he cleaned up the mess we had made. Meanwhile, I held up my hands to make sure that my vision had returned to normal.

Eventually, Hyunjin settled back down behind me, and I was somewhat surprised that he hadn’t kicked me out of his apartment. Even more so when he started to run his fingers down my waist. “I think you finally learned passion, Y/N,” he said, and I couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Can I start writing acceptable essays?” I asked him with a more confident tone.

“Of course,” he agreed. “But Y/N,” Hyunjin added, and I groaned when he cupped the heat between my legs. “You better call me Hyunjin from now on.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, grinning when I heard him growl in warning.

“You’re asking for it, aren’t you?”

I gave him a coy smile in return, watching as he rolled over top of me to spread my thighs again.

The next day in class, I smiled when I saw an A+ written at the top of my latest essay assignment. One that I had stayed up late to complete while sitting at Hyunjin’s desk with his cock buried inside my wet heat. Apparently, my first lesson was complete, but I couldn’t help but think that there was still a lot more left to learn.

“Everyone did well,” Hyunjin said as he paced at the front of the room. “I’ll see you all again soon.”

The dismissal was met with the beginnings of several conversations throughout the lecture room, and I simply organized my things before tossing my bag over my shoulder. Yet, on the way out the door, I couldn’t help but smile when I heard Hyunjin’s voice from behind me. “Y/N?” Hyunjin called out, and I could already feel the arousal gathering between my legs. “Why don’t you stay after class?”

[pearwaldorf]

If I never see another post from Franzeska aka olderthannetfic here it will be too soon. How dare she answer questions about racism and AO3 like she wasn’t one of the people who helped build it into the very structure of the site? I am quoting this directly from her post (emphasis mine): 

We picked the archive warnings from things that were common on older fic archives. Which, yes, reflects what fandom cared about at the time and is not neutral. (And when I say “we”, I do mean me specifically. I can’t remember how much my committee chose those and how much the Board and others drove the exact selection, but I did a lot of the research into older archives at the time. Including something about racism straight up never occurred to me in 2008.)

And sure, our views can evolve a lot in a decade. But Racefail happened in 2009, and none of the topics discussed at the time are different than those we’re focusing on today, 11 years later. For shits and giggles, here is my archived Livejournal post about the entire mess. If you click through to the other links (synedochic’s in particular), I think you will see this is something that didn’t just pop up with Tumblr and the SJW/anti contingent. (I’m not comfortable with conflating antis/fandom fundies/purity wankers with fans legitimately criticizing racism in fandom, but that is how a lot of it gets lumped together as a dismissive tactic.)

Which brings us to That Piece of Shit Meta in 2016. I am linking to the Fanlore entry for context, because the Actual Piece of Shit Meta is archive-locked (you can access it from Fanlore if you really want to read it, but it’s 16K of garbage).

A selection of commentary about it:

Guys, this was the problem all along. I’m doing fandom wrong by falling in love with the wrong source text. If I’d only understood that this wasn’t my space to enjoy non-white and/or non-male characters, because the majority of characters are white men, imagine how much happier I’d be in my life. (allofthefeelings)

they’ve been spouting yt apologia while fetishizing asian culture for years, this is nothing new. i’m pretty sure i’ve read franzeska saying the same things back when racefail ‘09 was going down. like most of this isn’t surprising bc it is exactly what we saw yt lj fandom peeps spouting in 2007-2010 and i’m personally not shocked that these people learned absolutely nothing. they don’t want to learn and being accountable for their actions. (astro-projection [edited to correct quote attribution and link])

Franzeska goes deep into the history of AO3 to talk about why slash is represented heavily there... But in 16,000 words over 13 chapters, there is not one mention of Racefail ‘09. Not a single reference to the time a popular Harry Potter LJ community used a racial slur as a prompt in 2007. Nothing about the Supernatural RPF Big Bang story that used the 2010 Haiti earthquake as a backdrop for a J2 love story (THAT’S A REAL THING THAT HAPPENED). Nothing about the time in 2006 that comics BNF Te pointed out the marginalization black characters faced on two then-juggernauts of white m/m slash fandom, Angel and Smallville. (snarl-furillo, the entire comment is worth reading so please click through)

This erasure of context and history is violent. Because many of the women of color who originally (and still) critique/d and resist/ed fandom’s normalized racism/misogynoir did so to their own detriment and with not insignificant risk to their personal well-being, safety, and privacy. Women of color were ‘outed’ by other fans for speaking out (doxed). They were attacked and silenced from all sides. They lost friends and community. They had to, with great vulnerability, cut themselves open and drag out their own private, internal experiences to air for all the (white) people who disbelieved them. They often found themselves speaking directly to a fucking wall of over-sensitive whiteness that would just as easily topple right on top of them. If anything in fandom is precious, it’s white feelings. And it always has been. (halfhardtorock)

In 2017 she was part of a Kickstarter to do a film about fangirls and fandom. I asked (you’ll need to hit “show comment” to see it) her to publicly comment about That Piece of Shit Meta, which she did. 

But before she did, Chelsea Woods, the co-creator of the project, emailed me about the comment. I don’t remember what exactly the email said, because it was a really long time ago, but she wanted to talk to me about the meta, perhaps to help formulate a response. Chelsea also reached out to somebody else outspoken about the issue at the time, and this is from a DM exchange I had with them:  

I understand why Chelsea reached out, as the head of the project and probably because she thought I would be more likely to respond instead of Franzeska. But tbh it feels like Franzeska's trying to get somebody else (a woman of color) to do the legwork for her. To the best of my knowledge I don't have F blocked on Twitter or Tumblr, and it's not like my email is hard to figure out.  I don't exactly relish the thought of talking to her, but as the one who fucked up, I feel like it is incumbent upon her to make the gesture...

I basically told Chelsea the same as you, that at this point there is very little she can do to demonstrate she understood what she did was fucked up, and that she has learned anything from the experience.

And when I tried to reblog her response, I found out Franzeska had blocked me, if that gives you any indication of how much she honestly wants to engage in discussion. 

Which brings me to now. I was literally today years old when I learned that Franzeska was head of the Abuse team for A While. (Bess says 2008-2012.) So suddenly a lot of things make sense, especially the lackluster (to put it politely) response about racist nonsense I’ve heard over the years, like in male hockey RPF. [edit: additional context in this post, ty Rukmini]

Certainly Franzeska is not responsible for everything racist about AO3, but she has definitely had a hand in shaping a culture that sacrifices the well-being and comfort of black users (among others) on the altar of “maximum inclusivity of content”. To turn the phrase back on them, who is “our own”? Why is it important to preserve an environment where a racially fetishistic fic that objectifies a black hockey player can stay up but a black fan basically has to go in like Viago checking for sunlight?

There is a balance between draconian content restrictions and letting racism, sexism, transphobia, etc run rampant on the site. I’m not saying it will be possible to find it immediately, or that it won’t change over time. But we have to try, if the AO3 is truly committed to making it a place that includes everybody, and not just the specific group of people who designed the site.