#I’M ON THE TRAIN AND I DIDN’T HAVE MY HEADPHONES CONNECTED YET YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME

[dyed-indigo]

tumblr mobile if you ever autoplay sound on ads ever again i’ll fucking kill you

[let-me-simp-in-peace]

Finally (Bokuto x Reader) Oneshot

2:14am

Bokuto has added Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Hinata, Yamaguchi, Kiyoko, Yachi, and Atsumu to the group chat.

Bokuto has named the group chat ‘HELP ME”

Everyone is online

Bokuto: HELPD ME

Kuroo: Bro what’s wrong?

Bokuto: I NEED HELP AND YOURE THE MOST HELPFUL PEOPLE I KNOW

Akaashi: Bokuto-san tell us what’s wrong first

Bokuto: I THINK IM IN LOVE

Oikawa: OH MY GOD IS IT FINALLY HAPPENING???

Iwaizumi: You might find out if you stop talking

Oikawa: Mean Iwa-chan

Hinata: Don’t worry! We’ll help you!

Kenma: Who is it?

Bokuto UM IT KIND OF MIGHT BE Y/N

Atsumu: KAWA ITS FINALLY HAPPENING

Oikawa: I KNWO ATSU

Yamaguchi: BokuY/n >> 

Hinata: YES YAMS

Kiyoko: AHHHDH IM SO EXCITED

Yachi: I KNEW IT

Bokuto: GUYS HELP SHOULD I TELL HER???

Oikawa: YES

Atsumu: YES

Hinata: YES

Kiyoko: YES

Yamaguchi: YES

Yachi: YES PLS

Iwaizumi: YES

Kenma: YES

Kuroo: YOU GO BRO

Akaashi: YES

Bokuto: OKAY

Oikawa: How do you plan to do it?

Bokuto: I HAVE NO IDEA

Iwaizumi: Can’t he just tell her?

Atsumu: It has to be special!

Yachi: I’m pretty sure she would say yes even if you called her now lol

Bokuto: OKAY

Bokuto is offline

Yachi: WAIT THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT

Oikawa: YACHI WHY

Yachi: I DIDNT KNWO HE WOUDL DO IT

Akaashi: Bokuto-san is not the type to think before acting

Kuroo: Yeah I have to side with Kaashi on this one. As much as I love my bro, he’s kinda dense

Kenma: Kind of?

Kuroo: He’s really dense

Yamaguchi: How long has he been pining for her? I lost count

Hinata: He first started talking about (Nickname)-san 2 years ago

Kiyoko: And Y/n first mentioned him after that training camp in her first year of high school. 

Hinata: WHAT???

Iwaizumi: Wtf that was 4 years ago

Atsumu: How did she hide it for that long?

Oikawa: YEAH we only figured it out during her last year of high school

Yamaguchi: I didn’t know she was so good at hiding her feelings

Akaashi: I don’t think that’s a good thing

Kiyoko: The only reason Yachi and I knew was because we spent so much time with her

Yachi: Even then she didn’t tell us until she was a second year

Hinata: Do you think Bo-san has told her yet?

Kenma: All we can do is wait

~Meanwhile~

Bokuto paced around his room, phone clenched tightly in his hand. Your contact was open on the screen, but every time he went to hit ‘Call’, he chickened out.

“What if she doesn’t like me?” He mumbled. “Oh god, what if I ruin everything? What if she starts to hate me?!” 

Bokuto groaned in frustration, dropping his phone on his nightstand, completely unaware that he had accidentally hit the ‘Call’ button when he did. 

~

You groaned softly at the sound of your phone ringing. You rolled over in bed, nearly knocking it off the nightstand as you tried to pick it up. You blinked blurrily at the screen.

Bokuto is calling…

“Huh?”

You sat up and swiped your finger across the screen to answer the call. You raised it to your ear, reaching for the lamp as you did. After some fumbling, light flooded the room.

“Bo? Why are you-”

You paused at what you heard next. 

“How the hell am I supposed to tell her?”

Bokuto’s voice sounded distant. He must not be near the phone. Did he call you by accident?

You were about to call his name again when he continued. 

“It would be different if it was just a random girl, but it’s not.”

You pushed the covers back and stood up, searching for something to wear. You put your side of the phone on mute, set the phone on speaker, and started getting dressed. 

“This is someone important to me. If I lose her, I-” Bokuto’s voice cracked harshly, and you felt your heart clench.

He must really love her.

You slid your shoes on and grabbed your house keys. You connected your phone to your headphones and continued to listen. Bokuto only lived twenty minutes away by foot, but you had a car, so it would only take about five to ten minutes to get there, depending on how fast you drove.

You got into the car and reached for the seatbelt, freezing when you heard sniffles on the other side of the phone. You quickly clicked the seatbelt into place, turned on the ignition, and pulled out of your driveway. 

It was dark, and the streets were empty. You were incredibly thankful for it because you reached the apartment building easily. You parked in the parking lot of the park down the street and ran the rest of the way there. Once you were inside, you headed straight for the elevator. Once you were inside, you jabbed the button for the 3rd floor, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited. 

“How do you tell your best friend that you’re in love with them?” Bokuto mumbled.

The elevator doors finally opened, and you ran down the hallway. You reached Bokuto’s apartment and raised your hand to knock, only to freeze at the words that left his mouth next. It was almost inaudible, but you heard it as if it was spoken right next to you.

“I can’t lose, Y/n.”

Your heart was beating too loud to hear anything else. You ripped the headphones out of your ears and ended the call. 

Bokuto was talking about you. 

He’s in love with you.

Oh my god, he’s in love with YOU.

You knocked (probably a bit louder than you should’ve, but you were too shocked to care). After a minute, you heard shuffling, the sound of a lock clicking, and the door opened. 

Bokuto’s eyes were puffy and red from crying. You could see the remnants of tears on his shirt. His eyes widened when he saw you standing there. 

“Y/n?” You almost winced at how hoarse his voice was. 

Nervousness swelled like a tidal wave in your chest. 

“Can I come in?”

Bokuto didn’t respond. He just stepped back and opened the door wider. You slipped past him, watching silently as he locked the door back. He turned around, jumping when he found you standing right behind him. He started to make a joke, but he saw how serious you looked. 

“What’s wrong?

Your gaze darted away before returning to him. “Can I ask you a question, and have you promise to answer me honestly?”

That made him nervous. “You’re really worrying me, Y/n.”

“Promise me.” There was something almost desperate in your eyes, so Bokuto nodded quickly.

“I promise.”

You nodded slowly. “Do you..Do you love me?”

Bokuto’s eyes widened to the point that he really matched an owl. You probably would’ve laughed if you weren’t on the verge of panicking.

“I..” Bokuto swallowed thickly, his voice almost inaudible. “...Yes. I do.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for you to scream at him, to tell him you never wanted to see him again, but…

It never happened. 

Instead, he felt your fingertips brush his cheek before you pressed your lips to his. It was just a soft press of lips, but it still took his breath away. 

When he opened his eyes, you were smiling softly at him. “I love you too, Kotarou.” 

It took a minute for him to process your words, and you waited patiently while it sank in. You knew when it did because a grin split across his face, and he wrapped you up in his arms. 

“Hey hey hey, that’s awesome!”

You giggled at his excitement, squeezing him back just as tight. 

Nothing had ever felt this right.

~~~

2:43am

In the ‘HELP ME’ group chat

Bokuto is online

Bokuto: (Bokuto has sent an attachment)

*In the photo, you and Bokuto are laying on his bed. He has one arm wrapped around you while the other is raised to take the photo. One of your arms is under his head while the other is slung over his stomach. Your head is resting on his chest. Bokuto has a huge smile on his face, and you’re grinning, seemingly caught while you were laughing.*

Bokuto: GUESS WHO HAS A GIRLFRIEND

Oikawa: OH MY GOD

Atsumu: HDJKHSAIO YES

Yachi: FINALLY

Kiyoko: YAYYYYY IM SO HAPPY

Hinata: GOOD JOB BO-SAN

Akaashi: I wish you two all the happiness in the world

Kuroo: YOU DID IT BRO

Kenma: I’m glad you two are happy

Iwaizumi: I think you two will be really good together

Yamaguchi: I hate to sound like a broken record but

Yamaguchi: BOKUY/N >>

Bokuto: THANKS GUYS

Bokuto: Y/N SAYS THANK YOU TOO

Hinata: No problem!

Iwaizumi: Glad we could help

~~~

Bokuto sat his phone down and grinned at you. “Can I take you on a date tomorrow?”

You smiled, eyes glowing with amusement. “You have practice tomorrow, and I have a bakery to run.”

Bokuto pouted when he remembered everything the two of you had to do. You giggled and kissed his cheek, tangling your hands together. “How about we have a movie marathon this weekend?”

Bokuto’s expression brightened immediately. “Deal!”

[hotwings0203]

HOWDY!! how are u doing?? Its that person who asked if you would write something for that deku imagine that @candy-hime wrote, about you and deku forced to live together and you corrupting him it could be you or reader but I just love that concept of corrupted! Deku 😩🙏🏾💕💕

Thank you, have a nice day/night!! 😪💜

OH HI HAHAHA MASSIVE BET, I think I’ll do a little bit of both. This will probably be a little self indulgent but I’ll still put it as an “x reader”!

Tw:noncon, misogyny, the reader is a bitch, vouyerism

It was a dare by your friends to live with Izuku Midorkya for a month if you really could handle any type of man.

You’ve dealt with Hawks’ cocky nature, Shoto’s bland comebacks, Bakugo’s constant state of rage- you’ve done it all. Any type of scummy or tiring man a girl has to date you’ve seen in all of these men. They’re practically walking red flags.

Until you’re forced to room with Deku for a whole freaking month.

You just don’t get him! Why is he always so cheery? What the fuck is he smiling about? And who the hell is he baking for? There’s only two of you in the house, it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything.

You don’t buy it. There has to be some kind of catch to all this facade of a gentleman.

“Hey, Y/N?” He knocks on your ajar door and peeks his cute little face in. “Did you have dinner yet? I was gonna eat but then I thought I’d have some ramen with you-“

“Did I say you could enter?” You slowly lift your head up from your laptop and glare at him. “Are you some kind of pervert? What if I was changing?”

“N-no! I’m so sorry, I should’ve let you answer first, I just wanted to see if you were hungry-“

“God, what are you, my dad? Is that what you want? For me to call you Daddy?” Sneering, you jump up from your bed and stall towards the door.

Deku stumbles over his feet to retreat after seeing the look on your face. “No! Not at all, what? Come on, I didn’t mean any harm-“

“Yeah? Then knock before you enter closet perv.” And with that, you slam the door mere inches away from his startled face as hard as you can, uncaring if the low this on the other side of the wood was his connection to it swinging shut.

“What a fucking brown-noser,” you mutter loud enough for him to hear.

It’s odd how long you wait behind the door before you can hear his footsteps retreat.

A week later you decide to amp it up a notch. There’s no way he’s so fucking green, there’s gotta be some twisted thing inside him that makes him tick.

And so on the day of his turn to do laundry, you decide to dump your fanciest and sluttiest undergarments into the laundry basket.

He’s in some dorky apron when you catch him kneeling over the bag, ruffling through clothes and spraying them with detergent like the good little boy he is.

You perch on the couch behind the laundry room and wait. He doesn’t hear a thing with his headphones blasting some stupid happy-go-lucky songs in his ears.

Eventually he pulls out your lace g-string, and stares at the crumpled mass in confusion. He unravels the lace and stares at it for a good minute or two in surprise you think.

But nonetheless, like the chivalrous man he is, he shakes his head and slaps his reddening cheeks to get over the shock before reaching for the spray.

This was your cue.

You make sure to sound out of breath and extra irritated when you flounce over to his kneeling form and snatch the garment out of his hands.

He jumps a bit and takes his headphones off when he sees your hand descending.

“Oh, it’s just you. You scared me for a sec’ there,” he laughs sheepishly and rubs his neck. “I was just doing the laundry, sorry if that looked weird.”

“Looked weird? You’re fucking disgusting, Dick-u. I’ve been looking for these for days now, and where do I find them? In your grubby little hands.”

His jaw drops open.

“Huh? No, you’ve got it all wrong! It was in the basket, I swear! You must have misplaced it by accident or something.”

“Oh, so now you’re calling me a liar? You think I’m crazy or something? Im not the one sniffing girls’ panties!”

He frantically waves his hands to negate your accusation but you merely spit on the floor next to him.

“Don’t touch my shit again you fucking freak. Go buy a pocket pussy or something since you can’t keep it in your pants.”

At this, he pinches his eyebrows together and starts getting up.

“Hold on, what’re you being so aggressive for? I told you, they were just in here, I’m not that kind of guy.”

He steps towards but you don’t back down. Rather, you jab a finger in his toned chest and bring yourself face-to-face with him.

“Dont fucking walk up to me like that you douche. You’re the one in the wrong here, so I wouldn’t be so aggressive, like you said. Come at me like that again and I’ll fuck you up.”

With the lace in hand, you barely contain your smirk as you storm back into your room, relishing in how Izuku stands like a statue in the same place as you left him, his hands curiously curling into fists and his nostrils inflated.

But behind the safety of your door, he doesn’t continue any shenanigans.

He stays relatively quiet and out of sight for a couple of days, and you start to get bored again.

So this time, you put all your cards on the table and do a double whammy.

One night you call Katsuki, a fuck buddy of yours for a while and use him to help you get off.

You’re not really horny, but the blond side does have a way of getting you there. Luckily, your room is right next to Deku’s so your plan is executed to the best extent.

“Katsuki, oh Katsuki, please. Fuck, fuck yeah, ‘wanna hear you cum for me baby, I want you to bruise my cervix,” you babble loudly as you shove two fingers in your pussy and use your thumb to press on your clit.

“Yeah, you fucking whore, you like that? You like knowing that a shitty nerd like him’s prolly getting off to you calling my name like a slut? I bet you do, keep fucking yourself to my voice, do it otherwise I’ll bruise your ass black and blue when this month’s over.”

“Kat-Katsuki please fuck meeee dadddyyyyy oh fuck-Kacchan!” You cry out and cum violently around squelching fingers.

You put the phone down for a moment to catch your breath, but hear nothing from the other room.

Your face falls as Bakugo rambles on the other end. You hang up with him mid-sentence and remove your fingers from your legs, licking it off absentmindedly and thinking of your next move.

The next morning, you don the tiniest pairs of shorts you have in your closet that accentuates the shape of your ass and the skimpiest bra you can find that shows a peek of the top of your nipples.

You tie your hair up and amble out into the kitchen where he already is, reading something on his his phone and sipping form a black mug.

He barely darts his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth in a hesitant greeting when he sees what you’re wearing.

He chokes on his drink and does a massive double take, juice spilling from his open mouth.

You raise an eyebrow and smooth your baby hairs, rolling your eyes and walking behind him to grab your own cup.

“See something you like?” Water trickling is the only sound in the room apart from your quip.

“Uh, n-no. Just swallowed wrong I guess.”

“Wonder why,” you drawl with a bored voice and edge closer to his back.

He’s hunched over, mindlessly scrolling too-fast on his phone to be deemed as actually reading anything. You recognize this form of coping from people like yourself who try to find distractions at parties where you don’t know people, just flipping through tabs to look like you’re actually doing something.

As you walk around him again, you make sure to train your eyes on his own, hounding he out for the moment he slips.

And slip he does, but only after you pretend to stretch and lift your self on your tippy toes in front of him, your shorts hiking up to show some cheek.

It’s only for a moment, but while the cup is against his mouth and his phone in his hand, his eyes dart to the exposed skin, then back up to your triumphant eyes.

“I knew it.”

He sighs and puts his cup down. “Knew what?”

“That you were a sick little virgin who gets off on staring at girls.”

“Y/N, I wasn’t-“

“I also know,” you raise your voice above his and slowly walk over to the table on the other side across from him, leaning forward and making sure that your tits squish together as you drop them on the countertop, “that last night you were totally listening to me on the phone with Bakugo. I heard your grunts and disgusting fapping noises. You don’t have to make it so obvious that you don’t get any.”

And this time, regardless of his indignation and frustration, he can’t stop himself from watching your hands trail up the sides of your bra and slowly drag the material down, down, down until your perfect breasts spill out and embrace the cold granite.

You honestly have no idea if he jacked off to last night’s call or not, but he doesn’t seem to be denying anything.

His mouth opens the widest you’ve even seen it. His face is beet red, and he visibly starts to perspire.

Your hands mold the soft skin and squeeze until your nipples swell and peek out from between your ruthless fingers, but you still look as bored and slightly curious as ever.

“This is all you’re ever gonna get, you sad incel. Take a good long look at them since I know this is what you’ve been wanting this entire time now.”

His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

When he groans and starts to bring his down down between his legs, you strike.

“I guess I really was right. You’re not some nice guy, it was all a facade. Can’t wait to tell everyone how fucked in the head you are.” His vision starts to clear as you sneer at him again and start packing your tits back where they belong.

As you turn around, you call out over your shoulder, “Oh, and by the way? You whimper like a little bitch.”

It’s silent as you walk with your head held high back to your room, sure that you had broken him and that he was going to take his loss with his own held low.

You don’t really expect to hear the thunderous sounds of someone dragging their chair away and positively sprinting towards you.

You turn halfway and your eyes widen as you see him barreling towards you with the most terrifying expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“What the fu-“

But you don’t get a chance to finish your exclamation, because Deku body slams you onto your bed and immediately seized your wrists above your head. You can feel his hard-on rub against your mound as he straddles your flailing body and keeps you pinned between his muscles calves.

“Get off of me, are you fucking crazy?” You scream and toss your head side to side, trying to arch your back to throw him off of you-which only succeeds in pressing your mound against his.

“You teasing slut. All I’ve done is try to play nice with you, but you just had to fucking push it, didn’t you?” He rages quietly, his arms shaking in effort not to snap your wrists in half. You still as his jaw clenches and trembles, his green hair hanging over his eyes that reflect nothing but malice and hate.

You’re scared. For the first time this entire month with him, you want him away from you and off of you.

“Look, I-I messed up, I know, I’m sorry-“

“-You’re sorry?” He laughs high pitched and you cringe when he thrusts his face towards yours, practically brushing noses and seeing his bloodshot crazed eyes.

“Yeah, you will be sorry. After today, you won’t ever fuck with me again. Or at least want to. I’ll do whatever the hell I want with you though since that’s what you’ve been so hellbent on achieving, right?”

His scarred hands waste no time in yanking down your bra the same way you did before, except much less gentler than you did by yourself.

“No, no, Deku please, I’m really sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” You whimper and struggle again beneath him, which is promptly stopped with a loud squeal when he pinches your nipple.

“Shut up. Wanton bitches like you don’t get to beg for mercy.”

He smirks and lets his tongue flop onto your strained neck, slobbering like a dog all over you.

“This is what you wanted right? For me to put you in your place and fuck your needy hole? And you had the audacity to call me disgusting,” he laughs and draws back, mocking your wobbling lips.

“Oh, oh baby don’t cry,” he holds both your wrists in one hand and uses the other to caress your cheek, slapping it hard when you turn away from his touch. “You’re just gonna get what’s coming to you.”

He indicates what he means by grinding his hips against the front of your shorts, snickering as you whimper and dipping his fingers below the hem, teasing you cruelly.

“Whose whimpering like the bitch now, huh?”

[bigboomboi]

Kindered Sparks

This is my entry for @gg9183’s soulmate collab - Oof, I was almost late for your birthday ( I know that I'm technically no where near late, but I put this out so much later than I would've rathered. Sorry, I'm a Virgo, mate.) Anyhoo! Happy Birthday! And congratulations on your amazing Milestone! Thank you for organizing this collab too and allowing me to be apart of it! Honestly, I love soulmate pieces so much, so I was so excited seeing this prompt (I'm excited to read the others as well!) My friend helped me put together an idea for a SM connection and I really enjoyed writing it, hope you do as well :) Happy reading!

Fem!reader x Denki Kaminari

Soulmates au; People are born with a dream realm connecting them to their Soulmate. Warning; harsh language, Hurt/comfort, pretty fluffy, cursing. Implied readerxfemale relationship. BakuKiri relationship (I got bullied last time I didn't say that was a pairing, so, just being safe)

Word count; 4.6K

“Another lonely night in this stupid world.” Y/N grumbled staring up at her dreamy night sky.

A sky she was supposed to share with someone else.

In this wonderful, bittersweet world, you were tied to another person. Destiny decided from day one of your birth who you’d be with for the rest of your life and then set you in a special plane of existence only accessible when you fell asleep, once you turned the ripe age of fifteen. The kindred-plane.

A place specially made for you and your soulmate to meet each night when you fall asleep. It was a place to get to know each other without the prying eyes of all those around. A shared dream land you could even decorate and make your own. It was your partner’s and your safe space.

It was a place you guys could explore together, where your imaginations combined like an amazing world of minecraft. Some people made completely different lives in their heads at night. Others used it to see their long distance lovers. Hell, there was a blog story sharing what sounded like a whole scripted tv show where a woman’s soulmate had set off to save her from an uncompromising kingdom.

Sadly though, your shared safe space could be destroyed in a matter of moments. It wasn’t unheard of for your soulmate to reject destiny’s plan and divide your dreams. You could absolutely reject your soulmate and quite literally lock them out of your dreams. All presence of them would disappear from your dreams within a few nights, sometimes even faster, and you’d be left alone with only your creations.

Of course, being divided from your soulmate hurt. But something hurt much worse.

Your soulmate being unintentionally stolen from you. A divide where you lose your soulmate despite neither saying they’d like to divide. A situation where your soulmate dies.

Y/N sighed at the reminiscent of her once was soulmate. So sweet and kind, someone Y/N fully imagined meeting one day in the daylight. Yet, now at the sad age of seventeen, Y/N had no dreams of ever seeing her soulmate ever again.

She only had the one year of memories they made…

“Class, This Y/N. She will be joining our class for her final year of hero training, treat her well.” Aizawa introduced her to the class of 3-A.

“Thank you, Sensei” Y/N bowed slightly. “Nice to meet you all.”

Not even a moment of silence was granted before the class erupted in questions. Half about her quirk, the other half about where she was from. A few off hand questions about why she transferred. All a mess.

“Enough!” Aizawa shouted, hushing the entire class. “You all can get to know her later, on your own terms. For now, Y/N please take your seat.”

Y/N nodded and scurried back to the only free seat in the back. Between a pretty pinkette and sweet looking round faced brunette. Before she was even seated, Aizawa began his lesson.

Y/N quietly sat through the classes of her day, ignoring the judging looks aimed her way, as the new girl. She could hear the quiet whispers going around, speculating what type of person she was and tried to ignore those as well. She was well aware of the fact that she appeared very off-standish.

Dark eye bags, complete resting bitch face that quite literally screamed ‘I will stab you with a pencil if you speak to me’, earbuds tucked into each ear and a hunched over form that could rival Quasimodo. Thankfully, the aura she set into place actually warded off her new classmates for several days.

Up until a week later in the common room where her bubble was invaded.

She didn’t look up at the person sitting next to her and subtly tried to turn up her music. She felt the presence of several others join her and they all stared at her silently until finally, the pinkette she sat next to on her first day, plucked her book from her hands. Y/N slowly looked up at her dully and raised an eyebrow.

She reached out for her book, but the girl pulled it back out of her reach. She tried again, reaching forwards further, but the book was yoinked by a strip of tape, pulling it across the coffee table. Gritting her teeth slightly, Y/N stood up to reach across the table and the music in her ears paused.

The girl had unplugged her headphones.

“You just have no regard for personal belongings of others, hm?” Y/N sighed, sitting down.

“We just want to get to know our new classmate!” The pink girl grinned. “I’m Mina!”

“Hi, Mina. Now give me back my shit.” Y/N tried to grab her phone, only for someone behind her to tug her ear buds away. “Seriously?”

