#the splat will never not be funny i’m afraid

[vampyrsm]

sukuna kinda funny for throwing angel off of a building in front of yuuji

[authorautumnbanks]

Stuck In Another World With A Demon Fox (3)

Master list

This human is strange. Her pants are made of some weird fabric. They seem sturdy, but hide nothing. My eyes flint across her form, settling on her hips.

“This isn’t funny!” She yells, balling her fists at her sides. Her brown hair is tangled, but her nails are short, and she does not have any supplies on her. Did she come to this forest to die? Or was it to avenge her fallen family?

“50,000 Thi is generous,” I admit. “But why so much for one so weak?”

“I don’t ask questions,” the cupcake scoffs. “What matters is that the coin spends the same.”

I hum. This human is important for some reason. My eyes drag down the length of her body again. Sparkling green eyes, smooth brown skin with gold undertones in the sunlight, and generous breasts that would spill from my palms.

A runway concubine perhaps?

I tilt my head. Assessing. No, she is far too mouthy. Far too foul-mouthed. The cupcake squirms in my hand. Its swords may as well be toothpicks with how little damage they do. Annoying, but nothing to stress over.

“How do you plan to compensate me?”

“Compensate you? I don’t freaking know! I don’t have cash on me and…I can cook?”

I blink. Cook for me? She thinks cooking is worth 50,000 Thi?

“Listen, I’ll split it with ya. Just let me at her and this will be over in a split of a second,” the cupcake whispers.

“I hate sharing,” I quip. “But I’m more interested in this master of yours. Why is he after her?”

“I told you! I don’t ask questions.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

The cupcake brightens. Icing falls from its eyes. “Truly? For an insignificant human?”

“Hey! I’m right here,” Megan huffs. “Stop acting as though I’m not. This is my life on the line.”

“I am working to save your life. Be quiet.” I turn my attention back to the cupcake. Always found these cupcake ninjas to be worthless. Who would send one out to a forest to take care of a target? Unless they suspected her to be weak with hunger? No one in their right mind would try to eat a cupcake in the middle of a forest unless they are desperate. “I will double the payment. I want information. Why is she being hunted? How did they know she would be here? This isn’t a spot favored by humans.”

“And you’ll give me a 100,000 Thi?” The cupcake sheathes its swords and strokes its nonexistent chin. “How do I know you’re good for it? You hardly look like you have the coin.”

“Looks are deceiving, aren’t they?”

“Touche.” The cupcake squirms and I let it fall to the ground with a splat. “You could have set me down gently!” it bellows, struggling to its feet. How these things get around without some beast snatching them up is curious. I have never thought to take the time to study them and their habits.

“Human—Megan, come here. The cupcake will need proof of your death.”

Megan hesitates, but walks closer to me. She cradles her hands to her chest as though that will somehow shield her.

“You aren’t seriously going to kill me, are you?”

“No, I merely require a locket of hair and some blood.” I beckon her forth. When she is hand’s width away, I step towards her. She takes a step back. “Stay still. I will not hurt you.”

“Drawing blood is the definition of hurting someone.” She juts her chin out, as if to be defiant. No, she is afraid.

What a curious human she is. Afraid but pretending to be strong. My knuckles brush her cheek. She tenses and then relaxes. Good. I cut her cheek and collect the droplets on my finger. She jerks back and presses a hand to her cheek.

“Hair,” I command.

“…How much?”

“A few strands will do.”

She presses her lips together and pulls a couple strands with her non-bloody hand. Megan deposits the strands into my palm. I rub the blood over them.

“They aren’t gonna accept some hair and some blood,” the cupcake points out.

“That’s why I’m giving you a head. Surely you had a plan to transport it back.” Magic swells in my gut as I conjure a head out of the blood and hair.

“That’s…creepy and looks nothing like me.”

“A wager,” I reply. “Take this back and return with information.”

The cupcake takes the head and grunts. It mutters under its breath as it draws symbols on the head.

It salutes them and vanishes along with the head.

Ah, so that’s how they move around.

“Megan, come here.” I crook my finger and raise a brow at her hesitation. Very well. I’ll go to her. She takes a step away from me. I sigh as I reach for her. Must she take a step back every time I step to her? “You’re bleeding.”

She sputters. “Because of you!” She jerks back. “What are you doing?”

“Healing you.” I lick the shallow cut. The skin stitches itself back together. Her blood is sweet. Much sweeter than fairy wine. I lick my lips and this time I take a step back. My cocks twitch.

This human isn’t strange. No, she is dangerous.

“Let’s go,” I bark out, strolling past her. The scent of her blood lingers on my hand. This will not do.

“What was that, by the way? The head.”

“A head,” I reply coolly.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Did you bump your head?” I stop and turn to look at her. “You wear strange clothing, know nothing of the world, and have zero survival instincts.”

“…If that’s what you want to go for, then sure,” she chirps, but the tight smile gives her faux cheeriness away. “I bumped my head and forgot which way is right.”

“So, you’re an idiot.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Why do you always reference my cocks?”

Her mouth pops open. “I’m not! It’s just a saying that you’re being an ass.”

I scratch my ear. Now she’s referring to my ass? “Is this how you humans flirt? Do you wish to see my cocks and ass?”

“NO!” She smacks her forehead. “I don’t know if you are being obtuse on purpose or if you just don’t get the insults.”

“A shame. I’ve never rutted a human.” I shrug and resume walking. For whatever reason, she insists on backtracking and returning to the area we met. Perhaps she left her supplies in her haste.

“There will be none of those things with this human, buddy.” She struggles to match my already slowed pace.

“You claimed to work out and yet you struggle.”

“This forest is out to get me.” She yanks her leg free of a root. “Trees aren’t supposed to grab you, and this terrain is rough. Yeah, I work out. Indoors. In a gym.”

We are getting nowhere at this rate.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Come here. We are wasting daylight.” I reach for her and lift her over my shoulder before she can say more nonsensical things. Nothing she says makes sense. What is a gym?

She hits my back with her fists and kicks. A feisty thing, she is. “Let me go! I can walk.”

“It will be night before we arrive at your pace. Gather yourself.” That is the only warning I give her before I take off. Her screams catch the wind. It’s not difficult to retrace our steps, though the scent of death is heavy in the air. I lower her feet to the ground, next to the bones of the klarvak.

“That’s…traumatizing.” She swallows. “Okay, I ran a straight path. There was water.”

I cross my arms as I trail behind her. She mutters to herself, though I hear her clearly.

“There was a lot of water and…is this it?” Megan gets to her knees and crawls on the floor.

What in the seven skies is going on?

“Looking for something?” I inquire, sinking to a squat next to her. She ignores me and continues to pat the ground.

“Okay…could you check the trees and maybe see if there is a portal or something up there?”

My brows shoot up. A portal? “Portals are not left around. They are created for the sole purpose of transportation and dissipate once they have fulfilled that. A portal would not be lying around on the ground or in a tree.”

Megan sits up and shakes her head. “No, there has to be a portal around here.” Her eyes widen. Blown. Traces of green remain. She needs to calm down. I run my tongue along my teeth and nick myself on the canines.

“Where is it you are trying to go? Presumably, you do not wish to stay in the undead forest. You have yet to eat anything, and you have no weapons to defend yourself.”

She sniffs. “Home. I’m just trying to go back home.”

“For what reason? Are you not the sole survivor? Going back could lead to a death sentence. I see no reason why they wouldn’t have at least one assassin left in waiting for your return.”

Megan stands and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “No. I have to get back home. It’s the only place for me. This is…” she gestures around us. “This is not safe, and I don’t belong here.”

I cross my arms. “Who made the portal? Your mother?”

“What? No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know who made it. I was running, and I fell, and then next I know I ended up here.”

“There is nothing here. They do not linger.”

“Sure, they do.” She spreads her arms. “That’s what they do in the movies. They stay and I just need to find it. Maybe there’s a symbol on a rock somewhere? Or that tree! We didn’t check that tree.” Megan jogs over to the tree and attempts to climb it, but her form is wrong, and her feet slip. “A little help here.”

“I was promised cooking, but it seems it was a lie to get away from me.”

She huffs. “Look, I’m sure I’d be able to show you some of my cooking after I find the portal. It’s much better than that foul-smelling fruit you tried to feed me.”

I should let her go. Should let her find this portal that doesn’t exist and wipe my claws free of this. But the taste of her blood lingers on my tongue and the sweetest of it has me wanting more.

I hate it.

This human is calling to my baser instincts and I’m the only one affected by this thing between us. She continues her attempt at climbing, only to fall on her butt. No matter how many times she falls, she continues to get up and try again. Megan is either desperate or stupid. Perhaps both.

And yet her tenacity draws me in. Where does this hope to return come from? Despite being told that it is simply impossible for her to return through a portal that is long gone, she keeps searching anyway.

“Perhaps you should create your own?”

“How the hell do I do that?” She picks up a rock and screams. “What the hell is that?”

“A flesh-eating rock,” I quip. “Truly, humans do not venture into this forest unless they have a death wish. It’s not the most accommodating area. The undead notwithstanding.”

“Great, so everything is out to kill me. This is why I need to get home. There are no beasts. There are no killer cupcakes. And there certainly aren’t any flesh-eating rocks.” She throws the rock and shudders. “How do I make a portal? Just draw some symbols?”

I shrug. “Portals are not my area of expertise. I do not dabble with them.”

“What? Aren’t they like fast travel?”

“For some, yes. For others, they suck away at their life force.”

Megan blanches. Her brown skin turns a lighter shade. “You told me to do something that might take away part of my life span?”

“You wish to go home, do you not?”

“I…fine. I’ll draw some symbols. A cupcake could do it. Why can’t I?” She fists pumps the air and then grabs a branch. Megan draws symbols into the dirt. Some of which I have never seen. “There. That should do it.” She tosses the branch and stands in the middle of her so-called portal. “Well, Roharu. I’d say it’s been fun, but it hasn’t. Fingers crossed; we will never see each other again.” She smiles, but instead of joy, I feel irritation.

I cross my arms. My tail flicks back and forth. “Should this not work, I shall keep you until I am satisfied.”

She laughs and points her middle finger at me. “Ha! So long fox-boy.” Megan closes her eyes and stands there. Seconds tick by. She opens her eyes. “I’m still here…”

I exhale. “That settles it. You’re just an idiot.” I crook a finger at her.

“You gotta be kidding me,” she grumbles.

“A promise is a promise, human.” I smirk at her outraged face. Good, I’m not done with this human. There are many secrets to ply from her. Megan kicks at the failed portal and stomps past. Her stomach growls. She throws a glare over her shoulder.

Yes, there are many secrets she is hiding, but first, I need to find something for her to eat.

“Don’t wander too far,” I quip. “Lest a beast snatch you away.”

“Screw you!”

I pierce my bottom lip with my fang. What a feisty human she is.

[exhaustedfander]

Dance like no one’s watching (even if they are)

a03 link

word count: 2,360

It isn’t uncommon for Virgil to wake before Remus does. Granted, he usually goes to bed far later than he should, and who is he to say no to sleeping in late on the weekends? But Remus sleeps like a rock. It’d take a marching band to raise him from his slumber – or Virgil hitting him with a pillow over and over again, begging him to wake up because, “God damn it, Rem, we’ve got somewhere to be!”

Virgil’s a light sleeper; always has been. He figures it has a lot to do with the fact that he’s basically anxiety and self-doubt stacked together in a trench coat pretending to be a person, but yeah, it doesn’t take much to wake him. The creaking of a door, the sound of birds chirping outside, Remus snoring. He always claims he doesn’t, and honestly, Virgil is considering recording it to prove that, yes, he absolutely does snore, and it’s insufferable. Well. Maybe not insufferable, just… annoying, sometimes.

Remus isn’t snoring now, though. He’s fast asleep, his hair frazzled, and drool stuck to his pillow which is way more adorable than it ought to be. Virgil doesn’t know what woke him, but it wasn’t his boyfriend this time. He glances at the clock and groans sleepily. It’s still early in the morning, and a Saturday, too. He’d like to shut his eyes, throw his arms around Remus and get a few more hours of sleep, but he knows himself well enough to understand it’s just not gonna happen.

Still, he lies there for a few minutes, relishing in the quiet and comfort of the thick duvet and Remus beside him, his own personal space heater. Remus runs hot, and Virgil’s always a little cold, so they balance each other out. It’s weird. They shouldn’t, or at least, it doesn’t seem like they should.

Virgil thinks back to when they first knew each other. Having been friends with Roman for quite a while, he’d thought it odd that Roman had never formally introduced his brother. Upon actually meeting Remus, however, Virgil’s confusion quickly dispersed.

Remus is loud, bold, energetic to an erratic point, and he says absolutely everything that comes to mind the moment the thought occurs to him. “Hey, emo, what do you think it’d look like if I just exploded right now! Just my blood and guts smeared all over the walls! Wouldn’t that be awesome?!”

Needless to say, Virgil’s not initially a fan. Remus is a lot to handle, and honestly, Virgil’s a little scared of him at first. It isn’t as though he thinks that Remus is going to hurt him, he’s just… weird. And crude, and a lot to handle. He’s impulsive and brash, and a kind of person that Virgil’s never known. He decides that he doesn’t like him and that he’ll avoid him as much as he’s able.

Except, that isn’t really possible. Despite the fact that Remus and Roman’s relationship is strained, to say the least, they still spend some amount of time together, and Remus is occasionally invited (or invites himself) to events. The point is, Virgil sees him around, more and more. And somewhere along the way he somehow becomes tolerable.

Virgil doesn’t know what changes, but one day, at a party Remus plops himself down next to him, crowding his personal space, and he lets him stay. That’s when he first realizes how warm he is, how strangely comfortable Remus’s presence can be. It might be the alcohol, Virgil thinks to himself that night, that’s why Remus leaning on him, giggling and making inappropriate jokes makes him feel so stupidly nice.

Virgil blames the liquor when he kisses Remus, too. He still can’t fully remember what spurred it; he just knows Remus looked so pretty, his grey-streaked hair falling in his eyes, coming out of its bun, and Virgil leaned forward and kissed him. It’s harder to blame anything other than a more complicated desire when he finds himself in Remus’s bed, their limbs a tangled mess.

It’s startling, that morning, waking up and seeing Remus asleep beside him for the first time and thinking about how beautiful he looks. Remus and Roman are identical twins, and he’s certainly never thought about his friend that way. That isn’t to say he hasn’t noticed that Roman is handsome, because, c’mon, he has eyes. But this is different. The way he looks at Remus is different and – oh shit – trashy men with ratty mustaches and a terrible fashion sense are his type, aren’t they?

He doesn’t know when he went from being afraid of him to tolerating his presence, to finding him heart-wrenchingly beautiful, but the shift has happened regardless. When did Remus’s jokes go from unnerving to kind of fucking funny? He can’t say. At first, not sure if it’s going to last. They’re so different, or at least, that’s how things appear.

But with time, Virgil learns that isn’t necessarily the case. Yes, Remus is far louder and more abrasive than he is, but there are more commonalities between them then he might’ve thought. Remus is a Halloween freak, too, which is nice because none of Virgil’s friends like the holiday quite as much as he does. Remus adores horror movies, the gorier the better, and his shoulder makes the perfect spot to hide his face when things get too scary. Remus likes a lot of the same music (although his taste can be a tad crude sometimes, to say the least), and it’s nice, not having to worry that his playlist is to “emo.”

A lot of things are nice with Remus, Virgil comes to realize. Waking up beside him, singing along to music way too loudly, being picked up by him because good lord is he strong. It’s all just really… domestic, which isn’t something Virgil had ever seen for himself. So, yeah, they don’t make a lot of sense, at least not at first glance. But somehow, they just work, and that’s enough for Virgil. It’s more than enough.

Virgil turns over in bed, his right hand finding its way into Remus’s frazzled hair. His boyfriend’s mustache curls slightly upwards when his lip twitches upward into a smile, but he doesn’t wake, just arches closer to Virgil. Virgil smiles at this, stroking through his long hair.

His eyes glance to the cardboard moving boxes that litter the bedroom floor. God, he’s really got to start unpacking soon. He just moved into Remus’s apartment – their apartment now, he supposes – a week ago, and he’s been getting used to living with another person. Virgil had never let himself imagine such things, lying in bed with his boyfriend on a Saturday, having boxes to unpack because he moved in. It’s a lot to process, sometimes. It’s not bad, just kind of… intense. And mushy, gushy, and full of all the emotions he never expected to feel.

Virgil presses a kiss to the crown of Remus’s head, relishing in the smile that spreads over his sleeping face, before swinging his legs over the bed and heading into the kitchen.

Virgil groans at the sight of the dishes piled high in the sink. It’s his own damn fault; it was his turn to do the dishes (Christ, he never thought about the painfully mundane issues of a relationship like dish duty, or who takes out the garbage, or any of that). It’s… weird, not living alone anymore. He’d been so used to it for so long and, now here he is, existing in the same space as the man that he loves. He must be spending too much time with Roman because he’s turning into such a sap.

Being a sap aside, Virgil really should get these done while Remus is still asleep. That isn’t to say that Remus is some kind of a clean freak, because he really isn’t. It’d just be good to get the choir out of the way.

Virgil turns on his portable speaker, scrolling through his phone for the best music to play because turning music on while doing mundane tasks always gives him a little much-needed energy (which he generally has very little to speak for). He settles for MCR, “Teenagers” blaring as begins to scrub away last night’s pasta-sauce covered plates.

And okay, yeah, the music is probably cranked up too loud. Yeah, Virgil’s mouthing along to the words, singing some of them, and he really should just shut up and do the dishes considering his boyfriend is asleep in the other room. But Remus is such a heavy sleeper, and he’s never woken him up in the past playing music in another room, so why should he now?

Virgil’s absolutely positive that Remus is still dead asleep as he begins to move to the music, his voice gaining in volume as he sings along, unabashedly. It’s unlike him; Virgil’s always so riddled with self-consciousness. But social anxiety isn’t much of a factor alone in the kitchen doing the dishes, so he doesn’t focus on how ridiculous he must look, getting lost in the music and dancing like an idiot.

“Nice moves, hot stuff.”

Virgil shrieks, the sponge in his hand hitting the ground with an unceremonious splat.

“Sweet Frank Iero – Remus! You- you scared the shit out of me!”

There stands Remus, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen and beginning to cackle. Virgil feels a flush climb up from his necks all the way to his ears as he bends down to retrieve the sponge, and then to pause the music. Remus has the decency to wear boxers, considering how adamant he is about sleeping in the buff. He’d probably walk around nude most of the time if Virgil didn’t beg him not to. “We have neighbors!” “We live on the third floor.” “Well – still! You are not walking around our apartment with your dick hanging out.” “Aw, you’re no fun!”

 “Sorry for spooking you, scare-bear,” Remus says, though he doesn’t sound all that genuinely apologetic, especially not with that shit-eating-grin. “You know –.” “Stop. Whatever you’re going to say just – just don’t. I’m already about to die from embarrassment, don’t make it worse.” Virgil can feel his blush go from pink to crimson as Remus walks further into the room, his smile going impossibly wider.

“I don’t know what you mean, Virgey,” Remus croons, his hands finding their way to Virgil’s waist, chin perched on his shoulder. Virgil tries to keep his eyes trained on the dishes in the sink, the sponge trembling slightly in his hand, but Remus certainly isn’t making focusing easy.

“Yes, you fucking do.”

“I, for one, think you’re adorable.” Virgil’s cheeks, somehow, go redder.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Virgil groans, setting the sponge in the sink and shoving Remus off of him so he can turn around to face him. He’s still got that wicked smile; the bastard.

“Remus…”

“Virgil.”

“I’m… geez, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Virgil asks the realization that he might’ve been the cause of Remus waking catching up despite the embarrassment. Remus quickly shakes his head, his hair flopping in his face.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’, “Course you didn’t. Have you ever?”

“Only when I’m really trying to, I guess,” Virgil says after thinking about it for a moment.

“I just woke up at the exact perfect time and didn’t want to make my presence noticed at first.”

“Creep,” Virgil says, but he’s throwing his arms around Remus and pulling him close all the same.

Remus accepts the embrace happily, pressing Virgil into his chest and kissing the top of his head. Remus gives the best hugs. The height difference was something he was initially a bit self-conscious about; but really, what doesn’t make him self-conscious? Quickly, though, he learned to love embraces from his boyfriend. Remus stands a head-and-a-half taller, and swallows Virgil up in his arms every time they hug. Remus hugs with everything he has, tight and protective. Virgil forgets that he was ever afraid of him in these moments, safe and secure in his arms.

“And what of it?” Remus says with a laugh, letting go of Virgil so he’s able to bend down and kiss him thoroughly. Virgil’s hands settle around his neck, a good portion of his embarrassment leaving.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Remus croons, kissing Virgil on the cheek before pulling away, “You want some breakfast, dance machine?” And there comes the embarrassment, roaring back to life.

“I swear if you’re going to keep teasing me –.”

“Oh, c’mon! Cut me some slack, babe. You’re cute as all hell!”

“Remmmm.”

“Do you want breakfast or not? Bacon, eggs?” Remus asks, trying to distract from his teasing. Virgil sighs.

“That depends: are you going to burn the bacon on purpose like last time?” Remus is silent, his smile devious. “Remus, I swear, if you do, I will go and get McDonald's and I will not share.”

“Ugh, fine,” Remus pouts dramatically, as if burning bacon just for the fun of it (although it can be quite fun to watch it curl up and turn all chalky and black) sounds any better than having breakfast with his boyfriend. “But only because I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.”

Remus puts the bacon on the skillet, cracking the eggs in a pan and watching Virgil with amusement as he turns the speaker back on, MCR playing once more. Virgil can’t help but laugh as Remus begins to break into dance moves in front of the stove, wiggling his hips and singing along as he flips the eggs.

Eventually, Virgil can’t help but join in. Remus’s just like that; an infectious personality, to say the least. But Virgil’s glad for it. Really, really glad. Joining Remus in dancing to My Chemical Romance in their kitchen on a Saturday morning suddenly feels so natural. Remus makes it natural.

He doesn’t entirely know if he’ll ever be used to it, and he knows he’ll always be at least a little embarrassed about things like this. But it’s nice, and that’s something Virgil can settle into just fine.