“We’ll give you back your things if you let us get to know you.” Mina smiled.

“Or, you could just give it back.” Y/N tried to grab her earbuds from the bright blonde behind her.

“Nope.’ He said, a grin on his face as well. “I’m Kaminari Denki, nice to meet ya, beautiful.”

Y/N sighed and rolled her eyes. “Or, I could just take my stuff back.”

“You could but there’s five of us and one of you, good luck.” A bitch faced blonde mumbled, flipping through her book.

“Fine. Here’s one thing about me.” Suddenly she appeared behind the bitch blonde and snatched her book. Another one of her appeared behind the one who taped her book away and grabbed her book mark. Two other Y/N’s came into existence on opposite sides of her seating couch to grab her phone and ear buds. All while the original Y/N sat in her place. “Don’t touch my things.”

“Woah, you can make multiple you’s!” The redhead gasped excitedly. “That’s so manly!”

“That’s so cool! They feel so real!” Kaminari said, poking the side of the one near him. It yelped and swatted his hand.

“They are real! Don’t poke me, I’m ticklish!” Y/N snapped, rubbing her side.

“Woah, can you feel this?’ The tape one reached out to pinch the clone’s arm.

Y/N’s other clone smacked him with her book. “Yes, I can feel that! Ow!”

“So your quirk is duplicating yourself? Boring…” Bitch face rolled his eyes, another Y/N appeared behind him and swatted the back of his head.

“My quirk is omni-replication. I can create continuous versions of myself and others. But they can act on their own.” Y/N sighed, bringing herself her book.

“Woah, make another me!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

“G-Get off of me!” Y/N shoved him away, ignoring the literal spark between them. “I can’t make one of you now!”

“But you just said-.” Mina tried.

“I have to know your ins and outs. Otherwise I’d just make a weird melty blob of you.” Y/N sighed. “I need to know more about you guys before I can make you. I need to know you, how you fight, how your quirk works, I need to know how to play the game before I can participate.”

“So, what I’m hearing is…” Mina smirked. “You need to get to know us to succeed.”

“Oh god…” Y/N groaned. “I have no choice in this do I?”

“We have a specialty of making friends with people that don’t want to be friends.” The red head threw his arm over bitch face’s shoulder.

And thus a new friendship was born.

“Bakugo, why do you keep moving my pillow in our dreams, it’s so not manly.” Kirishima whined.

“Neither is the massive rock sitting in the middle of nowhere, dude.” Bakugo argued.

“It’s not just a rock.” Kirishima mock sniffled. “It’s a boulder.”

Y/N snickered at the reference that earned the kind redhead a smack to the back of his head. “Are you delivering pizza on it?”

“Yes!” Kiri grinned.

“No! Don’t encourage him!” Bakugo shouted.

“Aye, don’t shout at me. Your boyfriend is a literal rock, he’s encouraging himself.” Y/N laughed, throwing a fry at him.

“Oh yeah, what trash has your soulmate cluttered in your dream world?” Bakugo argued back.

Y/N’s laughter silenced and immediately her lips curled into a scowl. A light switched on and they remembered the one rule they had set in place. No one talks about Y/N’s soulmate. Or lack thereof.

“Bakugo!” Mina snapped.

“Shit, I didn’t-.” Y/N didn’t give him the time to apologize and stood up from the lunch table.

“Wait, no, Y/N! He didn’t mean to!” Kaminari grabbed her arm.

She flicked him in the forehead and pulled away. “No, it’s fine. You guys talk about your soulmate shit, I’m going to the training field.”

“Wait, Y/N, really!” Mina tried. “It’s just, we’re so used to casually talking about it!”

“I don’t care if you guys talk about yours, but you know I don’t have one, so we don’t bring up mine!” She huffed, before taking a breath. “You know what? Never mind.”

Y/N ignored her friend’s protest and stomped out of the dinning hall. She rushed to the training area, stopping by the locker room to change and grab gear, briefly.

Activating her quirk she began fist fighting her clone, taking her anger out on herself. Very early on into her friendship with the group she told them she didn’t want to talk about the soulmate shit. At least not her own. She told them she didn’t have one, leaving them to believe she never did.

They were incredibly understanding after they found that it upset her. So much, to the point that she copied Kirishima to punch himself when he kept asking. After that ordeal and several days of being ignored, they respected her wishes of not bringing it up.

She knocked herself down and punched herself in the face. She turned off the connection to the clone so she wouldn’t feel the pain herself. Disconnected clones only had a few minutes to live really and faded away with enough damage. Once that one faded, she created another in its space and continued pounding away.

“Stupid soulmate bullshit.” She huffed each word with a punch. “Stupid divide rule.” Another clone. “Stupid. Fucking. Erg- Everything!”

Y/N beat her final clone to death and didn’t bring a new one out. She sniffled, the tears she’d been holding back for years now finally breaking her dam. She hated the horrible lonely feeling she had been surrounded by for so long. She missed out on so much sleep, just to avoid going to her dream world. She set alarms to wake her up every hour or so to stay away from it and at this point, she was losing her mind.

She cried more thinking back to the last time she had been in her kindred-plane. She’d avoided it for a few days before exhaustion actually hit her like a bus and made her sleep. This time her plain little dream seemed to have adopted new items in her absence.

A bundle of comic books, a guitar, even a really, really big pikachu plushie.

Not that they were placed anywhere in particular. The guitar was outside of the little home she had reimagined, laying haphazardly on the ground. The pikachu was placed in front of a tree, facing it and the books were strewn across her loveseat couch. It was like her dream realm had become a lost and found for thrown away items from other planes. Which, honestly, Y/N could believe, as she didn’t use it so much.

She wished she could just give away her realm and dream of nothingness.

“Y/N?” She jumped, hearing her name and quickly wiped away her tears, ignoring the way they stung her open knuckles.

“Kaminari, I’m not really in the mood to talk.” Y/N muttered.

“Okay, that’s fine. We both know I talk enough for the both of us.” He joked, coming to sit in front of her.

Y/N turned to look away from his seating and ignored him, but he set off into a spiel about a new game he got. He did what he did best when one of his friends were upset, he talked. And normally that worked, but minutes into his yabbering, she started crying again.

“Hey, no! No crying! Crying is sad!” Kaminari tried.

“I am sad Kami!” She snapped. “I am really fucking sad! Everyone gets to have stupid fucking soulmate but me! And all because mine fucking died!”

Kaminari immediately paused his frantic attempts to calm her. “Huh, I thought you said you didn’t have one?”

“I don’t because she died! My god damn soulmate died literally months after meeting each other damn it!” Y/N yelled, sinking her fingers into her hair. “And now my kindred-plane is empty and lonely and shit keeps getting piled into it like a fucking trash can!”

Kaminari was silent for a moment while she cried. He slowly crawled over, closer to her and pulled her into a hug. This wasn’t a moment for talking randomly and he knew that. So they sat for the rest of the lunch period in silence, save for her soft hiccups.

After that, somehow, Y/N started talking to her friends the next day. She rationalized that it wasn’t their fault she was sensitive about the subject, they didn’t deserve the aggression. So with a tense apology, she was back to sitting with them at lunch and hanging out.

Y/N was determined to not let her disrupted dreamland destroy her outside reality.

“Okay, really?” Y/N blinked at the ugly rug that appeared draped over her bookshelf. “How the hell did you even get there?”

She tugged it down and stared at it in disgusted contemplation. “Guess you get to go in front of the fireplace…”

Y/N walked towards the warmth and paused, noting that it felt like it took a few more steps than usual. She looked around and found that the picture she carefully centered on the wall was no longer centered. Was her house getting bigger? More and more shit was popping up out of nowhere and her place felt spaceyer…

“What the actual fuck universe?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and laid down the new rug.

An odd whooshing noise sounded behind her and she turned around to see a lamp fizzled into existence, a hand accompanying it this time. Y/N fumbled over own feet trying to hurry and grab it. Someone was putting shit in her realm and she was about to find out who.

Actually she wasn’t.

The moment she grabbed the hovering wrist, it was like she had rubbed her socks across her new rug a million times and then touched an outlet. The hand shocked her, hard. She yelped and fell backwards on her butt, accidently taking the lamp down too, except when it fell apart it fell backwards toward the floating hand and disappeared from her plane.

Y/N gasped sitting up out of her bed, the shock kicking her out of her own dream. “Ow, what the hell?”

Y/N looked over at her clock, finding that it was five in the morning. She sighed and climbed out of her bed, grabbing her ear buds and phone. There was no school the next day, it was Saturday so she aimed to sneak down to the common room and spend her day dead on the couch, fighting off sleep again.

Not ten minutes after snuggling into a comfy spot on the couch, it dipped slowly as someone sat on the other end of it. She looked up from her book, to find Kaminari on the other end. He held up a bag of doritos in exchange for her company.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, pulling out her ear buds.

“Got startled awake by something in my dream world.” He answered, holding the bag out to her.

“Ah, that sucks.” She hummed apologetically.

“What about you?” He asked carefully.

Y/N snorted. “Kami, you know I don’t sleep.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’ve been up for the past few days.” He sighed, remembering seeing her in the kitchen at three am. “You’re going to trash your health if you don’t sleep.”

“Eh, it’s alright.” She crunched on a chip, before yawning. “Plus, you stay up every night gaming, bite me.”

“Gladly.” He winked. “But seriously, a lonely dream realm can’t be all bad.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was going to continue this topic of conversation. And he did. “I mean mine’s pretty lonely and I think it’s alright.”

“What?” She furrowed his eyebrows.

“My kindred-plane has but just me since like, forever, and I don’t think it’s that bad.” He shrugged.

Kaminari didn’t have a soulmate? That didn’t make sense, he’d tell them about all the adventures he’d run on in his dream. “You said you were helping some Jill girl fight zombies and stuff, just the other day.”

“Yeah, Jill Valentine. From Resident Evil.” He laughed. “I figured out a long time ago that I could just make her up in my dreams if I played the game until I fell asleep. She’s not my soulmate-.”

“You don’t have one…” Y/N whispered, sitting up.

“Nope, never did.” He offered her more chips, but Y/N just looked at him with sad eyes.

She cried in his arms about her soulmate dying and it turned out he never had one in the first place. “Don’t look so sad, Sunshine. It’s okay.”

“Denki, you don’t have a soulmate. That shit sucks.” Y/N flailed her hands.

“Yeah, but at least I didn’t get attached to mine and then they died. That sucks even more.” Kaminari argued.

Y/N slumped back against the couch. “This soulmate business is quite literal shit.”

“Yeah, but other people are pretty happy with it, so it’s okay to me really.” Kaminari hummed, nonchalantly. “Plus, no one can yell at me for my taste in decorations. That can really make or break a relationship ya know.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh yeah, totally. If my soulmate tried to decorate our space with half the shit that seems to appear in my room I’d have to throw hands.”

“Stuff appears in your dream?” Kaminari asked. “What, like, someone’s statue of Scooby doo?”

“Kaminari Denki, please tell me you don’t have a statue of Scooby doo in your kindred.” She tried not to laugh.

“No!” He said quickly. “I have a statue of Scrappy Doo.”

“Oh my god, no, you don’t!” She gasped.

“Yep! There’s a pond in front of my house and he’s in the dead center of it.” He grinned proudly. “And he looks amazing there.”

“Oh I bet he does.” Y/N snickered. “Bet he pulls the whole place together.”

“As a matter of fact he does.” Kaminari declared smugly. “What about your plane? What’s one big special thing you’ve got in it?”

Y/N hummed and thought for a second. “There’s a really big oak tree just behind my house and it’s covered in string lights, with a small ladder up the trunk. There’s a flat area in some of the branches so I can sit up there and read.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Kaminari said, fondly. “I have a tree kind of like that in mine too.”

“Does yours have a massive Pikachu in front of it?” She taunted, laughing.

She just barely missed the furrowing of his eyebrows before he answered. “I’m not entirely sure, I think, I’d have to take a look. I hope I do though, otherwise, I’d have to come steal yours.”

“Absolutely not! He’s my friend!” Y/N gasped and shoved at his leg. “Stick with your Scrappy Doo statue.”

Kaminari smiled. “Fine, fine. But if I don’t have a Pikachu in my dream, you owe me.”

“Mmhm, sure.” Y/N grinned.

For the next few months, Y/N and Kaminari grew closer, having bonded over their lack of soulmates. While they grew closer, not only did Y/N become happier, her kindred-plane seemed to get brighter, despite all the random things finding purchase in her realm and the fact that it was still growing. It was nice, she didn’t hate spending the night there anymore. She didn’t run into the disembodied hand anymore, but that was okay.

With what was happening in reality, she wasn’t too bothered by her dreams anymore. Instead, she focused on her friends, they were a wonderful reminder that life didn’t go to complete shit. For the first time, she actually let these people get close to her and drag her out of her hole she kept herself in.

… And out into the living room to watch the boys yell at each other over Mario Kart.

Y/N cursed and pushed Kaminari’s face away from her own as he laved his tongue across her cheek. “Denki, I swear to god if you don’t stop licking me, I’m going to bite you!”

“Ooh! Promise?” He flirted, smirking. “What else are you gonna do with that mouth?”

“Hurt your feelings, Sparkler boy.” She laughed, squishing his cheeks.

Kaminari threw himself into her arms, taking her to the floor. “So mean, I thought you loved me!”

“Oh yeah, she totally loves you with the way she made you beat yourself up today.” Bakugo snickered.

“Yeah, dude, she used your quirk against you better than you.” Kirishima pipped up.

“Hey, hey, clones don’t get fried when they use their ultimate! They just disappear and another one pops up!” Kaminari argued in defense.

“Jesus, Denki, you’re heavy!” Y/N shoved at his body, half heartedly. “Get off, you loser.”

“Uhg, fine, only because I have a race to win.” He rolled off her, to grab his switch controller.

“Oh thank god, I was going into the light for a second there.” Y/N gasped, dramatically.

Kaminari pinched her leg in retaliation. “Hey, I’m not that heavy!”

“Your head is though.” She stuck her tongue out.

“So mean.” He pouted as she turned to lay her head in his lap.

Y/N giggled as she pulled out her phone, to scroll through Tumblr for a fic to read. Moments went by before a snapchat notification popped up. Tapping on it, she found a common message from Mina.

‘You guys are too cute.’- Pinkiepie

‘We’re just friends, Mi.’-Y/N

A snap picture appeared in their feed and she tapped it open. There she was laying in Kaminari’s lap and there he was looking down at her, sweetly. ‘He’s giving you major heart eyes.’- Pinkiepie

‘Stop taking pictures of people, it’s stalkery.’- Y/N

‘That’s why you took a ss.’ -Pinkiepie

‘Oh fuck off.’- Y/N

‘Oh come on, just give him a chance, neither of you have sm’s so your not stealing him from anyone.’- Pinkiepie

‘You’re*’- Y/N

Y/N sighed and looked up to Kaminari’s face above hers. It apparently hadn’t been uncommon knowledge that Kaminari was Soulmateless, probably why the group had been so confused as to why she was so upset about it. It was normal to them, because it had always been Kaminari’s story.

Would it be so bad to make her own soulmate? Most divided soulmates stayed by themselves for the rest of their lives, but would it be alright if they didn’t?

“Oh, guys! I meant to tell you; I think I actually do have a soulmate!” Kaminari blurted into the air.

His admission quite literally derailed the entire room. Bakugo drove off the map in Mario Kart, Kirishima completely looked away from the game and Mina choked on her spit and her eyes flew to Y/N who paled significantly.

Sero was the only one who appeared unaffected. “Guys, he’s probably just saying that to throw us off, he’s in last.”

“I’m gonna blow you up, you put me in fourth with your little stunt.” Bakugo threatened.

“No, I’m serious!” Kaminari argued. “Over the last few months my dreams have been changing and stuff. Like it was making room for another person. My house is super spacy now, new decorations have been showing up for no reason, like there was a vase of flowers on the floor near my door, and my curtains changed colour, they’re a cute lavender colour now. Plus there’s a really big pikachu next to a beautiful oak tree in my yard.”

“Woah, dude, really?” Kirishima paused the race and turned to his friend.

“Yeah, totally.” Kaminari nodded, subtly looking down to meet Y/N’s wide eyes. “I was super confused for a while.”

“Holy shit, you’re serious.” Sero laughed. “Have you met them yet? Or are they just leaving surprises for you?”

“Well, I’ve seen her a few times, but I haven’t got the chance to talk to her yet, she wakes up pretty fast.” Kaminari shrugged.

“That’s so good Denki, I’m so happy for you.” Mina said softly as Y/N sat up.

“Me too, Denks. But speaking of waking up, I’m tired, so I’m gonna go take a nap.” Y/N hummed, yawning.

“Okay, see you later, Y/N.” They all chimed as she walked away.

“Yeah, see you later.” Kaminari called, carefully.

Y/N tried her best to contain herself and all but ran to her dorm. Along the way, her phone buzzed, no doubt a message from Mina. Once she was in her room, she flew to her bed, never had she been so eager to fall asleep before.

She quickly responded to Mina, ensuring her that she was alright and actually wanted to sleep. Y/N even sent her a reassuring picture of her smile with a short caption ‘I’m off to go see a Pikachu.’ After that, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but it was too long.

Y/N blinked open her eyes, finally appearing in her kindred-plane and spun around, trying to identify things in her dream house. She hurried to open the door and looked over to her tree, with the ever so famous Pikachu there. She turned and jogged in the opposite direction for the one thing she needed to see to make sure she was correct.

There it was. Scrappy Doo. In the middle of her pond.

Y/N jumped up and down, squealing to herself. It was happening, oh my god, it was happening. Now she just had to wait.

And wait she did. She had run back to her tree and climbed up to sit and await her soulmate. The soulmate she actually had again. Someone to share her dream world with again.

She had a soulmate.

Quietly for the next hour, Y/N sat and read one of her books, waiting almost patiently for him. She’d made it through the third chapter when a voice startled her away from the pages.

“Sorry, I couldn’t fall asleep for the life of me.” Kaminari said, smiling.

Y/N bit her lip and grinned. “I thought you missed my cue for a bit there."

"No, I was just a little too excited to fall asleep." He crawled up into her tree nook. "You see, I suddenly got a new person roaming my world almost like, uh, a forever person or something. What's it called?"

"Mm, I don't know. Kinda sounds like you've got a soulmate there, Denki." Y/N whispered as he came closer.

"Fucking finally." He muttered, leaning forwards to connect their lips.

But before he could make contact he ran into her hand first. “But, really, we are going to have to talk about your decorating choices.”

“Yeah, yeah, we can talk about that after this.” Kaminari chuckled and moved her hand to kiss her.

[smellslikemultifandomimagines]

Hi, I would like to request a full length Derek Hale smut if that’s okay. I can’t come up with a exact idea, but along the lines of something fluffy but smutty. Thank you in advance!

pairing: Derek Hale x fem!reader // werewolf!reader 

warnings: smut → cute smut!, soft!Derek - what more could you ask for with that man honestly 😍, also just the basic fingering and fucking lmao. not proof read lol 

word count: 1.9k

plot summary: you moved out of town due to a new work opportunity that lasted for 18 months. it was known to almost everyone at beacon hills that you and Derek were an item, and as soon as you come home, you surprise him with a visit. 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• ☾ ☼ ☽ •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

requests for smut night are open💦!

smut night request guidelines are here✨!

smut night masterlist

The plane ride had been slow and exhausting. All you wanted to do was just come home and breathe the bittersweet air of beacon hills; a home to many, especially supernatural beings. You had become quiet accustomed to the supernatural. That’s how you met Derek after all.

Derek was your trainer. he taught you how to survive, how to control the werewolf urges, and how to avoid detection from werewolf hunters. The more  time the two of you spent together, the more the feelings for the other would grow, and finally, after a few years of training with him, you both succumbed to the undeniable love. 

The airport was busy; filled with tired businessman, overjoyed couples finally reuniting, stressed parents trying not to lose their children in the chaos. Luckily you had your headphones on you, so you put back over your ears after getting off the plane. Your fingers stretch out and try to hold everything you’re putting in your arms. Your phone slips through your hand, and you curse while frantically picking it up. Grabbing your luggage bag, you book an uber and breathe out a reliving sigh as you walk outside, glad to get away from the mayhem. 

You hadn’t told Derek you were back. in fact, you hadn’t spoken to him in most a year. Your job was demanding, always wanting everything from you, and although you love what you do, it was exhausting. you simply had no time to talk to family, let alone friends from home, or even go out with colleague on their traditional Friday drinks night. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as the nerves begin to grow. Your fingers fiddle with your phone in your lap while you chew the inside of your cheek. 

The uber finally pulls up in front of Derek’s loft. the driver helps you with your bags, and you thank them politely. Rolling your suitcases up to his door, the nervousness builds even more, causing your palms to sweat. Softly, you knock on the door of his loft. It only took him about a minute to answer the door, and finally, there he is, standing so gorgeously in front of you. His jaw drops as he looks you up and down. 

“hi,” you beam with a wide smile. He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you so tightly, you thought you’d suffocate. You didn't mind though, in fact, you hugged him just as tight, feeling nothing but safe and sound

“I-you-oh my god,” he babbles, still in shock. “you never told me when you were coming back.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

he hugs you again, picking you up and spinning you around. Derek kisses you passionately, instantly humming into the softness of your lips.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” he mumbles against you. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, beta.” beta. a nickname you haven't said in so long. You used to tease Derek by calling him ‘beta’ to remind him he wasn’t your alpha wolf. 

He rolls his eyes, planting yet another kiss on your lips. Your lips move in sync, getting deeper and more passionate with each movement. Derek’s calloused hands slide up your arm, shrugging off your jacket before leaning down to pick you up. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, pulling at his hair as he holds you against a wall. 

“I’ve not even been here for 5 minutes and you’re already undressing me,” you tease as he removes your shirt and bra. 

“I see you’ve still got your Beacon Hills charm,” he teases right back, lips connecting effortlessly on your neck as he sucks a hickey. 

“And you’ve still got yours.” You drop down, and rid his shirt before dropping it beside you. He helps you unbuckle his belt, watching as you drop it near his shirt. Your lips smash together again, both of you not bothering to pull away as he shuffles out of his jeans. 

Derek turns you around, the coolness of the wall can be felt against your chest and stomach. You shiver and feel his fingertips graze along your back before finally pulling your pants down. Kicking yourself out of them, you turn back around and wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss once again. He pulls away, his hand holding yours as he guides you to his bedroom.

Derek shoves you against the wall, kicking the door to his bedroom shut. He trails kisses down you neck, hands snaking around your back to unclasp your bra. A giggle passes your lips as you slightly push him off you, your hands taking his as you lead him to the bed. He pushes you down gently and crawls up your body, kissing up from your stomach to your collarbones, to both of your exposed breasts, to your neck, and finally, to the soundness of your lips.

Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling at the ends as you both deepen the kiss. Derek pulls away and drags his fingertips up your body, chuckling as he feels the goosebumps grow on your skin from his touch. He shuffles down the bed slightly, lips attaching to your breast while his hand squeezes the other. You moan softly and tug his hair. You almost forgot how sex was like with Derek; he always gave you so much attention that there was no part of your body he hadn't touched or kissed.

Dark marks are scattered all over your chest. Though he knew they would heal quickly, he wanted to see you marked from him; that he was finally yours again and no other man could have you except him. That was one of the things you remembered from what Derek loved doing to you; he loved marking his territory. He leans up and plants a rough kiss on your lips, causing you to whine against him. Just as he detaches from you, you pull him right back down, wanting to kiss him just a little bit longer. Derek chuckles and pulls away, leaning his head against your forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” he whispers, planting a delicate and loving kiss on your forehead. You giggle in response, lifting his chin up to kiss his lips again. Derek shuffles down the bed, trialling kisses all the way down until he reaches your thighs.