=+=

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[curly-bangtan]

A Drop of Heaven IV: Unravelling

[Series Masterlist]

Pairing: ot7 x reader // this chapter: Yoongi x reader, Seokjin x reader

Series summary: Seven vampires have secretly been roaming the darks of your world for millennia. Each brother selects a Feed who becomes supernaturally bound to him, whose blood will be fed on until their inevitable mortal death. They have spent their eternity hunting for the exorbitant rarity that is angel blood - the most heavenly of food for vampires that fuel them with desire, lust and satiety. So what happens when they all find you, the first angel-blooded being they’ve encountered in two centuries?

Genre: vampire au, poly au, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (e2l)

Warnings in this chapter: mentions of blood drinking, depression and suicidal thoughts, slightly gruesome, probably a lot of confusion, plot heavy chapter

Word count: 11.1k

A/N: I’m not sure if it’s just me but I feel like my writing style for this series has kind of shifted, so apologies if you don’t like the change. Thank you for being so patient with this update, I know it took forever, but I hope it was worth the wait! ❤︎

[prelude, i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, epilogue]

❦

They say that humans are immensely adaptable creatures. In the face of a drastic change, when thrust into a foreign environment, we possess a biological plasticity that allows us to mould into our novelle surroundings, no matter how alien. All for the purpose of survival. Humans are resilient. Humans survive.

You have survived, and you keep on surviving.

A week has passed. Almost in a flash, yet also agonisingly slowly. But in your memory, all the feeding has merged into a blur. Every time a pair of fangs sink into you, you’ve come to switch off your mind completely. You don’t recall where your consciousness has travelled to, you just remember floating in a cold darkness. Stagnant. Void.

On Thursday, broken and hanging on by a thread, you were tossed to Hoseok. The flash of craze in his eyes, despite your gaping wounds that took longer to heal than it should have, even after drinking Yoongi’s blood, managed to instill a droplet of fear in you. But only just.

Because after Yoongi, you no longer know fear.

Still, Hoseok’s insanity is something you’ve never seen before, a wildness exacerbated by the centuries he has lived.

Hoseok looks at you like a brand new toy. When he touches you, you can feel the tremble of excitement beneath his skin. Sometimes, you wonder if he is the worst one of them all, even worse than Yoongi. Because you at least know what the others are thinking. With Hoseok, he speaks to you as if you’ve been acquainted for years, asks how you fare as if he doesn’t know of your suffering. He smiles at you like he means it, and you know he is genuinely happy to see you, but not for the reason you hope for.

“You seem sad…” He had said, staring at you intently as he brushes the sweat-dampened hair out of your face. “Yoongi hurt you?”

Your eyes were transfixed on one spot of the colourful wallpaper of his Feed Room. Your head barely nodded.

You didn’t see his mouth quirk up in amusement, but you could sense it. Hoseok was prodding you, like a zoo animal. Testing your temperament, seeing how broken you are. And you were too tired, too drained to put on a show like the circus monkey he wanted.

“No worries, Y/N, it won’t hurt with me, I promise.” The ghost of his lips traced your shoulder. “We will have so much fun together.” His long fingers prickle your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap. “Just relax and smile for me.”

It had hurt, at least very briefly before you could shut it out. Out of everyone, Hoseok has the least control. He never knows when to stop. Though he wasn’t bleeding you dry just yet, it visibly took him his entire mental strength to cease his drinking. And once he stopped, he began laughing maniacally.

“Sweet Satan, we’re in for a ride.” He kissed around the puncture wound at your collarbone where blood was weeping out of you. You didn’t move or make a sound.

The sire bond hadn’t surfaced at all. But it didn’t need to in order for you to ignore the pain; you’ve grown so accustomed to it by now that you hardly even blink, sire bond or no. You’re afraid of yourself, the lifeless husk you’re becoming.

The scariest aspect of Hoseok is perhaps how quickly he changes his mood after feeding. His ability to act as if he hadn’t just ripped into you, taking your around the house and telling you stories of his adventurous life while you eat, is uncanny. And when you fail to put on a smile for him, because how could you, his eyes would darken, jaw tighten.

“Isn’t that just hilarious? Can you believe I did that back then?” He would ask, and you’re not sure why your entertainment brings him validation.

But for self-preservation, you have learnt to giggle like you’re enjoying yourself and say cheerily, “I know right! That sounds wild!”

And Hoseok would nod madly, giddy from your approval, acting blind to your ingenuity as if he hadn’t forced the response he wanted out of you.

That was your Thursday.

.

Jimin was a salve, a soothing balm over your hidden wounds.

You no longer care whether his affection towards you is genuine. Beggars can’t be choosers, you’ll take any kindness where it is doled. It’s funny because, amidst suffering, amidst torture, you are able to resist the floods of tears that should be completely justified in your predicament. Yet as soon as someone shows the remotest care towards you, you feel the ocean pushing against your brick walls, threatening to rupture the dam.

It wretched your heart how tender Jimin was with you. You had almost broken down in his arms when he brushed over the skin where Yoongi and Hoseok had torn into. Your wounds are invisible. Vampire blood hides your cuts under fresh new skin, but doesn’t truly heal them. Yet Jimin had managed to sense your scars nonetheless.

He kissed them softly. You knew he wanted to kiss your mouth too, yet he didn’t. Is this what respect feels like?

Thus, you were completely willing when he fed on you. His preferred feeding spot is the inside of your thighs. When his cold breath arrived there, you could have sworn you felt something flutter in your core.

You had wanted him. You’re embarrassed to admit but you want him. Completely on your own accord, as the sire bond had also failed to lock in place with him too. You wondered if it was the damage Yoongi had done…

But then Saturday came, and the moment Taehyung’s fangs touched your flesh, you were swept away.

At first, it felt like drowning, as you struggled against the formidable waves that would not let you resurface. But then you calmed, a serenity took hold of you, and you began floating in the most soothing, clear blue water. The water healed you, almost, as you just drifted there on your back, watching the star-splatted night sky.

Taehyung swam up beside you, those sharp fangs of his never withdrawn, a wolfish yet reassuring smile, telling you it’s okay, everything will be okay, I can make you feel good.

And he did make you feel good.

The one thing you crave the most in this world is affection, you’ve come to learn. With Yoongi, you had wanted to feel something so badly, something other the numb wreckage of your mind you had trapped yourself in. Except he had made you feel worse, worthless, self-loathing just like him. With Hoseok, you were a broken doll, smile when expected to, laughing when required. You weren’t a person. With Jimin, you had been too grateful for his tenderness to function, unable to comprehend how, for once in the longest time, someone is treating you as if they care about you.

With Taehyung, you grew desperate to cling onto this intimacy.

It was like a drug, flooding your mind with peace and euphoria, drinking him in as much as he is drinking you. His kisses felt unhealthily good, and they tricked you into thinking that you’re worthy of someone like Taehyung, someone so beautiful, so intoxicating. He fucked you like he was making love to you, but also not. It came as waves - his sweetness, then his ferality.

You couldn’t get enough of it. You know it’s no good to feel so attached, when he probably sees you as no more than an object, his meal, but you couldn’t help it. You were just so desperate for that feeling of being desired.

He promised to make you feel good, make you forget, and that he did.

You hadn’t known what to expect from Jungkook. As you sat, waiting, on the bed of his Feed Room on Sunday, you pondered Jin’s words of his past.

He was a bright star once, before this curse. And even after, he had fed on humans once. The curiosity gnawed at your brain, pleading to find out what had happened.

Jungkook never showed up.

And so you slept the day and night away, replenishing your health with soup that Seokjin delivered, until you woke up and the cycle continued once more.

.

You watch the round dewdrop roll off the viridescent green leaf, and splatter onto the cold white tile. The greenhouse has soon become one of your favourite places to pass time. The walls of that manor are suffocating.

The faint sound of a piano whispers into your ears. You shut your eyes, appreciating the beauty of the pieces as it plays flawlessly. You wonder who is pouring out their emotions to the ebony and ivory sisters.

The glass of the greenhouse is fogged by the dawn dew, shielding you from the world outside and those who wish to take from you. Almost smiling, you pace around the kingdom of plants, enjoying the tranquility. Today is Thursday; Hoseok allows you to do as you please after he feeds on you; though it could be of his genuine good intent, you suspect it’s to instill you with a false sense of freedom. Let the dog out of its cage, let her roam their land, so the bitch never seeks to leave the house.

The thought of escaping had crossed your mind a profusion of occurrences the past week. Though, at this very moment, you don’t think there is much purpose in leaving anymore. Here, you at least are provided food and shelter, and maybe one or two friends whose friendship comes with a price. It’s not living in here, you’re merely surviving. But you’re surviving nonetheless. Compared to out there, where you’d be left to fend for yourself, constantly fleeing from seven vampires who you’re eternally bonded to.

You’ve thought about killing yourself too. A coward’s way out, but hey, you’d rather be a coward than a blood bag for the rest of your life. But when you had snuck into the kitchen last night after Yoongi’s heartless torment and raised a knife to your chest, an invisible force had pushed against your arms, freezing them in place and preventing them from taking action.

The sireship is so cruel. It humanises the vampires who captured you, makes you empathise with them, and forbids you from harming yourself.

On deeper thought, you wouldn’t have been able to kill yourself that way anyway. The moment your blood is spilled, in a house full of vampires, at least one of them is bound to smell it right away. They would have healed you before the pain could kick in - their way of sweeping everything under the rug nowadays - and you would’ve been back to the start. Except worse, as they would then know of your intention.

You crouch down beside a rose bush, petting its velvet white petals between your fingers. Flowers are beautiful yet fickles things, but roses have thorns. They lure people in with their beauty, but if anyone tries to pluck them off and keep one for themselves, they get cut. Your fingers travel down its stem to where a thorn is staring enticingly back at you.

You push the pad of your finger into its prick, hard. You don’t feel a thing. Not even as a bead of crimson oozes from the cut. It’s chilling.

Then you sense a presence behind you. When you turn, your eyes meet with those of Namjoon. Watering pot in one hand, he watches you, brows furrowed at your previous act.

“What are you doing?” There’s a hesitancy in his voice, almost as if he doesn’t recognise you.

“Admiring the roses.”

You no longer speak to Namjoon in that defying tone of yours. He was right, there’s no use in challenging him, trying to topple his superiority complex. It only took a week to tame you into a docile creature. You’re ashamed.

“No, I mean why did you purposely touch the thorns like that?” Still frowning, he stomps over, water in his gardening can sloshing about. As he sinks down beside you, his air of intimidation infiltrates your peaceful bubble.

“I… I don’t know, I just wanted to know what it feels like.” You mumble. Setting the pot aside, Namjoon snatches your finger and brings it close to his face for examination.

“Well, it was obviously going to cut you.” He hisses. When his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your blood is vastly tempting him.

“I know.” You pull your finger away, not that you don’t trust his self control, but because his touch was beginning to scald. The bond was trying to take hold of you despite it not being the day where you belong to him, and you hate how drawn you are to him because of it.

Spinning away, you stand and begin pacing towards the door. Your moment of peace has been disturbed, there’s no point in staying here anymore. But then you hear him call after you, “W-Wait.” The vulnerable expression that greets you when you look back takes you by surprise. “Um… You spend an awful lot of time in here nowadays… How come?”

You hadn’t been aware that Namjoon notices your growing presence in the greenhouse, not since you have never come across him here before. “I like it in here, I feel safe. Why, am I not allowed?” Your question lacks the challenging impudence it should have, more like a young girl asking her father for permission. You’re disappointed in yourself at how quickly you’ve deflated, even at the obnoxious Namjoon. Yet, you’ve lost your drive at standing your ground, you’ve got no fight left.

“N-No!” He is quick to dispute, standing up from his crouch as well. “I just meant… Nevermind.” His voice trails weakly to a tense silence. You watch his eyes flicker up at yours rather nervously, trying to decipher his intention. Then he speaks again, “I’ve just seen you here quite a few times… I enjoy being here myself; I find tending to my plants right before the sun rises fully a therapeutic pastime.”

His admission strikes you. You would never imagine a man as demanding, efficient and severe as Namjoon to enjoy a hobby as mundane as gardening. You’re not sure what to make of it to be honest, nor can you understand why he’s speaking to you so… conversationally. Is this his attempt at making peace with you?

“Well, you’ve tended to them very well, they’re beautiful. I enjoy being here too.” You guess you should accept his decency. He had been rather distant on Monday, leaving you to your own devices, only feeding on you once and hardly speaking a word. His contrasting moods are confusing.

Namjoon’s lips purse, brows raise ever so slightly, as if surprised by your kind response. His eyes flicker to your finger again. The tiny cut has yet to dry, fresh blood still leaking from the open wound despite its miniscule size. You should probably have some food; your body is frail, especially after Yoongi yesterday.

“I’m going to leave you to it, sir.” You nod courteously, but freeze as the name you address him as slips out of you. No, it was drawn out of you from the bond. It doesn’t take a second for heat to rush to your face in embarrassment. Namjoon noticeably stiffens. Gulps.

The coil within you is starting to wind. It tightens around your chest like thorned vines, piercing into your heart the more you try to wriggle free.

You know he feels it too.

But before he can take a step towards you, as you sense he intends to, you’re turning around and speeding out of the greenhouse. And it’s not until you’re within the confines of Hoseok’s Feed Room that you feel the liberty to breathe again, Namjoon’s sire bond reluctantly waning into the background.

.

You could tell something was off about Hoseok straight away when he entered the room. There were multiple telltale signs.

One: He was stumbling over his feet, tripping over to the bed in a drunken manner as he navigated the room. His words were slurred, hardly coherent sentences at all. His wine red hair in disarray.

Two: He smelled noticeably different. Though you’ve not spent more than two days as his feed, Hoseok has a clear distinct smell, most notable from the other vampires. He smells clean, sweet even; it’s the one thing you can’t help but indulge in about him. Yet even to your human nose, he had a weird, doggish musk to him as he approached you.

Three: From his rogue smile dribbled drying blood. And no, it wasn’t a mere droplet of crimson, he was drenched in blood, chin to toes. Despite the gore you’ve witnessed, it was still a chilling sight.

And four: Though his eyes were half shut, you briefly saw the way they flashed beneath his lids. Only half conscious, the other half gone and crazed, though full of purpose - purpose to get to you.

You catch him in open arms as he falls onto you, the mattress dipping at the sudden crash of his weight. “Hoseok, what happened?” Your voice harbours more concern than you would like to show, and you don’t know why you care at all.

His face presses against the crook of your neck, his lips stretching into a smile at your presence, right over your pulse. His hands wander to your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You recoil from his forwardness, but with nowhere to back away to except further into the bed. You try to ignore how pleasant the tip of his nose feels as it rubs against your skin.

“Missed you…” Hoseok mumbles, still grinning widely, mouth travelling to your jaw where his warm breath tickles. His breath should be cold; the heat tells you that the feeding of whoever’s blood this was recent.

You can’t help but feel flustered at his sudden touchiness. Of all vampires here, save for Jungkook, you would say you’ve been the least… intimate with Hoseok. It has never been your dynamic. It was always him flinging you around like a puppy shredding its new stuffed toy then chewing on the spilled cotton. So this is… new.

“Why are you acting like this?” You ask again, trying to pry his arms off your torso but to no avail.

“Sweetness…” He mutters unintelligibly, and you shudder as his teeth grazes your ear, an involuntarily sensual tingle following.

“H-Hoseok…” Your breath hitches, his proximity growing more and more unignorable. So you grab his face, cheeks cupped in one hand, and shake him for good measure. His closing lids flash open like gradually awakening from slumber, yet still not recovered from his daze. “What happened to you?”

“Werewolves.”

An icy cold settles in your bones. Werewolves. There are such things as werewolves as well. Vampires, witches and werewolves. What other creatures of horror are plaguing your world that you don’t know of? That explains that muttish stench he carries. The blood he’s soaked in… Is it his or theirs? You think you feel slightly sick.

Brushing his hair out of his face, you point his drooping head at you again. “Tell me what happened.”

“Those stupid mutts… picking a fight… Taehyung, Jungkook and I had to put them in their place.” Hoseok begins peeling himself off you, and finally your body is no longer crushed under his. Your hands around him fall to your side idly as you watch him stumble off the bed and head towards the door, though he doesn’t make it two steps before tumbling onto his knees. You hurry after him to catch his upper body before he falls completely onto the ground.

His shoulders in your grip, you try to examine him for any wounds, and though there are some tears in his clothes, the skin underneath has been healed clean. So why? “Hoseok, look at me.” Your voice is urgent, authoritative, it almost has the life it once had to it. His eyes lock onto yours, this time permanently without closing. They’re blank, the amber green murky with an unreadable shroud. “What’s wrong with you? You need to tell me.”

So with obvious effort, he grunts out, “Werewolf blood makes us… It’s like… wine to us. Too much and our mind is” hiccup “inebriated.”

Oh. You let out a sigh of relief.

Hoseok is drunk on werewolf blood.

Though, you’re not sure why you’re relieved that he’s alright. Surely you should be wishing for the opposite.

With tremendous endeavour, you drag him up onto his feet and walk him to the ensuite bathroom, huffing as you sit him down on the edge of the lavish bathtub that every Feed bathroom contains but you have yet to use. Hoseok is uncooperative, trying for detours on the bed, attempting to hop onto the sink. With the knowledge of his intoxicated state now, he appears like a little child, an innocently fascinated smile constantly plastered on his face, too easily impressed by even his own reflection in the mirror. For you, it’s a contrasting sight. Though he has always possessed a child-like temperament in his playfulness and love to goof at silly things, his usual underlying insanity is nowhere to be found right now.

It makes his company more soothing knowing that his mind absolves of any ulterior motive.

You don’t know why you’ve taken it upon you to do so, but you rummage around to find a clean towel. Glancing at the mirror as you twist the faucet to dampen the towel, you try not to notice how you scarcely recognise yourself anymore.

Hoseok groans at the wet coldness you press onto his chin, the dried crusted blood once again watering into a river of rusty brown-red. His fingers fly up to catch yours, trying to pry the scrubbing towel off his face. “Mmmm.” He whines in protest, shut eyes frowning. You ignore his brewing tantrum, towel travelling down to absorb the red stains of his neck, though you clean with more gentleness now.

He isn’t so bad like this, you guess.

Still, the more you try to understand him, the more you lose yourself in the maze that is his psyche. The more you think you can predict him, the more he comes out with an unexpected complexity that adds another layer to his mask. Who is Hoseok? The entertainer, the mood maker, always seeking to please his guests? The little boy who wishes not to be tamed? The spoilt brat whose greed grows with the more he has? Who is he really?

You straighten and regard his state. Head drooping sluggishly, fingers fidgeting at anything in his reach, you realise a cold towel isn’t going to help him. You’re all too familiar from the nights your uncle stumbled back, the reek of alcohol finding you before he enters the room, to know that this state of inebriation needs to be conquered before he falls asleep, lest you wish to face an ill-tempered brute the next day.

“Hoseok.” You tap his jaw lightly, rousing him, and he looks at you with surprising focus that makes you cower a little. “You should shower.”

He blinks sleepily, and you think he doesn’t comprehend at first, but then he takes your hand in his and stands up. As he does, his face zooms dangerously close to yours, pointy tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from brushing your lips. Your heart jumps. There’s a lag in your brain before you know to step back.

“Come with me, then.”

It’s evident that his whole demeanour has shifted. Gone is the childish giddiness he had. In its place: a solemn gravity, seemingly out of nowhere, his lips pressed into a taut line, jaw tense, a pinning glare possessing you unwaveringly. Even his voice has dropped deeper, forgoing its tangy cheer.

It takes more than a second for what he means to sink in. He wants you to join his shower.

“W-What? No!” You yank your hand from his, heat blooming across your cheeks.

At this point, you��re no prude, intimacy has been breached with several if not most of these vampires you share a roof with. Yet your dynamic and circumstance with each of them differs greatly. With Yoongi, it is a release of mutual resentment; Taehyung, it’s a seductive dance to pleasure you both; Namjoon, a reluctant magnetisation that you wish not to dwell on; Seokjin, a confusion of emotions and desperation; Jimin, a soft gentle healing. There has always been a sexual implication hinting at the back of your mind with these five, and with some, you’ve acted upon it. But never with Hoseok.

Because Hoseok has been too much of an enigma. Never once showing that type of attraction towards you, only a fascination that sits on the borderline of lunacy. Always just - ogling at you like you’re a show pony, marveling at the taste of your blood as if it’s a drug. And the confusion he inoculates when he acts as your friend, like he genuinely enjoys your company. Too baffling.

But right now, this very evening, something stirs in your stomach. A new sensation as another layer of him is peeled back to reveal yet another persona. A man desiring affection?

He looks at you for a while, as if he wants to say something. The absence of the smile that usually stalks his lips every moment of the day is throwing you off. You think he’s going to push further but he doesn’t, he simply tilts his head and says, “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Legs still rather wobbly, he makes his way, hand on the gold marble of the sink to balance his wavering weight, towards the shower. Standing there, stupefied at his sudden change, you don’t realise that he does not intend on waiting for you to leave before striping until he tears his blood-drenched shirt off crudely. Buttons fly towards the wall, scattering about in little clinks.

Faint scar-like marks dart across his back like a violent painting.

You’re transfixed. The light lines are not ridged, merely running smoothly on the surface of his skin. Some look like claw marks, some bite marks seemingly from an animal. Those werewolves he mentioned? Some look fresh, while others older.

But that doesn’t make sense. Why does he, a vampire with supernatural healing, have scars?

“So do you want to join or not?” He slurs, face half turned towards you, yet eyes trained low. His profile is striking.

“I- No. Um. I’m going to bed. Bye.” Your eyes immediately fall to the ground. Still incredibly flustered, you spin around and head back to your room, mentally trying to shake off the image of his scar-inflicted back.

At the door, you pause, back still facing him, and ask, “Will you be fine alone?”

You hear the whirl of his belt being pulled out, blood continuing to roar in your ears.

“I’ve been alone all these centuries - I think I’ll be fine.”

That’s not what you meant, but when you hear his zipper, you hurry to shut the door behind you, pondering the sourness of his reply.

.

His shower is quick, the water sounds stop not too long after you climb into bed. Though, Hoseok stays in the bathroom for a period of time before coming out. You debated going in to check in on him incase he has fallen unconscious or something of that sort, whatever werewolf blood does to vampires. But you weren’t sure if he would be dressed, so you stay tucked under the covers in a small huddle, quietly trying to dissect his character in your head.

The door eventually opens, though it doesn’t swing open as Hoseok normally does to announce his entry. He’s still in that odd sombre mood.