Your heart flutters with such awe as you watch Derek kiss your inner thighs; paying attention to the way his lips purse while he kisses you, and to the way he’s so gentle with you despite being so eager and needy for you. Derek grazes a finger up your clothed clit and you gasp at the feeling. Taking the fabric of your underwear between his fingers, Derek gently and slowly pulls it down your legs, throwing it behind him. He watches your reaction intently while he rubs small circles on your clit. Your head fell back into the pillows as you whine, bucking your hips up for more.

“God, I missed this,” you breathe out a breathy moan, hands coming down to his hair and tugging it gently, remembering how much he likes it. Finally, his tongue licks a stripe up your folds, instantly humming at the sweetness of your taste. It had been so long since the two of you had slept together, he almost feels ashamed at how he forget what you tasted like.

He sucks at your clit before swirling his tongue on your clit, eliciting a rather loud moan from you. You buck your hips against his mouth, a sign that he remembered as wanting more. His fingers tease your entrance; toying and circling the area before finally thrusting into you.

“Derek, fuck,” you moan. You walls tighten around his fingers, causing a beautiful grunt to slip from his lips, the vibrations transcending onto your clit so nicely, you whine out for him again. The grip on his hair tightens as he curls his fingers and massages your g-spot. Your body shakes as waves of pleasure shoot throughout your body. You're close. The tightness in the pit of your stomach rises with each lap of his tongue and each flick of his fingers inside you.

“Derek, baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” you moan loudly, grinding your pussy against his face. He mumbles an ‘cum for me’ against your core, which only made your orgasm come faster than you expected. With a loud moan and a string of curses rolling off your tongue, you cum on his fingers. He groans as he feels your walls pulsing, and the pure sound of you moaning just for him makes him even harder and the craving he has for you becomes more intense than ever before.

“fucking hell,” you chuckle, panting from the intense high.

“Was that better than you remembered?” Derek teases, crawling his way back up to you. You giggle and pull him in for a kiss.

“much better.” Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Using one of your legs, you manage to push his boxers down to his knees before he leans down and takes them off himself. You stare into his captivating eyes while you wrap your hand around his cock. He sucks in a breath as he shudders, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of you slowly pumping your hand up and down.

“Angel, I'm not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he groans out, pressing his forehead to yours. Detaching your hand from his cock, you drag your nails up his back. Derek leans over and grabs out a condom from his nightstand before sitting up slightly to roll it on. He kisses you're forehead as he pushes in, both of you sighing out in pleasure. Derek laces his fingers with yours, bringing it to the side of your head as he rocks his hips harder into you. Your moans are so soft and delicate, a smile cracks on his face. His lips trail kisses down to your neck again, hips rocking faster as moans become louder. 

with your free hand, you claw at his back. He lets out a moan and shifts his body to bring your leg around his shoulder. Derek thrusts faster, sitting upon his knees to drive his cock in deeper into you. Your back arches in response to the immense pleasure, body tingling with satisfaction and a dopey smile appears on your face as you moan. 

“fuck, Derek, you’re cock feels so good,” you whimper. He chuckles in response, thrusting harder into you which makes the bed rock against the wall. You grip the sheets to try and ground yourself, feeling overwhelmed with the amount of pleasure your body was undergoing. 

“you gonna cum, baby?” he asks, taking his thumb into his mouth before rubbing faster circles on your clit. 

“mhm,” you whimper, eyes squeezing tighter as the pressure in the pit of your stomach builds and builds. Your body shudders underneath Derek’s as you cum around him; walls pulsing and strings of moans and curses spill from your lips. 

“shit, I-” before Derek could get another word out, his cock twitches inside you and he’s hips still for a moment as he cums inside the condom. 

“oh god,” he moans, rocking slowly into you. He gently pulls out and instantly attacks you with kisses. You giggle in response, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in closer to you. 

“Please don’t ever leave me again,” Derek whispers against your lips. 

“I promise.”

[headheartbellarke]

DISTRACTED | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon: “5 times reader (girlfriend) is almost distracted by a shirtless Charlie and one time she actually is.” PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x fem!reader WORDS: 1.6k WARNING(s): some charlie thirst, what’s new ;) SUMMARY: 4 times Y/N is almost distracted by her shirtless boyfriend and 1 time she actually is.

0.

You pride yourself over the fact that you never get distracted, no matter what. But sometimes, just sometimes, you can’t help it.

Especially when your boyfriend looks like that.

1.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Your eyes feel as if they are burning, and the ever-persistent headache of yours seems to be particularly intense today.

Yet, pushing all that tiredness away, you keep typing, typing, typing. The deadline for your essay that carries twenty per cent of your grade of your final year of college is tomorrow, and you’ve still got three hundred words to write.

Three hundred words does not seem like a lot on any other day, but after three cups of coffee and seven hours of staring at your laptop screen, it feels like death. The fact that you seem to be in a rut right now doesn’t help, either.

You scrounge around your brain, trying to pull ideas from each fold, but it’s useless. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s because of your boyfriend, Charlie, who has currently resorted to painting your toenails after not getting any sort of attention from you for the past few hours.

Ever since lockdown started, you and your boyfriend have been living together in your shared apartment in Toronto. You two have been planning to move in together for a while, but his work and your college always seemed to be obstacles. But this lockdown gave you both the perfect opportunity – plus, it was time, too. You two have been dating for more than four years – although, you’ve had a crush on him for as long as you can remember, but the intensity of it was realized only in the moment when he kissed you after an amazing prom together – you guys went together because you were best friends and loved being around each other more than anything. But the fact that there could be something more, something hidden in years of friendship seemed unlikely to the both of you before that day.

“Done.” He says, proudly. Your eyes leave your screen to look at the beautiful emerald colour on your toenails. You smile at him, and say, “That’s gorgeous, Char. Where’d you find it?”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “It was in the bottom of your bag.”

You nod. “Right. I bought it the day before my last offline exam ended. I forgot.”

He smiles. “Now, will you pay me some attention?”

You purse your lips and pretend to be thinking. “Hmm… tempting, but no. I still have to get this done.”

He groans, dramatically. “You have been ignoring me for past hundred hours!”

You chuckle, ruffling his hair. “You’re so dramatic. It’s only been half a day. Now, go away. I need to finish this.”

He groans, again, and you wonder if he’s finally given up.

Instead, he rolls off the bed, and stands taller, leaning against the doorframe. “Y/N?”

You hum in question, as he makes a show out of taking off his T-shirt.

You bite your lip and remember how long it has been since you’ve run your hands on his chest. But you know that he’s doing this on purpose, to get a fraction of your attention. He knows and is proud of the fact that he has a hold over you, and the fact that even after four years, he still gives you butterflies over the slightest of smiles.

So, instead of giving in, you crawl under your covers with your laptop and decide to work there, as you suddenly gain inspiration, and thank yourself for not being distracted by your boyfriend’s absolutely beautiful body.

“Oh, come on!”

2.

The second time hit happens, it’s a Tuesday morning, and you’re giving an exam. Your laptop is in front of you, the face of your teacher and classmates filling your screen, as the sound of your pen scratching against your answer sheet fills the room.  

You bite the end of your pen, pondering over a question when you suddenly hear your boyfriend’s voice. You look up, and notice him, shirtless, and talking on the phone to someone.

“Yeah, I mean, we could do that…” He says, and your eyes trail across his back, as he stares out the window on the wall opposite to you.

“No, Mom, we’re not gonna drive to Canada. I’m not that crazy!” He exclaims, and you arch your neck to get a better view of him, and the sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

“Sure, I can ask Y/N…” He says, and you quickly avert your eyes back to your paper, just in time to hear your teacher call out your name.

“Y/N? What are you looking at?” She asks, and you adjust your headphones, clearing your throat.

“I thought someone was at the door. Sorry, Ms. Harrington.” You’re painfully aware of the warmth spreading through your cheeks, and as she nods, you start writing again.

You hear Charlie whisper a ‘sorry’, and you smile at him – he thinks that the reason your teacher just called you out is because he was going to ask you something.

You don’t correct him – his ego doesn’t need to know the fact that you were almost distracted.

3.

Just one more question, you think. One more question, and you’re done with this semester.

But your mind is wandering, and the fact that you still have thirty minutes left doesn’t help. When this exam started, you thought that you wouldn’t be able to finish it in time and wrote as fast as you could, but now there’s plenty of time and just one, tiny answer left.

You rest your elbows on your desk and check on your classmates. Everyone is frantically scribbling, and you smile evilly at the fact that you’re not one of them right now.

“Honey? You have a minute?”

You hear Charlie from behind you. You nod, and say, “I’m listening.” You don’t turn back, since you have to keep an eye on your teacher. (She is knitting right now, for some reason.)

“You wanna go somewhere for the holidays?” He says, his raspy morning voice causing goosebumps to appear on your skin.

“I’m not sure… I mean we just came back from Maui last month – do you think it’s wise to go somewhere again?”

“Well, we’ll maintain social distancing, and use masks.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Come on, it’s our fifth anniversary!”

You finally look at him, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s shirtless, as usual. You mentally curse him as you think that you need to add ‘no being shirtless for no reason’ to your household rules. (Currently, you have three: one, no disturbing the other while working; two, following the chore chart; three, no spilling coffee or red wine on the white living room rug.) (The last one has occurred more times than one might expect.)

You focus on keeping your eyes trained on his, but you still struggle to form words. “I – not a wise idea…”

He grins, understanding the situation, as you avert your eyes back to your paper.

“Please, baby?”

You know he’s pouting.

“Fine.” You say, just to get him off your back.

“You’re the best!” He presses a kiss to your cheek and is instantly gone. As your mind still tries to hold on to the frayed strings of the warmth and the smell of his presence, you pray that your classmates didn’t notice the interaction.

4.

You smile at Charlie’s mother, who is talking animatedly on your phone.

“Then, I told Meg to get some sugar, but she bought salt instead, and to top that, she dumped the entire bowl into my batter! Now, it tastes like absolute shit!” She glares at Megan, Charlie’s sister, who smiles sheepishly from behind her.

You laugh. “Like brother, like sister.”

“You know it.” She says, her French accent thick.

“So, I was thinking… Maybe, after the holidays, we could fly back to Dieppe? It’s not like we’re gonna go to college any time soon, so –”

“Yes, please! I miss you guys so much. You know, last night –”

She starts to say something else, but your boyfriend is doing push ups in front of you, and it’s really, really, really hard to focus, especially when his body is glistening under the afternoon sun.

He seems to feel your gaze, and sharply turns towards you, while you quickly look back to his mother.

“–but the point is, I miss you two.” She finishes, while Megan nods. “Me too, sis. It’s so boring here without you two.”

You smile and can feel warmth in your stomach. “Of course. I miss you guys, too. Charlie’s so boring.”

“Hey!”

+1.

You exhale and close the lid of your laptop. “I’m done!” You yell, and Charlie instantly appears at the door, and runs towards the bed you’re currently seated on, and jumps atop.

“Finally! I missed you!” He says, wrapping an arm around your torso, pulling you closer.

“I missed you too, baby. But now I’m done with all my assignments, so I’m all yours for the next two weeks!” You sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He grins, and your eyes avert to his chest, but this time, you let yourself be distracted, because after weeks of sleep deprivation and pure torture, you deserve this.

You smile, connecting your lips, and run your hands on his chest. He smiles against the kiss, and you whisper, “I love you so much.”

“And I love you so much.”

as always feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[itsmeevie01]

Before A Moment in Time

ok! this is a LOT of information, but i wanted to make it easier to understand whats going on in my head when i write over the next bit!

MASTERPOST

this is Before A Moment in Time. Enjoy!

Three years before A Moment in Time. One year after Hawkmoth appeared.

Marinette Dupain Cheng is sitting at her desk. Second row back left side. Making her way up the stairs is her friend Alya Césaire. The two girls have been practically inseparable for the last year.

Fuming one row down on the other side of the aisle is Chloé Bourgeoise. Her eyes are glued to where Marinette is smiling at Alya. Nino Lahiffe is sitting in front of Marinette. His headphones are on, and his hand is moving over a sheet of paper that has a music staff on it.

Adrien Agreste can be seen bounding up the stairs, his eyes alight with the joy of going to school, even a year after he started. Behind Marinette and Alya are Rose and Juleka. Across from them are Ivan and Nathaniel. Behind the boys are Alix and Kim, who are across from Mylene and Sabrina.

Max is sitting behind the two girls by himself. In the empty seat next to him, the tech genius has a computer running through a code that he is trying to double-check.

As their classmates greet each other during the first day of school, Madam Bustier can be seen enter into the room, one Lila Rossi walking behind her curiously.

As Bustier called the class to attention, Marinette shared one more smile with Alya before spinning around. When she was facing the front, the teen blinked.

Standing there was a girl who looked vaguely familiar. It took the teen a moment before she realized that this was Lila Rossi. This was the girl who had been sued by both Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. This was a gold digger that they had warned her about.

Chloé must have made the same connection because Marinette’s phone started to blow up.

 Mariii + Chlo

Chlo- OH HELL NO

Chlo- M this chit cannot sit with me

Chlo- Dad sued her over the summer

Chlo- MARINETE

Mariii- Chlo

Mariii- hey chill

Mariii- I got this. If you can sit with Alya.

Chlo- anything

Chlo- MY WONDERFUL NONCOFFEE DEALER KEEP ME AWAY FROM THE FUCKING DEVIL

Mariii- on it, queenie

 Marinette looked up as the bell rang. Alya gave her a concerned look. With a smile, the younger girl bumped her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, Als, since I’m class president, I think it would be best if I welcome the new girl. Could you go sit with Chloé today? I promise that we can go back to normal once we get her settled.” Alya flashed her friend a smile before giving the girl a side hug.

“of course, Mari! You have such a big heart!” the girls traded smiles before Alya packed her stuff up and moved to sit with the haughty blonde. The noirette saw her teacher give her an approving smile for diffusing the situation so easily, without conflict.

Inwardly, Marinette scoffed. Outwardly, the girl gave her teacher a glowing smile in return.

 Marinette truly tried to be nice to Lila. Really, she did. Early on, the girl had learned that being nice was a better route when interacting with people who she didn’t know. Even if it was just a small smile, the noirette had always found success from kindness.

Lila was a sweet girl who had batted her eyes at her and given Marinette a small smile. The two had spent the first period of school passing notes and getting to know each other.

In all honesty, Marinette had no idea why the Italian girl next to her was branded a manipulative liar in her world. Then, during the break, Marinette saw what was going on.

When the rest of the class gathered to introduce themselves, Lila panicked. Then, Lila shifted her posture just slightly. She smiled a blinding smile that stood out to Marinette as obviously fake. She started interacting with the class, sickly sweet and subtly guiding them to beliefs.

Shaking her head, Marinette turned away. She had time during her break to call a certain someone. She needed more answers.

 “Clara! Hey… do you have a moment?” through the phone, Clara Nightingale, giggled.

“Of course, Marinette! What is going on with my favorite little cousin? Is everything ok?” the young teen hesitated, before shaking her head.

“I need you to tell me more about Lila Rossi” the dark look that crossed the singer’s face confirmed many of Marinette’s worries.

 When she sat down next to Chloé in the hotel restaurant for lunch, a look of pure disgust was dancing on her face. “this girl has filled a level of malice that I have never heard of. Chloé, she has manipulated every person of interest under the sun who doesn’t have the common sense to not listen to her bull shit. Chlo…this girl is vile. Clara told me what they had to do to sue her. One of the requirements of Lila not going to prison for a long time was getting a psych eval. Chloé…this girl is only fifteen! This is insane...” Chloé raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“Today it looked like you two were good friends. Or on the way there at least.” The noirette shook her head in disgust.

“she has some good traits, but as soon as she gets in front of the crowd…she abandons everything for power. I can't trust her, but it seems that she is under multiple restraining orders. I get the feeling that as long as we stay out of her webs, we should be fine. Jagged texted though. He said that Lila can be vicious if she is provoked.” Here, Marinette looked Chloé dead in the eye. “do not cause trouble. I don’t want you to have to go toe to toe with her, Chloé.”

 Six months later.

 Marinette is settled at her desk, the swivel chair reclined as she looked at the Blonde who was in her room, grinning.

“did she really ask you out?” Chloé’s excitement paired with her nosiness was making Marinette steadily turn Lady Tyche red. Turning back to her desk, Marinette tried to hide her flaming face.

“she asked me if I wanted to go out…like a date…before my birthday.” The noirette tugged slightly on her hair. Her anxiety that had been manifesting more and more at school was not helping her now. “I told Aurore yes. We haven’t set a date yet, but it’ll be soon.” Chloé raised an eyebrow.

“are you two going on your first date on Valentine’s day? Because Mari…I refuse to be best friends with someone so cliché.” The girl flamed a darker red if that was possible.

“I really like her Chlo. But…no. she asked about the 14th. I told her that I was going to spend time with my parents that day. Plus,” here, Marinette turned back to her friend with a Cheshire cat grin. “We,” She gestured between her best friend and herself, “have a standing date. we have for the last three years. Why would I break a pact we made when we were ten, over a girl I haven’t gone on one date with yet?” Chloé’s face broke into a matching grin.

“oh, hell yea. Then, I guess I could help you get ready for that first date of yours…” the friends broke down into giggles and started debating the merits of each of the outfits the young designer had in mind.

 That night on patrol, Lady Tyche alighted on the roof of one of the local lycées.

Her blonde hair whipped in the wind that had been howling all afternoon. Across the streets, the spotted hero was able to see a pair of blue luminous eyes. Using her yoyo to pull herself over the street, the girl smiled at the younger miraculous wielder.

When her red boots hit the roof, Apate handed the girl an unmarked bag. Inside was a pastry and a hot chocolate. Both girls knew they were in for a long night.

 Apate stood noiselessly and moved to the edge of the roof. As she stood there, profiled against the ridgeline, Lady Tyche smiled to herself. Her partner could be as vicious as she wanted when they were fighting Akumas, but the girl who stood in front of her was very kind.

The Cat vigilante, as she insisted she was no hero, had a pair of ears on her head.

They were flicking to and fro while she listened to the night below. Her hands were resting on her hips, one hand toying with the baton that was usually kept in a holster on her leg. The girl’s other hand was fiddling with a ring she had slid off her finger. The skintight black pants blended into the night. The black top she was wearing also seemed to disappear when Lady Tyche wasn’t looking for her partner.

Even now, with Apate being backlit by the city lights around them, the Tyche was the more visible of the two.

“She’s coming.” Apate’s voice broke her partner out of her thoughts. “Let’s hope tonight goes the way we want it to. Otherwise, we could be royally screwed.” The Hero nodded in agreement.

 “I trust Alya. She has been a good fit for Trixx so far.” Apate hmmed in response.

“I fear that our…favorite Italian…may be too close to her. I don’t our fox’s head full of lies and manipulations if I can help it at all.” Lady Tyche winced. She had heard all about Lila’s renewed attack on the allegiances of the class that her crush was in. the past few weeks had not been pretty.

  “No! That’s…you told Lila that I was going to be your first partner! Why did you lie to both me and your best friend! Everyone knows that Lady Tyche can’t do this alone anymore! She NEEDS Miss Vixen!” Lady Tyche closed her eyes and Alya’s rant ended with a yell. The anger simmering on the reporter’s face was worrying the hero.

“Alya. I have not told anyone about you. A few people have seen you training and on patrols. You ran the ‘exclusive’,” the disdain in Lady Tyche’s voice had Alya wincing. “but no one has confirmed anything. There is a good reason. The hope,” here, the Blonde teen’s voice turned cutting, “was that you could work in the shadows. There is only one visible member of this team, but I have never been alone. Tonight, and this attitude. Well, Alya, it has proven that you are not ready to be a holder of the miracle stones.”

The ladybug holder looked over to the roof next to where she and the trainee had been standing. There, in the shadows, were a pair of blue eyes. “go ahead, Apate. Wipe her memory of all of this.”

Seven months after Alya’s Miraculous is taken away. Two years after Hawkmoth started. Two years before A Moment in Time.

Aurore smiled at the girl holding her hand.

The two were walking home from their first day of Lycée. Aurore’s blonde hair fell around her shoulders as she turned to look at Marinette.

The 14-year-old, a certified genius, was glowing at the excitement that their first day of school had brought. Although she no longer was friends with Alya, there were no real hard feelings. The rift between the former classmates had made it easier to integrate Marinette and Aurore’s social circles. Claude, Allen, Chloé, Aurore, Mireille, Nino, Kim, Kagami, Felix.

Their group was full of laughter and life. They spent most of their weekends together, even over the summer. To everyone else, the group was the picture-perfect group of teens. Inseparable for life. Aurore had loved it for so long, had loved watching her girlfriend grow. Tonight, however, she had a feeling that the last half-year was going to be left in the past.

She and Marinette needed to have a talk.

 Chloé held her best friend as the girl cried.

The two had been sitting on the floor of the heiress’s hotel suit for the last hour and a half. When the small girl had shown up, wearing an old pair of Chloé’s sweats that had disappeared years ago, sniffling into the sleeves of the hoodie she was swamped in, the older girl’s big sister senses had gone off.

Now, as her friend started to calm down, Chloé shoved a pile of clothes at her friend.

“put these on, we are leaving.” Marinette glanced at her friend in confusion, before taking the clothes and slowly changing into the skinny jeans and loose grey top. A moment later, a green corduroy jacket was being flung at her by the blonde 16-year-old who had changed as well.

Quickly catching the jacket and sliding on the matching converse that Chloé had given her, Marinette stood to join her friend. Chloé picked up her purse and looked over the two.

While she had given her best friend a simple outfit that be comfortable for the train ride that her friend didn’t know was coming, Chloé had taken a minute longer before deciding to match her friend. Her jeans were light wash as opposed to dark, and she wore a fitted white t-shirt with a cartoon spider hiding in a red chrysanthemum. The red corduroy jacket was the same color as both the embroidery and her own red converse.

“Let's go, Minette. We are going to the country house. You can truly cry there. Horses await.”

 After Marinette and Aurore broke it off, the friends drifted apart. Kagami, Felix, Nino, and Kim refused to let the others blame the split on Marinette. Mireille, Claude, and Allen claimed that Marinette was more likely to be the cause. They couldn’t imagine Aurore doing anything to hurt the teen.

Chloé, Aurore, and Marinette kept their mouths shut over the whole debacle.

Chloé hadn’t heard the whole story, but she knew that Aurore had hurt her friend, and it had led to a discussion that led to the girls both walking away in tears.

It would only be years later that the girls would reveal that they had broken up because of the confusion around their secret identities.

 A week after the fateful breakup, Adrien Agreste pulled Marinette off to the side after class.

“Adrien are you ok?” the girl asked, confused. while usually, the two didn’t interact, Marinette had noticed that all day Adrien had been pale and shaking.

“I need help Marinette. Usually, I would go to Chloé, but last time she almost got Akumatized and I just…I need help. Please.”

“what’s up?” he glanced over his shoulder, to where a group of their classmates stood gathered around Lila.

“Not here, she can't know.” Marinette blinked in shock before grabbing the model lightly on the arm. After glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if it was ok to hold onto his arm, she took off through the halls.

 By the time the two had made it to the home of one Gina Dupain just outside of what Marinette knew to be Hawkmoths reach, the blonde was bewildered. “you know the city so well. How?” she giggled slightly at the older boy before leading him to the kitchen and dropping her bag on one of the breakfast seats.

“I get stir crazy and spend a lot of my time exploring the city. Alix and I go and do Graffiti on the weekends sometimes. That means I’m pretty good at evading sight when I don’t want to be seen.” While her statements were technically true, Marinette had also left out a great deal of information in her response.

She had spent most of her time exploring the city as Apate. She grew up on the streets and would forever feel comfortable slipping into the shadows. She did go out with Alix to do graffiti, but the two also spent a good amount of time jumping into burrows to fix world-ending events.

“now, Adrien, what is going on? If it's bad enough that you don’t want Chloé upset, I expect it to be worth the trip out of the Akuma line.” Adrien nodded nervously, before going into an explanation of what had been happening in the Agreste family home.