Lying on your side, curled up into a small lump, your back is facing him. Eyes shut yet wide awake, you hear a drop of water hit the floor every few seconds. You can’t resist the urge to look up, to see whether he has washed away the blood and intoxication.

But at the sight of his naked body, manhood only covered by the towel hanging loosely around his waist, you nearly roll off. Though his skin is mostly dry, there is still a lustre glossed over his unearthly sculpted body. The room is dark, his silhouette cast by the bathroom lights behind him. Despite the poor vision, you are mesmerised by the ridges of his abdomen, chiseled so perfectly that you wonder how they feel like beneath your touch. A defined V is carved on his pelvis, pointing down to a devilish place you’re glad the darkness doesn’t allow you to see.

You catch sight of his hand that is bunching up the towel loosen, just in time for you to swing back down into your foetal position away from him before you hear the cloth drop carelessly.

Is he purposely trying to tizzy you?

Your eyes close firmly as he paces to the dresser, and they stay that firmly closed while you hear him dress, hear the bathroom lights click off.

You jolt when you feel the pressure on the other side of that mattress, your knees curling up tighter, inconspicuously inching further away. To your relief, as he climbs into bed, he keeps his distance, doesn’t reach for you like you were scared he would.

The silence hums loudly, rhythmed by his shallow breaths. Is he finally sober?

No sound. Not a word. For Hoseok, that’s worrying.

Damn yourself, why do you care? “Are you feeling better?” You almost bite your tongue as you ask, cursing your inability to keep to yourself. At least you don’t turn to face him.

Silence, still. Steady breaths.

You begin to wonder if he fell asleep the second his back sunk onto the mattress. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

But then you hear the lightest sigh. “Feeling less drunk, but head still pounding. Dizzy.”

You’re unaccustomed to the deepness of his voice, wondering where its usual loud annoying cheeriness has strayed off to. You don’t want to say you miss it, you certainly don’t. You just… grew so used to it.

This version of Hoseok is too human. It’s uncanny.

Despite laying there in silence, it doesn’t feel silent at all. The tension is blaringly loud in the air, almost a physical pressure pushing up against you, goading you to do something. Turn around and face him. Let him feed on you to replenish. But no, he’s fed a lot today already. Your collar still feels sore. Find another vampire and ask them to cure him. But at this time of day, where the sun is already almost completely uncovered, they should all be asleep. Then at least talk to him, something, before he resumes back to his normal self that you have to cower from.

“What are those scars on your back?”

Your voice startles him. Though you can’t see well, you notice him jolt. Was that too much to ask? Too personal? And honestly, do you actually want to know the truth to your question or would you sleep much sounder without it?

He doesn’t answer.

Instant regret. You count your breaths, shut your eyes and try not to be hyper-aware of short the distance of an arm’s length actually is between your back and his side.

You shouldn’t have asked that. Of course it would be a sensitive topic. What else could explain the literal scars on his back that have failed to heal even with his supernatural abilities?

There is a line drawn between you and Hoseok. There are boundaries, though some particularly vague and hazy, between you and each vampire, but the line is especially distinct with him. You have to remember, you can’t act the same as you do with Seokjin or Taehyung with someone like Hoseok or Yoongi. He’s not your friend. None of them are your friends, really. Hoseok, one of the least of all.

Who knows what psychological trigger you’ve switched on by asking such question? Curiosity did kill the cat afterall.

“They…” It’s your turn to jounce, his response unexpected. “I don’t know, I guess there’s a limit to what my abilities can heal, and to be honest, I like the look of them anyway. I think there’s a word for it, but my mind isn’t working properly… M-something. Ma- You know, the opposite of sadism.”

You know.

“Masochism…?”

“Yeah, that. Masochism.”

The room goes quiet after he mutters the last syllable of a word you would never anticipate to be his answer. Hoseok is a masochist? He enjoys pain inflicted onto him? If it were even possible for your blood to go colder, you feel a chill spear through your veins.

Fuck, these vampires are dark. And you thought you were morbid…

“Why…?” So Hoseok is at the opposite of the spectrum from Yoongi. You vaguely understand Yoongi, how he lashes out due to self hatred. It’s a cycle of pushing people away due to fear of intimacy from his loneliness, and as a result feeling more alone. He likes to inflict pain because that way, he can convince himself that he’s an unlovable monster, and pretend that he is choosing to be alone. But with Hoseok, you cannot fathom how or why he enjoys pain. How could anyone? “If you don’t mind me asking…”

You’re tempted to turn, eye contact is human nature, but you don’t think you can stomach it. There is an inexplicable weight, an intensity bestowed. You feel as though you’re sinking in quicksand, a slow agonising submergence, swallowed up by the burden you’re seeking to know about but can’t resist.

“It’s so boring, living like this.” He mumbles. You hear him rustle around to get comfortable, or maybe to inch closer to you. “We’ve been alive for more than two thousand years. Life begins to get rather insipid, nothing really... stimulates me anymore. Yeah, fight with demons, get wasted on werewolf blood, sure, pretty fun.” Hiccup. “But after so many years, you start to not really feel anything anymore.”

Truthfully, you think you get it. You get his inertia, the lack of anything exciting him about life.

“Like yeah, I know how you see me. I’m this over-the-top, dramatic class clown caricature, so you probably won’t believe me when I tell you about how bored I actually am. But I am.” hiccup

“So pain is your remedy?”

“I guess, yeah, pain is my remedy. You know that feeling when your skin gets cut, that rush of cold that infiltrates you?” Unfortunately, all too well. “It’s pretty exciting. There’s no feeling like it.” hiccup “It’s just so refreshing, to be able to feel somewhat mortal. Get torn apart a little, because I know I’ll stitch back up together anyway. It’s the only thing that brings me thrill nowadays. Before we found you.”

“What if you don’t?” Vampires are immortal, but not invincible afterall.

“Then I guess I don’t.”

Hoseok says it with a finality, as if death is no big ordeal to him. If it happens, it happens. He’s not self-destructive perse, you know he isn’t actively looking to die. He just wants to feel something. Like you.

Yeah, you think you get it…

Despite the difference in the sufferings you’ve been exposed to, monotony breeds insensitivity to most stimulants of life. Food tastes blander, colours duller, sense of self starts to ebb away. Hoseok had been a cheerful man before becoming a vampire, one requiring extravaganza in his life, flamboyance, because his life was a show, the embodiment of entertainment. How long did that take to crumble? For him to grow out of parties and parades because he realised that they could no longer fill that void?

The fall from a life of exhilaration to one where you were only passing time is tragic. He puts on a show to convince himself that he’s having fun, imposes it on everyone around him.

You’re beginning to dissect the animus of Hoseok, what truly underlies his insanity.

It’s disconcerting, how much he’s opening up when he isn’t sober. He has kept this in for a while, you can guess.

“Hey…” He slurs sleepily, though you hear his purpose, a sort of determination to stay away and say one last thing. And finally, you turn.

In this darkness, you hardly see a thing more than the shadows cast around him. You can’t see his facial expression, and you think it’s perhaps a good thing; you don’t wish for it to confuse you more. What throws you off is the heat emitted from his body. Vampires are cold creatures, warmth absent in their touch. You try not to think about the werewolf blood still coursing through his veins to keep him warm, how it makes it feel as though a human lays beside you rather than the monster in actuality.

“Yes?”

Your reply falls flat. As your vision adjusts to the pitch black, you are hyper aware of the stillness of the night that encases you.

“I…”

He.

It’s silent. So silent you can hear the thrumming of your chest.

“Yes?” You repeat, egging him on. His hesitancy has a depressive tone to it, it is somehow so genuine, rather than for dramatic effect like one would expect from him.

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words shoot into you like bullets of chaos and disarray, their shells ricocheting. Your ear rings as if deafened by an explosion. Maybe this is a dream. You can’t tell these days anymore.

“I’m sorry for everything.” He sounds throaty, still dragging his words as he tries to grapple at sobriety but fails. He also sounds like he means what he’s saying, like he feels terribly guilty.

You don’t understand.

“What do you mean… Why…?” Your eyes drop to the distance between you, fixing on the shadow of a crease you can barely make out.

“I’m just-” Hoseok tosses onto his side to look at you. You stare at that shadow harder. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“But wh-”

“Every time I look at you, I just want to, I don’t know, shake you. No, not you. Shake myself, or my brothers. I want to shatter some glass, sprint at a wall, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what I’m saying. But yeah, every time I look at you, I just feel so fucking bad, man. I’ve- I guess I’ve been pretty good at keeping the guilt at bay all these centuries - we kind of have to, or we wouldn’t have survived two thousand years. But like, when I look at you, I can’t forget how much you’ve suffered. That kind of damage scars you forever. I can fucking see that you’re a shell of a person.”

Your throat constricts. You hate this feeling. Not that people have ever pitied you before, seeing as there was no witness of your uncle’s abuse, there was no one to feel sorry for you. But right now, you get it. That wash of humiliation from the small satisfaction you gain from someone pitying you, someone acknowledging how bad you have it, all the shit you’ve been through. It makes you sick.

Yes, you’re damaged. Good that he knows. Good that it tears apart his conscience. You’re glad that it makes him feel horrible.

Then why? You want to ask him. But you know he’s not finished with his piece.

“I see that you try to hide how fucking empty you are when you’re with me, try to act like you’re enjoying my company and actually find my jokes funny. I guess that’s why I keep trying to make you laugh. I know I’m annoying as fuck. Hell, I would hate me if I were anyone but me. But, I don’t know, I just want to stir some reaction from you, make you feel less hollow. I know it fucking sucks for you here, and I want to make it suck less, you know?”

A shiver fires down your spine. You have never thought about it like that.

Drunk words, sober thoughts. Or so the saying goes.

All this time, you thought that Hoseok views you as some sort of dancing monkey, forcing you to perform tricks for him, smiling, laughing, stroking his ego.

But the truth is, he wants to spark some life back into you. His jokes, his stories, his antics. They have been for you, not him.

Your throat trembles.

“All that shit with your uncle, God, it was brutal, even for me. It was the fact that you couldn’t escape from it. You were living through hell for how many years? All because of us. And now you’re stuck here with us, have to continue to endure. It just doesn’t stop for you, does it? And I know it makes no sense coming from me. Especially from me, I guess. You know, I really wish I could control myself. But that sensation that overtakes our minds, I wish I could describe it to you, it’s fucking insane. Your blood tastes like a drug to me, I don’t know, heroin or something. Except it doesn’t kill me, it kills you.” His voice is drifting, quieter, duller, slower. Like he’s mumbling without knowing he’s speaking out loud. The words just keep tumbling out.

Glancing up, you see that his eyes are shut, chest rising heavily, on the brink of sleep. You want him to fall asleep. You don’t want to keep listening. Because it sickens you knowing that buried under all those masks is an emotionally empathetic person, hardly the maniac you thought him to be. Because it would be so much easier if he was that, so much easier to hate your tormentor and see him as a monster.

But actually, he isn’t. He senses your pain, holds remorse for his actions.

You hate it. You hate it.

Just let me believe that you’re pyschopathic.

“Anyway... what I was saying is that…” His head droops to the other side. Sleep will siege him soon, you’re glad to know. “I know I’m a hypocrite. Namjoon would give me hell if he heard me sympathising with the Feed, but I truly mean no malicious intent towards you... This is just the way things are for us…” His breathing slows, deepens. Words only just more than a slur of syllables. You lay there, clutching your fists, waiting for it to be over, but only for you to lie awake and ponder this revelation for hours. “I wish… I wish it didn’t have to be you... after all that you went through. But I guess you only went through that because of what you are… Hurting you was the only way to protect you...”

You don’t even hear it at first, silently contemplating his words. But then the last bit sinks in.

“Wait, wait, what?” You break your silence. Hoseok has stopped making sense, you shouldn’t expect more from a drunken vampire, but he had been making sense before. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean what?” He mumbles and rolls away, but you grab his sleeve and prevent him from turning and entering a realm of dreams.

“What you said in the end. About how… I don’t know... I went through that shit because of what I am. What do you mean? And hurting me was the only way to protect me.” Your blood has gone icy. You don’t want to be left with nothing but those words and your endless imagination of what they could possibly mean for the next few hours.

“You know, the spell…”

Spell.

“What spell?” But his eyes are completely closed, hardly a stir at your question to indicate he heard you at all. His sleeve bunches up under your fist, you gently rattle his face. “Hoseok, what spell? What are you talking about?”

He tries to shake you off, frowning in annoyance at your disturbance. “You know. That spell, the one to keep you safe.”

“Keep talking about the spell, Hoseok. Please. Safe from what?” You continue to shake him, stomach tying into knots. What spell?

“Safe from us, whatever Creatures of the Night your blood attracts.” Vexed, he grabs your wrist, eyes half opening, and shoves them away. “The spell the angels put, remember?”

“I don’t remember. Tell me about the spell, what was it?” You hear the urgency, the degrading desperation in your voice, but you need to know. You need to. What fucking spell to keep you safe?

“It’s complicated. Some twisted magic? You know that car accident with your parents? That was some Hell’s magic, when the demons started to find you... Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires. They would’ve taken you if the angels hadn’t been watching closely and intervened. Then they, the angels I mean, decided to shield your aura, you know, your angel aura. The thing that lets the supernatural know that you have angel blood? It’s a distinctive scent for us, and I’m guessing other creatures too. It attracts demons and whatnots and helps them hunt you. It’s like a beacon of light. So they had to suppress your aura. And the only way to suppress angel aura is to suppress the angel themselves. Make them suffer, endure tremendous pain, dull their virtues, make them lose the will to live, et cetera. That way you don’t ‘shine’ anymore, and we won’t be able to find you. So I guess they did some sort of spell, or whatever heavenly magic, on your uncle so that his mind was warped and unconsciously fixated on hurting you... It’s fucking dark and twisted, especially for angels... To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. That’s what irks me... Don’t know why but it just makes me feel so fucking bad…”

Something churns violently in your stomach. And you would have thrown up if you had eaten much previously.

None of it makes sense. Or maybe it’s starting to make too much sense.

You can’t believe it. You fucking can’t believe it.

You let Hoseok drift off to sleep, the weight of his body falling limp. You let go of his face.

You just can’t. Fucking. Believe it.

There’s no way this is true. He’s drunk. He has made up some story in his head. There’s no way.

Because there’s simply no way that the past few years of your endless torture has been a gift from the angels, a path paved for you to endure. To shield you. To save you.

In what sick universe…

You scramble off the bed and rush into the bathroom, ignoring the loud pads of your feet against the cold wooden floor. Your fingers tremble as you turn the light switch on and slam the door behind you with your back. For a moment, all you hear is the ocean of your roaring blood.

That’s why that night your parent died had felt so strange, so off, your disagreement with your parents so out of the blue. That’s why there was a storm. That’s why a car drove into you and killed your parents. That’s why your grandmother died so shortly after despite normally having great health. That’s why there was a sudden change in your uncle’s demeanour, as if a switch had been flipped in him. That’s why he had locked you in the basement, broke your legs routinely to stop you from escaping, beat you and your sister without reason.

It was demons and Creatures of the Night and a so-called “protection” ploy from angels.

You want to scream. As your back slides down the door, you want to scream at the top of your lungs. The amalgamation of emotions is tearing you apart, piece by piece.

This is it, the tipping point, the loss of your sanity.

His words play over and over again in your head, a drunken confession that he probably did not realise the meaning of in his state.

To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it.

Like a prayer.

Panting hysterically, you feel your mind shattering into a million shards. You can’t comprehend it. You don’t want to. You don’t want to know that the pain you felt, day after day, for what felt like an eternity had been a plot. A fucking spell. You don’t want to know. You don’t want to. You don’t want. You don’t. You.

You. Can’t. Do. This.

01:01. The crash. The beatings. The death of your sister.

It’s possible that you are crying, shaking, but you’re not aware.

And after crumbling on the bathroom floor, for minutes, maybe hours, you make your decision.

You run.

.

The sun is still out.

That means they can’t come out yet. They can’t come after you. They’re probably still asleep, unbeknownst of your escape.

The house had been eerily quiet as you snuck out. And as soon as you stepped foot outside the front door, you had felt it.

The incredible weight holding you down. Like the manor itself was shackled to your ankles. Walking away felt like trudging through mud, dragging this boggling heaviness with you. Every sire bond that has formed was shrieking in your head, wailing, begging for you to stop leaving.

It was purely your willpower and determination that gave you the strength to overcome the supernatural ties that tethered you to those vampires. You had to ignore how much your limbs were aching, how much your heart was straining. You just had to run away. Keep going and don’t look back. It was melting your brain into a puddle, but your mind had been in ruins anyway.

You didn’t know where you were going, the forest faced every side of the house, but you just kept going, as far from them as possible. If you ran down one direction, you were bound to meet an end at some point, find civilisation.

There is no plan. No plan as you fled the walls of those wretched vampires. You just knew you couldn’t stay, couldn’t continue living like that with the knowledge that was spilled onto you. There’s no way you could have pretend not to know and face those vampires, let them drain your blood when they had been part of the reason behind all your suffering.

Fuck the Heavens and the Hells. Fuck the angels, the demons, the vampires, werewolves, witches, all the damnable fucking supernatural.

Angel blood in your veins. A fucking curse.

Every bone in your body is starting to hurt, lungs growing weaker every gasping breath. You keep running, ignoring the overbearing ache and faint voices in your head chanting sorrysorrysorry.

Sorry, child, we’re sorry.

.

The sun has set. It is dark. And you are still running through the forest, no inkling at all of how far you’ve gone and how far is left until you find your rescuer.

The night is eerie, enveloping you in a fog of oblivion, no perception of anything beyond this forest. Howling can be heard from a distance, or what you hope to be a distance. You’re hanging on by a thread, but only just. You don’t know how much longer you will last, you just know that you’ve passed the point of no return now. They would have been searching for you since the daylight began to dwindle. They are on their way.

There had been so many instances where you had just stopped, panting, and stared at your own two feet, wondering what the fuck you’re doing. Because where are you running to? Who is going to believe you when you tell them about the fucking vampires looking for you? Who is going to care about some crazy girl?

What is the point in running? Living, even?

But an instinct within you, the one sparked by this revelation, didn’t allow your legs to stop. The whole world is against you. The whole fucking world. Creatures of the Night are hunting you, the angels have abandoned you to a cruel spell, your family is rotting six feet under. No one is going to fight for you, except yourself.

You are a survivor.

Energy waning from the lack of food and the sparing gulps of water you had salvaged from a brooke, the only thing fuelling you is your adrenaline. At this time of night, your vision is no more than dark silhouettes of trees and rocks. Your limbs are numb. The only thing telling you that you haven’t stopped moving is the constant crunch of leaves beneath your feet, crisply ringing. Keep going. Just keep running.

Where are you?

You hear a voice, his voice. No, you don’t hear it, you sense it. You feel his worry, his fear.

Where did you go? Please.

They can’t possibly be near. Even with vampire speed, there’s no way that can catch up with you so quickly when you’ve been gone for hours.

Please.

The pleading makes your heart lurch. You stop, heaving over your knees.

Guilt. It’s the guilt. Why do you feel guilty for leaving? No, you don’t feel guilty, the bond is making you feel it. It’s trying to manipulate you.

I can’t lose you…

But that’s definitely his voice, his inner thoughts. Seokjin is afraid, panicked, in a frenzy to look for you. Genuine concern.

Maybe you should go back. What are you even doing anyway? Where are you going? There’s no purpose.

It also dawns on you that they will pick up on your scent right away. Even if they don’t find you tonight, everywhere you go, they will find you eventually. They had found you even though your aura had been muffled by your uncle’s abuse. They somehow found you. They are always going to find you.

Maybe you should give up. Just submit to them for the rest of your eternity. Either way, you would be suffering, the angels will see to that. Just give up.

Your fists tighten on your knees. It’s freezing cold; your clothes shredded by sharp grappling branches, the midnight breeze percolates pass the futile material and assails your skin. Thoughts racing at an uninterpretable speed, your lost purpose becomes blaringly apparent.

It’s not so bad in there.

Please be okay. Please come back. Don’t go.

They kind of care about you, in their own warped sense of what caring is. Right? They almost love you, some of them. Right? Right? Right? Right? Right?

I miss you. I’m coming for you. I love you.

Right?

Please be okay.

“SHUT UP!” You sob out loud. In the distance, your outburst scare away a flock of sleeping birds, their wings flapping in synchrony to your heartbeat. “Please just shut up.” As tears erupt like a dam, your slam your hands to your ears to shield you from the sound. But of course, it doesn’t stop. It isn’t a sound. It’s a feeling. It’s the sire bond telling your mind his emotions. “Shut up. Stop making this harder for me. Shut up.”

Falling onto your knees, you simply break. Every fibre of your mind is peeling away, your entity flaking into dust. The cold stings your damp cheeks, trickling down to your neck where you remember so vividly the feeling of their fangs.

They almost love you, some of them.

That’s good enough, right?

That’s better than… nothing.

More birds shriek into the silence of the night, so loud that you hear them clearly despite your covered ears.

Are they here? Already?

You keep crying, soil eating your crumpled frame.

And because of your sobs, your firmly shut eyes, your covered ears, you don’t hear the footsteps approach you until you sense a looming presence behind.

Here.

Which one is it?

Slowly, every inch of you trembling, you turn.

A shocked man stares at you in wide eyes. Some sort of camper or hiker judging by his attire.

Not here.

“Oh my god. Please help me. Please help me.” You crawl over to his feet, ignoring the protest of your exhaustion and your pitiful position. “Sir, please help.” Your luck has turned. Finally. You’re going to be okay. Finally. The tears fall harder.

“W-what happened? Are you hurt? Lost?” Gradually processing the dirt covered girl collapsed and crying at his feet, the man bends down and examines you in concern.

“Yes, please, just take me somewhere safe. Please, they’re going to find me.” The wash of relief almost overwhelms you to unconsciousness.

“You need to tell me what happened, little girl. You’re in shock. Who’s going to find you?”

In the dark, you can’t see well, but something in his eyes makes you trusting of him. It’s the genuine worry and care. What a normal man is supposed to look like. You’re saved. You’re finally saved.

“We have no time, just take me… take me to the police.” Your shaking hand grips at his fleece in desperation. You don’t know what you can tell him or the police, you don’t know anything more powerful than vampires than can protect you from them, but you can think about that later. You just need to go now.