 Three years into Hawkmoth’s reign. Marinette’s 2nd year at Lycée

 Adrien spent as much time as possible with Chloe and Marinette.

He had shown up more than once during their girls’ nights. Now, he was expected to be there.

When they had left for the weekend, Adrien had disappeared from the Agreste Manor. When had reappeared in time to get in the car that Monday, he learned that the only person who had noticed he was gone was his bodyguard. The man had called him, before joining the teens on the outing.

While the friends were getting Adrien out from his father’s thumb, Marinette was launching her brand.

She had a discussion during the branding process because the symbol that she had chosen, a chrysanthemum, was incredibly complex. Her grandmother thought it was too much. Marinette had told the older woman that she was going to use the flower because that was the one with meaning to her. She spent three weeks fending off the woman, who sent her a different flower every day, until the girl told the woman that she wasn’t going to change her mind.

Her Grandmother, her Nona, had laughed and told her that she was very stubborn, but that this time it had worked in her favor. The teen had come home that evening to a leather Jacket lying on her bed, with her named arching over the back where a chrysanthemum was embroidered in full bloom.

At the same time that Marinette was officially launching her brand and Adrien was embracing his teen rebellion, Chloé was becoming an influencer on social media. On any day that she wasn’t spending time with her friends, the blonde was working to cultivate her social media image. At 17, she started to model on the side. When she was gone, her friends would get calls during every free moment she had.

Fourth-year of Hawkmoth's Reign. 

The three were friends with the other outcasts from their college class.

Kim and Nino were often seen with Marinette when she was out on a shopping spree or seeking inspiration. 

Alix and Marinette were close, and after she became guardian at 14, Marinette had given the Pinkett and crash course on the miraculous, since she had inherited one. The two would always be fond of jumping through time and space to face world-ending events.

Kagami had insisted that Adrien and his cousin Felix make up, and now the three were a force to be reckoned with. As they entered their last year of Lycée, the friends felt like they were on top of the world.

 There had been a project due that morning that Marinette had forgotten about until the night before.

She had been up all night and had gone through three different super coffees. She had been running late when she burst out the door of the apartment.

There was a mug of coffee that was clutched in her hands, and she wasn’t looking where she was going. The guy that she collided with looked how she felt.

While he was in a suit, they were both clutching coffee mugs that they had moved out of the way on instinct before throwing apologies over their shoulder and going on with their days.

Neither thought anything of it. They had other things to worry about.

Tim Drake and Marinette Dupain Cheng had no idea that their lives had changed permanently with that one interaction that had lasted less than a minute.

AND...3000+ words later, here we are! let me know if yall have any questions.

I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later so that I can start to build with other characters now. I had a lot of fun writing the backstory, and I have thrown Cannon out the window...obviously lol.

tag list!

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter @trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh  @susiej1118 @t1dwarrior-of-earth @sassakitty @remy-289 @laurcad123  @iamabrownfox @m0chick0furan

[babyflossy]

exposed | p.js

pairing: jisung x reader

requested: i’m working on loads of request atm but when i saw this i had to write it straight away lmao

summary: when dispatch reveals your secret realtionship with jisung to the public, the fans aren’t the only ones surprised.

warnings/genre: unedited, kinda just self-indulgent fluff, lots of words, not much happens

word count: 1.7k

a hand on your shoulder breaks you from your slumber, words already being spoken at you. in your sleepy haze, they floated straight through your head, mind still groggy from being woken up so suddenly. as soon as you recognise the voice as your manager’s,  your eyes snap open, meeting equally wide ones over the head of your manager. haemee, your leader, shoots you an apologetic look, something unsettling for so early in the morning.

“what happened?” the words are quiet and tired and your manager sighs in pity, handing over their phone. your eyes squint in response to the brightness, stomach dropping when your eyes finally focus on the news article.

BREAKING; DISPATCH REVEALS UQS’ Y/N AND NCT’S JISUNG ARE DATING.

the title is accompanied by three photos; one of you at a fansign, smiling at a fan, one of jisung waving at a camera in the airport, and then a blurring photo of two figures walking hand in hand through a park at night. the park you and jisung had visited two weeks ago. 

“there’s a meeting at the company. can you get ready quickly, please?” despite the ‘scandal’ and the stress your manager was most likely under, she shoots you a comforting smile and ruffles your hair before leaving, phone already ringing. 

as soon as you and haemee are left alone you reach for your phone, feeling the bed dip as she sits beside you. she rests a hand on your shoulder, rubbing her fingers down your back soothingly. your lockscreen in full of text messages. you thumb through them, seeing many from jisung, along with the other nct members you were close with. you ignored them all, only searching for the ones from your boyfriend.

jisungie <3: have you seen it yet?

jisungie <3: call me when you see this

jisungie <3: are you okay?

jisungie <3: i know you didn’t want ppl to find out like this

jisungie <3: let me know you’re okay plzzz x

“it’s gonna be fine, you know?” haemee’s hands abandon your shoulder and take your phone out of your grasp, tipping your chin so she can look at you. there’s still a smile on her face and you’re reminded of why she’s the group’s leader instead of anyone else; always able to keep things calm. “think about all the other idols that have dated. i bet the fans were expecting this, anyway.”

that was probably correct, you knew. ever since you and jisung had starred on a dancing show in america together, your social medias were full of edits of the two of you, compilations of your interactions from the vlogs you had filmed. as jisung wasn’t fluent in english you had translated for him and done the speaking whenever you ordered food, giving the fans loads of things to include in their edits.

the show had been fun and you had kept in close contact with jisung after it ended, eventually deciding to start dating after months of pining over each other. since then, only haemee, taeyong and the company knew, although you expected chenle knew as well due to the teasing you got whenever you met jisung outside of your training hours. 

when haemee left you to get ready you took your phone back, unlocking it and calling jisung as you flicked through your wardrobe, trying to find your hoodie. the call connected after the first ring, jisung’s voice echoing over the line and into your bedroom.

“are you okay?” although there was high chance you were about to be scolded for days, the worry in jisung made your heart beat just a little faster, a reluctant smile taking over your face. 

“i’m fine. what about you?” spotting the lilac hoodie at the end of your closet, you pulled your sleep shirt, jisung’s shirt, over your head, replacing it with the warm softness of the purple material. you followed it with a pair of jeans, slipping a face mask on after realising there would probably be reporters outside the SM building already.

“yeah, i’m fine now. i freaked out at first, though,” he chuckled, shouts coming through from his end. “jaemin came in screaming about how he was so betrayed i didn’t tell him, i had no idea what he was talking about.”

“what’d you think is gonna happen?”

there was a pause before he spoke and you had time to grab your bag, throwing in your headphones and a spare mask along with a pair of sunglasses incase. “i’m not sure, taeyong said he’s hopeful, though. so it might not be that bad. it’s not like the company’s finding out about it, though, so it might just be press and stuff.”

“yeah, i hope so. i’ll see you in fifteen minutes i guess,” before you left the safety of your bedroom, you reached for the bucket hat hanging from the corner of your chair, pulling it over your face to hide your eyes. you looked ridiculous, like you were planning to rob a bank, but you guessed it was better than the alternative; hundreds of photos released of your sleep-deprived, drooping eyes.

no one else in the dorm is awake and you’re able to slip out the front door before haemee catched you again, taking a deep breath before heading outside to the car waiting. as it’s just you and your manager, you’re able to sit in the front seat, something you would normally be ecstatic about but due to circumstance it feels lonely and cold. not a word is spoken until the car reaches the entrance to the SM building, throngs of people with cameras waiting outside the front door.

“we’ll go in the back entrance.” you manager says with a frown, eyeing the reporters with concern. “god, it’s impossible to get any privacy nowadays.”

after security escorts you through the back door, pushing reporters out the way when they got too close, you can finally breath properly. for the most part you ignored their questions, signing the first song that comes to mind in your head to distract yourself. ironically, it’s chewing gum, and you realise with resentment it’s going to be stuck in your head throughout the meeting.

upstairs, taeyong and jisung sit on the opposite side of a glass table, two seats left open for you and your manager. their manager stands and motions for him and your manager to talk privately outside, leaving you with the two boys. you take off your hat as you sit down, pulling you mask down so you can talk properly. jisung’s tired eyes crinkle with a smile when you do, a smile you return eagerly.

for a moment you see taeyong think over what to say in his head, trying to find the right words for the situation. eventually, he settles on what your own leader had already told you. “i’m sure this will be fine,” and as if he realises how cliche his words are, he adds “in the end.”

“in the end? what’s that supposed to mean?” jisung tears his eyes away from you to look at the older boy.

“well, i mean, it’s gonna be a big deal at the start,” he states matter of factly, eyes switching between the two of you. the voice he uses is just as level and calm as the one haemee uses whenever she’s trying to sort something out, it must be a universal thing. “the press and the fans will go crazy for a bit, let alone everyone you didn’t tell.”

the reminder makes you dread going back home, knowing the rest of your members will blow this way out of proportion. you were the youngest, and they always managed to be overdramatic whenever it came to you ‘growing up’ as they had put it so many times. none of them knew you were dating jisung, and you could already picture the gloomy pouts you would get for the next few weeks.

after your managers returned, a few more staff entered, filling the last few seats and closing the door, successfully locking you in. they talked for what felt like hours, only occasionally asking you or jisung a question. they decided the easiest thing would be to just come out and admit it, allowing you and jisung a moment to disagree. you locked eyes for a moment, having a silent conversation between yourselves. you raised you eyebrows in question, taking the minuscule nod he sent your way to be the go-ahead.

“i don’t see why not,” you answered for the both of you, smiling at your manager who nodded in agreement back at you.

you don’t get a chance to say goodbye to jisung properly before you leave the building, the staff ushering you in opposite directions to get your schedules for the day started. in the car on the way back to the dorms you send him a text promising to facetime when you both have time, mentally preparing yourself for the confrontation from your members.

“you’re dating jisung?” is the first thing you hear when the front door opens, closely followed by “why didn’t you tell us?” which is swiftly followed by “i can’t believe you’re the first one to date anyone, it’s not fair.”

“that’s mean.” you smile back at the oldest, laughing at the disbelieving smiles covering their faces. “why are you guys so surprised? you didn’t think i could do it?”

“whatever, but, why didn’t you tell us?”

“in my defense, the company told us not to tell anyone.”

for the next few days, your group’s twitter was hectic. you trended on twitter for nearly a solid day, photos and edits and memes of you and jisung together filling your timeline. there were the negative comments, obviously, from jealous fans of both fandoms, some even claiming you should both be removed from your respective groups. they were easy to ignore when the positive comments and the text messages from your boyfriend outweighed them astronomically.

jisungie <3: as much as i hate to say it.. taeyong was right x

a/n: if you got this far im acc proud of you lmao i rlly dont like this but it's been a kinda mentally exhausting day for me so im gonna post anyway and edit tomorrow x

[harringtonstudios]

best friend’s ex.

plot: he’s your best friend’s ex and you should stay away. 

A/N: i wrote this in one sitting and it’s very long <3 took some creative liberty here so imagine 2020!kells but he hasn’t made it just quite yet in the industry. this is heavily based off the song release tonight with blackbear so enjoy (maybe while listening!)

masterlist!

The circles in New York are different than the ones in Los Angeles. There’s a hint of familiarity in the New York circles, everyone seems to know each other connected by one person or a distant story of that one night the whole crowd tripped on molly. It’s dizzying, intricately knowing every single person backstage or at some club without recognizing them exactly.

You haven’t gotten used to the life, not yet acclimated with the high-fives and looks thrown your way at a party, or the nameless phone numbers crowding your text messages. It’s all new, fun and exciting and you have no one to thank but your best friend.

She’s made for this life, for the late nights and the rushes, the sticky floors and glittery lipgloss. This is her environment, where she thrives, and sometimes when you look at her in the club, necklaces shining with the overhead lights, you find it hard to connect this Domi to the one who you’ve seen crying on your bedroom floor after watching a despairing animal shelter commercial. But then she throws you a grin, crowds close, drapes her arm over your shoulder, and it just makes sense.

It’s been years of friendship, ever since you two met at freshman orientation for college. Her roommate was terrible, and more often than not, she’d be camping out on your twin-sized bed, offering you bites of her snacks in exchange for a safe haven. You both hadn’t really been into the party scene at school, too busy scrambling for reports and fibbing results for the endless lab sessions.

Domi graduated a semester early, spent an entire summer taking accelerated classes so she could go fly off to New York right before the new year started. That’s when things seemed to change. You’d been upset with her, hints of jealousy tinging in when she’d send you pictures of fancy clothes and people she was hanging out with, the nicely decorated venues she’d find herself in. She invited you to come to the city a few weeks in, buzzing on Facetime about backstage passes.

Then you were graduating yourself, packing two suitcases and jetting halfway across the country to live in the shitty apartment Domi’d been renting out with a couple of strangers. It had been hard to settle down at first, the air was different in the city and you’d had to up your resting bitch face game when you sat on the subways late at night, but before you knew it, you were enjoying the city that never sleeps, best friend right by your side.

Colson had stumbled into your life a year ago, and then been ripped out six months after. He was a up and coming musician (self-proclaimed) and had taken a chance bet on the city, moved from Cleveland with his friends and a mixtape. He was beautiful in a rugged way, angled cheekbones and lanky limbs, but Domi had taken one look and called dibs, so you tampered any attraction down.

It hadn’t taken long for them to start dating, even if Domi claimed they were just fooling around, it was clear to see that there was some level of intimacy there, a relationship itching to be formed. You’d been happy for her truly and it was easier than you’d expected to fall into a camaraderie with the guys.

Colson’s friends were funny, quick on their toes and absolutely chaotic. They fit into New York better than you did, and almost every single night, you would find yourself at their apartment, playing shitty drinking games and jamming to loud music.

Domi kept the relationship as lowkey as she could, and at some point, you would hear less and less about Colson. It didn’t really hit you then, but it was the beginning of the end in a way, and then she was walking in, eyes red and wet before yelling out the fated words, “We broke up.”

Everything you had gotten used to was suddenly taken away. You spent weeks consoling her, reminding her that she was better than this guy, stronger and that time was the only way this would heal. She begrudgingly listened, and then took your phone from you, casually blocking Colson’s number along with all his friends.

At first, you’d been mildly upset. She was the one who’d fucked up, the one who’d decided to break up with him, so why was this effecting you? It didn’t make sense, they were still your friends and you liked them more than anyone else you’d met here.

But then she’d given you her patented puppy dog eyes, and you’d dismissed it, decided that if this was what she wanted, so be it. You could stand to lose the drunken nights, your liver would thank you.

Colson Baker and his friends disappeared from your life as fast as they had appeared into it. You spent your nights cooking at home instead of going out, focused on building back your sleep schedule instead of getting drunk off your mind, and the days went by.

-

Of course, nothing lasts forever and six months later, your coworkers’ are begging you for a night out, like the old times. Everyone’s antsy for your reply, know that you haven’t been to a social function with them in ages, and you take one look at their faces before sighing and agreeing.

The entire office claps, you flip them all off before catching sight of your boss, who simply smiles and shakes his head. There’s a faint flutter in your stomach, memories rising from months ago, parties and late nights, flashes of lights and thumping music. You shrug it off, tap your pen against the desk, bring your focus back to work.

Three hours later, you’re catching the train back home. It isn’t exactly rush hour yet, you’ve gotten out a little earlier than usual, Friday evenings usually being dull at work anyway and you’re glad because there’s less people mulling around in the sticky heat of the train station.

The station doesn’t smell great, there’s a tinge of stale pee filling up the air and you discreetly move to the other side of the station, trying to get as far away from the smell as you can. New York City man.

The train pulls in, and you automatically put in your headphones, music blasting in your ears as you sidle into the train car, passing the passengers coming out. It’s relatively empty, being near the front and you thank the train gods before sliding into an orange seat near the door.

There’s a couple of guys sitting at the other end, they’re loud and boisterous, shoving each other and you give them a once-over before settling into the seat. The train moves, and you pull your purse onto your lap, patting it once before letting your eyes fall close.

The next stop comes abruptly, jolting you out of the little dreamscape you’d created. There’s a shout as the doors open and you pause your music trying to tune into what’s going on. It’s still the group of guys, but now there’s more of them and you roll your eyes at the banter drifting across the car.

The music starts up again and you lean your head back, try to get comfortable again, but it doesn’t work. There’s a weird feeling in your gut, making you uneasy but you brush it off, raise the volume until all you can feel is the dirty bass.

A minute later, someone kicks at your shoes and you open your eyes, ready to angrily scold at them until they can feel the rage across the car.

The words die in your throat. Colson Baker’s standing there in all his glory, lanky arm leaning against the metal, blonde hair puffing around his head, grin lighting up his face.

His nose is pierced now and you take it in, the way it brings out his eyes and you pause the music mumbling out, “Nose ring looks good on you.”

You bite your tongue right after, embarrassed that after months of silence that’s the first thing that falls out of your mouth. He laughs, body shaking and you’re flashed back to nights in his apartment, watching him laugh on the other couch, head thrown back.

“Thanks,” he murmurs before going, “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you answer honestly and there’s another shout from across the car, Colson turning to wave a hand.

“It’s the guys. They didn’t think it was you, but I could tell yanno,” he explains and you raise your eyebrows as he continues, “They’re all still kinda pissed you blocked us.”

The statement falls between you two, awkwardly as the train car rumbles on. You wince a little as he fake coughs to fill the empty space.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about all that man. You guys were like family,” you carefully mention, hands playing with the hair tie on your wrist.

“It’s cool. I get it, I mean we both know Domi,” he stammers out and his own hand goes to rub at his chin.

This conversation isn’t what either of you expected and you shift up in your seat, trying to change the topic at the mention of your best friend.

“So what’ve you been up to?” you ask and he smiles at the gateway question, eager to get rid of the uncomfortable energy.

“Got signed to a record label,” he murmurs and the smile that takes over your face is unreal. There’s pride blooming in your chest.

“No way!! Oh my god, congrats dude. That’s killer,” you gush out and his cheeks taint red at your words.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes meeting yours.

“I knew you’d do it. You’re immensely talented,” you continue on as the train comes to a stop.

It’s not yours but it seems to be his. The guys all shout over at him and he’s looking up and then gazing at you, caught between the two options before he makes up his mind.

He doesn’t choose you, you’re not surprised.

“I appreciate you!” he shouts out before running off the car, joining the rest of the guys on the station.

You turn in your seat and wave at them, catching a couple of glares and hesitant waves back before the car pulls away, to the next destination.

The music starts up again and you will your heart to slow down for reasons you can’t even comprehend.

-

Domi gives you a look as you rush into your room. Usually after work, you spend time in the kitchen, milling around grabbing little snacks as she cooks, but you actually have plans tonight.

It’s the first time you’re going out in months and you take a quick shower before pulling out all the old outfits you’d shoved into the back of your closet.

There’s a nice dress, black with faint traces of glitter and you eye it for a second before deciding against it. This is a fun night with the coworkers, not your insane best friend who’d always managed to get you to dress your very best.

There’s a pair of skinny jeans tossed into a dresser, and you eye the rips in it before pulling it on. It looks good, tight in all the right places and you root around for a shirt that can be just fancy enough.

There’s a nice purple one tossed in the closet, slipping off of a hanger and you grab it before pulling it on and tying it up in the front.

It’s pretty, makes you look just right and you play around with your hair before sitting down and committing to a makeup look.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re throwing your keys, a pack of gum, gloss and your phone into a small purse. It hangs off of your wrist and you take a look in the mirror before stepping out of your room.

“Where are you going?” Domi asks, her tone slightly cold.

“Night out. Coworkers invited me and I couldn’t say no,” you explain, running your hands down the jeans.

“Oh,” her face falls.

“Do I-look good?” you ask hesitantly.

“Yeah. You always do bitch,” she half-heartedly adds and you smile at her.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you say, grabbing a carrot from the countertop.

“I’ll wait up,” she smirks and you nod before heading out the door.

The club’s only a few stops away and when you swipe your metro card again, you groan at how low the funds are running. You haven’t filled it just yet, and the $1.25 flashes up at you, taunting.

“I’m poor,” you scoff at the machine and the girl swiping next to you laughs.

You get in somehow, sneakily using the swinging baby stroller door and by the time the train pulls up, you’re only running a few minutes late.

It only hits you when you sink into the familiar orange seat that you didn’t tell Domi about running into her ex. You know she doesn’t care as much about Colson now, scorchingly refers to him as that one rapper, but it’s an unspoken rule. You always tell if you run into the ex.

Your fingers tap against your phone screen, wondering if texting her is appropriate but you drop it quickly. It’s not a big deal. You’ll just let her know when you get home tonight.

The doors open, you leave and then you’re stalking towards the club doors, eyeing the long line. The bouncer is staring everyone down, and you wade up to the front. You’ve learned enough tricks in the short party lifestyle you’d had.

“I’m with the VIPs,” you flash your ID and then a $5 discreetly tucked under it. He looks you up and down, grumbles slightly before taking the money from you.

The rope opens and you smile before stepping through into the dark. It’s loud inside already, the lights contrasting the slight evening colors from outside. You look around before you spot the team and walk over to them.

“Hey!!!” they exclaim and then you’re being handed a glass, cheering the night as everyone drinks it down.

It’s tequila, stings in the back of your throat and you cough before wiping your mouth, “God, I haven’t had this in so long.”

“See that’s why we needed you out tonight,” one of them goes, checking your shoulder with theirs. You laugh before agreeing and order your drink of choice, chiming into the conversation.

It’s going so well, the night seems to be twinged with good vibes. You feel nice and loose, arm draped over your nearest friend as you two sway at the songs playing.

There’s a commotion at the door and you guys turn towards the bouncer only to see people scuffling around, pushing to get closer.

“Hey dude! I’m playing tonight. Musical guest here!!!” comes a loud voice, and it rings familiar in your head. It’s faint, digging somewhere into the back of your mind and you get on your tip-toes trying to see.

“Fuck you,” someone else spits and it echoes around the club.

The crowd splits open then, and you get a glimpse at old friends, adjusting their hats as they stalk across to the stage.

Rook’s fuming as he walks past you, and you spot the tell-tale crease on his face, the grit of his teeth. It scares you, the memory of it all after late night game losses, the way he would blow a gasket about cheating.

Slim and Baze wander behind him, they seem cooler, always are, but the anger is brimming under and you look away as they pass you.

AJ isn’t there and you guess he’s already in the club. He’s always been the sensible one, stable and ready to take control of the situation when it inevitably turns bad.

Colson’s following the rest but his eyes are on the crowd, hand going out to meet people, smiling at everyone. There’s a faint cut on his lip, blood trickling out and you want to scream at him. He comes up around to where you’re standing, and you step back, let your coworkers high five him as he passes.

He doesn’t see you, it’s better that way.

You order up another drink, ignore the whispers of the pesky rapper as they fill up the air around you. He’s well known here apparently, people aware of him in the scene. They mumble about the fights, the way he never seems to show up without a cut or bruise.

You take a shot, sip at the alcohol, smile fading as your coworker ravishes on about how good looking the musician is.

It takes about twenty minutes, and then the music shuts off. There’s a squeal of microphone feedback and everyone around you ducks, hands rushing up to cover their ears.

“Fuck,” a mumble comes across the sound system.

There’s another shuffle and your friend grabs your arm, pulling you closer to the stage. There’s already people there, milling around, clutching drinks and you try to stay on the sidelines, out of view.

“We should go closer,” he determines and then you’re being pulled forward again, swimming around in the second row.

Colson is standing front and center in all his glory. The shitty lighting makes him glow, and he looks big, energy filling him up. He pulls the mic off the stand and steps back before going, “Afternoon. We are Machine Gun Kelly.”

The name isn’t familiar. You don’t know it and quite frankly, it doesn’t place anywhere either but that’s all you get before the music starts up. It’s weird, a pace you don’t expect from him and then he’s off, singing with a grit in his voice, fingers flying across a guitar draped over his shoulder.

Everyone seems to bob along in the crowd and you do too, losing yourself in the way he sounds, the tone of his voice as he croons. The music is great, drums harsh and strong, guitar loud behind the vocals.

The set’s over quick and you’re slightly sweating by the end of it. He thanks the crowd before jumping off stage, and you immediately retreat back to the bar, anxious to steer clear of him.

Even in your drunken state of mind, it’s a bright red flashing light: Stay away from Colson. Stay away from the guys.

You switch to water for a while, try to stop your head from spinning with the lights. Everyone you came with is somewhere on the dance floor, so when an arm drapes on your shoulders, you freeze up, still facing the bar.

“Hey,” and then you’re looking up at Slim’s face, sweaty and eager.

“Slim,” you breathe out, vice in your chest loosening at the fact that it isn’t Colson. You don’t know why this is better, but it is.

“What’re you drinking?” he asks, hand going up to call over the bartender.

You don’t have the heart to say water, know that he’ll laugh and then get you a beer, so you murmur, “Get me a shot of vodka?”

His smile widens and he shouts the drink order over the counter before dropping his arm, “You sipping the hard stuff now?”

Shaking your head, you respond, “I’ve always drank the hard stuff.”

“Yeah, back when we hung out,” he slips into the banter, and your heart stops. You didn’t realize it had hurt them this bad, that months later, drunk and high off of a good show, Slim still manages to bring it up, voice tightening slightly.

“Look, I’m sorry about all that. I really am,” you start, but then he’s passing you the drink and locking arms.

“Cheers,” he says and you clink your shot glass against his, tipping it back.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out but he throws you a look.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says and then he’s shouting out, “Yo Kells!”

It clicks into place then, the Machine Gun Kelly. It’s his nickname, has been for years apparently since he was rapping in middle school hallways, but he’d always introduced himself as Colson to new friends, let them decide whether the Kells fit him or not.

You hadn’t called him Kells once, in the months of knowing him, had laughed about it a couple of times with Domi, who loved to mock it any chance she could.

“You stalking me?” Kells sleazes out, there’s already a drink in his hand, someone following him around with bright eyes.

“No,” you state, moving away from the counter. The red lights are in full effect, this could end up terribly.

“Seems like it,” he sums up, coming in closer to lean against the bar. His lip is still cut, looks swollen as he approaches you.

“You fucked up your lip,” you state, mind cursing at the lack of filter you seem to have around your best friend’s ex.

“What?” he goes, and then his fingers are rubbing at the fat lip, eyes scrunching, “Guess I did.”

“Well it was nice to see you again,” you try.

“I just got here, you leaving already?” he murmurs, brushing off the person following him.

Slim’s moved to the other end of the bar, Rook’s throwing you a glare.

“Don’t think your friends want me around,” you nod over.

He turns his head and makes some kind of motion. Rook drops his eye contact, head going to duck at the bar. Slim smiles.

“They don’t know what’s good for them,” he mumbles, head turning back. His fingers tap at the bar, and there’s a beer appearing. He smiles at the bartender.

“I’m good for them?” you scoff, there’s a hint of bitterness at your tone, but it’s not directed exactly at them. It isn’t their fault.

“Always have been. The good influence when we would try and do stupid shit,” he says thoughtfully. He’s almost as drunk as you, eyes slightly red.

You laugh at that, “You’re always doing stupid shit. Great set by the way, impressed the fuck out of me.”

“You didn’t expect it?” he says as if you were supposed to have known all his songs by heart.

“I haven’t heard any of your music,” you honestly reply.

“Not even the mixtapes?” he seems shocked.

“No, Domi never sent them to me and you all just assumed so,” you stop yourself, falling into dangerous territory.

At the name drop of his ex, he winces a little, “God she was a fucking head-case.”

“Hey that’s my best friend you’re talking about,” you shout a little too loud. You catch Slim slamming a hand onto Rook’s shoulder. The air becomes stifled.

“Sorry,” Colson offers, taking a long, pointed sip.

You sigh, “Don’t be. She can be a little much sometimes. I’m sorry for how it all ended.”

“You should hang with us tonight,” he calmly says, switching the subject. Your breath catches in your throat.

“I don’t know-“ you start.

He cuts you off, “I get it. If you want, we’ll be here for a while. Find us.”

That’s all you get and then he’s walking towards the gang, slipping into the crowd. You drop your head onto the shell covered bar, groaning out.

-

The night dwindles down, your coworkers trickle out, slamming messy kisses on your face before walking out. You’re left by yourself soon enough and there’s a pulsing in your head, matching the music vibrating under your shoes.

It doesn’t take long to decide. You want to hang out with Colson and them, with Machine Gun Kelly. It’s a bad idea, you can tell before you’ve even fully determined it, but it’s as if fate’s lined everything up for you. It’s gonna happen.

You push away the nagging thoughts, wander around the club trying to find someone, coming up empty. Everyone seems to have left and you roll your eyes before stepping out yourself. Maybe fate doesn’t want this to happen.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you spot Rook across the street, blunt in hand. He hasn’t seen you, looking down at his shoes but you know him well and if he’s around it means the others are close by.

You brace yourself, work up some form of courage and walk over. He looks up at the sound and there’s immediate dislike flashing across his face.

Out of everyone, Rook’s been the most temperamental. You’d thought it was going to be Colson at first glance, but were quickly proven wrong by his friend, by the harshness of his demeanor at times. He doesn’t hide his feelings, and while you respect that, you’re also intimidated by his posturing.

“Hey Rook,” you mumble.

“Y/N,” he bluntly states.

“How have you been?” you try, but immediately know it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Cut the shit. What’d you want?” he bites out, eyes hard.

“Was wondering if I could catch a ride with you guys?” you question. 

AJ usually drives them around, his black van large enough for the gang, and his self control strong enough to stay sober. You don’t know if it’s changed since the last time everyone hung out, but you’re hoping it hasn’t for the sake of your almost empty metrocard.

“Why’d you think we drove here?” he’s shrugs, giving you a hard time, and you shake your head wondering if your pride is worth this.

“Never mind dude,” you turn around but then he’s groaning behind you.

“Yeah we’ll take you back home. Kells’ kill me if I let you walk around here drunk. C’mon,” he says and you try to hide your smile as you follow him.

He takes a few more hits before tossing his blunt to the ground, and you’re glad he hasn’t offered you any. It would be too forgiving of him, too close to what you all used to be, and you wouldn’t know what to do if it came to that. Domi would kill you, hell she’d kill you if she knew you were getting into a car with them right now.

He stops in front of the familiar van, opens the door with force and everyone’s shouting inside, clambering over each other. You almost smile at the chaos, the familiarity of it all.

“Y/N!” Colson’s shouting and you do smile then. He slumps over long limbs and comes over to the door, reaching his hand out to you.

“You coming with us?” he asks and you nod before Rook mutters, “She needs a ride home.”

Colson purses his lips before looking back over at you, hand still outstretched, “Yeah, c’mon in. AJ got you.”

It’s late, later than you should be out and there’s a reminder that Domi’s waiting for you back home, wants to hear about your night. Your resolve flickers the minute his hand wraps around yours.

He tugs you in the van, and you follow, stepping in before they all scatter around, making enough space. There’s another girl with them, someone you don’t remember meeting or knowing but she smiles at you and curls into Rook’s side.

The music in the van is almost as loud as in the club, filling up the space. You wonder, not for the first time, how AJ drives like this, how he casually sings along, fist bumping the rest of the guys after a song.

Before you know it, there’s a blunt being passed around. Colson skips you on the first round, and you try not to let it hurt, remind yourself that you’ve stung them harder than this, hurt them worse.

He leans into your space after handing it off, whispers, “You still don’t smoke right?”

There’s a painful twist in your stomach at his question. When you all first met, you wouldn’t smoke blunts with them, hesitant about the strain and Domi’s eyes on you. She hated weed, despised the smell and would always remind you of that fact before you’d all spend the night out.

After the breakup, she’d loosened up on that, didn’t care if you smoked out on the fire escape, and sometimes even joined in, it was weird. Weirder than the fact that Colson somehow remembered all this months later.

“I do,” you whispered back, licking your lips, “smoke I mean.”

“Oh,” he softly says and then the blunt’s coming back around. He barely takes a hit before handing it off to you, pushing your hand slightly with his fist.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smoking it in. It’s strong, brings an immediate rush. You close your eyes.

When you open them, Colson’s too close to you. The red lights flash hard in your head and then the car’s stopping in front of their building.

You don’t even hesitate, “Is it wrong if I come up with you?”

His eyes look into yours, it’s quiet enough that you feel the weight of your statement sink in. This is bad, so bad.

He doesn’t say anything but everyone around you is moving, pulling off instruments and slamming doors. He carefully takes your hand, pulls the blunt out from your other one.

“AJ, we’re gonna chill for a while,” he says, towards the front seat, giving him the blunt. There’s a hum and then he’s opening the door, pulling you out just as he’d pulled you in.

For a second, you hesitate and then you’re falling into him. His arm wraps around your hips, pulls you back up on the sidewalk.

“You okay?” his voice is quiet, the world still moves around you both but it feels like you’re the only two people who matter.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Wanna go home?” he says, and the words hit you for a second before you shake your head.

“No, this is cool,” you tongue out.

You’re both walking into the building then, satisfied with your answers. The manager gives you a once over at the front desk but that’s all before Colson’s thumbing the elevator button.

“What about everyone else?” you murmur.

He looks at them unloading the van and lets out a laugh, fingers tightening slightly against yours as he shakes, “They’re gonna be busy a while.”

You laugh back, try to tamper down the feeling of seeing him full-body laugh for the second time that day. The elevator dings and you step in, he follows.

It’s the same damn elevator as it was six months ago, but there’s something different in the air right now. It’s staticky, thrumming through you and it feels like you’re stumbling right on the edge of something.

The doors close, it’s just you and him. The feeling gets stronger, his fingers loosen against yours. You grip harder and he looks up straight into your eyes.

The door dings open again and he huffs a little, “Forgot to click the button.”

You smile but it feels thin. Your brain is flashing wrong, flashing red, screaming Domi’s name, but your heart is racing, pounding against your chest.

You screw your eyes shut.

He hits the button, the elevator starts going and you step closer to him. His back is against the elevator wall and there’s a calm look on his face, but you can tell he’s nervous, can feel it in the clamminess of his palm where it’s sticking to yours.

“I’m going to kiss you,” you blurt and you don’t even have time to regret the words before he’s pushing into you, lips finding yours within seconds.

They’re warm and softer than you expected. He lets out a groan as you kiss back, and you’re reminded of his cut, the swollen lip he’s sporting now. You move back, rest your forehead against his.

“Sorry, your lip,” you attempt to explain, but he shakes his head, forehead sliding across yours, twisting it.

“I like it,” he mumbles and you smile before kissing him again, feeling his arm wrap around you, pull you closer.

It’s the first time you’ve kissed him, he’s strictly off limits, a forbidden idea, but it feels like everything has suddenly fallen into place. The warning signs dissolve into bursts of serotonin as he makes little sounds, pressed up with your mouth.

The door dings open. You break apart and step out. Is kiss drunk a thing, or are you losing your mind? He grins at you, pulls your joined hands up for a soft kiss brushing on your knuckles.

Your heart flutters right then. If you’re losing your mind, you’re glad it’s with him. Dealing with the aftermath is something you’ll do later, so you push all thoughts of Domi and her complications aside and follow him straight into his apartment, consequences be damned.

-

taglist:  @iamdorka @no-shxt-sherl @bakerkells @findingmyths @rosegoldrichie​ @mayaslifeinabox​ @itjustkindahappenedreally @hnbtx @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​ @sophroniaa​ @enchantedamusedslightlyconfused​ @calum-defense-squad​

[techmomma]

I made big progress with my trauma recovery the other day! I’m really proud of doing a very hard thing, and honestly doing so made me feel so much better.

Said growth involves realizing some unfun things, so y’know, look out for that under the read more, even if I consider this a hopeful, uplifting realization by the end. Christ this is long, have fun reading this word wall.

So I essentially lived in a bitter divorce household. Y’know, when the two parents have an awful, agonizing divorce that pits the kids’ loyalties against each parent and each other and themselves.

I grew up in that. Except they never actually divorced. Or separated. Not till after I’d moved out, anyway. So 20+ years of living in a household where my parents flip-flopped between “trying to make it work” and “screaming at each other and bitterly trying to corral their kids in this us-vs-them, me vs your other parent toxic tug of war.”

Why didn’t they divorce? Codependency and religious pressure because both were previous divorcees, one was an excommunicated catholic because of this, and the other was a narcissist who couldn’t admit defeat and made a promise to god to make it work for fear of the shame that would come from failing again! What a winning pair! Who definitely did not mutually cheat on one another and then act scandalized and eternally vindictive about this.

Anyway, what this meant for Steph’s psyche was every day was an eternal battleground of loyalty tests. Any disagreement was disloyalty. Saying the wrong thing could be taken as disloyalty. Yet, y’know. You don’t want to be disloyal to the other parent that you love. You don’t wanna throw them under the bus. You just wanna say what you saw happened.

Which meant every answer became this tightrope of not only validating and appeasing one parent’s ego, but also finding the diplomatic thing to say so as not to implicate the other parent, or get that parent in trouble, or appear disloyal because that too could come around to bite you in the ass. Sometimes we agreed with what one parent was saying, but taking issue with a small part or one aspect? This was seen as fully disagreeing and being disloyal.

You can imagine the pressure this put on an already socially-awkward kid, ages 4-20, to find the exact correct thing to say. It rarely worked out.

But I figured out a clever loophole early on: if I shut down, if I didn’t make a peep, if I said not one word—sure. That parent would be mad at me for not responding. They’d be made I wasn’t saying anything. They might yell louder, or guilt me, or threaten me with some form of humiliation.

But not saying anything was so, so much better than any alternative. Never once did speaking up end well.

If you know about pavlovian training, you can probably quickly see the conditioning that was set in. Parent would state an opinion, about anything. Give validation. Parent looks for validation about shitty feelings about other people? Don’t say a peep, let parent be mad, and eventually they’ll either get so frustrated they give up, or they say their piece and get whatever was on their chest off of it. Either way, they leave me alone. Maybe after three hours of screaming at me, but three hours could turn into six if I made them more mad by disagreeing or seeming disloyal.

And for the record, when I talk about loyalty, I’m not saying they were asking about actual loyalty. They wanted me to agree with their opinions. They wanted me to be on their side, their ally, no matter what the other parent said. It was all or nothing. “You’re with me or against me.”

Made all the more complicated that sometimes, if you seemed disloyal to the other parent, the supposed “enemy” in the situation, the first parent might berate you for that too. “How could you talk about your mother/father that way? How could you say those things?” Despite having been saying worse things minutes before.

They were volatile. The smallest, stupidest things could become full-blown arguments that could last for hours, at the top of their lungs. After which they might turn that to us, the kids, to get out whatever was left in their system I guess. Small questions, statements, became tests. Answer wrong, and there would be hell to pay. The most innocuous things could become loyalty tests. But most of all, the most discerning tests came when they were complaining about the other. When Dad complained about Mom, and when Mom complained about Dad. “Agree with me,” they said between lines, “Are you on my side? Aren’t they terrible?”

I just wanted to love both of my parents. I never wanted to choose.

My epiphany came when I realized that when others seek comfort from me, when looking for validation during shitty events or people being mean to them—y’know, normal things people do with friends—I was having emotional flashbacks. I was being triggered into a state of trauma, my brain receding to that familiar shutdown state. Terrified that whatever I say to comfort them, whatever I say to help them feel better, would be taken as a loyalty test. To voice even slight disagreement could be disloyalty.

My friends had never tested me. But my brain was reacting so firmly and my body so wholly that I had no idea. I try to be aware of my emotional states and how my body reacts but this shutdown response has just been so normal for so long, and such a large bodily feeling, that I never noticed what it was. And it wasn’t until watching a video about this type of situation, feeling like you have to validate someone not necessarily from a place of concern but of fear, that I realized what was happened.

I realized how deep the rabbit hole went. This has been happening for decades. At work, when coworkers would complain or even just chat normally about other coworkers, my brain was shutting down out of fear that my loyalty was being tested, I was being scrutinized for disagreement. When customers talked about my coworkers, my brain was shutting down, terrified to say the wrong thing and either disagree with said customer or throw my coworker under the bus. I shut down when friends talk about other friends, when people talk about other people and maybe I agree, but there’s an aspect or idea in the situation that I don’t agree with, or maybe I’m just seeing things differently from an outside perspective.

But every time, I was terrified. I was so scared that my brain returned to trauma, returned to that shutdown state from childhood (and some adulthood), because shutting down, previously, had always yielded the better result. Staying quiet, keeping my head empty and my thoughts blank, kept me safe for twenty years.

And now I can’t hear other people talking in a room without returning to that same shutdown state, for fear that they are arguing and I will be forced to choose between people. To love one friend more than another. Forced to pick a side, forced to soothe their emotions because if I don’t, things will be so many times worse. Heaven forbid they have disagreeing opinions, even if they’re calmly sorting them out, communicating in a healthy way. God help me if they’re actually arguing. I can’t think, I can’t even speak sometimes, voice pulled tight like I’m being strangled; I can’t even squeak out a sound. It hurts too much. It hurts so much.

Sometimes I can hear people through my earbuds or headphones and all I can do is lay on my bed and plug my ears with my fingers as tight as possible and try to hum a song, try to force a mantra to drown out the sound as I desperately try to soothe myself with some kind of stim, even if it’s just rocking side to side on the bed.

I knew I had problems with listening to people disagreeing. But I realized the other day how deep the rabbit hole goes. How often, daily sometimes, I’ve been having emotional flashbacks. How thoroughly this has been effecting my life, my relationships, my sanity.

It’s been so exhausting. Realizing how many things connect back to this central issue of toxic loyalty that I grew up with, how thoroughly engrained this trauma is in my life. Realizing I’ve been having emotional flashbacks almost every day, for decades.

I’m so tired.

But I’m really glad I did. It’s putting a name to the beast. I am finally getting to the heart of an issue that was so much larger than I originally thought but in turn, there is so much potential to truly grow and heal. If I know the beast, then I can know how to face it. I can know how to use CBT therapy for this, how to weaken it to progress. And I’m really glad for it.

I also did something very hard: directly forcing myself to face it, and told my roommates about this deep-set fear. I realized that I don’t often just talk about how I’m feeling, I usually do so in the context of like having an issue or a problem that we need to talk out or talk through. I don’t usually just say, “I’m really really scared of this thing.”

I told my roommates this realization and like the wonderful, amazing friends they are, they understood. It’s an internal problem for me, something just for me to work on. It’s my issue. But now... they know that if I go quiet when discussing other people, or leave the room when disagreements are happening, I’m not just trying to blow them off or or be wishy-washy. I imagine there have been many times in the past when a friend has come in need of support and my answer came across weird or like I was trying to change the subject and it was awkward and not what they were hoping for.

Now they know that my response might be weird because I’m having a flashback. I’m scared, my brain is shutting down and I can’t think.

And that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared in front of my friends. It’s okay to experience that trauma in front of them. I don’t have to try to pretend I’m okay or try to push through the fear when I really, really can’t. It’s okay to need a subject change or even to just listen quietly if I don’t necessarily want my friend to stop venting, I just may not be able to answer in a beneficial way. I may be shutting down and sometimes all I can do is wait it out. And that’s okay.

I don’t have to validate other people because I’m scared. Because I think I’m being tested.

I felt better not just because talking about these things helps but also because a weight was lifted. One of my main triggers is feeling like I have to respond and have to respond correctly Or Else. But now that they know, that weight is off of my shoulders. I can be afraid and not able to respond and they understand why now. I don’t have to try to keep up that lie or try to put on a face or try to push through it.

I can be scared. And letting yourself be scared is the first step to healing from it. I don’t have to pretend to not be scared anymore.

I always know I’ve hit the hammer on the head when it comes to my emotional issues because I start crying and even just typing this out made me weepy, haha. It’s a good weepy though. I made a big step, and I’m really proud of myself. My instinct was to take this and agonize quietly over it myself, find my own solution on my own and deal with it on my own. But I didn’t. I reached out, and it was scary and hard and it hurt and now I’m so, so much better off for it, and now I can really start healing. I can change this.

God I’m so tired tho. Holy shit.

[writefinch]

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Boku no Hero Academia - Safe In My Arms

I apparently only wrote two drabbles for my Patreon in 2020, but given the state of the world at the time, I hope I’m forgiven for that. A new year is here, however, and that means last year’s writing can now be seen by all of you! If you want to see more stories like this before next year, then consider pledging to my Patreon!

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Shinsou Hitoshi

Rating: Teen Audiences

Summary:  Present Mic runs one of the biggest radio shows in Japan and it's common knowledge that his phone is firmly turned off during broadcasts -- except for the numbers he allows through.  When one of those numbers calling is a familiar student, Hizashi knows that his night is about to get a lot more serious.

Word Count: 2,239

                                                 ⁂

        Check out my writing commission information here!               Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content!                           Or buy me a coffee on Ko-Fi!

                                                 ⁂

“Goood evening my dear listeners! Welcome to another show of Put Your Hands Up Radio! here with your wild and favorite pro hero Present Mic as your host! Tonight, for those of you who remember our last show, we’re talking all about Quirks! Rare quirks, weird quirks, creepy quirks, villain quirks, hero quirks and everything in between! 

“So grab those phones, get our number ready to go, and call in with questions, stories, and your wildest quirk-related memories. And remember, we here at Put Your Hands Up Radio! are not responsible for any slapping, hitting, punching, kicking, and-or screaming that happens if you rat someone out on live air. Choose your victims wisely, dear listeners, and remember that this show broadcasts to all of Japan. 

“First, though, we’re gonna start things off like we always do by rocking and rolling! Keep those hands of yours up and those cheers wild as we start the night off right! Here’s Telecaster Stripes by POLKADOT STINGRAY!” 

Yamada Hizashi, better known as the Voice Hero Present Mic, couldn’t stop his grin as he flicked the right switches in order, killing his mic and switching on the first song of the night all without even a second of dead air. The music filled his headphones and studio in a heartbeat, Hizashi feeling something in him relax as he was right where he belonged — well. As he was in one of the places where he belonged. 

Looking back to where his sound engineer was keeping everything in order in the booth, Hizashi grinned and slipped his headphones off, rolling his chair over to tap on the glass. The unamused look he was given was wonderful, truly, “C’mon, Suki-chan, it’s another beautiful night and we get to stay up through all of it and make as much noise as we want!”

Takada Suki, his first radio intern turned sound engineer turned unofficial manager of the station flicked the switch that would allow him to hear her. “Aizawa-san said to take your medicine after your introduction.” Before Hizashi could lie and say he forgot it, Suki was holding up a familiar, hated bottle. “He dropped it off when he, unfortunately, dropped you off.”

“Hmph,” Hizashi grumbled, rolling over to open the door that led into her side of the booth and catching the bottle of pills and water she then threw at him. “Remember when you were still starstruck and feared me? Can’t we go back to that?”

“I wasn’t starstruck, I was horrified that my boss was someone who was barely out of school. I was also afraid we’d go under and I wouldn’t get my credits for class.” Suki was smiling anyways, Hizashi snorting as he took his stupid medicine and then rolled back into his side of the booth, song starting to come to an end.

Ready to put himself back on air, Hizashi froze as he felt his phone buzzing inside his pocket and that… wasn’t good. Hizashi always muted his phone during his shows and only a few calls could even get through — and those that could call would know better than to call during a live show unless… 

Hizashi raised his hand, looking at Suki and waiting until her attention snapped towards him, “Possible emergency. Take over and play the first set list and say we’re sorting through the stories sent by email to start with.” 