“Okay, okay. Let me carry you.”

No. Child, no.

This time, it isn’t Seokjin’s voice. Someone else, like that faint chanting you occasionally hear.

“Thank you.” You shift into a position that better enables the man to reach under your legs. Behind him, you see a pack of black dogs, creeping warily towards you, sniffing. “Are those your dogs?”

“Yes, don’t worry, they are clever boys.”

When his palm touches the underside of your thigh, ice pierces into your skin.

No. Not him. Not safe.

You know that ice. You know that inhuman lack of body heat.

As he hoists you up, you nudge him away and roll back onto the ground. “Wait.” Moonlight illuminating part of his face, you survey his pale skin, his devilishly good looks. His brows pinch in confusion, but there’s a twinkle in his eye.

Not human.

You glance over at the dogs again. Sleek black coat, long sharp ears, crimson eyes. Where their legs should meet the ground are misty shadows, like ghosts.

Not dogs.

The man’s lips quirk up. His camper’s attire dissipates like dust to reveal a black suit underneath.

You run.

Twigs snap beneath your feet as you sprint as fast as your calves allow, away from whatever they are. Your chest aches from fatigue, ankles screaming for you to stop. As you run, you ignore the branches reaching out to scratch your cheek, your arms. You hardly even feel the cuts against the twisting feeling of dread in your gut.

Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires.

Looking back, you see the man stood rooted where he is. He isn’t coming after you, but the smirk he wears is enough to tell you not to stop. But not long later, you realise why he isn’t chasing.

Growls, howls of excitement, absolute beastly noises erupt from left and right. The hounds are running at an astounding speed beside you, their pelts pitch black despite the moonlight that they should reflect. Jaws open, they pant at you wildly as they hunt you. Zigzagging between the trees to create a misleading path, you try to create as much distance from them as possible. But they’re quick things. Clever boys.

Soon, they are narrowing in on you, until the pack is an arrowhead surrounding you. The closest hound snaps his jaw at your ankle, barely missing you. The loud crunch from the collision of its canines as he shuts his jaw, you know your foot would have been gone if you had been one second slower. You don’t have time to yelp. You focus on running ahead, slipping between boulders and following your instinct for directions.

Where are you? You hear Seokjin once again.

I’m here! You try to scream down the bond. Save me.

You don’t know why. You don’t know why you are asking for help from the very ones you had been running from in the first place. But you just know that, whatever is hunting you, your fate would be much worse with them.

I’m coming. His utter distraught is gone, replaced by a calm composed determination instilled by the awaited reply from you at last. And you know at this moment that it was a mistake to flee. Seokjin at the very least, regardless of everyone else, would never harm you, would always look after you. Why did you leave? Why had you acted upon your deranged irrationality? We’re looking for you. Don’t worry.

Relief. Because that is a promise. And you trust him.

But now the guilt of fleeing from them kicks in. What the bond had made you feel every step you took, that ripping sensation as if you’re tearing apart something substantial, you can imagine being a mammoth’s weight worse for them with their heightened senses.

Something is chasing me. Please help me. I’m sorry.

His fear returns, this time a formidable wave wiping his away short-lived relief. What is chasing you?

Dogs, big black dogs. There was also this man.

Bloody hellhounds and a Drude demon. Shit.

You have no idea what those creatures are but you can tell by the explosion of terror in Seokjin that it’s some of the worse you could encounter.

Distracted by his disclosure, you misplace your foot on an uneven log and topple down, the bark you crash onto scraping fire against your skin. Pain explodes at the back of your skull where it hits something severe. You don’t see beyond a sea of pulsing black.

Then something rips into your leg. You don’t know if you are screaming.

.

You drift in and out of consciousness.

Tiny stars dance around the deep blue sky. They look pretty.

You think you hear something growling, whimpering maybe.

What is that leaking from you so briskly? Blood? Hmm.

Darkness.

.

You hear voices? Yes, voices. Unintelligibly arguing. But if you shut your eyes again and stop shifting on the ground, they could pass off as background music.

Then the volume grows. Fighting. Grunting. More Growling. More whimpering.

But you feel safe. You don’t know why but you feel safe. That’s how you know you’ve lost your mind for good. There are virtual flames burning around you, warmth licking at your broken body. Nothing can get past the flames. Nothing can hurt you. This phantom fire is shielding you.

You heart is burning too, fighting. Someone’s sireship is fuelling you, feeding you, forcing life back into you.

When you open your eyes, when a vaguely familiar face appears, hovering over you, obstructing your view of the towering treetops and wavering constellations. You can’t quite put of your finger on his name, but you know you’re safe.

His eyes are big, full of concern and trouble, his hair long, black, wavy but tucked behind his ears. A black liquid is splattered across him, some on his beautiful face that is taut in vexation.

You don’t protest when he carries you in strong sturdy arms, lifelessly flopping against his chest.

He is warm. Fire. Safe.

And then he is zooming past the trees, so fast the wind tickles at you violently, your limp body jostling. Though half unconscious, your eyes don’t leave him, studying his angular jaw, the round crook of his nose.

J…

A droplet of black liquid rolls off his chin and splats onto your arm. It tingles like weak acid, faintly sour, an unearthly sensation.

Your heavy lids seal you back into the darkness.

.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the softness around and under you. Arms from beneath you draw away, leaving your weight to sink into the bed. Your eyes stay shut.

Warmth is pressed onto your lips, gently, careful as if one hard prod would shatter you. Your throat knows to swallow the stream flowing into your mouth, its taste unfamiliar, but safe.

Warm. And safe.

Almost immediately, you feel its effects catapult into your system. Skin everywhere begins to sew back together, bones like toppled buildings building brick by brick, the chaos in your mind whispered to sleep. That protective fire around you blazing.

Still, you don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to. You can’t face them.

“Troublesome little shit.” He pushes the hair out of your face, touch possessing a surprising delicacy that contradicts his insult and completely entangles your preconceived conception of him. But his voice… So soothing like honey. Not what you expected.

You train your breath to be steadily slow, eyes to be unmoving under your closed lids, hoping to pass off as asleep. The silence creaks, followed by a rustle of bedding. Then you feel the heat of his breath stroke the tiny hairs on your forehead. You suppress a flinch. But he presses his lips onto your skin, so tenderly you almost open your eyes to see if it’s really Jungkook.

“Please don’t leave again.”

And then he’s gone.

❦

@taexxxiiaa @serendipity-secrets @killcomet @askingtheimportantthingshere@blackpanther4550 @comingjimin @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh  @unatempesta-dipensieri @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @queerloser17 @linyi-lovbts @somewhereinthestarss @xxqueenwxtchxx @whitefeatheredwyvern @embrace-themagic @brokencrownqueen @i-dont-even-know-fck @bangtandimples @kalkeegan @beetaeass @confessionsofascientist @chimycthulhu @hisunshiine @shooklier @livetay84 @runlikeabuffalo @nanna022 @berryjam17 @thelouhvre @bluemooncnblue @enigmaticlove-03 @lanu-la @bangtanfancamp @brbkpop @jiminisnotavirginrecs @samariakeeper @goodnightbug @dont-touch-me-fwit @tastelessfoolsbts  @queensavage1245 @laced-brds @ultraanonymousey @ashchats @godzillagirl-14 @lustremyg @animeshins @it-is-dana @itsavakent @strawberrym0chii @namchimtae @smoljams@brightenn @btsxdoll @d-noona @show-respect-to-your-queen @fyeebangtan@for-hobi @lx-leeta​ @thesoftuglies

❦

19/01/2020

© Copyright 2020

[ashesofangst]

Lesson to be Learned

Trigger Warning: Knives; Blood; Character tied up with ropes; Character pinned by nails; Gore; Ripping guts out; Character death; Stabbing; Character getting cut opened; Implied Kidnapping

Characters: Anti and Dark

Summary: After coming back to the Dark Ego Mindscape and barging into Dark's office, Dark decides to teach Anti a lesson in knocking.

Note: The way I write Dark normally is with they/them pronouns.

6/21/21

__

Anti woke up in a daze. He blinked his sleepiness away and looked around to see he was in a dark, ominous room. He tried to move but found out he couldn't move his his hands nor his arms. In fact, he couldn't move any of his limbs.

The glitch demon looked at where he felt his hands were at and saw something that made him want to scream for help. His hands and elbows were pinned to the wall by nails, blood dripping from the wounds and falling slowly down his arm as if it's goal was to fall on the ground with quietest of splats.

He knew if he tried free them right now, they will make a hole in his hand. He was better off leaving them there until someone got them off for him. Anti didn't like the thought of waiting, but it was the best he could do right now.

He looked at where he felt his legs were at. He sighed in relief when he saw no nails pinning them down. It was just ropes tied to some anchors to the wall.

As the glitch demon tugged on the rope to get his legs free from the wall, the sounds of a door opening in the dark could be heard and echoed off the walls. That immediately got Anti to freeze. "Hello? Is anyone there," He called out, his voice quavering with clearly fear. He didn't know how he got here, and that person could why he is.

Out from the shadows stepped out the one and only Dark. They wore their black suit instead of their favored white suit for some reason. "Hello, Anti," They greeted, their voice surprisingly calm despite the situation the other was in. That didn't mean anything good for Anti.

Anti looked at the 3D person. "Could you help me get out? I don't like being trapped like this." He let a desperate whine afterwards to show how uncomfortable he was by this situation.

The person in a suit smiled and then shook their head. "I'm afraid I can not. After all, I put you there. Why would I let you go?"

Anti gulped. He was afraid of this. What was Dark planning? "Dark, please! Whatever prank or whatnot you're playing, let me go!" He didn't like how this going. He wanted to free and possibly running around as he causes chaos.

Dark shook their head with a bit of annoyance. "I'm playing nothing. Just teaching you a lesson," They stated as they walked back into the darkness of the room. "You like knives, right?"

Anti was confused by Dark's words, along with the fact the other asked that question. He was about to ask when Dark came out of the shadows with knives.

"One of these is yours by the way. I thought it would be fitting to hurt you with your own weapon," Dark told Anti as they sat the knives down. "Hmm.... Probably should use your knife last and start with the shortest one," They pondered as they stood with a small switchblade in hand.

Slowly, they approached Anti and held the demon by his chin. "A cut along the cheek would look good on you, you know?"

Anti immediately tried to move away and even tried biting Dark's hand. All were in vain as in the end, Dark got a cut on him. He yelped and squirmed, trying to get 3D demon away from, blood beginning to drip from his right cheek, just like hands and elbows were. The blood moved faster however and only made it to black shirt, not traveling any further.

Dark just chuckled. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" They pulled away and grabbed another knife, this one being a pocket knife.

They glanced at Anti as they thought where to hurt him next. "Your legs seem to not be injured yet. Let's hurt those now," They pointed out.

Anti tried to get his legs free once again, not caring if he could get only one leg free. As long as he didn't get hurt, he would be fine with that.

Dark just watched Anti struggle and laughed. "How funny. They came close to the glitch demon with the knife and casually held his legs down. Upon doing this, they carefully stabbed into Anti's left thigh and dragged the knife downwards.

Anti screamed at the top of his lungs and begged Dark to stop as blood pooled out of the wound, staining the seams of his jeans red. The blood stared to move down towards his knees as it stopped. It didn't make it to the ground, but it seemed to attempt to.

Dark smiled in satisfaction. Their work was going great. Well, for them at least, not so much for Anti. "Hm.... I think I should just skip right to your knife and finish this early. Wilford and the other egos have a meeting with me. I don't wish to be late," They stated.

Anti looked at Dark and immediately nodded. He didn't know what that truly meant, but he assumed it would mean he would be let go and never have to see Dark again.

“Of course you would want that,” Dark stated with a smirk. They put away the switch blade and picked up Anti’s knife. They glanced at Anti and smiled before coming close to him.

Slowly, Dark lifted up Anti’s shirt. Anti looked confused for a moment. What was the 3D demon doing? His scream for help was suddenly caught in his throat, and he struggled to get away from Dark again.

Dark just laughed and inserted the knife in Anti’s stomach, making the other demon scream in pain and agony. They carefully cut a line and pulled the knife out.

Blood poured out of the cut and stained his jeans with more of a red color. Faster then the other times blood spilled out of him, it flooded and spilled onto the floor. It was like a waterfall of blood was coming out of Anti.

Despite the blood spillage, Dark wasn’t done. They reached inside of the cut started pulling some of his organs out, specifically non-vital ones like his colon and appendix.

As soon as Dark was done and Anti was running low on blood, Dark looked at the glitch. “Maybe this will teach you not to come in office without knocking. If you live that is.” Swiftly and quietly, Dark left, leaving the dead body of another demon behind.

[undinoble]

💕 get to know your mutuals!! when you get this, it means someone wants to know more about you, so list 5 things about yourself you want your followers to know. they can be as simple as your age or as complex as your deepest fear, as long as it’s something you’re comfortable with sharing. when you’re done, send this to 10 people you want to get to know better!! 🥺🌼💕

AAAAAA thank you 💖💖🥺

Well, i guess some might be random but here it goes

1) I'm 21 years old and I've been drawing non stop since 12, but even before that I loved dinosaurs (still do, that's where dino artsy came from) and wanted to be an paleontologist

2) later after my dreams got smashed when i discovered i could make money out of drawing, my first thought was to be an animator, then a concept artist, a graphic designer, more than once tried making comics and later decided to go as an illustrator. My goal is to keep on making commissions but also make and sell original art prints c:

3) my deepest fear is silly, I'm IDIOTICALLY afraid of highs (to the level my legs tremble if I look down from the first floor), on the other hand i love travelling by airplane like face splat against the window, like wtf???

4) I just recently found the artstyle that feels like my own, blame Fukari, Loish, Cyarin and Goldentar.art for being my biggest inspirations and Dead by daylight! Explaining: it was incredibly funny to draw cursed dbd, with no pressure to make a masterpiece and influence free of anyone's art, it showed a bit of what i learned observing my fav artists plus my natural style, not to mention i learned how to draw men!

5) With commissions I may be able to quit my job real soon, explaining: the currency on my country (Brazil) is awful and the dollar exchange ends up paying so good. I already talked to my mother about it and even if she tried to deny and make me go the safer way, she really saw the results of my effort and let me have the final word. To sum up: maybe late april early may I'll be doing commissions as a full time job and opening more slots, and I'm soooo thankful for every encouragement, reblog and support you guys give me for real thank you so much!! ❤️❤️❤️

Bonus: my first commission ever i was around 15 and got "payed" with an Oc, i made the art, he told me to pick one of his characters, but at the end i was so frustrated that never chose one, so I never really got payed for that drawing HAHAHAHAH

[candied-peach]

ao3: “did i say that out loud” rating: T warnings: suicidal thoughts, self hatred, sympathetic remus, sympathetic deceit, dukeceit genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending description: He knows they don’t care about him. So why does it hurt so much? (lyrics are from missio “twisted”)

I'm uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional, I'm visceral, reloadable I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I'm crazy

Remus stares up at the cracked and water spotted ceiling of his bedroom. He feels lethargic, his body so heavy that it could crumble through the middle of his crumpled bed sheets. He knows that he should get up. He can't bring himself to care. He knows Deceit will worry. That's almost enough to pull his weary carcass free from the morass of dirty sheets and rumpled pillows, but not quite.

Have you ever imagined killing your brother?

But at this point, Remus is sure that his brother is the one plagued with that particular thought. Certainly Roman must want him out of the picture. He is the embarrassment. The creep. The Dark Side brother that Roman desperately wishes he didn't have. What was it that he told Thomas, when Remus was still eavesdropping? Oh, yes. Like looking in a fun house mirror, but instead of seeing something funny, you saw all the things you never wanted to be.

That's all Remus is to his brother, and he knows it.

Not that the others feel much better toward him, do they? He scares Patton. Virgil feels a sort of weary contempt. Remus can see it in his eyes. And to think, they used to team up. But no, Virgil is a Light Side now, Virgil is better, and Remus? Remus is that baby bird stuck in a jet turbine, smashed to smithereens before he has time to blink.

He irritates Logan. Or maybe not. Maybe he doesn't even register high enough on Logan's radar to garner contempt. That's almost worse.

The only one who gives a fuck about him is Deceit. Dee Dee is a Dark Side like him. Dee Dee understands.

Remus is desperately afraid that Dee Dee is not enough to keep him here anymore.

As if the thought has summoned him, he hears a tentative knock on the door.

"Remus?" Deceit's voice filters through the wood. "Are you awake?" He opens his mouth to answer, then pauses. What's the point? He stares at the ceiling some more. If he strains his eyes enough, the water spots almost form a picture. Maybe if he keeps looking, he'll find out what it is.

Instead, his vision is filled by a very concerned-looking Dee, leaning over him.

"Well, you've certainly looked worse," Dee comments.

"I'm fine, Dee Dee," Remus croaks. Deceit raises one eyebrow. His snake eye seems to glitter in the dim light.

"I know you're lying," Deceit says in a quiet voice. He snaps his fingers, summoning a sturdy wooden chair, and sits down, next to Remus's bedside.

"What are you doing?" Remus asks, although he has an inkling.

"Staying with you," Deceit says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is. "Trying to keep you safe."

"Why would you do that?" Remus asks, trying to laugh. It comes out more like a sob. "I'm fine, I don't need to be- to be-"

"Yes," Deceit contradicts quietly. "You do."

"Sides can't die, remember?" Remus counters. "Even if I go splat on the ground or choke myself out or take all the pills in Thomas's medicine cabinet, I'll be peachy!"

"Physically, perhaps," Deceit acknowledges. His gloved hands twist in his lap, the only outward sign of his agitation. Remus remembers the scales that speckle his hands, like iridescent freckles. "What's wrong, Remus?"

"What isn't?" He asks, and to his horror, tears spill down his face, soaking the ends of his mustache. He scrubs angrily at his eyes with the palms of his hands, but the tears continue, traveling down well worn grooves in his cheeks.

"My brother hates me," he says, and it hurts to say it, like ripping open a fresh wound. "Everyone- you're the only one who doesn't, Dee Dee, and how long will that last? How long until you get tired of me, too, until you hate me, too, until-"

"Never," Deceit says fiercely. "Remus, I love you. You matter to me. I- I know that it hurts, not being accepted by the others, but maybe..." He hesitates. "Maybe that will change. Maybe it won't. But it doesn't matter when we have each other. And if I have anything to say about it, we will always have each other."

"Do you mean that?" Remus asks in a tiny voice.

"Yes," Deceit says, clasping both of Remus's hands in his own. His gloves are soft against Remus's skin. "I swear to you, Remus. Always. I don't give a damn about the others."

Remus collapses against Deceit's front, silent sobs shaking his frame as his hands fist into Dee's capelet. Deceit's arms wrap around him, all of his arms, and Remus sags into the embrace until his eyes are sore and his nose is stuffed up.

"Th- thank you," he stammers, as he draws away a little. Deceit smiles, the gesture tinged with sadness.

"Of course," he murmurs. "And Remus? I don't think your brother hates you as much as he professes. I think he's just...very confused. And I think he'll come around."

"Okay," Remus says simply. He looks around the crumpled mess of his bed and his nose wrinkles. "Can I take a shower? I feel like shit."

"Only if you promise not to try and bathe in sulfuric acid again," Deceit says, with a fond smile. Remus grins crookedly.

"Fine," he says, and follows Deceit, leaving the twisted nest of bed sheets behind.

tag list: @k9cat @i-wanna-be-m-e @croftersgamer @paravigilant-virgil @cat-vase @did-he-just-hiss-at-me

[stan-denbrough]

I know most people agree that Richie met Stan in like kindergarten, but I’m also enamored by the idea that Richie’s parents forced him to do boy scouts, or maybe cub scouts, and he’s like “Ugh!! You break one vase and then blame your sister!” 

But he sees this oh so serious boy, his nose scrunched up in concentration, absorbing everything the scout leaders are teaching to them. And his uniform is always clean and pressed and pristine. Which Richie thinks is hilarious because the point is to go camping and learn survival skills. And yet even then the boy never has a speck of dirt on him. 

And Richie hears him attentively and dutifully engage in the scout leader’s fake enthusiastic calls and responses, he even argues with the scout leader when it comes to the subject of birds. 

And this boy is so pale and pretty and delicate looking, but sticks his tongue out and efficiently digs a latrine when they set up their tents, he isn’t afraid at all when a skunk wanders into camp and the rest of the boys run screaming.

But this boy also looks so sad. There’s something hidden behind his soft brown eyes, and Richie wants to know what it is. 

Since this is Richie we’re talking about, he obviously doesn’t know how to process or handle his budding attraction so he resorts to being obnoxious. He even dares to throw a rock at a bird that the boy is observing with such wide and respectful eyes it makes Richie dizzy, even a little bit nauseated. All he knew in the moment was he had to get the boy to stop looking like that, so he threw a rock at a bird’s nest. And it was almost in slow motion that Richie saw three little eggs splat on the ground as the bird angrily shrieked at him before flying away.

And the boy immediately sets upon him with his long skinny finger jabbing into Richie’s chest shouting “That ithn’t funny!” And oh fuck that’s right, he has an ever so slight lisp and Richie wants to fucking kiss him so badly!! But instead he stands there in shock as the boy yells at him and then runs away crying because why shouldn’t he? Richie’s a fucking monster. He’s garbage. He only ever fucks thing up. Why would someone as smart and talented and studious and so much more fucking brave than he realizes ever like someone like Richie? How could he stand to be near Richie without recoiling in disgust?

I realized that I kept calling him “the boy” so that gives me an idea that Richie, for the at most 2 weeks he’s in scouts before he gets kicked out or his parents give in, he never learns Stan’s name. I mean it’s not very realistic but oh well? And Richie goes on to never shut the fuck up about him to Eddie, who’s just like “Sounds like he hates you.” And Richie just wails “I know!” 

Jump cut to lets say junior year of high school? Stan has moved into the same school district, so who should show up but the bird boy from Richie’s scouting days (literally just days). And he looks different. He’s taller, his hair is darker, just as curly, but more stylish. His lisp is gone and his voice is deeper, but still just as light and nervous as it was before. The warm brown eyes, the studious way he presses his lips together, that vaguely disapproving stare that Richie is now old enough to tell is really just shyness. Richie recognizes him.

But just as Richie is about to see if the boy recognizes him back, Bill Denbrough wraps his arms around him from behind and the boy starts slightly, but then smiles such a beautiful blinding smile and warps his arms around Bill’s neck and kisses him so fucking softly, like they’re not horny teenagers, there’s nothing but fondness and familiarity in that kiss. They had to have been dating at least 6 months. 

And Richie suddenly knows what that bird felt like when he chucked a rock at it.

[katiethxrne]

⏰ 15

A story in three parts: the prankster prodigy.

i.

'Oh fuck. Oh Shit' Was the last coherent thought Katie had before she slammed straight into the wall, her nose bounced off the unforgiving stone, her board long skidded off into the abyss. There were several students warily eying her, more than a few stumbling away with hardly contained giggles.

She supposed seeing anyone in a dinosaur costume ramming headfirst into the wall beside yet another painting of his Lord fuckward Merlin would be funny.

“Get back here! Thorne!” That would be Murphy, howling up a storm the gawky sixth year was still growing into his cracking voice, but he wasn’t going to get far. She’d long perfected the cement, he hardly budged even as he tilted his hips this way and that, it would only take the antidote potion to change his fate. 

“Sorry can’t hear you! Late for class!”

Katie turned, blood drying under her nose, nabbing the board and making a mad dash for it trying not to trip over her scaly tail. 

She barely made it into Sinistra’s class with only a heaving gasp.

“Thorne,” the women looked down at her nose, “you are aware being a large reptilian creature is not included in our dresscode.”

“I’ve seemed to have forgotten today Professor,” Katie pushed her flopping hair from her eyes, she’d gotten it cut like a boys at summer’s head. Sure it earned her a few licks from her Uncle but even he was happy that for once her hair stayed set. “I’m afraid I’m woefully undressed beneath this.”

She could see Cassidy rolling her eyes from the corner, and preened under the attention.

“I want you to recite the names of the Greek constellations to me, in their original pronunciation.”

Katie grinned, “Well there is the constellation Virgo, which sounds a bit like virgin, something I’m not--”

“Detention. Take your seat Thorne.”

Katie slumped as much as one could into the chair, and blinked when Fiona came into the room, stepping demurely.

“Ahhh, Professor, Prefect Murphy seems to be quite stuck down the hall. Cemented in face, could you maybe--” Katie could feel Sinistra’s glare even as she balanced a quill on her nose. “I cannot seem to find the right counter curse.”

“What did you do Thorne? What spell.”

“Not ah spell Teach,” Katie lifted a vial, there was no use trying to fake it wasn’t her, “Potion--”

“Detention rest of the week, I’ll take that,” the vial slipped from her hand. “Tonight, midnight I want these scopes polished.”

ii.

Katie’s hands were covered in an oily layer, the leather under her palm growing more supple as the bronze telescopes came to a shine under the moonlight. Professor Sinistra was leafing through a book, deeply engrossed in the contents. Katie gave her a wary glance before continuing to buff.

Then with a low whistle between her teeth she removed her hand, the clothe continued its circular pattern, the bronze coming back to it’s coppery brightness as Katie gentle directed it with the tip of her wand, held in her pocket and twitching at tiny increments. 

“I never understand why you don’t just apply yourself,” the cloth splat onto Katie’s lap, the polishing oil seeping into her jeans. Professor Sinistra still hadn’t raised her eyes from her book, “Wandless magic at 15, a newly created potion and antidote,” the older woman raised her eyes, “and I’ve seen you at the Dueling Courts, you’re no slouch. That prank you pulled last week with the stone dragon and the purple paint was some truly beautifully executed charmwork--”

“I don’t like when magic is in a box,” Katie quipped picking the cloth back up and wrapping it back around her hand. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Maybe you’re not putting your magic in the right box? Take Transfiguration for example, people always think of turning into animals, animals turning into objects. What about turning a spell into a flower? What about when you’re faced off with an incoming fire, transfiguring it into rain.”

“Can you do that?” Katie blinked, “I’ve never heard of that.”

Sinistra hummed as she flipped the page, “No I haven’t.”

Katie sighed and went back to buffing, by hand, “Then why mention it?”

“Just because something hasn’t been done, doesn’t mean it can’t. You don’t like your magic in a box, fine, put it in a circle. Don’t like circles, what about a hexagon. Magic isn’t always our rules and teachings. But they are the building blocks to doing something impossible. Don’t you want to do something impossible Miss Thorne?” Katie had done the impossible every day since she was 7, but she wouldn’t dare tell Professor that. So she stayed silent.

“Come by tomorrow, with your little black book,” Katie opened her mouth but Professor Sinistra raised her palm, “I’ve never seen the potion you made today. I know you have all sorts of things written down. I want to take a look. I think you may have already done the impossible.”

“So why look?”

“Why Miss Thorne,” Sinistra leaned forward, dark eyes flashing in the moonlight, teeth glinting like fallen snow, “I want to see what our near school drop-out has been ruminating on. Finish this row, and be back.” Katie nodded uncomfortable under the woman’s prying eyes. No one asked to see her work, her potions professor was impressed but he never did more than thump her on the back and crow on about her marks. 

iii.

Sinistra place the book down, Katie lounged in the supremely uncomfortable chair making it look a throne instead. 

“A potion that will give a person the temporary ability to see 30 seconds in the future?” Sinistra blinked, “That’s what you’ve hypothesized?”

Katie nodded, “It’s the ingredients, the properties--”

“It’s time travel.”

“No it’s a replication of Seeing. We can use magic to see the future in a crystal ball. We can tell fate just by how we drunk tea. How can we not take a potion to see into the future?”

“It’s never been done. Seers are rare, people who can actually use, interpret and practice Divination is one in a thousand witches. You’re suggesting that by taking this potion someone can see up to 30 seconds into the future.” Katie nodded rapid.

“Foresight, I was playing a game, pokemon where the opposite move pokemon can foresee your move. Did you see the other one, the disabling potion--”

“Another ridiculous--”

“You can use a blocking charm, why not be one. Disabling potion, to protect from most hexwork coming your way, for a short period of time. It’s the way the oils distribute through your bloodstream--”

Sinistra raised a hand and rubbed her forehead. “Absolute waste.” she muttered, “How in the world did that fucking hat send you to Gryffindor.”

“It actually wanted to send me to Slytherin.”

Sinistra tapped on the book, her filed nails clicking on the brass lock, “This is what you have right now. All of it?”

Katie frowned, “No, just this semester.”

The professor whistled low, “God that man is such an idiot, a prodigy under his nose and he parades her around like a pet for show and tell. My girl, you should have Unspeakables sniffing at your ass right now.” Kat started, she’d never heard the Astronomy professor curse in her life. “What else are you interested in, magic wise that is?”

“Potions, Alchemy, DADA, Ancient Runes. I’m pants at anything healing, and Transfiguration I like but it doesn’t like me much. It’s why I use potions, it transfigures stuff for me so I don’t have to do the wand work.”

“The stone dragon? The miniature desert? The rainbow road?” Katie all nodded, “Tomorrow we’ll be seeing Headmistress, there is no reason for you to be floundering around bored, cause that’s what you are child you are bored in your classes. You’re doing NEWT level work in potions, already dabbling in Alchemy. I won’t have you causing chaos just because you aren’t being challenge by our curriculum enough.”

“Professor?”

“You need advanced course, I understand you’ve already got a Resisted Access Pass?” Katie has had that since her 3rd year. “You’re been making copies haven’t you? Self study?” There were bound books of everything she wanted to soak in sitting on her nightstand. “Good. Up and out Thorne, I want you to meet me at half past 6 tomorrow, Headmistress’s office, I won’t have another year of you underfoot not doing anything productive.”

“But--”

“You have time to pull pranks? You’ve the time to be taking harder courses. God knows your stunts are elaborate enough to be a course all together. No-- we are going to make sure someone has a future besides a paper filer at the Ministry cause you didn’t apply yourself. There is no reason for brilliance to go to waste. Back to bed Thorne, tomorrow, 630 sharp.

Katie found herself in the hall, hands shoved in pockets headed down the corridor, there were giggles from behind closed doors the drone of wandering ghosts chatting in the distance. But all Katie could think was that Professor thought she was brilliant.

Katie’s lips turned up, brilliant, do impossible things.

She’d left the most important detail out of that black book out, the runic texts and arithmancy, the patterns and coils. The tell-tale sign of necromancy. No, that was stored neatly under her bed still, protected by a blood spelled hexlock. 

Alchemy, Professor wanted her in Alchemy this semester. Why that, Katie’s lips turned up into a Slytherin’s charming grin, sounded absolutely perfect.

[writingherhope]

5, 12 and 22 for Sam/Jack for the OTP asks :)

Thanks @purplejellosg1!

5) Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight?

----Jack. Jack sleeps on the couch. He is angry. Angry at her over whatever they’ve been fighting about. Angry at himself because he has allowed them to go to bed angry. Angry at himself because he is angry with her and he loves her so much he doesn’t like the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he is upset with her. It makes his heart race a little too fast and ache in a way that lingers for days, even after they’ve made up and he’s back in their bed.

12) Who starts a food fight in the kitchen?

----Sam. She’s trying to cook him dinner. It’s the first time she’s cooked for him. Hell, it’s the first time she’s cooked for herself in ages. She’s nervous and overly cautious, afraid she’s burning the boiling water on the stove awaiting the noodles. It’s when he walks in to check in on her, one hand resting on her shoulder before he has announced his entrance, and she’s so concentrated on not burning dinner that she doesn’t feel his presence. It’s then that she jumps and drops the pasta sauce, hot from the sauce pan. It hits the floor in a splat that scatters drops of tomato across her floor and on their jeans. He’s chuckles, making sure she’s okay and not burnt, before he bends down to start helping her clean it up. She’s upset now, dinner is ruined and he’s just chuckling and telling her it’s okay and everything will be fine. That he likes noodles with butter and salt or cheese, he smiles when he says cheese like he is talking about cake. Somewhere in the back of her mind she is humored by his light-hardheartedness and knows he’s trying to make her feel better. But she’s not ready to feel that, she’s upset. Looking at the bowl of ricotta she has on the counter, just waiting to top their dinner, she thinks dinners ruined anyway. Grabbing a handful, she tosses ricotta in his direction and finds her nerves and her dismay dissolving as it plops down his face from his graying hair.

22) Who is super bad at sexting? and who send them encouraging messages throughout the day?

----Its funny you chose this one. I’m working on a Sexting AU (but this below is for a Sexting-Canon Compliant fic that  I guess I’ll also try to write).

----Sam is bad at sexting. She’s never been very vocal in bed, well that’s not true. She was. She just never had anyone listen to her, so she chose to just shut up. So texting her desires, she thought should have been easier, I mean she doesn’t have to vocalize them, it’s just like writing a story. She realizes as she’s trying to tell him exactly what she likes, but also be sexy about it, that she’s too in her head and to scientific about it. He grins lovingly at her texts and does eventually help her along in the ways of sexting. He hates texting. Sexting is something different altogether. That he’s embraced. Because honestly, one of them had to if this long distance thing was going to work. So he tells her he loves her throughout the day, that her brain is her sexiest aspect, but he loves her breasts and her legs and the way she moans when he runs a finger across her stomach, just below her belly button.

[whelvenwings]

Fallout

4.4k, destiel, AU: no supernatural, skydiving, mutual pining

Dean might have slightly underplayed how much he hates planes, and that might just have come back to bite him in the ass. He's just been asked to fly up to a height of thousands of feet, for moral support in the plane before Castiel does a skydive for charity. It's the nightmare scenario - but it might just give Dean the push he needs to finally tell his friend Castiel something he's been meaning to tell him for a very, very long time.

read it here on AO3 if you prefer!

————————————————–

This was actually happening.

Dean was really, truly, and in actual fact inside a plane. A plane that was not on the ground. A plane that was very much in the air. Engine roaring. Pilot in control. Clouds moving serenely past the window.

He couldn’t breathe, obviously. But he was doing his best to keep that to himself. He was here for a reason, a specific and good reason - obviously. Nothing less that the best and most specific of reasons could have got him on board. He had to focus on that reason. 

On that person, actually. Who was sitting opposite him.

Castiel looked nervous. In all their four years of friendship, Dean had never seen his jaw clenched so tight. Even still, the giveaway was a small one, and Dean thought that to anyone who’d never met him, Castiel would probably have looked entirely cool with the fact that in less than a minute, he was going to be jumping out of this plane.

Dean was not remotely cool. Dean had gone through the five stages of grief on the ascent, and was now hovering somewhere in the zone of numb acceptance. He leaned forwards, towards Castiel.

“Remind me why you’re doing this again,” Dean said to him, speaking loudly so that he could be heard over the sound of the plane’s engines. Castiel smiled.

“To raise a lot of money for a good cause,” he said.

“And remind me why I’m here?”

“You said if I was going to throw away my life on something this stupid, you were at least going to wave me goodbye before I did it,” Castiel said.

That was right. Dean clearly remembered thinking that if he was going to lose Castiel to a parachuting accident, Dean was going to be with him until the last possible moment. And maybe, at that last possible moment, he’d have the guts to say to Castiel… well. To say goodbye to him, anyway.

“Also,” Castiel said, “I asked if you’d come.”

And there it was. Dean could’ve let go of the other stuff - maybe - but Castiel had asked him. The thing was, Dean might have decided to undersell how much he hated planes, over the course of the time they’d known each other - there was no need to make Cas think he was a baby - but it had really come back to bite him in the ass. Castiel would never have asked if he’d known that for Dean, being on a plane was like swallowing a pill labelled panic and feel like you’re dying. But Castiel hadn’t known, and he had asked. And now here Dean was.

On a goddamn plane.

“You’re fine,” Castiel said, apparently catching the expression on Dean’s face. “You’re wearing a parachute. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”

“I’m not jumping,” Dean said hastily. The part of him that wasn’t freaking out rolled its eyes. Obviously he wasn’t jumping, and Castiel knew that - but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Some primal part of him apparently needed it to be entirely clear that he was absolutely not going to be dropping out of this plane.

“I know. It just makes me feel better than you’re wearing one, just in case,” Castiel said. “And you know how to use it, right? Because I can show you again…”

“You showed me three times already. Worry about yourself,” Dean grunted. Normally, he’d have teased Castiel about fussing over him, but worry was shaving away his sense of humour.

“I’ve done this lots of times,” Castiel said. “Before we met, I used to do it monthly. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m just worried about making rent if you, you know, go splat,” Dean said. “You don’t have life insurance and a will made out to me, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Any rich family members I could sponge off?”

“Lots. But you never liked my aunts and uncles.”

“Some of them are okay,” Dean said. “Naomi creeps me out.”

“She’s fine,” Castiel said.

“She’s dead behind the eyes,” Dean said. It was helping to talk. Things felt normal when they talked. He could forget where he was, and what was about to happen.

“Concussed, at most,” Castiel said, his mouth twitching.

At the front of the plane, the pilot turned around. He called something that Dean couldn’t hear, but apparently made sense to Castiel, who began to pull on straps and tug at his jumpsuit and tap on the pair of goggles on the top of his head to make sure they were still there.

Dean was struck by a sudden sense of urgency.

“Cas?” he said. 

Castiel didn’t hear him.

“Cas?”

This time, Castiel turned to look, eyes expectant.

“You know how we’ve been friends for, you know, four years now…”

“I’m going to be fine, Dean.”

“I know, I know.” Dean chewed his lip as Castiel went back to his straps. “Just… don’t… I mean, we’ve really…”

He stumbled to a stop.

Castiel watched him, still adjusting one of the straps on his jumpsuit. The expression on his face was slightly impatient.

Dean’s mouth tried to form words, and failed. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say any of it. 

Couldn’t say what it had meant to him to meet Castiel during the worst year of his life, when he’d just lost both his parents. 

Couldn’t say how much their friendship had kept him going, through the worst of times. 

Couldn’t say how much he looked forward to their quiet movie nights. Their weird, intense, deep discussions. Castiel was the first person Dean had met in adulthood who actually thought a dumbass mechanic might have something interesting to say, and talked to him about real shit, important shit. And then there were the times they both lost it completely over something only they would find funny, Dean laughing out loud and Castiel’s shoulders shaking as he covered his eyes with his hand. 

Dean couldn’t say how much he thought about Castiel, how often he noticed things, how much he felt. It was so much. It was so goddamn much, and he’d never breathed a word. Obviously. Never told a single soul. He wouldn’t know how to begin to twist even a single sentence together.

He still couldn’t. Even now, when he could be about to lose Castiel forever - yeah, sure, Castiel would roll his eyes at that, but the fact remained that Castiel was about to jump out of a very high plane and head downward at high speed towards some very hard ground - even now, he couldn’t force the words out. What if Castiel didn’t want to hear them? What if he was horrified? What if the last memory Dean had of Castiel was of being rejected, with Castiel hating him for keeping his feelings a secret for so long, their trust broken?

And even if that wasn’t his last memory - what if Castiel landed completely okay, and then Dean had to explain? 

Either way, he was going to be dealing with some fallout.

Dean couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. 

He was going to sit quietly and support his friend on his stupid ridiculous charity jump, and then he was going to go home with Castiel afterwards and things were going to go back to how they’d been for years, now. Just the normal things: cooking together, watching TV together, hiding his smile when he watched Castiel concentrating or talking about something he was passionate about, trying not to ever look too long or feel too much and failing, doing laundry together, taking out the trash. Just the usual.

One day, Castiel was going to meet someone he actually liked, and he was going to tell that person that he liked them, and they were obviously going to like him back because who wouldn’t, and when he heard about it for the first time Dean was going to have to politely excuse himself so that he could go into the woods somewhere and yell and yell and maybe never come back. Maybe just become that guy who lives in the woods and yells a lot. It was going to hurt like - like nothing Dean had ever felt before. He knew it in the same way he knew, by looking at a knife, that the pointy end shouldn’t go in him. The fun part was, he wasn’t the one holding the knife. That was Castiel.

And Castiel would find someone. Dean knew that Castiel hoped he’d be in a relationship with someone he loved one day. They’d talked about it. And when Castiel found what he wanted, he wouldn’t be too afraid to take it, and hold it, when he’d found it. Because Castiel wasn’t afraid, not like Dean. Castiel jumped out of planes.

“Stop,” Castiel said, jerking Dean back to the present. “I can tell you’re thinking about how I’m about to - how did you so colourfully put it? ‘Go splat’?”

Dean had been more focused on the way he himself was going to go splat, emotionally speaking, one day. But he held up his hands and said,

“Guilty as charged. Like I said. I just don’t want to lose your half of the rent money, dude.”

“I’m sure you’d find another roommate.”

There was something in the way Castiel said it that made Dean frown.

“Nah,” he said.

Castiel looked up at him.

“What?” he asked.

“If you - you know - I wouldn’t find a new roommate. I’d move out.”

“Leave our place?” Castiel looked taken aback. “But… you spent so long decorating it. You’d lose your accent walls. And your faucets. You love your faucets.”

Dean took a moment to curse the fact that Castiel knew how much he cared about the taps in his home, but not the person he shared it with. How had this happened. Who was he.

“I’d sell it,” Dean said solidly.

“It’s so perfectly placed for your work…”

“I’d sell it, Cas! It doesn’t even matter, anyway. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

Castiel heard the note of finality in Dean’s tone and let it go. Even still, Dean could see thoughts whirring in Castiel’s mind, in just the way Dean usually tried to prevent. If Castiel was going to find out that Dean had feelings for him, Dean wanted it to be on purpose, not by accident: not because Dean said slightly too much and Castiel figured it out, but because Dean finally had the guts to say something. Anything else felt like a cop-out.

The plane was starting to rattle and jerk a little. Dean closed his eyes, whole body tensing up. The cabin was a sparse one, with this plane being used mostly just to ferry people up a few thousand feet so that they could throw themselves out of it, so far as Dean knew. Room to stand up and walk a little way, seats along the sides, handles on the ceiling to grip onto. There were no in-flight snacks or home comforts to make up for the fact that he was trapped in a prison at lethal altitude.

When he opened his eyes again, Castiel was standing up and talking to the pilot. Dean saw him nod, and then he went over to the door, which was on one side of the cabin, the side opposite where Dean was sitting. Dean swallowed hard. If he was going to do it, it had to be now.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it.

Castiel had his hand on the door.

Dean opened his mouth again, and said,

“Cas -”

He said it just as Castiel opened the door, and the sudden rush of air stole the sound. Castiel didn’t turn around. Dean watched him framed there in the doorway of the plane, hair buffeted by the wind.

Fuck.

Castiel looked ready to jump. He was bracing his hands on either side of the door. He had his goggles pulled down. It seemed like he was about to go. Was he even going to look back at Dean? With the clumsiness of panic, Dean fumbled with the straps that held him in his seat. He had to get over to Castiel, had to tell him - something, at least. Just something. He unclipped himself.

Dean stood up. He felt more steady on his feet than he’d expected. He just had to focus on Castiel, and not think about the door of the plane being wide open, or the fact that he was thousands of feet above the ground, or how easily he could just slip and fall out -

Dean saw Castiel shift, turning his head to look back over his shoulder towards Dean - and then Castiel saw Dean standing up, and his expression melted into concern faster than Dean had ever seen.

“What are you doing?” he called, over the roar of the plane.

“I’m coming to - to say -”

“Sit down! It’s not safe!”

“Cas, I’ve gotta tell you -”

“Sit down!”

From up front, Dean thought he could hear the pilot yelling something. Dean gritted his teeth.

“Cas,” he said, and Castiel turned away from the door. He grabbed onto one of the handles hanging from the plane cabin’s ceiling, and looked at Dean. Sharply, he pulled up his goggles, so they rested on top of his head again.

“What?” he demanded. 

Dean reached for words that weren’t there. 

Castiel reached for Dean’s hand, and Dean’s heart leapt for a second - but then Castiel just grabbed him by the wrist and lifted his hand to hook into another one of the ceiling handles. Dean hung onto it.

And Castiel looked at Dean, eyes searching his face, trying to understand. At first, he looked as though a part of him was finding this slightly funny, even though his worry - but then he seemed to pick up on Dean’s indecision, his urgency, and the little smile around his eyes faded.

It was time to say something. Now was the moment. There had been at least three now was the moment moments, and he’d missed all of them so far, so this really had to be the moment. But Dean didn’t know what to do, what to say. He could only look at Castiel, and look at him, and look at him.

He saw Castiel. His friend. His closest friend. His closest, bravest, most stubborn asshole friend. About to make a jump. He saw him, and he didn’t know what to say to him.