“Yessir!” Jerking off the headphones he had only just put on, Hizashi stood up and dragged out his phone and felt his heart stutter at seeing the caller ID of Shinsou Hitoshi. “Welcome back to Put Your Hands Up! radio and, yes, you might have noticed I’m not your wild and carefree Present Mic, but that’s okay because we’re gonna keep the party going until he gets back! Come on, listeners, I wanna be able to hear your rocking all the way from here! We’re kicking things off with-”

Hizashi didn’t waste a heartbeat in answering, immediately heading for the door to get some silence, knowing the show was in good hands with Suki. “‘Toshi? Hey, what’s up, kiddo? Is something wrong?” 

Shinsou Hitoshi had been training with Shouta for almost half a year to get into the hero course and to say the two were stupidly fond of the kid would be putting it lightly. The fact that they were starting to talk to his caseworker about possibly being put into a different foster home, well, Hitoshi didn’t need to know that part quite yet. It was a surprise, after all.

The problem was that Hitoshi never called. He texted, sent videos, sent photos of stray cats, and used emojis more than Hizashi ever did, but he didn’t call. The fact he was calling now during the middle of his show? It couldn’t be anything good. The problem, though, was that Hitoshi wasn’t saying anything. All Hizashi could hear was soft breathing over the line before he had a short heart attack at having his phone buzz against his ear. 

“Hitoshi? Kiddo? Hey, are you there? Is everything alright?” Hizashi prayed to everything out there that it was just an accidental dial of his phone. “‘Toshi?” It took two more buzzes before Hizashi grit his teeth and checked his phone, ready to be annoyed but instead frowning at seeing incoming text messages from Hitoshi. 

Pulling them up, Hizashi frowned at the messages, a mess of typos that spoke of shaking hands and the message that Hitoshi was outside of the station in the right alleyway and he… didn’t know where else to go… 

Feeling his heart stutter to a stop for an eternity, Hizashi was running before he could even think the action through, bursting through the front doors of the radio station and ignoring anyone who tried to get him to slow down. It felt like too long before he was skidding around the corner to see Hitoshi curled up on the ground with his head tucked between his legs. The kid was holding on limply to his phone and Hitoshi could see tremors running through his shoulders.  

“‘Toshi? Hey, kiddo, it’s me, Hizashi.” Approaching slowly and careful to make noise so Hitoshi would know exactly where he was coming from, Hizashi knelt in front of him. A quick glance showed that there, thankfully, didn’t seem to be any broken bones. His clothing was crumpled and torn in some places, but nothing that screamed of an outright villain attack. There weren’t any blood trails either, so that at least meant he hadn’t suffered any blood loss. 

Hanging up his phone and shoving it away, Hizashi carefully and slowly rested a hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder, not surprised when he felt the teen tense up even more. It hadn’t taken a genius to see the kid’s past screamed of abuse. Leaving his hand there, Hizashi frowned as Hitoshi didn’t relax. If anything, he seemed to get even more tense, which was… 

They knew Hitoshi didn’t live in a good home. It was one of the reasons they were talking to his caseworker because Hizashi knew, and he was certain Shouta did too, that it had been a long time since the two had seen Hitoshi as just another student. Hizashi wasn’t surprised that, due to all of that, he felt ready to scream at something with how his nerves felt like they were being shredded. 

What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was his years and years of experience and battle instincts screaming at him that something was wrong. Hizashi had long ago learned to not doubt his instincts. 

“‘Toshi, you have to tell me what’s wrong,” Hizashi said quietly — quietly, but firmly. Whatever was going on was more than just a bad fight with his family or some neighborhood kids being pieces of shit. If it was the former, Hitoshi would have called Shouta after finding a safe place to hide away. Running all the way to the radio station and then calling Hizashi on air, however? That was a desperate scream for help. “You can sign it out, if you need to, but I need to know-” 

Few things in life made Hizashi speechless. As a talkative child, a hero who was known for his voice, and a man with a radio show, there was hardly a time, if ever, that Hizashi found himself rendered speechless. 

Seeing a child he was beginning to see as his own with a rusted muzzle locked around his face, well… That did it. 

Hizashi was, once again, barely aware he was even moving before he found himself pulling Hitoshi close to him, fumbling with the straps of the fucking muzzle with his phone dialing and on speaker beside him. Hizashi had already cut open at least two of his fingers by the rusted fucking metal by the time the call connected, Hizashi hearing the familiar voice of Shouta’s Hero Agency secretary, “Hello, this is-”

“This is Yamada Hizashi, known as Voice Hero Present Mic calling in for an emergency. Please contact Eraserhead and have him call me as quickly as possible.” 

The secretary, a former student of theirs who knew them both rather well, didn’t say a word before the call was ending, Hizashi swearing as he finally managed to break the straps, sliding the muzzle off of Hitoshi’s face before throwing it against the brick wall with as much force as he could throw into it. He made a mental note to go back and find it later so he could turn it into scrap metal. 

“Why.” The word was quiet. It was quiet, but it was harder and sharper than Shouta’s scarf could ever be. It wasn’t a question, though, and that knowledge alone had Hizashi wanting to just scream. “Why do you even care.”

They were bitter words. The words were soaked in years of pain and torment and Hizashi caught the barest glimpse of his kid’s face. Razor thin cuts lined his jaw and cheeks, blood welling up along all of them. Tears mixed in with the blood and it had to be so painful, but the look on Hitoshi’s face could only be called wrathful. Hizashi didn’t blame him. 

Sitting back for a moment, Hizashi stared at Hitoshi, a terrified kid who met his gaze without even flinching. There were a million things he could have said, but Hizashi knew that not a single word would get through. Hitoshi was as stubborn as Shouta, after all, but, that was good. That meant that while words might not work, actions would. 

Slowly, so slowly, Hizashi took Hitoshi’s hand. When the teen didn’t jerk away or try to fight or yell at him, Hizashi lifted the hand to his own cheek. He could see Hitoshi’s confusion and wariness, but Hizashi merely shifted the hand until fingertips brushed against old, faint scars that were a reflection of the ones in front of him. 

Hizashi could see the moment it hit, Hitoshi’s eyes growing wide as he pressed against the faded muzzle scars on Hizashi’s own face. It felt like an impossible task, but Hizashi finally managed a small, genuine smile.

“This may not explain why I care, but it might help to start explaining it,” Hizashi said softly, watching as Hitoshi’s shoulders shook. This time, it wasn’t in fear. “The muzzle… it was from your foster house, wasn’t it?” Because those people were not his family and Hizashi would never let Hitoshi call that place a home. 

Hitoshi, instead of verbally answering, only stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. He wasn’t denying it, and Hizashi knew well enough what that meant. “Oh, Hitoshi…” For a moment, Hizashi couldn’t help but let some of his own bitterness sneak in, “Voice quirks can be seen as pretty dangerous, huh?”

It wasn’t even a second before Hitoshi was in his lap and hanging onto him tightly, Hizashi returning the grip and tucking Hitoshi close. He had always planned on telling Hitoshi about his own childhood one day, but god if this wasn’t the worst way to do it. As far as he was concerned whoever wanted this kid would have to pry him out of his cold, dead hands. 

The sound of a familiar ringtone had Hizashi snatching his phone and answering without even looking at the ID, shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tucked his kid closer, rubbing at Hitoshi’s back. “Hizashi? What’s wrong?” 

“Call Hitoshi’s caseworker as soon as your patrol ends,” Hizashi said quietly, giving a soft, peaceful hum of a tune as he felt Hitoshi’s breath start to hitch. “I have a feeling our request is going to be approved as soon as you do.” 

And he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. He would have to tell Shouta exactly what had happened, he needed to find out exactly what had happened from Hitoshi, and he needed to get Hitoshi home where it would be nice and quiet and safe. There was definitely going to be all kinds of paperwork, and he would have to explain his absence from that night’s show, but… 

None of it seemed to really matter when he heard Hitoshi, breathing uneven and hands shaking, manage a whisper-soft, “Thank you.”

“Always,” Hizashi responded, closing his eyes for a moment. There would be work to do, but for now his son was safe in his arms. 

Hizashi was going to make sure that never change.

[fyeah-bangtan7]

The Boundless Optimism of BTS

IT IS THE MORNING OF CHUSEOK, A KOREAN HARVEST FESTIVAL akin to Thanksgiving, and the members of BTS would normally be spending it with their families, eating tteokguk, a traditional rice-cake soup. Instead, Jin, 28; Suga, 27; J-Hope, 26; RM, 26; Jimin, 25; V, 24; and Jung Kook, 23, are working. Practicing. Honing their choreography. In a few days, the biggest musical act in the world will perform in the live-stream concert that, for now, will have to stand in for the massive tour they spent the first part of this year rehearsing. At this moment, they’re seated inside Big Hit Entertainment headquarters in Seoul, South Korea, the house they built, dressed mostly in black and white, ready to answer my questions. They’re gracious about it. And groggy.

Before I’m done speaking with them for this story, BTS will have the number-one and number-two songs on the BillboardHot 100, a feat that’s been achieved only a handful of times in the sixty-odd years the chart has existed. Their next album, Be, is weeks away from being released, and speculation about the record, the tracklist, the statement, is rampant across the Internet. BTS are, to put it mildly, huge.

There is something about complete world domination that can really cement a friendship. What jumps out at me as I connect with the members of BTS is their level of comfort with one another. Tension has a way of making itself evident—even over Zoom, even through a translator. There’s none to be found here. They are relaxed in the manner of family. Lounging with their arms around each other’s shoulders, tugging on each other’s sleeves, fixing each other’s collars. When they speak about one another, it is with kindness.

“Jimin has a particular passion for the stage and really thinks about performance, and in that sense, there are many things to learn from him,” J-Hope says. “Despite all the things he has accomplished, he still tries his best and brings something new to the table, and I really want to applaud him for that.”

“Thank you for saying all these things about me,” Jimin responds.

Jimin turns his attention to V, explaining that he is “loved by so many” and describing him as one of his best friends. Suga jumps in, sharing that Jimin and V fight the most among the group. V replies, “We haven’t fought in three years!” They tell me this distinction now belongs to Jin and Jung Kook, the oldest and youngest members. “It all starts as a joke, but then it gets serious,” Jimin says.

Jin agrees and recounts what their arguments sound like. “Why did you hit me so hard?” he says, before mimicking Jung Kook’s response: “I didn’t hit you that hard.” And then they start hitting each other. But not that hard.

Since the start of their careers, BTS have shown a certain confidence in their aesthetic, their performances, and their music videos. It’s right there in the name: BTS stands for “Bangtan Sonyeondan,” which translates to “Bulletproof Boy Scouts,” but as their popularity grew in English-speaking markets, the acronym was retrofitted to mean “Beyond the Scene,” which Big Hit has described as “symbolizing youth who don’t settle for their current reality and instead open the door and go forward to achieve growth.” And their affection with one another, their vulnerability and emotional openness in their lives and in their lyrics, strikes me as more grown-up and masculine than all the frantic and perpetual box-checking and tone-policing that American boys force themselves and their peers to do. It looks like the future.

“There is this culture where masculinity is defined by certain emotions, characteristics. I’m not fond of these expressions,” Suga tells me. “What does being masculine mean? People’s conditions vary day by day. Sometimes you’re in a good condition; sometimes you aren’t. Based on that, you get an idea of your physical health. And that same thing applies mentally. Some days you’re in a good state; sometimes you’re not. Many pretend to be okay, saying that they’re not ‘weak,’ as if that would make you a weak person. I don’t think that’s right. People won’t say you’re a weak person if your physical condition is not that good. It should be the same for the mental condition as well. Society should be more understanding.”

When I hear these words in October 2020, from my house in a country whose leader is actively trying to make the case that only the weak die of COVID-19, well, it sounds like the future, too.

IF YOU ARE JUST NOW CONSIDERING GETTING INTO BTS, IT IS natural to feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount of stuff. It’s a bit like saying, right this second, “Let’s see what Marvel Comics is all about.” In the streaming age, BTS have sold more than twenty million physical units across fourteen albums. Their multi-album concept cycles, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Love Yourself, and Map of the Soul, have unfolded over multiple records and EPs. There are collaborations with brands, including a BTS smartphone with Samsung. There is a series of short films and music videos, called BU, or BTS Universe, and an animated universe called BT21, in which they’re all represented by gender-neutral avatars. Their fan base, known as ARMY, is a global cultural movement unto itself.

“Dynamite,” their first English-language single and their first American number one, is pure, ecstatic pop. Shiny and joyful. What sets them apart from many of their peers, and many of the pop acts who achieved worldwide fame before them, is what came earlier. Beneath the sheen and the beats has always been an unflinching examination of human emotion. Their lyrics seek to challenge the conventions of society—to question and even denounce them. BTS’s first single, “No More Dream,” unveiled at their debut showcase in June 2013, concerns the intense pressure South Korean schoolchildren face to conform and to succeed. According to Suga, lyrics about the mental health of young people were mostly absent in Korean pop music. “The reason I started making music is because I grew up listening for lyrics that speak about dreams, hopes, and social issues,” he tells me. “It just came naturally to me when making music.”

Suga’s early ambition of making music didn’t involve him being in a group at all. About a decade ago, in his hometown of Daegu, the fourth-largest city in South Korea, he started recording underground rap tracks under the name Gloss, listening to and learning from the early works of songwriter and producer Bang Si-hyuk, known as Hitman Bang. Bang is the founder and CEO of Big Hit Entertainment. In 2010, Suga, a junior in high school, moved to Seoul to join Big Hit as a producer and rapper. Then Bang asked him to become part of a group, envisioning a hip-hop act with fellow new Big Hit recruits RM and J-Hope. The guys call this “season one” of their development.

“At that time, I don’t think our label exactly knew what to do with us,” RM says. “They just basically let us be and we had some lessons, but we also just chilled and made music sometimes.”

It got more intense. The family grew, occasionally by accident.

V accompanied a friend to a Big Hit casting call in Daegu for moral support and ended up being the person chosen from those sessions.

Jung Kook was signed in a feeding frenzy after being dropped from the talent show Superstar K, fielding offers from numerous entertainment companies before settling on Big Hit because he was impressed by RM’s rapping.

Jimin was a dance student and class president for nine years running at his school in Busan; he auditioned at the behest of his teacher.

And then, to hear him tell it, Jin got picked up off the street. “I was just going to school,” he says. “Someone from the company approached me, like, ‘Oh, this is my first time seeing anyone that looked like this.’ He suggested having a meeting with me.”

“Season two is when we officially underwent hard training,” J-Hope says. “We started dancing, and that’s how I would say our team building started.”

School in the daytime, training at night. “We slept during classes,” V says.

“I slept in the practice studio,” J-Hope counters.

Hitman Bang kept the pressure comparatively low. And he encouraged the guys to write and produce their own music, to be honest about their emotions in their lyrics. Suga is on record saying that no BTS album would be complete without a track that scrutinizes society.

And yet for their new album, Be, they’re putting that aside. Even this has a greater purpose that relates to mental wellness: RM, the group’s main rapper, says, “I don’t think this album will have any songs that criticize social issues. Everybody is going through very trying times right now. So I don’t think there will be any songs that will be that aggressive.”

Though the new rules of COVID-19 mean they can’t come here and promote Be, its first single might not have happened in the first place but for the pandemic. “ ‘Dynamite’ wouldn’t be here if there was no COVID-19,” says RM. “For this song, we wanted to go easy and simple and positive. Not some, like, deep vibes or shadows. We just wanted to go easy.”

Jin agrees. “We were trying to convey the message of healing and comfort to our fans.” He pauses. “World domination wasn’t actually our plan when we were releasing ‘Dynamite.’ ” World domination just happens sometimes. You get it.

MAP OF THE SOUL ONE AIRED VIA THEIR ONLINE FAN PLATFORM and attracted almost a million viewers across 191 countries. The guys say they tried not to think about the enormousness. J-Hope adds, “I felt a little bit more nervous knowing that this was being broadcast live. I actually feel less nervous performing live at a stadium.” Jin replies with a smile, “J-Hope, born to perform at a stadium.”

The graphic layout of the title throws a colon between the final N and E, which makes it look like Map of the Soul On: E, and as I watch it live, as I do in my office at 3:00 a.m. with noise-canceling headphones and a steaming pot of coffee, it feels a lot like I’m watching Map of the Soul on E. It is an explosion of color and fashion and passion, over four gigantic stages, from the boozy swagger of “Dionysus” to the emo-trap introspection of “Black Swan.” Not a step, not a gesture, not a hair is out of place. If there were nerves, they didn’t come through.

There is also, at the end of Map of the Soul One, an intimate version of their 2017 track “Spring Day,” which encapsulates what’s really made BTS stand out. On the surface, it’s about nonspecific love and loss, about yearning for the past. “I think that song really represents me,” says Jin. “I like to look to the past and be lost in it.”

Fair enough, but there is an undeniable allusion, in both the song’s video and its cover concept, to a specific incident in recent South Korean history. “Spring Day” was released just a few years after the sinking of the Sewol ferry, one of the country’s biggest maritime disasters, in which a poorly inspected, overloaded ferry toppled in a sharp right turn. Hundreds of high school students drowned, having obeyed orders to stay in their cabins as the boat was going down. According to some reports, the South Korean government actively tried to silence entertainers who spoke out against it, with the Korean Ministry of Education fully banning the tragedy’s commemorative yellow ribbons in schools. I ask whether it was about a specific sad event, and Jin tells me, “It is about a sad event, as you said, but it is also about longing.” The song kept the disaster front of mind for young Koreans and for the media, indirectly leading to the impeachment and removal of then president Park Geun-hye.

If an overburdened, undermaintained, slow-moving vessel capsizing because of a reckless rightward turn strikes you as somehow symbolic of the country in which BTS are about to explode even further, you won’t hear it from them. “We’re outsiders—we can’t really express what we feel about the United States,” says V. But their actions speak volumes; in the wake of the George Floyd murder and subsequent protests in America, the group made a $1 million donation with Big Hit Entertainment to Black Lives Matter, one that was matched by BTS ARMY.

The fans offer a fascinating inversion of stan culture: Rather than bullying rivals like many other ardent online fan bases do, ARMY have put the positive message of the music into action. Their activism goes deep. Through micro-donations, they’ve regrown rain forests, adopted whales, funded hundreds of hours of dance classes for Rwandan youth, and raised money to feed LGBTQ refugees around the world. Where pop fans a generation ago might have sent teddy bears or cards to their idols for their birthdays, where five years ago they might have promoted a hashtag to get a video’s YouTube viewer count up, for RM’s twenty-sixth birthday in September, international fan collective One in an Army raised more than $20,000 for digital night schools to improve rural children’s access to education during the COVID-19 crisis. ARMY may have even entered the conversation around the 2020 presidential election when hundreds of thousands of Tulsa Trump rally tickets got snapped up online in June. The event’s actual attendance was pathetically low. No particular person or entity claimed credit for this top-notch trolling, but a video urging BTS fans to RSVP to that rally did get hundreds of thousands of views. We have no choice but to stan this fan base.

The relationship is intense. “We and our ARMY are always charging each other’s batteries,” RM says. “When we feel exhausted, when we hear the news all over the world, the tutoring programs, and donations, and every good thing, we feel responsible for all of this.” The music may have inspired the good works, but the good works inspire the music. “We’ve got to be greater; we’ve got to be better,” RM continues. “All those behaviors always influence us to be better people, before all this music and artist stuff.”

Yet for every devoted member of BTS ARMY, there is someone who’s looked right past BTS. Jimmy Fallon, whose Tonight Show hosted the group for a full week this past fall, was one of those people. “Usually if an artist is on the rise, I hear about them ahead of time. With BTS, I knew they had crazy momentum, and I’d never heard of them.”

Here’s a thought that used to be funny to me: There were members of the live audience of The Ed Sullivan Showon February 9, 1964, who weren’t there to see the Beatles. Elvis was in the Army, Buddy Holly was gone, and the three number-one albums in the months before Meet the Beatles! were an Allan Sherman comedy record, the West Side Story original cast recording, and Soeur Sourire: The Singing Nun. America had left rock ’n’ roll behind for the moment, and with the culture aimless and fragmented, it wasn’t quite sure what to pick up in its place. It is possible to imagine that a youngish, reasonably hip, and culturally aware human being might cop a ticket to that week’s show, settle into his seat, and say, “Bring on a medley of numbers from the Broadway musical Oliver! and banjo sensation Tessie O’Shea.”

The instinct is to laugh at that guy, and it’s a good instinct, because what a dope.

And then you become that guy.

Sometimes there is a whole universe alongside your own, bursting with color you’re too stubborn to see, bouncing with joy you think is for someone else, with a beat you thought you were finished dancing to. BTS are the biggest thing on the planet right now, yet the job of introducing them to someone new, particularly in America, seems like it’s never done. Maybe it’s because they are adored by screaming teenagers and we live in a society patriarchal enough to forget that screaming teenagers are nearly always right. Maybe it’s the cultural divide, in a moment when our country is unashamed enough of its own xenophobia to get openly bent out of shape when it has to press 1 for English. Maybe it’s the language barrier, as though we understood a single word Michael Stipe sang before 1989.

Whatever the reason, the result is that you might be missing out on a paradigm shift and a historic moment of pop greatness.

IF BTS SEEM A BIT CAUTIOUS WITH THEIR WORDS PUBLICLY, IT’S because—perhaps more than any other massive pop act in history—they have to be. Shortly after our second meeting, BTS were given the General James A. Van Fleet Award by the U. S.–based Korea Society for their outstanding contributions to advancing relations between the United States and Korea. In his acceptance speech, RM said, “We will always remember the history of pain that our two nations shared together, and the sacrifices of countless men and women,” as seemingly diplomatic and innocuous a statement as he could have made. But because he didn’t mention the Chinese soldiers who died in the Korean War, it didn’t go over well. The Samsung BTS smartphone disappeared from Chinese e-commerce platforms, Fila and Hyundai pulled ads in China that featured the group, the nationalistic newspaper Global Times accused them of hurting Chinese citizens’ feelings and negating history, and the hashtags “BTS humiliated China” and “there are no idols that come before my country” began trending on the social-media site Weibo. The pressure is not small.

Even as the number-one pop group in the world, even with their hard work day in and day out, even with tens of millions of adoring fans redefining the concept of “adoring fans” by literally healing the planet in their name, these guys still suffer from impostor syndrome. RM explains, “I’ve heard that there’s this mask complex. Seventy percent of so-called successful people have this, mentally. It’s basically this: There’s this mask on my face. And these people are afraid that someone is going to take off this mask. We have those fears as well. But I said 70 percent, so I think it’s very natural. Sometimes it’s a condition to be successful. Humans are imperfect, and we have these flaws and defects. And one way to deal with all this pressure and weight is to admit the shadows.”

The music helps. “When we write the songs and lyrics, we study these emotions, we are aware of that situation, and we relate to that emotionally,” J-Hope says. “And that’s why when the song is released, we listen to it and get consolation from those songs as well. I think our fans also feel those emotions, maybe even more than us. And I think we are a positive influence on each other.”

If there’s one thing they’re sacrificing, besides free time and the ability to speak freely without the Chinese foreign ministry releasing an official statement, it’s a love life. I ask about dating, broad questions like “Are you?” and “Is there time?” and “Can you?” and the answer to all of them is pretty clear: “No.” “The most important thing for us now is to sleep,” Jung Kook insists. Suga follows right up with “Can you see my dark circles?” I cannot, because there are none, because flawless skin translates even over Zoom when there’s an ocean between us.

So they’re not, at least publicly, having romantic relationships with anyone. If there is a strong relationship that’s guided their journey into adulthood, it’s with Big Hit. “Our company started with twenty to thirty people, but now we have a company with so many employees,” RM says. “We have our fans, and we have our music. So we have a lot of things that we have to be responsible for, to safeguard.” He considers it for a moment. “I think that’s what an adult is.”

“Our love life—twenty-four hours, seven days a week—is with all the ARMYs all over the world,” RM adds.