Dean’s gaze traced over Castiel’s face.

The plane shuddered, and Dean felt a wave of panic flood him. With his free hand, he grabbed onto Castiel’s shoulder to steady himself. The two of them swayed closer together.

Dean breathed in sharply. 

He couldn’t stop looking into Castiel’s eyes. Couldn’t figure out what to say. They were closer than they’d ever been, closer than Dean ever let them be around their home. He always kept such careful distances and saved touch for his imagination. But now here they were, Dean’s hand already on Castiel’s shoulder, in each other’s space.

Just where Dean wanted to be. And couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here, couldn’t do this. He was going to lose Castiel. He was going to lose him, actually lose him, like this. It wasn’t a game, it wasn’t fake or pretend - it was real life, and in real life, you lost people unless you did everything right. The right thing to do was to move his hand and go back and sit down. He should move his hand. 

He should move his hand.

He should move his hand.

He wasn’t moving his hand.

Castiel’s expression was changing, his eyes on Dean’s more intense. There was a question there, an understanding that something was happening and a tilt to his head that asked what Dean was going to do about it, what he wanted. Dean didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know how to move, even. He was locked in place - one hand on Castiel’s shoulder, not taking it away, not giving anything more. Just enough to be close but not as close as he wanted, needed.

The moment see-sawed. Dean knew he could pull back, let go, step away, go sit down. 

Or, Dean knew, he could lean forward. Not quickly, but enough - enough that Castiel would know what Dean wanted, and then he could choose whether to give it or not. And obviously he would choose not to. Because if someone as brave as Castiel had wanted to be with Dean, Dean would already know about it. So doing that would be ridiculous, stupid, stupid, as stupid as jumping out of a plane.

Dean didn’t make jumps. He didn’t do heights. He didn’t do danger. He did the right thing, the silent thing, the not-really-doing-or-saying-anything thing. And he was careful, he was careful, he was always so careful never to show any of it, not a word of it, not a whisper, not a glance.

Even still, though, their plane was up high. The air currents swirled. The pilot was yelling something again, not paying enough attention to the plane itself. Castiel, with his own mind and choices and story, was opposite him. Dean could do everything completely perfectly, be completely silent and do nothing to give Castiel a reason to leave - and even still, there were a hundred ways, a thousand ways that he could lose Castiel just in this exact moment.

Maybe that was scary. Maybe that was terrible. But there was no way off the plane, they were here. This was it. This was what they had. 

Dean wanted to hide. He wanted go on with it as he had been. He could go on and on being tired, and tired, and right, and silent.

But somewhere deeper inside him, there was a pull. More than a want, a need. A need to let go. Let go of right. Try something else. Try being something else. Honest? Open? 

Real?

Real - real would be wrong sometimes. Stupid. Urgent. Honest. Real would be letting himself want something, letting himself… show that he wanted it.

He wanted Castiel to know. In his bones, he felt it. Hot and electric, the push, the need. Dean wanted Castiel to know.

In the cabin of the plane, high above the ground, mind freefalling and breath lost, Dean made his jump.

 Deliberately, he lifted his chin a little, and leaned in towards Castiel, and glanced down at his lips and then back up to his eyes.

Castiel’s eyes widened.

“Dean…” he said.

Dean swallowed.

He tightened his grip on Castiel’s shoulder. All he could see as the plane moved under him was Castiel’s face, the steadiness of his eyes. And then, he felt the lightest of touches on his cheek. 

Castiel’s hand, the backs of his fingers, brushed Dean’s skin. It was so fragile, so tentative. Dean closed his eyes into it, just for a half-second, before he could stop himself. When he looked back to Castiel, he saw a question in his expression. More than that. He saw a hope.

“There was something I wanted to tell you,” Castiel called to him. The wind through the plane’s cabin was so loud that he had to raise his voice even though they were so close. “Before I jumped.”

“There was?”

“Dean, I…”

They stared at each other. Just looked, and looked. Dean saw Castiel’s mouth struggling for words, half-shaping things and then abandoning them.

“Cas?” he said.

“Dean… I wanted to tell you…”

Dean raised his chin just a fraction higher.

Castiel stopped reaching for words. His eyes dropped to Dean’s lips.

“This,” he said, and then he leaned forwards, and kissed Dean.

If he’d meant the kiss to be gentle, he hadn’t reckoned on Dean meeting him in the middle, surging forwards to catch his lips. They kissed hard, not breathing and not moving and not caring, just doing this - finally, finally doing this, after so long around each other not knowing if they should or if they could. The wind raced around the cabin, tugging at them, but they paid it no attention. It was Dean, and it was Castiel, at a height of thousands of feet, wrapped into each other.

Castiel pulled back.

“That,” he said.

And then he turned, pulled down his goggles - he took a few quick steps, and he jumped.

Dean stood utterly still. Wind-ruffled, kiss-shaken, mouth ever so slightly open, dazed.

“Uh-huh,” he said, to no one. “Right.”

---

Dean marched across the field at a pace that was militaristic. The long grass where Castiel had landed reached up to Dean’s hips, but he wasn’t waiting for Castiel to make his own way out of it; he was coming to meet him. Somewhere behind him, he knew there were people following, ready to help with the parachute. Dean paid them no attention.

He could still feel the kiss burning on his lips.

Last-minute rush of adrenaline? A pity-kiss, because he’d known what Dean had wanted, and had decided to give it to him?

Or… something real?

Dean couldn’t even think it. All he could do was walk. He could stride across this field with its swaying tall green grass, single-minded. In the distance, he could see a figure walking towards him out of the sun. The shape of a person he knew. Dean headed towards him, squinting against the light.

The trees at the edge of the field rustled. Somewhere in the grass, there was the chirping of crickets. Dean breathed. The air was warm and smelled fresh - a little sharp with sap, a little sweet with the yellow ripening of a few stray ears of crop.

Dean walked. The figure ahead of him drew nearer. Not a silhouette, now, not a vague shadow. A person, a face. Blue eyes. Solemn expression.

Castiel.

They kept going until they were close to each other. It was Castiel who came to a halt first, with a few feet between them.

Dean would have been happy to walk into another kiss, another touch, but he stopped. Let Castiel take the lead. It might not have been real, he reminded himself. It might not have been real.

They stood quietly for a few seconds. Dean took a breath and let it go. Castiel wasn’t looking at him. He was twisting a piece of grass around his finger.

“Cas -”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said.

Dean paused.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. I - I wanted to tell you - before I jumped - but I didn’t know how, and then…” Castiel swallowed visibly. “We can act as though it never happened. But I understand, if you don’t want to be around me right now. I can go.”

“What?”

Castiel kept twisting and twisting that grass.

“I can go,” he said.

“You want to?”

Now, Castiel looked at him.

“Don’t you want me to?”

“I… I want…”

Dean felt his shoulders tensing. He wanted to be back in the goddamn plane, turbulence pushing them close, wind too loud to really talk. Down here, in the quiet, there was nothing to make them closer than they showed they wanted to be.

The grass wavered and moved around them.

Dean closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was the one to look down, at the swaying fronds.

“I want you to be here,” he said. Low, deep. Rough. Trying, as always, to hide how careful it all felt inside, how delicate.

“Here… in this field?”

Dean wanted to just fall into the grass, face-first. Give up. But he gritted his teeth.

“Here, where… I… am,” he managed.

Castiel was quiet. Dean chanced a glance up at his face.

“You want to be…” Castiel began, and then broke off.

“Together,” Dean finished, his tone almost - almost - making it a question. But not quite. Because there was no question, not really. That was what he wanted. What he’d wanted for so, so long.

“Even though I…” Castiel gestured loosely upward, to the sky.

“It wasn’t - I didn’t - it was - fine,” Dean said.

Fine? Seriously? He was going to call the first kiss he’d ever shared with Castiel, fine? Something in him rebelled.

“No,” he said, “it was - it was - good. It was what I - god. It was what I wanted, Cas.”

When he looked at Castiel now, he couldn’t tell which was brighter. The look on Castiel’s face, or the sun behind him.

“You wanted…”

“Yeah. But you… you too?”

“Yes, Dean. Of course.” Castiel looked as though a touch of puzzlement was trying to show, but it was being utterly eclipsed by his happiness. “You didn’t know? I thought you’d known for years…”

“Wait. You’ve wanted this for years?” Dean said, and it came out a croak. “You too?”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “It’s always been you.”

Dean and Castiel stared at each other.

“We need to learn how to talk,” Dean said.

Castiel pressed his lips together, holding back laughter.

“Jesus. We really… jesus, Cas.”

Now, Castiel stepped closer to him. Now, they moved into each other’s space again, came closer. Dean had always imagined that if this ever happened - if he ever actually got the chance to step closer to Castiel, knowing that he wanted this, knowing they both wanted the same thing - he’d always imagined that he’d feel dizzy, heady, mind floating over his own body, disbelieving.

It wasn’t like that. As he moved, he felt it all. The grass against his fingertips, the way the breeze caught at his clothes. He felt clear-eyed, awake. He felt his breath in his lungs, his heartbeat - thudding hard, desperately hard, but steady.

And when Castiel touched the tips of his fingers to Dean’s cheek, he felt it shake him. Felt his legs want to go from under him. He was big and clumsy under the gentleness of the touch. But when he met Castiel’s eyes, he hoped Castiel saw in them what he felt inside: something delicate and intricate. Strong, but so carefully felt, over so many years.

Dean leaned forward, and pressed his forehead to Castiel’s. They moved slowly, now. They had time. There was no sound around them but the hushing grass. If the people who’d followed Dean for the parachute were nearby, they were leaving the pair of them well alone.

Achingly slowly, Dean moved. 

Eyes closed, going by feel, chasing the warmth of Castiel’s breath, Dean kissed him.

There was no thought. He was all feeling. He was the lips on Castiel’s lips, he was the hand on Castiel’s shoulder and the hand on his back, he was feet planted on the ground. He was hot under the sun’s light and under the care in Castiel’s touch. He was awake, he was real.

It was better than he could have possibly imagined.

[acefrogmonarch]

HC pt. 3

Story Time! with the bat fam

The bat language!

It's just glares and different forms of glares. Semi-glare. Glare. Glare-glare. That's about five sentences.

Ravin has cracked the code and communicated with them. They understand why Raven could but not how Mari understands them.

They are very confused because this little flower shouldn't, like why??? She wears her heart on her sleeve and you can tell when she's angry or sad. Dick and bruce do it but Mari catches them.

Unknown to them, when Mari wants to be, she can 'cut' off her emotions.

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Mari found Damian to be semi-attractive. Damian was like eh, she's another girl.

But he was about 5'11 at this point, and for years to come, he would grow. Mari, herself, is barely reaching 5ft. She considers herself lucky that she even reaches 5'5.

She was 20 when she did.

She is very angry at taller beings than her. Dick is 5'11 while Jason is 6'3, Bruce is taller than both of them.

Mari hates them all. Jason still calls her a bean, even when she has him in a choke-hold during a sparring match. Mari will not hesitate to throw hands. Instead of mellowing out, she did the opposite.

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Jason Todd has had sex with Talia before and he hangs it over Damian's head for years.

As a challenge, he brought it up in front of Marinette. Any other time Damian would have left but since Mari was here, he couldn't. Damian stayed but Mari was like

“Why???" Tugging, cause they were holding hands. "Mari, lovebug, Malak, Habi Alghali. Let's go." Mari is a dissatisfied bean. Reluctantly follows Dami away.

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The Outlaws consisted of Kori, Roy, and Jason!

When they hang out they always have ‘baked’ goods. They were eating edibles in the city but they somehow made their way to the manor for munchies. Alfred asked if they had any left.

Assuming to part with them, they lied and said no. (they always do)

Alfred still searched the trio moved the treat around. Some sour straps, molly ranchers, and a joint.

Alfred took some straps and popped them in.

"Wait, Alfred, that's-" "I know." They will never forget. Bruce semi-believes them.

High!Mari

Mari never took a stance on cannabis. "Too young." was the excuse often used when talking about it. She was 16.

She knew what they did. It wasn't until, Gotham, that she got real experience with edibles.

Roy accidentally gave her 300mg of cannabis.

"I got brownies!" Roy came in the room, granted it was one of Jason's many hideouts and they had agreed to hang out before Mari was dragged away.

"Jason, Let's get blazed!" Roy kicked the door in and Mari took a stance, Jason got out his babies and pointed them at the door. "Uhh." Roy slowly backed out, Jason put away his guns and Mari bounced in excitement.

"Brownies!" Plucking one from the bag, Mari smelled it first. "Mari, no." Mari turned, then plopped it in her mouth, stuffed her hand in the bag and took a bunch more.

Eating 3 more and stuffing some for Tikki. Jason sighed deeply. "Dammit." It sweet chaos for Mari after that.

First, an anxiety attack then bliss. She was never afraid of heights from being Ladybug, and that just added more fun for Mari.

Damian doesn't find out until he calls Mari.

Because Mari was supposed to come back and hang out, they promised. No, Damian was not upset by the fact that Jason is not better company than him.

Not at all. Damian is superior in every way! His ringing phone brought him back to reality.

"Mari, get away from there!" That's Jason. Marinette was giggling and Damian could here the wind.

"No way, Jose," Roy shouted in the background. "Who's jOsE?!?!" Marinette laughed loudly and Damian was starting to question his existence.

"Mari, Baby girl, Demon tamer. Get off the ledge." There was an eerie silence. "Oh, that reminds me. Hi, Damian."

That's it. "Ya Qamar Barid, I'm coming to get you." Marinette started to sob at that. "I MISSED OUR MEET UP, DIDN'T I???" Damian was already driving off, he traced the call.

"No, not at all Habibti. I was just thinking about where we should eat out." Marinette stopped crying.

"Really?" Damian confirms. "Mhm." "Je vais à la pizzeria que je veux, amant.* ”  The call ends and Damian is NOT panicking.

(I go to the pizzeria i want, lover.)*

Marinette hanged up and jumped down to the apartment below. "MARI!!" Jason was going to lose so many years of this. This small bean should be very afraid.

Jason jumped after her with Roy following on the other side. "Oh, shit. Mari!" Roy regrets everything leading up to this point. At first, it was funny, seeing anyone try for the first time is.

Jason caught up to Mari, who has made it down 4 apartments. They were on the 5th floor.

Almost went splat on the pavement a couple of times.

Damian pulls up in one of the many cars, he's hot-wired before. Mari doesn't notice she's trying to climb down from the first floor to the ground. She jumps to a flag and misses.

Damian catches her before she hits the ground. "Damnit Habibti."

Marinette giggles. "I would have been fine, you know that." Damian carried her back to the car, Mari's complaining the entire time.

Once she's seated in the cold car, she promptly falls asleep.

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Lila causes problems for Mari, on purpose but for the wrong reasons.

To spend time with her. Lila is never going to admit that she likes or even remotely revolves her world around Mari. Max points it out to Mari and has tried to get Lila to confess.

Likes to make Marinette mad. When her cheeks go red Lila accidentally lets out a, “She’s cute.” Mari turned to her. “What?” Lila panics and shouts. “I said you’re shit!” Mari is a very confused bean.

The only reason why this is brought up is that they make Lila have Sociopathic tendencies. Like Oni-chan didn’t make sense. Why let go of Adrien? Willing? Better question, why only focus on Mari? Unless you know. . . . . . Just saying.

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A lot of mini ships. Like Alix x Chloe.

Alix and Chloe are secretly dating. Sabrina covers for both of them when it’s date night. Alix’s parents know that she’s gay but not Chloe’s. She doesn’t know why she’s scared.

But she doesn’t like that way her dad dismisses gay pride parades. Marinette helps her come to terms and even helps go through her emotions and to come out.

Still doesn’t come out until very much later. Uses Adrien as an excuse. Adrien knows what she means.

Chloe's mother is alright, you know ,gay pride. She joins the parades and makes small nods in her designs.

Eventually Max x Kim!

Alix and Kim are best friends and they help each other out because they always get the wrong advice.

Max and Kim ‘got together’ because Kim didn’t want to date Odine. Max doesn’t think they are dating.

So Kim makes an effort for their relationship and friendship. Alix dared Kim to date Chloe on valentine’s day, Max was there. He didn’t even hear Chloe’s answer but that didn’t matter because, at that moment.

Max heard and Kim understood why he felt like ‘that’ around Max. Max said congratulations and that just broke Kim's heart. Max is not very good at emotions.

"Mom already has enough on her plate." "I don’t need to trouble her." Max to Kim at some point.

Very later. Marc x Nathanial! Fw/B at 17

Nath only shines when art is involved. Has done sculpting and embroidery lessons from Mari, because he doesn’t want to be limited to one form of expression. Digital music is not his thing. Instruments on the other hand. Band nerd.

Sneaks into Higher writing courses. The teachers let him. He’s so talented in creating a universe from nothing. Marc had let the director of the ‘LB and CN Movie.’

Look at some of his stuff but once some criticism on Twitter started to get deleted for some reason, Marc asked around. Bad plot and all, he dismisses the story “Astruc” approved and did another one. Just because he made one good thing doesn’t mean he made the rest just as great.

Yes I am dissing Thomas

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I am changing this.

No relationship. Luka helps Kagami realize that not everything in sexuality is as black as white because im a sucker for Les Kagami and Bi Luka. They can find happiness with people.

Emotions? What’s that. Barely there. No chill. Whatsoever. Sarcasm? Come again. She can make sarcastic jokes but won’t know it if it hits her in the face.

Knows exactly what you're talking about but at the same time doesn’t. Can’t relate. It’s very frustrating because she won’t disobey without feeling guilty. Mari, Adrien, and Luka help tear down her walls and ‘need to approve’ attitude. A lot of walls around her heart.

Adrien doesn't like or feel any attraction besides strong feelings.

Demi? Or Ace. Maybe Ace.

He is very disappointed when he doesn't feel explosions or fireworks when he kisses Lila (It was for a shoot, maybe audition.)

Parents fighting? Middle of most argument. Afraid of failing his father because his mother was like that?

The acting was put on hold but she would sneak out for auditions. Natalie helped her sneak out. He can’t trust Gabrial but trust his mother's judgment and maybe Natalie.

He doesn’t know what to do because Mari is, best friend and Lila don’t like Best Friend. But Mari said it was okay when it wasn’t! Proud owner of at least one brain cell.

Eventually Rose x Juleka!

Very concerned with Juleka’s being. She wants Juleka as more than a friend but if Juleka isn’t comfortable with it.

Then she can wait until she’s ready. Her father supports but her mother doesn’t. She makes fun of her depression.

World of patience. Rose and she aren’t dating but they are saving for each other. Juleka was delirious when this happened. She’ll never admit her feelings. Worried about how people would act.

And of course Alya x Nino once Alya gets her head on straight.

These are mini-stories. I'm going to reference these and mention them when I can in the story.

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Bruce has movie nights.

No one knows where it is or what movie he watches. Alfred has an idea, and the boys keep trying to find where he goes. It's been so long since he's had something nice in his life.

He... adores his... children. To some extent. Okay, a lot.

But that didn't mean he could show how much he... loved them.

Regardless, they bring trouble where ever they go. Finally getting the conviction to watch a movie, he kept the tradition every chance he got.

Marinette accidentally found him at one of the run-down movie theaters around Gotham. A new movie she was excited for was already released in America but after Sams Club™

She never allowed them anywhere near her in a public place. It was chaos last time. She memorized the way to this theatre and avoided all the cameras. She checked, multiple times. On patrol.

Both, Mari and Damian, are 16.

Bruce is 38, Jason is 24, Dick is 26, Tim is finally 21. Dami is a winter baby. December. Mari is a Fall baby. October 8th.

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When Adrien and Mari hang out together, Mari loses one brain cell While Adrien gains one.

They can never get anything accomplished if it doesn't involve the miraculous in some way. Mari was talking about a recent design, Adrien was in the middle of drink soup on this cold day.

Marinette stopped talking as Adrien struggled to get a single noddle in his mouth. Mari opened her mouth to try and say something, but Adrien managed to get the noodle in and grinned. As if, he just got the best Christmas gift, ever.

Mari lost if after that. "A-Adrien!" Clutching her stomach, Mari continued to laugh, Adrien joined in laughing at the slurping noise he made Nino walked in a moment ago to them laughing. It was lunchtime and they went ahead of the Alya and Nino.

.

.

.

.

.

Fu is a touchy subject with Marinette.

After the left with his past lover, he shortly passed away. Marianna wrote a letter back to Marinette and that just broke the Dam she built around her emotions.

Chat Noir revealed to be Adrien to destroy the Akuma after her.

Mari, as the newly appointed Guardian, didn't take away his miraculous. No one else was able and she didn't want anyone else to break down from the weight of responsibility.

Chat Noir took his duty with more dignity and less comical after the reveal.

I just saw the Chat Blanc trailer and.. I had this idea before but omg this is weird.

Let's.

Not.

Get.

This.

Bread.

Like most of this is going to be in Book 2. Book 1 is set in Paris, following Marinette. Book two is in Gotham, following Damian 

[toooldforfandom-liveblogs]

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power S01E02 - The Sword Part 2

I assume this is going to directly continue last episode so there's not a lot to speculate about. I want answers and lore and that's it! Let's do this!

...I completely forgot OP songs were a thing and this just hit in me in the face.

Glimmer is such a happy marshmallow. Maybe I was wrong and she isn't going to resent Adora?

The song just won me over

Hello, the crab woman is new.

That's a _lot_ of characters. Also, I feel like I should have waited until next episode to watch the opening but oh well.

So the monsters have to obey or at least respect She-Ra. Maybe the monsters are somehow linked to the "First Ones"?

She's still Adora! Where does the name She-Ra come from, then?

I definitely paused in the wrong place for the previous screenshot. This one conveys "yup, this is Adora" much, much better.

I wish I could record a video with sound because the way she said "contagious" is amazing. Also, would that make princess-hood an STD? Sword-transmitted disease? * gunfingers *

The VAs are absolutely amazing and I love them all.

"Never mind what I just said, please do it again"

There you go. I can't believe I misjudged Bow so much, he's the smartest one in the group.

And all thoughts of keeping Adora as a prisoner just went * poof *

Glimmer is just "yup, that's Bow alright"

Can Adora read it because it's Horde-language or is it related somehow to the sword?

Okay then, it's because of the sword.

So, why is Adora instantly jumping to the conclusion that she's a Princess now? Are Princesses the only ones with powers so "weird power = princess"?

The voice acting is so good and on another level compared to the animation.

I can't believe how much charm this show oozes. It's funny, has heart, the characters are great. How did I miss it until now?

Aw.

Can't wait until they come back to kill them all as spacefaring species tend to do when they return to the places where they seeded life.

In any other show I'd start suspecting that the Horde are somehow the direct descendants of the First Ones. In this one I'm not sure, mostly because it's been so direct so far.

Worldbuilding~

So, Princesses have to recharge their powers. Is Adora's sword different? She-Ra having a time limit could work as as a tension builder in the future.

It has to be very weird to see your enemy in a thousand-year old mural.

Apparently Bow is scared of strong women.

I'm really curious if this is a real language or not. It's so alien that I want it to be real.

Welp, they are all going to die.

It speaks a lot of Glimmer's character that even though she really distrusts Adora (to the point she refused to give her sword even though it could have helped,) she saved her anyway.

How do these hawkeye types even know which arrow they have to pick anyway? "Oh no, that was one of the ones I use to send mess– * splat *

They are setting up limits really early, which makes me think they are going to be important later on.

She's just a very earnest prisoner okay?

Oof. She was so so close to empathizing. I'm glad Adora's reasoning is out, it makes a lot of sense that she'd want to know, especially when there are weird things happening to her.

I don't like this. Nope. Not at all.

The animation may be simple but the facial expressions are on point.

"what... is... a party?"

OH MY GOD, I WAS KIDDING

I keep saying it but I really didn't expect the show to be so funny.

Love for food is universal, it even melted Glimmer's heart a little.

Do Horde soldiers subsist on soylent and water?

Such a giant dork

Look at her, she's so proud!

I'm running out of ways to write about how funny this show is. It almost feels like it's _too_ funny so something bad is going to happen soon. Maybe a Horde attack to really show Adora what is going on? With Catra, just to make it worse.

oh no

Oh no. Wow. That's like the worst possible thing Catra would say. Not because it's wrong, but because it's going to make Adora's "betrayal" so much worse.

I've been trying to figure out why would Catra be so prominently "the enemy" when they seem to be such good friends. She was afraid of Shadow Weaver but I'm not sure that'd be enough to make her fight Catra. But this? Adora choosing not only to protect other people but to do it knowing it'll screw up everything Catra seems to have been working towards? That would definitely do it.

"You're going to throw _me_ away for them?"

You may be right but this is like the worst possible moment to give up. Have a freakout later, survive now.

"WHAT ARE YOU?"

"A STRONG SANDWICH!"

This is so good. Glimmer's change of mind was all through facial expressions earlier on, seeing how earnest Adora was while enjoying the party. There's no need to explain her reasoning because we already saw it.

I can't tell if she's sincere or sarcastic.

Why is this deep emotional moment so funny

The face says anger but the voice says concern. I love the inner conflict here.

Oh. So She-Ra is a known legend, or at least Glimmer knows about it.

Leaps of faith are my one weakness.

IT HAS A MAGICAL GIRL TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE

AAAAAA

oh no what's wrong with your eye, go back go back

Now I'm back to not being sure if She-Ra is the same person as Adora. How did she know she could do this? Although, if she's a magical girl maybe that just comes with the costume? Wait, if she _is_ a magical girl, where's the talking pet?

Maybe it's like the avatar state so it is Adora but _more_

And there's the panic attack I was waiting for.

Imagine getting back to your town after hiding from the horde in the forest for days. Your house is destroyed, one of your sons still hasn't returned. And, to make it even worse, someone stole your horse.

---

I'm very, very surprised at how much I love this show already. It's funny, has a lot of heart, the characters have so much potential. It may be because I spent a lot of time crying due to Gravity Falls recently, but I feel healed.

Other than general gushing, I don't have a lot to write that I didn't do already while I was watching the episode. It was the payoff for most of the set up of last episode so there wasn't anything too surprising or new, other than Adora somehow knowing the "First Ones" language.

I think I was completely off base thinking Glimmer would resent Adora. It may still happen, there was a bit of a hint when she was trying to use the sword, but the leap of faith she took this episode to trust Adora? So, so good.

My main question for next episode is... is everyone in Bright Moon going to be so open about receiving a former Horde member and apparently superhero? I can't wait to watch next episode so, until next time!

discord

[pigeontheoneandonly]

Congrats on your follower milestone! If there are still slots for prompts, can I have more Sam Traynor and Femshep hurt/comfort? Thank you so much!

I loved this prompt.  Thanks for sending it in!

Samantha Traynor came through the hatch, bag of groceries in her arms.  Gone were the days of reliable delivery aboard the Citadel; instead, they went down to the ad hoc market that had formed in an old plaza, still awaiting full repair, its shops and restaurants long abandoned.  But it came to life every Saturday morning with fresh food from Earth.

“Jane?” she called, struggling in the doorway to tag it shut with her arms full.  “Can I get a hand?”

There was no response.  The flat wasn’t that large.  A trickle of cold percolated her gut, a bodily reaction left over from the war, from every time Jane was on the ground and the radio went silent.  “Jane?”

She took a few hesitant steps down the hall.  Saw the red stripe of her sweatshirt lying askew around the corner, her hand flaccid and pale.  Thirty credits’ worth of oranges splatted on the floor.  “Jane!”

Sam ran into the living room.  Jane lay still beside the table, a halo of blood puddling through her hair and under her head.  She fell to her knees, touched her shoulder, jerked her hand away, afraid to move her even a millimeter.  “Oh, god. Oh, shit.”

She jostled her again, a little harder, as hard as she dared.  Jane’s eyelids fluttered.  “Jane?  Jane?”

A faint groan.  Sam glanced from her wife to the table corner, sticky and red.  She fell.  But she hasn’t been the least unsteady for months… No time to think about it now.  She leaned down close to her face.  “Can you hear me?”

Jane blinked up at her woozily.  Slurred, “Sam.”

She could have cried with relief.  “Lie still. I’m calling for an ambulance—”

Jane tried to shake her head.  Winced, and shut her eyes again.  “Not an emergency.”

“The hell it isn’t.”  She opened her omni-tool.  Prayed that there would be an ambulance available, because that too was hardly guaranteed, with the Citadel in its current state.

“Just get me to the car.”  Jane attempted to push herself up.  And failed. And that was scarier than the rest of it put together, Jane, her Jane, unable to rise.

Sam took her hand, blindly, on pure instinct, needing to feel their fingers lock together, tangible.  Emergency services finally picked up.  “Yes, I need transport— my wife fell and hit her head.”

* * *

Jane Shepard came round in a hospital room, to the sight of a tall, lean figure perched on the foot of her bed.  She sat up a bit.  “John? What—”

A wave of exhaustion crashed over her, muscles giving out like cut puppet strings, and she flopped back onto the pillow.  Blinking in surprise.

“Hey, look who’s up.”  John slotted the datapad— her digital chart— back into its holder on the bedframe.

She touched her head, and found it swathed in gauze.  “What are you doing here?”

“That was a fully coherent question.  Very good.” He flashed her a smile.  It really wasn’t fair; they were siblings enough to have the same bone structure, but what was homely on her was handsome as hell on him.  Probably, that prick of irritation indicated a positive prognosis, that she was well enough to be annoyed.

Jane made a second attempt to push herself up, gingerly, with more success.  “My head’s killing me.”

“Very funny.” He folded his hands over his knee, looking down at her.  “You experienced a linear skull fracture resulting from a mechanical fall and subsequent cranial collision with a table.  The primary injury was further complicated by an epidural hematoma.  You also presented with a severe laceration, left side of head, treated by suture and bandaging.”

She glared. He did this sort of thing on purpose. “Can I have that in non-doctor-speak?”

“You fell and got a good crack on the head.  The hospital stitched you up.”

A pitcher of water sat on the nightstand.  She groped for it, oddly challenging.  “How long?”

John got up and poured for her.  “Better part of a day.  You’ve been in and out of things.”

“You shouldn’t have cancelled your vacation for this.”  Jane reluctantly allowed him to help her take a sip, then a bigger gulp as the water hit her parched mouth.

“What can I say?  Your wife is terrifying when she’s upset.”  He set the cup aside.  “Miranda convinced her to walk down for a cup of coffee just now.”

Right on cue, the hatch slid open.  John glanced back.  “She’s awake. For real this time.”

Sam rushed in and seized her in a tight hug, her head buried in her neck.  Jane returned it as best she could.  “Sam, honey, I can’t breathe—”

She loosened her grasp marginally.  Voice muffled.  “I came in and saw you lying in blood.”

“I’m sorry.” An overused phrase in their relationship if ever there was one.  

Samantha sat up, rubbing at her face.  The skin around her eyes had gone so dark it was nearly purple.  “What happened?  I checked your prosthetic after you were admitted, and it didn’t look as if anything had come loose.”

Jane bit her lip.  Shifted her eyes to John, who had already read the trace of guilt.  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Janey Rose, what are we going to do with you?”

Indignation crowded out embarrassment.  “I don’t even like it when dad calls me that.”

“What are you talking about?”  Sam looked from one of them to the other and back.

John crossed his arms.  “How did you fall?”

She hunched down in the bed.  “I was doing a kata.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.  Jane—”

“I modified it,” she protested.  “I took one of the simpler patterns and eliminated the kicks and anything else that seemed improbable.”

Not impossible.  That wasn’t a word she was willing to start using yet.

Sam’s expression had gone flat.  “What is a kata?”

John sighed. “You know Jane and I grew up doing martial arts.  A kata is a form that lets you practice maneuvers in a pre-defined pattern.” His attention shifted back to his sister.  “You’d think I’d be used to your insanity.  I’m sorry that your life has changed, but—”

Samantha took a huge breath.  “You did this to yourself?!”

That actually cut off John’s lecture at the root, an unprecedented event.  Jane tried to disappear into the bed.  Sam wasn’t done.  “Have you lost your mind?”

“I…” But her wife’s face looked like a thunderhead, and her excuses shriveled before it.  A tense silence grew.

John cleared his throat.  “We’re just going to step out a moment.”

Belatedly, Jane noticed Miranda standing in the door, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. It occurred to her that she’d never seen Miranda in casual dress.  Her eyes narrowed— wearing, in fact, John’s sweatshirt.  Things must be going better than she expected.

Miranda gave them a glance, clearly awkward.  “We’ll be just outside.  Give a shout if you need us.”

The hatch shut behind the pair.  Sam sat ramrod straight, arms crossed.  “Well?”

“I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want your apologies.”  She got up and stalked away, staring out the window at the lake below Huerta Memorial, shoulders heaving.  From her reflection in the glass, Jane guessed she wasn’t actually seeing much. “I want you to stop pushing yourself until you break for no damn reason.”

She bristled. “You don’t understand.”

“You broke your skull, Jane.”  Her voice caught.  Her face crumpled.

Jane’s chest tightened.  For the first time, she felt a shred of remorse.  So she sat up, slowly, and realized as she swung her foot over the bed that her prosthetic was propped in a corner, across the room.  “Hey.  Come here.”

Sam resisted for a moment, but then returned to the bed, perching on the edge beside her and staring down into her lap.  Jane slid her arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She slid her thumb across her eye.  Wiping away a tear.  “You never do.”

Said with such futility that Jane actually felt a curl of shame.  It made her reach for an explanation, a real one, even if she still thought Sam couldn’t possibly understand this.  “It’s… hard.  I haven’t been able to move since Liberation Day.  I’ve got this constant restless soreness that never leaves me alone.  My body is used to being used, being active, and no amount of hobbling through a park gives me any relief.  I just wanted to move.  Just for five minutes.”

Samantha finally looked at her.  Tried to speak, with a heartbreak in her eyes.  

Jane wrapped her other arm around her, feeling heartbroken herself, and rocked her softly.  Said into her hair, “I am so, so sorry, Sam.  Sure, it’s what I always say, but it’s never not sincere.  I just don’t know how to…”

“I just want you to tell me, instead of trying to fix everything yourself.”  But she returned the hug, burrowing into her shoulder.  “I want to hear from you what’s going on in your head, instead of coming home and finding you covered in blood.  You don’t know what that costs me.”

Ten months had passed since Liberation.  Jane still woke up some nights to an empty bed, and found Sam in the kitchen with a mug of tea, wide awake and more shaken than she’d admit.  And though she never said, Jane knew too well that occasionally, it was because of how Sam found her, buried in rubble and mostly dead, that memory coming back in the worst way.

“I love you,” she said aloud, the words feeling insufficient as they left her mouth. “But help isn’t something I’m used to having. It’s taking some time.”

Samantha sniffled once.  Sat up a bit and wiped her nose.  “Swimming.”

Jane was derailed.  “What?”

“And yoga.” A pause.  “Something cardio, maybe aerobics.  Weightlifting.  We can find somewhere to tuck it in the flat if you don’t want to go out, but I hardly expect security will stop you at the navy gym, retired or no.”

She blinked. A foolish feeling crept over her, because she’d been so focused on what she couldn’t do that none of the other possibilities had crossed her mind.  “Someday I’m going to remember upfront that you’re so much smarter than me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”  Sam took her hand.  “But by god Jane, you have your blind spots.”

Jane chuckled.  She couldn’t help it.  And after a moment, Samantha joined in.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the college AUs 7 for Danbry or 61 for Indruck? (I’m super excited for any of these btw. You are definitely part of the reason I started shipping Sternclay jsyk ❤️)

Always makes me smile when I learn I write something well enough that I’m part of why someone starts shipping it  <3

I’m doing #61 first, #7 will come next. I’m putting a minor CW for bullying on this one, since some people on the confession page are dicks about Indrids appearance.

Prompt: our school has a student-run confessional fb page/insta/etc. account where people can anonymously submit things related to the campus and some of these posts are 100% about me???

Indrid should probably sleep. But he can’t. He’s been having weird nightmares. So instead he’s laying in the dark, refreshing things on his phone, like the “campus confessions” page.

There’s a guy in one my folklore classes who looks like a moth, y’know red eyes, looks like he’s bumped into one too many windows. Total weirdo.

Well, that hardly seems fair. But he supposes it’s vague that the other person won’t know they’re being insulted.

Dude who smiles too wide?

Maybe ;)

What’s with him? He’s always in like ten layers, never talks about anything normal. Should wash his hair too.

Indrid’s stomach drops. He touches his glasses (red lensed), pulls his sweatshirt tighter (he’s always cold), looks at his hair with a frown. Given he’s in one of the few folklore classes on campus, he’s sure they’re talking about him.

There’s a new comment. He may as well look, it can’t get much worse.

Hey y’all, this page is for talking about crushes or weird shit you pulled, not making fun of some fella who ain’t done anything to you.

He sets his phone down, rolls over onto his side.

At least someone doesn’t hate him.

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

He keeps his hood up, doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t even look up as the other students come into the classroom. He doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, really, he doesn’t. He thought he was being friendly.

There’s a plunk of a backpack next to him.

“Mornin, Indrid.”

He breaks his promise not to look at anyone. Because in the seat beside him is Duck Newton AKA the hottest guy in the whole school (according to Indrid). Indrid wants to look at him all day, would do even more than look if he thought Duck would like it.

“Good morning, Duck.” He starts to smile, snatches the gesture back before it becomes weird.

“You, uh, you okay? You look a little under the weather.”

“I didn’t sleep well.” He murmurs.

“That’s rough, buddy.” He peers at what Indrid is drawing.

“Wow, that’s real good. More cyrptids?”

“Yes, the hodag and the flathead lake monster. And thank you.”

They settle into silence as the lecture starts, although Indrid swears he catches Duck glancing his way more than usual.

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

It’s nearly midnight as he flips over to the “campus confessions” page. Reads over them, only half paying attention, until:

I got a crush on a guy in one of my classes. The “wanna see what’s behind those red glasses and get my hands into that white hair” kinda crush.

Funny, once again this sounds like someone’s describing him.

He writes it off as an anomaly. But then, the next night:

My folklore class is the only one I like because the cute guy I sit by makes it easy not to be bored. Plus he’s always drawing cool shit. I’m this close to offering him my jacket the next time he starts shivering.

Okay, maybe there is someone in that class who has a crush on him. Still, he’s not about to get his hopes up.

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

“Hey, stranger, this seat taken?”

Indrid looks up from his notes to see Duck leaning on the chair across from him, smiling. He wants to say something clever, instead shakes his head. Duck drops his backpack on the floor, puts his coffee down on the table between them.

“Midterms?” Indrid indicates the large stack of books Duck removes from his bag.

“Yeah, got two back to back tomorrow.”

“Oh dear.”

“Eh, ain’t the end of the world.” He sniffs the air, “what’re you drinkin’, smells good?”

“Eggnog Latte.”

“In October?”

“It’s never the wrong time for eggnog. And whoever makes the menu for the coffeehouse seems to agree.”

“Fair enough.” Duck grins at him, turns his attention to his notes. Indrid does the same, but he can never focus on one thing for long, keeps making comments or asking questions and he’s afraid Duck will get fed up with him and leave.

Instead, Duck matches him question for question, and ends up going on a twenty minute tangent about trees that Indrid finds captivating. When they eventually have to leave (Indrid to attempt to sleep and Duck to barricade himself in the 24-hour study room), Duck puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, this was real nice. We oughta do it again.”

Indrid smiles, nods, “I’d like that, so very much.”

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

The compliments that are almost certainly about him continue, frequent enough that he starts taking time to make sure he looks nice before each class (which means he actually tries to brush his hair or put on clothes that are flattering). He and Duck have more study sessions, and he can sometimes bring himself to believe that Duck looks at him like he wants him during those meetings.

Of course, it can’t last.

Think my crush might be on to me, he’s been dressing extra nice, even got a glimpse of his moth tattoo the other day.

Indrid glances at the rosy maple moth on his arm with a smirk. His smile falters as soon as he sees the comment below the post

Dude, I know who you’re talking about and if you’re looking for a pity fuck there are way better options.

He doesn’t wait to see other responses, instead drags the covers over his head and falls into an unhappy sleep.

The next morning when Duck sits down beside him in class, all he can manage is a weak smile in his direction. He doesn’t really feel like talking.

That night, there’s another post.

If the guy in my folklore class likes me back, he should meet me on the red bench outside the coffehouse at six tomorrow night.

Which is how Indrid finds himself sitting on a bench as it gets dark and the wind picks up, hoping beyond hope that this was a genuine offer and not some kind of prank.

“Hey, stranger.”

He jumps, turns to see Duck standing there with a coffee cup in each hand. Oh no, if he sits down, the other person may decide not to come and Indrid will never know who his-

“Glad you got the message.” Duck gives him a crooked grin, sits down and hands him a cup that smells like an eggnog latte.

“I, you, wait, you’re my admirer?”

Duck snickers.

“Here I thought I was beein’ obvious, especially with the wantin’ to spend more time ‘studyin’’ with you.”

Indrid’s heart leaps up, then lands with a splat as he remembers one of the posts.

“No, no, this is some kind of pity thing, you, you must feel sorry for me-”

Duck sets his coffee down, reaches for Indrids hands.

“Contrary to what some assholes on that confession page think, pity ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. I did post the first compliment because it seemed like you mighta seen the mean ones and I wanted to balance it out. But I’ve had a crush on you since week three of classes, and I was pretty sure you liked me back. Kept hopin’ you ask me out.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me that way, you’re so handsome and I’m so..not”

Indrid blushes, notes the matching color creeping up Ducks cheeks.

“You think I’m handsome?” He says softly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Indrid blinks, confused. Duck gestures to himself, mainly at his stomach and face

“You are soft and solid looking, which I like. and I enjoy your blue hair. I, on the other hand, am angular and skinny.”

“Which I like.” Duck wraps an arm around Indrids shoulder, pulling them against each other, “not to mention the best part of my week is the days I see you, cause I like talkin’ with you and you make me happy.”

Indrid’s not sure where the surge of bravery comes from, but he leans forward and kisses Duck, who makes a surprised “mphh!” before smiling into the kiss. It’s fumbly on account of his glasses and the odd angle he’s sitting at, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Was that alright, I’m sorry I should have oh!” Duck grabs him and pulls him back for another kiss with enough force that he nearly ends up in his lap. From the way he’s hungrily mapping the shape of Indrids mouth with his own, Indrid guesses he’s not the only one who fantasized about this moment. He’s eternally grateful everyone else is sensibly holed up indoors when Ducks mouth drops to the crook of his neck, the shorter man yanking his scarf aside to kiss the sensitive skin there. Because Indrid gasps, follows it with a moan and fists his hands into Ducks jacket, which makes Duck growl against him in response. He looks up, cheek still pressed against Indrids shoulder, panting and smiling.

“Better than I imagined.”

“Me t-too.”

“Are your teeth chatterin’?”

“Y-yes, c-cold.”

“Can’t have that” Duck nuzzles his neck, “you wanna take this somewhere warm?”

“Please.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Whichever’s c-closer.”

“Mine it is. Come on, darlin’,” He stands, offering Indrid his hand. Indrid interlaces their fingers as he joins him and then they hurry off, together, into the night.

[littlemisskookie]

Scott Pilgrim

Playgirl: Kiwi Black Sheep Scott Pilgrim Horns LA Devotee S.L.U.T. Boy Ship: Playgirl!Reader | Hoseok Description: You end up taking care of an extremely drunk friend, and find out you have to help the induction for the frat you hang with. Warnings: Intercourse, Lots of Puke, Deepthroating, Face Fucking, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Slight Exhibitionism? Biting, Breathplay Word Count: 5,009 Song: Scott Pilgrim by Plum Tree

"Fuck you, Jung Hoseok!"

You watched as the door you were standing next to swung open, a girl in just her jeans a skirt, tugging on a shirt, storming out. She looked like she was fuming, her face red and hair messed up. The man that followed after her stood only in his jeans as he walked out and into the doorway, giving her a blank stare as she stood in the hallway. He looked incredibly drunk- almost tired.

"You know, you need to grow up and realize you can't just fuck around for the rest of your life- because soon enough you'll be in your thirties, bald, and no girl will want you anymore," she seethed, glaring at him. "And you're going to regret not taking chances when you were younger."

The man- Hoseok, you presumed- simply quirked a brow. "Jess, I told you before- I wasn't interested in a relationship. You said you were interested in just hookups, and I made it explicitly clear that was all I wanted- so you're in no right to act as though I owe you a relationship."

Ah, now it clicked.