In a world that is determined to sand down anything that isn’t immediately recognizable to the average pop-music fan, when it comes to acquainting you with Korean culture, BTS very much do not wanna hold your hand. While the first song on night one of their Tonight Show week was a joyous but expected take on “Dynamite” with Fallon and the Roots, they took some chances during their second performance.

As a friend of mine, a thirty-three-year-old BTS fan in Los Angeles, told me, “The second song they performed was ‘IDOL,’ ” from 2018’s Love Yourself: Answer, “and it celebrated their Korean identity. They performed it in Gyeongbokgung Palace in Seoul. They wore clothes inspired by traditional dresses called hanboks;it was almost entirely in Korean, so it felt super subversive. As a fan, I read it as: ‘Dynamite’ was an invitation, and this is who we are and this is our home.”

“I was a little concerned that people might not understand,” Fallon says. “I was like, ‘There’s nothing in English here.’ But what you see is just pure star power. Pure talent. Immediately, I thought, Oh, this is everything. If you’re that powerful, it transcends language.”

American popular music in the twenty-first century is more fragmented than it has been since . . . well, since Allan Sherman, Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim, and the Singing Nun battled for that number-one spot. The monoculture that the Beatles helped bring on has breathed its last breath. Each of us is the program director for our own private radio station, letting our own past habits and streaming-service algorithms serve up something close to what we want. Which is great, except that huge moments can whiz right past our ears. Each of us, even if we’re more clued in than our parents were when they were our age, can miss some era-defining, excellent shit. Particularly if the radio is our Spotify Discover Weekly, or the Pandora channel based on the band whose T-shirts we wore in college. We can let a moment pass us by if prime time is a Netflix binge, and the Tonight Show hour is spent on one more episode before bed. But we shouldn’t. “Honestly, I think it’s history that we’re living through with BTS,” Fallon says. “It’s the biggest band I’ve seen since I’ve started late night, definitely.”

THERE IS ALSO THE SMALL DETAIL THAT, UNLIKE THE BEATLES AND literally every other worldwide sensation to break in America, BTS don’t particularly need to go to the trouble. They are massive all over the world. Thanks to the recent IPO of Big Hit Entertainment, of which each member is a partner, they are all now incredibly wealthy. (Hitman Bang is the first South Korean entertainment mogul to become a billionaire.) What good is a culture in decline to a pop act this much on the ascent? “When I dreamed of becoming an artist, I listened to pop and watched all the awards shows in the United States. Being successful and being a hit in the U. S. is, of course, such an honor as an artist,” says Suga. “I feel very proud of that.”

They’re breaking out in a country that either worships them or fails to notice them. So do they feel like they’re getting enough respect in America? “How can we win everyone’s respect?” Jin asks. “I think it’s enough to get respect from people who support us. It’s similar everywhere else in the world. You can’t like everyone, and I think it’s enough to be respected by people who really love you.”

Suga agrees. “You can’t always be comfortable, and I think it’s all part of life. Honestly, we are not used to getting a ton of respect from when we first started out. But I think that gradually changes, whether it be in the States or other parts of the world, as we do more and more.”

There is, without a doubt, one colossal, unmistakable sign of respect for a musician: a Grammy. They’ve been nominated only once, and even then it was for best recording package. But their sights are set on a big one next year. RM puts it out there: “We would like to be nominated and possibly get an award.” Dragging the hoary, backward-looking, and Western-focused Grammys into the gorgeous, global world of the present through sheer force of will, talent, and hard work? Stranger things have happened. “I think the Grammys are the last part, like the final part of the whole American journey,” he says with a smile. “So yeah, we’ll see.”

The Recording Academy’s seal of approval is one thing. But BTS have already conquered the world, clowned tyrants, inspired individual fans to perform the small and achievable acts of activism that have collectively begun to save the planet, challenged toxic masculinity by leading with vulnerability, and, along the way, become bajillionaires and international idols. Whether the Grammys are paying attention matters about as much as what an Ed Sullivan audience member expected to see that night in 1964. BTS have already won.

© source

[plush-rabbit]

Can I Ask You Something?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

Friendships are an odd thing. It starts off as an unexpected meeting between two strangers, where you later begin to learn more about this person who was just a stranger a few moments ago, to trusting that person wholeheartedly; to do whatever you can to make them happy. It’s a wonderful thing where you’re in love with said person, willing to hold their hand in public, kiss their cheek, go to them first when you have news of any kind. Where a mere memory of them is enough to make you smile, where after not seeing each other for a moment is enough to make you want to hug them, where you can feel safe in their arms. You meet a person by chance and they end up becoming one of the most important people in your life. Friendships are built on trust. Built on sharing snacks. Built on inside jokes. Built on love.

Your friendship with Tomura, however, isn’t any of that. It’s different than friendships you’ve had before. It was a meeting that you forced and that he complied with. Where you have doubts about the friendship- or whatever you can call this relationship when the word feels to sour on your tongue- and you don’t know what he’s thinking or what he looks like. Where you lay awake after late night talks and can feel a storm brew in your mind as you lay under the covers and think about him. It’s a relationship built on messages and the occasional phone calls. You don’t know if you can trust this person. You want to and sometimes when you hear his laughter, you think that you know him- you can trick yourself that you know who he is. You’re okay with sharing snacks with anybody- you like to share, you like to eat a cake and leave your friends the piece with the most frosting. There are jokes that you’ve two shared- ones where you snort and call him a dork and ones where he laughs- it’s shrill and a bit creepy if you were to be honest- and he calls you a dumbass and you can hear the faint sound of people yelling in the background that you never comment on.

When you were lonely, you reached out and he reluctantly let you grab onto him. You held tight and now you’re afraid to let go. You’re afraid that he’ll let go and a part of you that won’t remain silent no matter how many times you smother it, never wants him to let go of you. You’ve become oddly attached to the faceless man.

Tomura is crass, curses as if it were his first language, secretive as if he were protecting himself, curious as a cat, prying into you with delicacy and cunningness, never realize what he’s doing until you’re halfway through a story. He’s rough around the edges, making sure to bare his canines when you begin to pry. But no matter how many times he barks, no matter the little insults that leave his mouth, insults that longer hold the same sting as they used to be before, you inch closer to him. You always feel a second away from offering another video chat- this time where you can see who he is. You want to see who he is behind the screen.

However, at the same time, you’re scared who you’ll see. You’re scared that perhaps he’s a ghost from your past, someone who you wanted to leave behind that you’ve forgotten their voice and they’ve found a new name to use as a mask. You worry with dread creeping at your ankles on the good nights that the person who you can joke with is someone with cruel intentions. Other nights, you drown in panic and wish to grasp at him like a lifeline, only for the worry to drag you deeper, his face always muddled and hand always out of reach.

You wonder what he thinks of you. What his true thoughts are behind the jabbing insults and hissed out curses but you’re always too afraid to ask, too afraid what the truth will reveal.

-

Within the next week, there’s idle chatter in between the early mornings and late nights. Chatter where it fills the room with such ease. Chatter that dies and fills the room with silence, noises from the house are the only indicators that you both are still on the call. Chatter where it gets cut off due to your own responsibilities or his. A promise from you that you’ll try to message him later if time allows it and a click of his tongue as he tells you he’ll talk later.

The relationship gets easier day by day. Sometimes the word friend rolls of your tongue without you even realizing it- it feels natural to call him that. Other days, you’re hesitant to even say the word- to even think of what it truly means. It catches and sticks in your throat, suffocates you and leaves you feeling odd all over. Days where his name is light and sweet on your tongue, days where it’s bitter and uneasy. It’s easier to say a nickname those times; it doesn’t hold as much power as his actual name.

Talking to him gets easier- even if his name makes you unable to breathe. There are more phone calls, even if they’re short. You get to hear him talk about his day, talk about what he’s currently doing and most of the time he’s playing a game and he’ll entertain you with the plot, with the lore and the graphics. You do your own research on the side, your gasps telltale signs that you looked up what happens in the end and him snapping at you immediately not to spoil anything. You never do, always giving a vague hint to look behind a box if he wants an achievement or extra ammo. But you never give him tips. You offered once and he denied, saying that he wanted a true victory and not a false one where he had to rely on an external source. The ways he says it, with a heavy voice that takes a darker tone, makes it feel as if you’re missing out on something. You lay off, telling him that you’ll be there if he ever needs help, hoping that your own tone will hold the same hidden meaning that his held.

__

“Okay, so what I’m hearing is that not only do you play video games like twenty four-seven—”

“Not twenty four-seven,” he growls but the sound of guns in the background does nothing to help prove his point.

“—and you watch anime and you basically like never leave your home? You’re like a total NEET,” you giggle into the phone, phone pressed between your shoulder and ear. You tighten your hand around the bar when the subway wobbles and around your bag of takeout when someone shuffles in the corner of your eyes.

“Not a ‘NEET’,” Tomura says, hissing into the receiver and you can hear the scene restart. “Look, if I’m a NEET then so are you.” He curses loudly into the phone and you wince, eyebrows furrowing and mouth pulling into a wince that he can’t see.

“You know,” you voice takes on a sing-song tune, “if you need help, I’m more than happy to give you a hint.” Your eyes flicker upwards, reading the poster taped on the wall and flickering down to a baby bouncing on their father’s lap. “If you descri—”

“It’s fine,” he drones. “Besides, you aren’t even home yet… Are you?” On your side of the phone you hear him slurp on something and a clatter of glass.

“No, not yet,” you confirm, “I’m like a stop away.” You lick your lips and glance out the window, sighing when the outside world still blurs by. “And I like totally fu-messed up too,” you pull a face at your almost swear, glancing at the baby who remains unbothered and father who checks his watch. “I forgot I had my headphones with me so like instead of talking to you through the mic, I have the phone pressed up against my ear and shoulder.” You stumble when the train comes to a slow, jostling people awake and others slipping their phones into their pockets. “My phone is gonna be all greasy and gross Tomu,” you whine, bouncing your leg and clutching the plastic bag tighter in your hand.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just have it delivered,” he grumbles.

“Because I was already—sorry, sorry,” you mumble with your head bowed as you weave out of the subway, wincing each time the plastic bag nudges at your leg, “I wasn’t thinking and I was already in the neighborhood.” You stand next to a wall, hands searching in your bag for your pair of headphones.

“Dumbass,” he snickers into the phone.

“Yes, yes. I’m very dumb,” you mumble, tongue sticking out as you untangle the wires, careful not to pull too harshly. “Now give me a sec, lemme connect my headphones.” You let out a sigh and begin your trek to your apartment. You smooth and the wires and speak into the mic. “Okay, I’m back. I miss anything? Finally beat that level?” You tease, a skip in your step as you wait for his reply to come. It’s silent for a moment too long. “Toma? You there, bud?” Still no answer. You step to the side of the sidewalk and see that call is still going on. “If you were gonna step out, should’ve at least waited to tell me,” you mumble to yourself, a frown tugging on your lips.

You disconnect the call and send a quick message to Tomura to call you later when he had the chance. You keep your headphones in your ear for the rest of your walk home, humming a soft tune and hoping that no one would stop you.

__

Shigaraki comes back to his phone with a reflection that stares back at him, a hand covering most of his face and a red eye that glares back at him. The screen is black and he pulls the hand off with a sigh, letting it hover over his chest before placing it delicately on the desk.

He frowns when the call has ended, the contact screen staring at him and a message icon is on his notifications. He reads your message with a neutral expression and checks the time. Thirty minutes until they go on a mission.

Your phone rings twice before you pick up with a cheery, muffled hello.

“Why’d you hang up?” He asks, getting straight to the point, fingertips drumming on the desk, eyes looking into the computer screen where he last paused. He hears the clinking of glass and wonders if you’ve already arrived home.

“Because I was on the call for like a minute or two until I figured I hit bad cell reception or you like had to do something,” you pause for a moment. “Was I wrong?” Your voice is muffled and he suspects that you are home and you’re eating. “What happened?”

A mission brief. One that went on long enough for you to hang up and be in the middle of your meal when he called. A pale hand reaches over to grab Father, placing it back on his face, instant relief and sickness coming to him all at once. “I had things to do,” he answers.

“Right. Things,” you say sarcastically and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Could’ve sent me a message or something. You don’t have to like just disappear on me,” you chuckle.

He hums and nods to himself. “Are you going out tonight?” He asks, closing his eyes, a hand twisting the shirt into his palm.

“Nah, why? Did you want to have a long call this time?” He stares at the cracked ceiling with disinterest. “I wouldn’t mind but—”

“I have something to do soon.” He flexes his hand in front of him and runs his thumb through his fingertips.

“Oh.” He hears you hum. “Why did you ask if I was going out then?”

His eyes shoot open and he stands straight. Why did he ask? He knows why. He can feel his breathing grow heavier, breaths ragged and throat tight. There’s a mission later tonight. Without thought, his hand wraps around his neck and nails drag across his skin, he lets out a low whine in response, pinpricks of scarlet bead out.

“Tomu?” You sound genuinely concerned. “Are you all right?” Fuck. “Did you hit yourself?” Fuck. “Tomura if you don’t say anything, I’m gonna think you’re dead. So like, can you please respond?” With a mind of its own, his hand pulls away, nails and fingertips shining with his blood. “Tomura if you left again without telling me I’m gonna be like,” you pause for a second, “annoyed.”

“What do you want?” He hisses out, hand dripped in blood curls into a claw.

“Oh thank god.” He hears you sigh. “I was worried you like fell or someone had broken into your place. Are you okay?”

“Why do you care?” His lip curls in disgust and the hand on his face makes him feel sick, stomach churning and bile rising in his throat.

“Because you’re my friend.” You make it sound like it’s the most obvious thing. “All I hear from you is like silence for a while followed by a whine. I thought you were hurt,” you mumble, your tone is small, like a child who is being scolded.

He’s silent for a long time and his mouth burns, warm liquid seeps out and trickles down his neck. He feels sick.

“Hey,” your voice is soft, “if you’re not feeling good, we can talk tomorrow if you want? Sound good Tomu-”

He hangs up without a goodbye. The little finger that doesn’t touch the phone shakes. His heart is beating rapidly against his chest and it hurts. He wants to throw the phone at the wall and stomp on it until it’s broken in millions of pieces. He wants to decay the phone in his hands. He wants to- He takes in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, his anger still rising and threatening to boil over and cloud his mind. The phone is tossed on his bed and the door shuts behind him with a loud crack.

__

You don’t hear from him for few days. All your messages are unseen and unanswered. You dialed him the day after, left a few messages asking if he was all right and any other variation that you could think of. You’re too scared to actually dial him now; a sick feeling in your stomach when you think back to the last conversation that you had with him.

He cut you off so quickly. You were sure that this friendship was on the better half than it was when you both initially had met. Heck! He had even begun to talk about his days unprompted and would answer you when you would call to talk about nothing. But then he was silent and made a noise like he had gotten surprised at best or hurt at worst. You didn’t want him to be hurt. But with the way he wasn’t answering your messages and not even looking at them was making you feel sick every day. And it wasn’t like you could send someone of authority over since you didn’t even know his address or full name.

“God, this sucks,” you grumbled, running a hand over your face and gritting your teeth. Your fingers tap nervously on the side of your thigh, something to keep you in rhythm. “Maybe I’m overthinking this,” you tried to reason to yourself but the pit inside kept growing. “He’s always been secretive maybe he had a surprised vacation planned or like a family emergency.” You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears burn. You bring your hands up, your fingers tracing over the shell, noise muffled for a brief second. “He’s fine,” you tell yourself, voice firm and hands in fists, “I’m being silly.” You nod as if giving clarification to a statement said into the air will make it that much more true. “Plus, it’s not like I can do anything except for wait for him to message me back.” You don’t want to think about the “or” part of that sentence. Anything could be added after “or” and none of the options were good.

__

It’s silent in your room; your face is illuminated by the dim glow from your laptop. It burns hot on your blanket and provides you with additional warmth that soothes your nerves. Your eyes burn with sleep and head begins to hurt, fatigued by sleep and light that shines directly on your face. Your body grows heavy, eyelids begin to droop and your phone is fully charged, the green light shines bright and is unblinking as you stare at it. Your eyes glance down to the corner of the screen, the time blinks at you, flipping quickly into a minute in the future. Your eyes are back to the phone. You can feel the bags beneath your eyes droop, feeling that if you stay awake for any longer your own body will pull you into the bed until you’re a mess of limps entangled in a plush blanket.

Your phone remains silent and unmoved and you can feel you heart actually hurt. It feels as if it’s being squeezed; it’s a soft squeeze that leaves you taking in a bigger gulps of air, but the nails that dig in, that peel away at it the top layer and leave it exposed, is what truly makes it ache.

There’s been no contact from him in the past few days. The first day went by without worry, he’s done it before where you wouldn’t hear from him for hours and you assumed that perhaps he had been busy all day and fallen asleep afterwards. Messages were left unopened and you were disappointed but it was nothing to fret over. The second day, messages were still unanswered and the call you sent had gone straight to voicemail. The worry had dugs its claws into you at that point. One the third day, the first few messages were left unseen. The phones calls afterwards would ring for too long, making you sick with worry and a bottom lip that was bitten and stained your mouth in bright red.  On the fourth day, you hadn’t bothered to send a message, reasoning that he would message you when he was ready. If he was ever was. The day bleeds into the night, your mind distracted by trips to stores for house necessities.

It’s late, the moon high in the sky surrounded by clouds and stars as you lay in bed, consumed by an online video. The screen dims, a notification popping in the corner to alert you that the battery in running low. With a click of your tongue, you put your laptop to sleep, the screen loading into your lock screen before going dark, the power light grows dim and you’re staring at your reflection in darkness. Your eyes adjust quickly and you close it softly, sucking in air through closed teeth when the bottom heats the pad of your fingers. It’s shoved off to the side, and you’re alone in the darkness. Hands search for the cord, fingers tracing a line down until it reaches the plug and it’s pulled out, tucked into the handle of your dresser with a soft clink of metal against wood. In the darkness, your thoughts begin to creep up, hands that grip at every part of your body and send both a mixture of chills and heat, it freezes you, makes you clammy and all at the same time makes you uncomfortably hot and twitchy. Dull nails are dragged across the blanket in an attempt to calm your nerves, the little moment of relief is well received. You repeat the motion, letting yourself indulge in the noise.

Your mind grows foggy and soon the repetitive motions become sluggish until your fingers twitch, once, then twice before coming to a still. You’re asleep for a wonderful thirty minutes where the promises of dreams start to lure you in. And then your phone buzzes to life. It’s a shrill ring that you set to make sure if anything had happened while you were unawake, the noise will wake you up and you’d respond to whoever it was on the other side.

It comes to an abrupt stop, the other person on the line having given up but then it rings again. Your body wakes first, hands searching blindly until the phone is pushed and falls onto the floor. You wince and search for the lamp, the light making you close your eyes and mouth pulled into a grimace. With a look downwards, you sigh when your phone has landed face up. Your body threatens to fall off the bed as you reach to pick up the still ringing phone. There are no cracks on the screen, still pristine and clear as you analyze the screen and through bleary eyes, you read the caller ID.

Tomura.

Your eyes shoot open and hands reach for the phone, a quick swipe of the green button. “Hello?” Your voice is slurred and heavy with sleep. You clear your throat. “Hello?” Oh god, please let him be okay, please.

“You sound tired.” He sounds forced- as if he had to push the words out of his throat.

You arch your brows and bite back a groan. “…Do you know what time it is?” Without meaning to, a yawn escapes you and you lay back down on your bed, your eyes struggling to stay open as you wait for his reply.

“Right.” He sounds distant and your worry bubbles over.

You lick your lips and glance to the night stand where an empty water bottle lays on its side. “Tomura? Can I ask you something?” You shift in your bed and pull the covers up to your chin.

“Whatever.”

You let out a low sigh. “What happened? You were gone for like a while.” Sleep slowly vanishes from your mind but it remains foggy, unable to filter what’s you’re trying to say. “You don’t have to like tell me, but I was worried that something had happened to you or like I don’t know, that you like just wanted to stop talking to me and,” you push the blankets off you and lean against the wooden bedframe, “I… Are you okay?”

He’s silent on his end. His breathing is the only thing that you can hear, it’s steady and it eases you a bit to know that he’s still on the line. Silence has filled your conversations with him plenty of times. They’ve been awkward, unnerving, but they’ve also been comfortable, reminding you that you’re not alone and that he’s still there. This silent however is just silent. There’s no reassurance that he’s okay; just that he’s still here. Sleep is fading in and out, a gentle tide that nudges you awake for a few seconds longer before receding back and lulling you back to your sleep.

“I’m okay,” he croaks out and in the background you hear a loud creak.

“Promise?” You ask, eyebrows knitting together and hands once again scratching at the blankets that warm you.

“Why do you care?” His voice is small as he speaks to you.

“Because you’re my friend,” you tell him, “I care about my friends Tomu. And you’re my friend so by like definition, I care about you.” You ran a hand through your hair, smoothing out your hair. “I- Am I your friend?” You take in a deep breath and run your thumb across the side of your finger. “You like don’t have to answer that now, I just—”

“Yes.” His voice is tight but clear. “I- You are.” You hear let out a shaky breath.

Your lips curve in a gentle smile. “I’m glad.” Tears still prick at the corner of your eyes and make your vision blur, you’re unsure if it’s from the sleep that still clings onto you or the emotional side of you that always makes itself more apparent in the dead of night.

“You sure you’re okay? You sound… different.” Different is the nice way to put it. He sounds defeated and lost. When he’s silent, you press. “Bad night?” You offer as a way to expand on what he’s feeling, a way to help him.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He says wearily, a loud yawn that confirms his tone.

“You wanna talk about it?” Your mind and body begs for sleep. “If you want of course. I don’t mind staying up.”

“It’s late.” It sounds like he finally realized what time it was, voice suddenly tired and thick with sleep.

“Yeah, Tomura, it’s really late.” You lie on your side, legs curled in and eyes are barely able to stay open. “But like, I’m already awake. The offer still stands, you know.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” He asks, his voice returning to that akin to a child, hopeful and nervous all at once.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You chuckle lightly. “Just like don’t flake out this time, okay?” You joke.

“I uh, yeah. I won’t flake. I promise.” The last words are soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear or even want to acknowledge what he had said himself.

“Okay. I’ll hear from you tomorrow.” With a burst of late night courage, you open your mouth. “Remember, you promised. And you can’t break a promise- especially to a friend.”

You hear him laugh, it’s muffled but it’s genuine. It doesn’t sound creepy to you this time, it sounds pleasant.  “Yeah, I won’t.” There’s a brief second of silence. He wishes you goodnight and whispers your name. There’s a skip in your chest when says it and a grin grows on your face, slowly etching itself onto you.

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight Tomura.” A second of peace passes where you can breathe easy and you hang up first; the phone blinks the time that you’ve talked to him before going dark. You slide the phone onto your nightstand and the blanket bunches under hands as you curl in deeper into the bed, eyes closing without resistance and mind clear and chest light.

Tagged:

@rogueofbullshit

@loveableasshole

@yul-is-sparkling

@noonewouldlisten25

@noodlenerd101

@localdisaster

@snackgod

@iikillerkitteh

[mischiefandspirits]

Doppelgänger (12/19)

Previously on Doppelgänger ~ Masterlist ~ Next time on Doppelgänger

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were just 14 when they took a look inside the portal Danny’s parents had built. From there, everything changed. They woke up with white hair, green skin, and powers they could learn to control. They were hybrids, halfas.

They were the hero Doppelgänger.

{Control Freaks}

“Hey, we’re not here yet?” Danny and Tucker said as Danny flew up. “We paid us to cover for us at school. We’re going to the opening of that goth circus.”

Danny shook his head.

Cross over to the dark side…

The boys blinked as something settled over their link for a second before disappearing.

“What was that?”

Danny shivered and shook his head.

“Let’s just get to school.” They nodded and turned to fly off, only for their ghost senses to go off. They looked around and spotted a group of ghosts flying past with bags of money. “Those must be the ghosts we fought last night. Sounds right, come on.”

They took chase. Tucker blasted one of them and Danny darted down to catch the bag of money the ghost dropped before it could fall on the cop car chasing the ghosts. He set it in the car’s backseat and gave the police a wave before flying back up.

Suddenly their link went hazy again and Danny ran headfirst into Tucker as he froze in midair. 

“Are we okay?” Danny asked, then his eyes widened as he realized Tucker was quiet. “Hey?”

Tucker shook his head and turned to Danny as the haze disappeared.

“What? Are we okay? We froze up for a second there. Yeah, we think so. Where’d the ghosts go?”

Danny shrugged and pulled Tucker through the billboard he’d frozen in front of. He looked around, but didn’t see the ghosts anywhere.

“Gone. Come on.”

They only made it a block before the haze settled over them again.

“What is that? We don’t know. It’s not us. Then maybe…” Both their eyes widened. “We need to find us, quickly. The train yard.” Tucker pointed back the way they’d come and they flew back to see a crowd of goths facing off against a crowd of parents. The two looked over the crowd of goths until they spotted Sam near the center. “There!”

They dove into the ground and came up next to her, invisible.

“Are you okay?” they whispered, but she didn’t look at them. She just kept staring forward with red eyes.

“Her eyes. We know. We need to get her -”

“Make them see us for who we are,” Sam muttered, then a flicker of purple light started at her waist.

Their eyes widened and they grabbed her, turning her invisible and dragging her into the ground.

“What were you thinking?” the two hissed once they’d come up in the abandoned warehouse the crowds were outside of, creeped out by how she didn’t speak with them despite being in ghost form.

The haze lifted.

She shook her head after a second and looked around.

“What happened?” the trio said. “We nearly just transformed right in the middle of a group of people! What? We-we don’t know what came over us. Something’s messing with us. Let’s get to school. But the opening ceremony! Our parents are out there leading the charge. They’ll kill us if they see us. Alright, fine.”

Sam glanced longingly in the direction of the circus train, but followed her partners.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What was up with you two this morning?” Danny asked as he sat down at their lunch table.

“Two?” Sam asked, looking up from her salad.

“Tucker froze up on me while we were chasing down those ghosts you fought last night. It felt just like when you went blank.”

Tucker shrugged. “I don’t know. I remember chasing the ghosts towards a billboard. They flew through it then… then Danny was talking to me.”

“What billboard?” Sam asked.

Danny shrugged and Tucker’s face screwed up. “… It had a guy on it, with a red staff… I think.”

Sam frowned and dug into her backpack. She pulled out the promotional flyer she had for Circus Gothica. It had the ringmaster on it. He was holding a red staff, but the top of it was out of frame. “Was this him?”

“Yeah, except… you could see the whole staff. There was…”

“A glass ball on the top.”

“I think so,” Tucker dug his phone out of his pocket.

Danny frowned. “So Tucker wigged out seeing a Circus Gothica poster and you wigged out at its opening ceremony. Think there can be a connection?”

“I am Freakshow, ringmaster of the Circus Gothica…”

Danny and Sam looked over as a voice came from Tucker’s phone and Danny scooted closer to see the screen.

“… where your nightmares come alive.”

“Is that the trailer?” Sam asked standing up to lean over the table, but couldn’t get an angle where he could see. “I think it came on this morning, but I was fighting with my parents so I think I missed it.”

“Circus Gothica, where the clowns never smile.”

They didn’t respond.

She looked at their faces to see both of their eyes glowing red.

“Circus Gothica!”

She yanked the phone out of Tucker’s hand. She closed the video without looking at it. “Danny! Tucker!”

They blinked and their eyes went to normal.

“I think it’s safe to say something’s wrong with the circus. I can’t believe my parents are right.”

Danny frowned. “But what’s going on? Is it some sort of anti-ghost thing?”

Tucker’s eyes widened. “Right before Sam transformed, she repeated the ringmaster’s words. Something about revealing yourself.”

Danny shivered as he went pale. “The ghosts, the ones who’d been stealing things, we chased them right to the circus’s train.”

“Ghosts don’t care about jewelry and money,” Tucker said, “but humans do.”

“Mind control,” Sam growled, snapping her spork in half. “That’s why the performers at Circus Gothica are said to be able to do unnatural performances. They’re literally supernatural!”

“Those poor ghosts. Who knows how long they’ve been under his control. We have to help them,” Danny said.

“Preferably before they steal anything else,” Tucker hummed. “One problem though, how?” The two turned to him and he gestured to his phone. “We can’t even look at a picture or video of the guy before becoming mindless zombies. How are we supposed to fight him?”

The three frowned down at their lunches.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valerie looked up from her homework as she heard a knock on her window. “Hey Valerie, we’ve got a problem!”

“You bet you do?” She grabbed her pistol and pulled open her curtains. She frowned as she took Doppelgänger in. “Why’s that one blindfolded?”

All three of the ghost kid were fidgety. One had their goggles pushed onto their head so a black scarf could be wrapped over their eyes. The second was arm in arm with the first, likely to lead them around. The third looked like they were trying to strangle the paper in their hands.

“Preventative measure,” the three said. “It’s what we need to talk to you about. Can we come in? Please? It’s about the robberies.”

She crossed her arms. “You can’t come in, but I’m listening.”

The one with the paper held it up so she could see. “Have you heard about this?”

“Circus… Gothica? Maybe. My friend said he was going to some circus and that one sounds up his goth partner’s alley. Why?”

“The ringmaster is controlling ghosts and forcing them to steal for him.”

She gave them a blank stare. “You’re kidding.”

They shook their heads and the one with the paper pointed at the rod the man on it was holding. “We think it’s his staff. We can look at this just fine, but seeing anything that shows the thing in full makes our brains shut down.”

“Then why aren’t you off stealing stuff?” she asked, before something clicked in her head and she looked at the blindfolded one. “Preventative measures.”

“We can snap ourselves out of it.”

“As long as you aren’t all hit.”

A horn honked and the three flinched.

She sighed. “Get in here.”

They dove through her wall. The two without a blindfold went to close her laptop and turn off her tv. “All clear.”

The third removed their blindfold and Valerie was surprised by the neon purple color of their eyes. She could have sworn their eyes were yellow.

“We can’t go after the circus,” they said before she could comment on it. “We can barely go after the ghosts without risking falling under the same spell. Heck, with all the billboards that have been popping up out of nowhere, we can barely fly around town without risking it.”

“So what, you want me to go in and beat the guy up?” she asked.

They shook their heads. “It might have been a ghostly crime, but he’s a human criminal. We can leave it to the police. We just need to make sure he can’t use the ghosts to get away.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

The three smiled and one held up a ticket.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valerie scowled as she slumped into her seat. “This is stupid.”

“Everything is stupid,” the guy next to her moaned.

Valerie scooted away from him. “I feel ridiculous,” she whispered this time.

“You look great. You still sound a little too peppy though.”

She had half a mind to take out the wireless headphones Doppelgänger had given her and chuck them as far as she could, but she fought it down.

She was currently dressed in her most gothic attire: a torn Dumpty Humpty band tee that she’d been meaning to get rid of, a black leather jacket, black skinny jeans, the black choker necklace Danny had given her for her birthday (minus the topaz sun pendant), and a pair of her dad’s black work boots. Doppelgänger had also done her makeup, giving her dark smoky eyes and blood-red lips that matched the streaks of temporary dye in her hair, which had been left messy and in her face. The final piece had been a skull mask that covered the top half of her face.

Altogether, she blended in perfectly with the crowd of Circus Gothica patrons.

“Leave it to a ghost to think goth looks good.”

“Just because you can’t pull it off, doesn’t mean it’s a bad look.”

“I thought you said I look great.”

“You do. She doesn’t. We’re having a difference of opinion. Can we just focus on the task at hand, please?”

Valerie grunted and leaned back. She watched the contortionist twist herself in ways that might have been freaky, had she not known the woman was a ghost and seen other ghosts do way worse.

Doppelgänger had split themself at the neck once.

Her eyes caught on the side of the tent as a dark figure slipped out. She smirked and twisted herself to drop down through the hole in the bleachers. “He’s on the move.”

“Alright, be careful. And remember, you’re goth. You need to act like a fan, but you still have to be disinterested in existence and everything that comes with it.”

“How does that make any sense?”

“It doesn’t. Yes, it does. Just play it cool. You’ll do fine.”

Valerie slipped into the off-limits area and looked around. The area was actually pretty empty. There were a few devices -- that… well, she hoped they only looked like torture devices -- off to the side, but otherwise the room was empty.

“What are you doing back here?”

Valerie turned to see Freakshow walking in from another room.

She put on her best Sam expression. “Wicked, you’re Freakshow. I was wondering if I could get an autograph. You’ve got to be the sickest thing that’s happened to this garbage dump of a town.”

“Goth’s don’t sound like that. Stop backseat spying.”

“Yes, well, I am quite spectacular,” he said, adjusting his jacket.

“Oh god, he’s that kind of performer. And here we’d thought he was cool. Except for the mind control. Right, except for the mind control.”

“I suppose one autograph couldn’t hurt. What’s your name?”

“Scarlett. Could you sign my-Woah!” She faked a trip and crashed into his left side, putting enough force into it to take them both to the ground. The staff clattered off to the side.

“You daft girl.”

Valerie didn’t bother to keep up the charade. She rolled towards the staff, scooping it up and climbing to her feet in one smooth motion. Then she was out the tent’s back entrance.

“Wha-Get her! Don’t let her get away.”

Valerie smirked and dove around a set of crates just as a strongman and short ghost came flying out.

“I’m clear. The ghosts are all yours.”

Almost immediately one of the trio was slamming down on the strongman and blasting the short ghost. Valerie kept moving as the other two joined in. As much as she’d like to take down the ghosts, she needed to get the staff as far away as possible. She hit the button on her watch and her suit wrapped around her. With a click of her heels, she was shooting into the sky.

However, she’d barely made it to the first highrise before a swirl of tiny green creatures swarmed her. 

“Give it up girl,” Freakshow said as a cloaked ghost flew up with him in her arms. “Return to me what you stole and -”

“Just shut up,” she said, using her hoverboard’s guns to fire on the small ghosts.

“Destroy her!”

Valerie readied for a fight, but then something landed in front of her and a green dome wrapped around them. Doppelgänger drew in the shield, then sent it exploding outwards to wipe out the smaller ghosts and knock back the larger one and her passenger.

Another of the ghost kid sucked up the ghost then plucked the ringmaster out of the air.

“We’ll bring this back to the circus,” the two said before the second flew off.

“You alright?” the one on her board asked.

“Fine.” She tightened her grip on the staff and looked over her shoulder.

After a moment, the ghost kid sighed. “I think that was the last of them.”

“Good.” She faced forward as they turned to her. “I had that under control, you know.”

They didn’t respond.

“Hello.” She waved her hand in front of their face. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” they answered, but their voice sounded off. Smaller, not as echoey.

She stepped back and looked them over. Her eyes landed on their face and she realized they weren’t looking at her.

They were looking at the staff.

Hesitantly, she shifted the staff into one hand then pulled their goggles up to see red irises, just like the ghost had described.

“You… You’re under my control?”

“I’m under your control.”

Her grip tightened on the staff. This was… She could do anything to the ghost kid. Could finally get her revenge. She could question them and find out anything she wanted. She could learn all their weaknesses. The only thing she really couldn’t do was destroy them, as there were two more of them out there.

She stepped closer to the ghost, grabbed them by the front of their suit. She looked them in the eyes, and froze.

She couldn’t do it. She should, but she couldn’t. Because she looked into their eyes, and saw Danny.

She could say she didn’t know why, but that would be a lie.

Even though Danny helped her with her weapons and let her rant to him whenever the ghost kid annoyed her, she knew he -- like most of the rest of the school -- thought the ghost was good. She didn’t get it, especially with his parents, but she also wasn’t blind. She saw his little frowns when she talked about how the ghost was a menace and noticed when he tried to keep the topic off them whenever he could. She was actually grateful he was willing to stay neutral for her, lord knows Star couldn’t.

So she knew Danny wouldn’t be pleased with her if she did this, but that wasn’t the only reason the ghost’s eyes reminded her of Danny. As much as she hated the ghost, she could recognize that they had a lot in common with her friend. Most of the time. Really only when it was one of their usual fights, just her and one of them, when they would bob and weave around her attacks with ease.

During those times, they were witty and could come up with the most ridiculous pun-filled taunts. It was something Danny liked to do, but only around people he was close to or during that one time with Skulker. They both made every situation seem so much brighter, made everything seem easier to handle, though she’d never admitted it in the ghost’s favor. And sometimes the ghost would get a resigned edge to their voice while they were fighting her that sounded so much like when Danny had to play mediator between her and his partners.

It was something she pushed aside, ever since it had hit her during her stay in the ghost zone, but now.

Now all she could see was Danny!

She growled and shoved the ghost away.

They staggered back off the hoverboard, but their flight took over before they could fall and they stayed level with her.

She looked down at the staff, glaring, then held it out. “I’m going to regret this.”

She let go.

She kept her eyes on the ghost as the seconds passed and a crash sounded far below.

They blinked and flickers of red energy came off their eyes, but their eyes remained the same.

No, they didn’t. Their eyes remained red, but the color became warmer, less like blood and more like fire. They were a brighter color with hints of orange. It felt softer, more compassionate.

It made their eyes look even more like Danny’s.

“Red?”

Valerie turned and flew off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hesitated, then knocked on the window in front of her.

After a minute, the curtain was pulled aside and Danny stared up at her with wide eyes. He opened the window and stepped back. “Val? What are you doing here?”

She carefully flew inside then recalled her board and suit. “Sorry, I just… can we talk?”

He nodded and sat down on his bed, gesturing to the space next to him. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting weird this past week. Is it about that clown guy that got arrested for using ghosts to rob places?”

“Something like that,” she sighed. She sat down and placed her elbow on her knees so she could hide her face in her hands. “He had this staff, it could control ghosts. Doppelgänger asked for my help to get rid of it so the guy could be arrested without the ghosts interfering.”

“Alright, did something go wrong?”

“Not exactly. The plan worked perfectly until… One of the ghost kid’s duplicates came to help me when a ghost chased me. After the ghost was taken care of, they turned to me and… and I had the staff so…” She waved her hand.

“They got mind-controlled,” Danny finished. They were quiet for a moment then he asked, “What did you do to them?”

There was no judgment in his voice -- not like what would have been in Star’s if Valerie had told her, not that she knew Valerie was Red Huntress. Instead, he sounded curious.

She picked her head up and leaned against him, staring blankly at his bedroom wall. “Nothing.”

“Really?” he said, unsurprised.

“I could have, a part of me wanted to, still wants to, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, not really. They were right there, completely helpless and I just didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She looked up at him to see him smiling down at her. “Val, you’re not that kind of person.”

She sat up with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Like you said, they were helpless. You wouldn’t take advantage of a situation like that. It’s not you. They probably knew that. Why else would they have risked bringing you in?”

Valerie couldn’t bring herself to say anything because Danny was wrong. She would have done it. If it had been any other ghost, if their eyes had been covered, she would have done it.

“This isn’t what I came here to talk about,” she said.

He frowned, but allowed the change in topic. “What’s up?”

Valerie took his hand and met his gaze. “Everything that’s happened lately made me realize I… I like you, Danny. I really like you, a lot.”

Danny blushed. “I…”

“I don’t know if you feel the same, but if you do or even if you’d just like to give us a try, maybe we could go on a date this weekend?”

Danny smiled and opened his mouth, then snapped it closed and looked down at his lap. “I-I can’t.”

“I under-”

“No, Val, I… I want to. I really really want to. I like you too.”

“Then -”

“But I can’t. I…” He pulled his hand away and his fists clenched and he bit his lip. “There’s something you don’t know, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to keep it from you if we were together.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t. I want to, but it’s not just my secret to keep.” He rubbed at his eyes.

She nodded and stood up. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I-I should go.” She went to the window. “I’ll see… Bye.”

“Wait.” She turned to him as he went to his desk and pulled something out of a drawer. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you, but haven’t gotten the chance. You should probably take it now. I know you’re mad so I don’t know whe-”

“I’m not mad.” She wasn’t. She trusted Danny to keep her secret, so she couldn’t be mad that he’d keep someone else’s. She was just…

She took the device. It looked like a belt. She wrapped it around her waist and clicked it closed. With a beep, it hummed to life.

“It’s called a Specter Deflector. It repels ghosts and protects you from a lot of their powers.”

She gave him a smile that felt fake. “Thanks.” She tried to pat his shoulder, but he flinched away so she backed off. “Bye, Danny.”

“Later.”

She summoned her suit and slipped out the window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam carded her fingers through Danny’s hair and shared a look with Tucker. The three were piled up on an abandoned building with some dinner, though the food had mostly gone untouched.

“Sorry, dude, we know you’ve had a thing for her for a while,” Tucker said.

“Haven’t.”

“You have, and it’s only gotten worse since you guys got back from Skulker’s.”

Danny pressed his face into Sam’s thigh.

“I still don’t get why you turned her down,” Sam said.

“If I dated her, then she found out we were Doppelgänger, it would ruin everything. And I couldn’t tell her. If I only told her about me, then that would be as bad as lying because I’d have to cover up everything about our connection with each other. And I couldn’t tell her about you guys.”

“You could,” Tucker said and Sam fought down her reaction to that. “We won’t make you keep this from her.”

He shook his head. “You guys still don’t trust her. I know you don’t so don’t try to lie. And I… I still don’t know how she will react anyways. It would be selfish of me to put you guys in danger just for a chance.”

“You deserve to be selfish sometimes,” Sam said, turning him to face her. “We want you to be happy.”

“I know.” He sighed and sat up. “I just… sometimes I wish I was Amity Park’s one and only halfa.”

His partners pulled him into a hug.

“You don’t mean that,” Tucker said.

Danny looked up at him. “I do. If I was, then you wouldn’t be in danger and it would just be my secret to tell, not yours.”

“Oh, Danny,” Sam whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And the season comes to a close. There might be an extra week between this chapter and the next because I need to figure out how I want to go about posting season 2 since it isn't complete like season 1 was when I started posting it.

[quirkdotcom]

Sing me a Song? || Jirou Kyoka x Reader

Summary: Quarantine has been making you feel not only lonely but bored. Your roommate, Jirou, and long time crush decides to help you get out of the funk by showing you her talent of singing

Author’s Note: This is my part for Sofia’s server collab! The idea was to write some fluff since we all are alone at home, which can be and has been hard for many people! I wanted to write for a character I don’t normally write for, and one who’s a little underrated, so here’s my first Jirou piece! I really hope you guys enjoy it! Also thank you to my friend in the server for the cute nickname that the reader uses for Jirou ( You know who you are, and no...I did not use “Earlobes”)

Sunlight was the first thing you woke up to, which was a little upsetting given that normally your alarm woke you up while it was still dark. 

Clumsily, you bolted up and out of bed, moving to your dresser and hastily pulling out a pair of jeans and a random t-shirt, tossing them onto your bed. 

"Ugh, I'm going to be so late for-"

"Class? The class that got canceled?" From behind you, came the voice of your roommate, and currently, the girl you've had a crush on since you met her in high school. 

Jirou was still in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, hair a little messy, but regardless of how she looked, your cheeks grew warm, both in how you were falling hopelessly for her and for embarrassment as you had forgotten about quarantine.

"Uh. Yeah. That class!" You gave a sheepish smile, and let out a small breath of relief, “I always complain that this quarantine feels like it has been going on for ages, and yet I keep forgetting about my canceled classes,” 

Jirou gives you a small smile, “Cmon, I made some breakfast, it should be at least a little warm by now.”

You nodded and followed suit.  The day went by quietly, as most of the other days this week had. Jirou worked at the local grocery store and was considered essential. Which would leave you alone. 

So what to do with your day? By now it was two PM and despite the amount of homework growing, and the laundry pile sitting by the legs of your desk, you didn't move from your position on the couch. 

Instead, you leaned over to the end table to your right and pulled the Nintendo switch from its charging port, hitting the power button and then pressing A three times so that it loaded up Animal Crossing.

Your little villager was so cute, and they sure did a good job of being the representative, you were two stars away from seeing K.K Slider, but you still need to keep up on the daily maintenance, this was serious stuff after all.

As you began to pick up weeds and sticks, talk to your islanders, and sell random items for bells, soon a few hours had passed,  you only really noticed because, in the game, the sun was setting on your island, bathing it in yellows, oranges, and pinks, a sight you missed going out to see in person. 

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you set the switch back in its charger, knowing full and well you would probably pick it back up later tonight. 

You moved into the kitchen, pulling out a cup and grabbing the container of water from the fridge, pouring it into the glass, drinking about half of it, and pouring some more. 

Taking it into the little living room area of your apartment, you sat on the couch, thinking to yourself, trying to figure out what to do besides just play Animal Crossing or sleep. Maybe you could try drawing or- 

Before you could finish that train of thought, the door swung open, and through it stepped Jirou, who had headphones on, and was singing along to whatever music she had playing. 

She didn’t seem to notice you staring, as she shut the door, singing a little louder. And while it was something you sort of expected from a music major, you never quite thought that she would be *this* amazing at singing. 

Her voice was perfect, it was smooth, soft and you could feel the emotion just pouring from her words, and was that a love song? You felt like an anime character when their hair fluffed up and cheeks heating up with a blush, god you were falling so hard for her. 

Although, by now she had noticed your staring and stopped, pulling out an earbud, “(Y/n)! I figured you’d be in your room! Ah im sorry, was I being loud?” She kicked her shoes off, setting her bag down, a faint blush spreading across her own cheeks as she realized she had been overheard. 

“No! Uh actually...I was thinking about..uhm.. You’re really good! Really great!” You scrambled to your feet, embarrassed to have been caught staring. 

It was quiet for a moment or two, both you and her processing. 

Jirou was the first to break the silence, “You think my singing is great?”

You nodded eagerly, “Yes! I can’t believe you don’t sing more! You’re really amazing,” You grinned, making this the first full smile Jirou had seen from you since quarantine had started. 

You pulled your phone from your pocket, a cute nickname mixed with a pun crossing your mind, “In fact…..” you quickly typed in the name and showed it to her proudly. 

“Decibelle…” she paused then laughed, “Oh! I get it...like a decibel...but belle…” 

She moved to the couch and sat down, stretching a little, “Well..maybe I can sing for you more? Only if you want! But...this is the first time that you’ve really smiled in a few months…”

You paused, thinking it over. In all honesty, she was right. Lately, it’s been hard for you to really want to do anything, especially any of your homework. You hummed lightly for a moment, holding up a finger and walking to your room, grabbing your Bluetooth speaker, and walking back out.

“I’ve got an idea...while I’m not much of a singer, I know that some in-home karaoke might be fun?”

With that, you pressed the power button, waiting for the little sound that meant it was connected and hit play on your favorite playlist.

Soon enough, you both were singing along, nodding your heads to the beat in unison. For the moment, nothing else mattered. All you needed was this music, and Jirou’s voice mixing with yours. 

You almost didn’t notice her standing up, the light above her head creating a cute halo as she outstretched her hand and lifted you off the couch with her, letting Jirou lead a dance, it was fast-paced and enlightening, behind you two, through the window, the sun was setting. 

When the song changed to a slower one, you found yourself wrapping your arms around her neck, hers around your waist, both faces flushed and warm, hearts beating quickly, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the dancing, or from how close you were to her.

And you weren’t really sure how it happened, but the next thing you knew, she was kissing you, and you were kissing her. The world must have stopped because when you pulled away, the song had changed and the sun had fully set, leaving the night sky to witness what had happened.

Neither of you two said anything at first, as once again, you were processing everything.

This time, you were the first to speak, and you said, all while smiling stupidly, “Hey..would you sing me a song?”