Jess spat at his feet, stomping off, tears streaming down her face as she shoved past nosy bystanders. You and Hoseok make eye contact, and you raise your brows playfully, taking a drink from the classic red cup. "Friend of yours?"

"Her and about every other girl at this frat party," Hoseok sighed.

"Really? Guess you and I aren't friends then," you smile.

"You know what I mean," he drunkenly slurs. He gives you a mischevious grin, however, despite his sleepy gaze. "But we could if you wanted to be."

"Ah, well-" You were rudely interrupted when he curls over himself, bending over as he threw up all over the floor. "Oh, shit, Hoseok how much did you fucking drink?" you curse, stepping back as the vomit splatted all over the floor. The people nearby quickly left, not wanting to witness the grossness of the situation- or not wanting to smell it, more likely.

"Not much," Hoseok lied, only for more vomit to spew from his lips.

"Oh, gross," you hiss. You reach over, careful not to step in the vomit as you tug on his arm. "C'mon, let's get you to the restroom or something."

You dragged him along, careful not to breathe in, almost as though you were afraid just smelling the stench would cause you to barf as well. The two of you got to the bathroom door, and you swung it open.

You were completely surprised to see Taehyung locking lips with some random girl.

It had only been... what, two weeks since his break up with Soyeon? It shocked you how he was able to move on so quickly.

Taehyung and the girl both whipped their faces to turn to you and Hoseok, both shocked. A wave of guilt washed over Taehyung's face, and he stammered to talk to you. "Val-"

"Just get out," you said, interrupting his words. You didn't want to talk to him at the moment.

"We got here first, you can find somewhere else to fu-" the girl began.

At her words, Hoseok choked up more bile, spitting it out on the floor.

"Oh, shit, ok, let's go," the girl yelped, dragging Taehyung out of the bathroom. He looked back to you with one last guilty expression, but you didn't want to hear it. Taehyung didn't owe you an explanation- it wasn't your relationship, after all. You knew you'd probably have to inform Soyeon about it, though. It shouldn't be surprising to see him there, though. After all, he was living in the frat house again.

You chucked Hoseok into the room, leaning him over the toilet as he puked a bit more.

"You're lucky that girl walked out. You could've thrown up while locking lips with her," you grimace, patting his back.

Hoseok spat out a bit more vomit, wiping his face. You handed him a towel, which he used, but he stayed hunched over the toilet. "Why'd Tae call you Val?"

"It's just an old name I used to go by. Me, him, and Soyeon knew each other early in freshman year before I went by Vee. He slips up sometimes," you shrug.

"Why'd you change your n-" He proceeded to hork up more puke.

You crinkled your nose. "What is that, breakfast? And it was just to make sure people wouldn't make the connection. I didn't want anyone from back home visiting or something and hearing about me. My folks would throw a fit."

"Can I call you Val?" Hoseok grinned.

You rolled your eyes. "No. It's Vee to you."

"Fair enough," he said, hugging onto the toilet again.

"Hoseok, why did you even drink so much? Seriously, you're not even a lightweight," you groaned, rubbing his back. "I'll have to babysit you for the rest of the ni-"

The door swung open. "Hey, Hobi, I heard you're fucking wre-" Eyes met your own, and you looked at Jin with an awkward gaze. "Ah, shit, sorry." He slammed the door shut, and you locked it behind him, blushing hotly. Why did your love of parties override your need to avoid the various frat guys here?

Hoseok leaned back, done puking his guts for the time being as he leaned against the wall. "You guys still haven't talked?" he questioned.

See, Hoseok was easily the sleaziest fratboy of the bunch. He slept with more people than you did, and he was an even bigger heartbreaker. The difference was that he was chased after because of it, while you were shunned. That being said, he was by no means a "bad guy". Hell, he was one of the best guys you knew- close to being the male version of you. But one thing that drew the line between how impeccably different the two of you were was how you liked to keep to your business and Hoseok... did not.

"It's complicated, Hoseok. You of all people should understand," you sighed. "Feelings are just... They make everything a lot more intense. And I don't do intense."

"I remember how everyone thought someone had broken your heart back in the day, and that's why you fucked all the time," Hoseok drunkenly laughs. "But I think I was the only one who really understood. You don't always need an explanation for why you are the way you are. I think that's why people always put such deep backstories behind villans, as ridiculous as they sometimes are- to make them less scary. Because anything that doesn't have an explanation is automatically scarier."

"Look at you, getting philosophical," you chuckled.

"Am I right?" Hoseok guessed.

"Dunno," you shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I don't exactly focus on that kind of stuff."

Hoseok doubled over, hugging the toilet seat as more vomit spilled out of his mouth to dribble down his chin. "Ugh- and we begin initiation tomorrow."

"Seriously? You begin initiation for those new frat members- and today of all days you decide to get drunk?" you chastise. "Hoseok, how stupid can you be? You're going to be hungover as hell."

"I wasn't thinking, ok?" Hoseok shot back.

You rolled your eyes. "Alright, I'll get you a glass of water and then clean up the mess you left outside your bedroom door. Then we're getting you to bed, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hoseok agreed.

"I swear, I'm like the older sister for you frat-fucks," you mutter under your breath, opening the door to head to the kitchen. You rushed down to the kitchen, opening the various cupboards in hopes of finding a cup. You find a plastic one, and figure you could just fill it up with the tap water in the bathroom.

"Oh, Vee! I've been looking for you everywhere- I knew you'd be at this party," a familiar voice calls. You turn, seeing none other than the frat's president in place. You look at him with surprise. "Jin just told me that you were with Hoseok, so I was about to head up there."

"Hey, Joonie," you greet. "Though you should've kept a better eye on Hobi. Seriously, the dude's plastered. I wouldn't be surprised if he were still drunk when he woke up."

"Sorry," Namjoon blushed, scratching the back of his head. "I was... busy."

"Balls deep in someone?" you quirk a brow.

"Something like that," Namjoon admitted. "Anyways, I'm not sure if anyone told you, but we're beginning initiations for new members in the frat."

"Hoseok mentioned it between puke breaks," you recall. "What about it?"

"I was thinking about getting your help," Namjoon said. "You used to be in our sister house."

"Joining a sorority was the worst decision of my life," you grimaced. All the girls hated you and slut-shamed you- it was nauseating. "What of it, though?"

"Well, despite that you're still close to our frat. So we figured you could attend the meeting we're holding, and I don't know, give some pointers on what we do. I'd do it myself, but the guys here are so drunk already that I know they're not going to really be up to it- hell, they'll probably drive everyone away. Besides, I'm sure they'll want to join and pay attention if a girl's helping me with the presentation," Namjoon explained.

"Uh, sure, I don't see why not," you smiled. "I'd be happy to help!"

"Great!" Namjoon grinned, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank God- you know I'm terrible at presenting by myself."

"I remember. You passed out in front of the class freshman year during Psych," you laughed, remembering the young 18-year-old passing out on the floor. You were the first to get to him, being the closest. "Don't worry, just let me do the talking. Though you should probably give me pointers on what to say- I may fuck it up with a slip of the tongue."

"Nonsense, you'll do great," Namjoon encouraged. "Oh, and do you think you could bring Soyeon?"

You frowned. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Joonie. Especially after the breakup."

"I know, but Taehyung seems pretty wrecked over it," Namjoon sighed. "At least the two of them could get closure- I've never seen the dude so torn up."

"Funny you say that- I just caught him sucking face with another girl in the bathroom," you admitted, eyebrows raised. "Doesn't seem too heartbroken to me."

"Oh. I was... unaware of that," Namjoon blinked.

You place your hand on his shoulder, giving him a wince. "Look, Joon, I know you're only wanting to help. Hell, I'll tell her your suggestion- but I think it'd be best not to push the two of them. Maybe let them work things out on their own separately, y'know? The wound's still fresh, so I don't see it going down so well."

"Yeah... you're right," Namjoon corrected. "I guess I just feel a need to push them towards what I think is best."

"I get that," you nodded sympathetically. "I think we just need to remember what they want- and not what we'd want in their position. After all, people are different, and might not want the same things you would."

He nodded along, and you let go of his shoulder. "Now, if you excuse me, I've got to take care of your drunk friend. Oh, and do you know where I can find any rags? I need to clean up his mess. It reeks."

"Oh yeah, they're over here," he said, leaning down to open a drawer, pulling out a towel. "Use this."

"Thanks," you say, grabbing the towel and returning upstairs to your drunk friend. You're thankful he's still there hugging the toilet- though it's not like he had the option of going anywhere else. You fill the plastic cup with water from the sink and hand it to him. "Have you stopped throwing up."

"Yeah, a bit less. Thanks," Hoseok slurs, taking the cup. He greedily gulped it, though a majority fell down his torso. You sighed, leaving him be for the moment as you went to his bedroom door, dropping the towel on the puke as you stepped on it, wiping it up. You squeezed your nose with your hand, not wanting to inhale the horrible, distinct stench.

"Vee, you really shouldn't do that," a voice says.

"What's up with all of the frat guys trying to talk to me today of all days?" you huff, turning. It was Jimin. "Hey Jimin. I'm just cleaning up your friend's mess."

"Nonsense, you shouldn't be doing that. That should be the frat house's responsibility," Jimin insisted, waving you away as he stepped on the towel in your place. "Woah- that's a lot of puke."

"How come you're not plastered like everyone else? Namjoon said all of you guys seemed to be drunk out of your minds today," you mentioned.

"Oh, well most of them just don't want to help the induction thing. They're not a fan of giving speeches to a majority of freshmen dudes. I'd do it, but I'm going away tomorrow and won't be able to attend the event. Also, he's been waiting to sleep with you for a while- so I wouldn't be surprised if he were using it as an opportunity to talk his way into your pants," Jimin laughed.

"He wouldn't have to do that. He's handsome enough," you shrug. "Are you sure I should leave you with this mess by yourself?"

"Yeah yeah. Don't worry about me. You should probably get Hoseok in bed, though. He's a sleepy drunk, and the last thing you'd want is for him to fall asleep with his head in a toilet bowl filled with his own puke," Jimin assured you.

You grimaced. "Oh, I so did not need that image in my head. You're probably right. Hopefully, I'll be able to drag him out." You leave Jimin to return the restroom, yanking on Hoseok's arm to pull him to a standing position. Hooking his arm around your shoulders and dragging him to the bedroom and pushing past the cleaning Jimin. And to think you were planning on getting laid tonight- but you weren't really in the mood with some of Hoseok's bile and spit on your shoes.

You sighed, shoving him onto the bed and lifting his feet onto the bed. You lift his head, placing the pillow underneath as you roll your shoulders back. You had enough of this party- you just wanted to go home now.

"Thank youuu," Hoseok drags out in a deep, sing-song voice.

"You so owe me one," you huff.

"I'll give you the best dick of your life tomorrow," Hoseok promises, his eyelids drooping as he tried to lift his finger to you, emphasizing his point.

You roll your eyes at the one thing that was always on his mind. "Sure- if you remember this conversation by then."

"Really?" he asked, rolling over to his side in surprise. Your eyes widen and you quickly get him on his back again to prevent him from falling off the bed.

"Yes, Hoseok. Sure," you roll your eyes. "Really."

You looked out to the crowd, leaning against the wall. You could barely see anyone's face because they had dimmed the lights, and it was past evening. The only light that illuminated the room was the projector. The frat's house came with an open concept basement, which was where they decided to begin their introductions for inductees.

You laughed, seeing all of the hungover frat brothers, who looked like they wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

"You nervous?" Namjoon asked, walking towards you.

"No, I'm good," you answered honestly. "It helps I can't see their faces."

"Well, I'm nervous," Namjoon admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked out. There were perhaps twenty-something or more dudes here- but not all of them would be accepted. Even you knew that. This frat might be known for their parties, but it was still rather selective and exclusive. Mainly because of how big their budget was from their sponsors and how successful their fundraisers were- which was typically due to the boys' outrageously gorgeous faces.

"Don't be, you've done this before," you encourage, rubbing his back. "We should get going."

The two of you stood before the crowd, Namjoon holding a clicker in his hand as he went through various slides. You followed along with the words and pictures on the screen, careful to pick up after Namjoon whenever he tensed up or froze.

"Remember- being in a frat is a privilege. There's more to it than just getting drunk and throwing parties. You've got a lot to contribute towards fundraisers, and you do have to get along with your brothers and other students," you say. "Just because you're in this frat doesn't mean you won't be 'invited' to leave campus. It's happened before, and I've seen too many guys think that just because they're in the top frat they're above the rules."

"Another thing-" Namjoon continued. "We want a safe campus and a clean reputation. That means no crime will be tolerated, and everyone should be respected at our parties. AKA- no taking advantage of people. More specifically no sexual assaults or roofies. It's a sensitive subject, but we want it to be clear that that behavior is intolerable and illegal. Once you do something as sickening as that, you're no longer a brother of ours. We say this because it's been noted that other frats got caught up with scandals like that, and we want to firmly distance ourselves from that sort of behavior."

Ah, yeah. You recalled how back in freshman year the vice president of a rivaling frat was caught roofying one of your sorority sisters. It caused a huge scandal, and ever since the campus became even stricter with punishments and action towards scandals such as that.

This frat was perhaps the most serious about it, which is why you preferred the parties here. Something about it made you feel more secure. Maybe it was when you saw the frat guys move passed out girls and make sure they're safe and out of harm's way, protecting them from predators. Or how they refused to have punch and only served beers that had to be opened. Things like that. It was tight-knit and you were grateful of their preventions regarding date rape.

"Now, any further questions?" you asked. You saw movement and pointed to it despite not being able to see the face.

"Uh, yeah, will there be easy pussy like you there?" the guy asked, a douchy laugh following after.

Your face got hot, and you instinctively throw your arm out in front of Namjoon, who was stepping forward, fists clenched. You spot Hoseok and Yoongi grab onto the arms of the stranger, dragging him out of the room. Where he was going, you had no clue, but you were sure he wasn't going to be assaulted.

"Let me make this clear- we don't tolerate douchebags," Namjoon piped up, jaw clenched. "And this girl is a close friend of ours- so I suggest you don't get on her bad side."

You didn't even have a bad side, truthfully.

You stepped away, your part of the presentation over. Namjoon was explaining what their mission was to prove themselves worthy, and though you knew only a little bit about it, you still had a lot of blanks to fill. Currently, he was stammering, explaining how the inductees were to throw a themed party for the frat. Didn't surprise you- showed responsibility since they'd be hosting it.

You walk outside, running into Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and Hoseok had his fists curled into the guy's collar, his eyes scary and piercing.

"Guys, this is unnecessary," you scold, tugging Hoseok back by his collar. "I'm sure he's learned his lesson- he already ruined his chances here."

"I wonder if he knows that he's banned from the frat house," Yoongi mumbled.

"Just let him go," you sigh, looking over to Hoseok. "C'mon."

Hoseok didn't stop glaring at the guy, gritting his teeth. His chest was puffed out, and you could see the veins pop out along his arms and neck. You wrapped your arm around his, brushing your fingers across his veins to soothe him. "He's not worth it."

Hoseok reluctantly sighed, releasing his pent-up tension. "You're lucky she's here, or you'd be dead. Scram."

The guy spat on the floor, storming off. You looked back to Yoongi, concerned. "You guys didn't have to kick him out."

"It's not just him disrespecting you. Acting rude during a meeting is disrespectful to the frat," Yoongi explained. "We would've done it no matter who he insulted."

You frown, shaking your head. "Why don't you head back to the meeting."

"Yeah, sure. See you later," your ex-roommate shrugs, entering the room again.

You look to Hoseok, concerned. "How's your hangover?"

"I took about a dozen meds, so don't worry," Hoseok says, offering a small smile as he cooled off, leaning against the wall. He grips your waist, pulling you in. "And... about last night."

"You're welcome," you laugh, adjusting the backward hat he had on. "You'll be glad to know I got the barf stains out of my shoes. Though, I'm surprised you even remember me taking care of you last night. You were positively wasted."

"I'm better now," he admitted, though you were sure he probably still had a headache. Even the slightest wince would confirm it. "And I remember something else, too."

You grin despite yourself, dragging your finger along the collar of his shirt. "Do you?"

"Mhm," he hummed, face dangerously close to yours as your chests pressed against each other. "Guess I wasn't drunk enough."

"The puke Jimin cleaned up would say otherwise."

Hoseok grimaced. "You're ruining the mood."

You laugh. "Sorry."

"So did you mean it?" Hoseok genuinely asks. "I mean... I promised... and so did you..."

"Yes, Hoseok, I did mean it," you chuckle, reaching up to pinch his cheek. "And if I recall correctly, you promised me the best dick of my life."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Hoseok asked, eyes lighting up. You feel his hands reach down to cup- what was surprisingly not your ass- but instead your thighs, dragging it up where you had no choice but to jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You gripped on tightly to his shoulders, eyes wide.

"Right now?" you asked. "We can't just do it in the hallway, Hobi."

Hoseok looks around, spying a closet at the opposite end of the hallway. He marches over, and you laugh at his eagerness as he starts nibbling on your neck, and you open the door as he stumbles in. You feel your body slam against the door as Hoseok presses against you, your lips connecting as your tongues sloppily clash against one another.

He runs his hands up and down your body as you lean back, legs firmly wrapped around his lithe form. His hands reached up to grip your breasts, squeezing at the soft flesh as he nipped along the side of your neck. You unabashedly whimper, though try to conceal it, knowing you'd have to be quiet in case someone was outside in the hallway.

Hoseok's tongue ran over the expanse of the skin along your neck, and you tapped his forearms, urging him to put you down. He did so, and the moment you were on your feet you sunk down, hooking your fingers into his briefs and sweatpants, yanking them down to reveal his dick. You crept your hand up, pumping his length as you put it in your mouth, bobbing your head.

"Fuck," Hoseok cursed, walking forward. The back of your head hit the door, and soon enough he was fucking your mouth, hips slamming into your face as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to relax your throat as your nose repeatedly buried into the fine pubes.

He skull fucked you rigorously, holding your head still with both hands as he moved his hips in languid movements. You relaxed your throat as best as you could, feeling his cock repeatedly slam into the back of your throat. Thank goodness you were used to deepthroating- otherwise, you'd be gagging and spitting every five seconds. That was probably how Hoseok knew you could handle his rigorous movements.

Your lungs began to burn, and your nose stayed pressed into his pubes as he took a minute to relish in the feeling of your throat contracting around his cock. You dug your fingers into his thighs, and he immediately pulled out, panting and breathless. You doubled over, coughing, feeling how raw your throat felt.

"Shit, did I go too rough?" he asked, reaching up to grip your chin, making you look up at him. "Sorry, your mouth felt so good."

You managed to let out a hoarse whisper. "You should feel my pussy, then."

Hoseok grinned mischievously. "We've got a dirty girl here, don't we?"

"Mhm," you hummed as he dug his fingers tighter into your chin, dragging you up to your feet. You feel him bury his hands into the waistband of your skirt, diving into your panties as he spread you with two fingers, running them along your folds to tease you.

"You like it rough, don't you?" he questions, thrusting three fingers into you immediately. You were so wet you were able to take him, but the stretch still hurt, and you were gasping, clawing onto him as you tried to adjust to the girth of three fingers.

"I do," you admitted. "Rough, hard, and fast."

"Then you came to the right place," Hoseok chuckled, curling his fingers as he began to pump them, aiming for your g-spot. You squirmed and mewled the moment that he found it, and once he felt you clench down on his fingers, he repeatedly aimed there, causing you to wantonly moans.

"Fuck, Hoseok, right there," you encouraged, biting down on your lip. "You fuck me so well with your fingers."

"Just wait 'til you get my dick," he grunted, pulling out his fingers, wiping them off on your cheek. He dragged your panties down your legs, and you kicked them away. He reached into the pocket of his sweats, retrieving a condom and ripping open the package with his teeth. Before you knew it he was picking you up again, and you were aligning him with your dripping entrance, and he was pushing into you.

Hoseok slammed you into the door, thrusting up into you as he supported you. You spotted the veins along his neck pop as he continued to pump into you, and you were moaning, feeling yourself bounce on his cock. He was repeatedly hitting that spot you craved, and you felt your eyes rolling back in the pleasure you felt.

Hoseok sunk his teeth into your collarbone, leaving a mark. You had no doubt he could taste the sweat and blood, but you didn't care, feeling his tongue run over the teeth marks he imprinted into your skin.

Your hand went down between your smacking pelvises, toying with your clit as you tried to push yourself to the edge.

"That's right- touch yourself for me," Hoseok encouraged, his fingers digging into your thighs. You could tell he was close, and you rubbed yourself faster, mouth parting open as you let out loud gasps.

Your head slammed into the door when you tilted it back, feeling your high override you as you came over his cock, and he continued to drill himself balls deep into you, chasing after his own high. The two of you were sweaty messes, clothes clinging to your skin as he finally put you down. You felt weak, and you actually fell down from the ache between your legs.

God, you weren't going to be able to walk properly tomorrow.

"Shit, you ok?" Hoseok asked, helping you up as you leaned on him for support.

"I think I need a wheelchair," you grunted, grabbing onto your panties. You pulled them back up as you leaned on him, smoothing over your hair and fixing your clothes.

Hoseok laughed, pulling his pants back up. "Man, your lips are swollen."

"You fucking face throttled me!" you whined.

"Who the fuck calls it face throttling?" he questioned, a grin on his face.

"I don't know, I think you fucked my brains out of me," you murmured. "Ugh, I need crutches. We've got to get out there- they probably notice we're gone. Or at least you. I'm sure the meeting is over by now."

The two of you step outside of the closet, and it's at that moment the door to the meeting is swung open, and various men are spilling out. Namjoon approaches the two of you, and you try your best not to look like you had just gotten fucked ten ways to Sunday. Of course, Namjoon could smell the sex reeking off the two of you, and he grimaced.

"Did you two seriously just fuck?" he questioned, eyes wide.

"Don't worry- Jimin already told me, so don't get jealous," you laugh. "I promise next time can be your turn."

Namjoon's face burned, and Hoseok laughed as you gripped onto his bicep tightly. Dear God, when was the last time someone actually destroyed your pussy? You usually had to wait at least the next morning for the familiar ache to be down there. "Hoseok, I think you'll have to carry me all day," you groan, causing him to ruffle your hair.

"Valarie?"

Your face drains of blood at the name, and you turn back to an old friend of yours who you would've never thought you'd run into again. Your eyes widen, and you feel your blood run cold.

"J-Jungkook?"