#and there will inevitably be a bunch of loud people pissed about it

[jewishbarbies]

Taylor - and most celebrities, let's be honest - hasn't spoken about the horrible conflicts or inhumane treatment of people in Ukraine, China, Syria, Afghanistan, Armenia, the Congo, Sudan, Yemen, Iran...and many of them have high death tolls, higher than Gaza, along with other terrible atrocities. why do y'all (meaning random anons and so-called pro-palestine people) DEMAND she and other famous celebs speak on Palestine, but not on everything else? why do you ONLY care about this one situation being given attention? why do you only demonize Israel and Jews? think on that before you send annoying messages to Jewish bloggers.

[hongthoven]

「✦Mist ✦」 ʰᵒⁿᵍʲᵒᵒⁿᵍ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ⁽ˢᵐᵘᵗ⁾

one-shot 𖹭 4.5k w

pairing 𖹭 kim hongjoong (ateez) x fem reader

tags 𖹭 smut; established relationship; rough sex; car sex; jealousy; possessiveness; bit of dirty talk if you squint

✏️ Hongjoong is the jealous kind - you know it, everyone around you knows it, but what was supposed to be a chill night out with your friends takes an unexpected turn when your boyfriend accidentally hears about a past fling including one of the boys sitting at the table next to you.

pls reblog & comment if you like it 𖹭

© hongthoven

“He’s gonna blow this off. You just watch”

An uneventful, typical Friday night at your local bar with your usual gang, dusting off the reminiscence of a neverending busy week of work and pretending to enjoy the company of people you wish you didn’t even have to interact with daily. With his elbows pressed against the table as he lifts himself to get a perfect view over the bar where one of your friends disappeared merely a minute ago, Seonghwa can’t contain the hysterical laughter shaking him to the bones as you all sit there watching another chaotic cry for attention from the man who’s about to use another infamous cringy pick-up line to get into the bartender’s pants. 

While you’re not always proud to introduce him as such, Wooyoung has been granted with the best-friend status ever since you were still crawling in your nappies and struggling with the concept of syllables; and even though there was a time he used to be cute enough to get out of an awkward situation, watching him make an absolute fool of himself sits inevitably at the top three things you like to do on a Friday night– having Hongjoong there by your side only sprinkles an ounce of perfection to this moment, your boyfriend primarily acting like the cherry on top of every mundane situation. And right now, with his palm tucked between your closed thighs and his forehead occasionally resting against your shoulder every time he starts to laugh a little bit too loud at your friend’s misery, Hongjoong definitely looks like the tastiest dessert to the three-courses-meal you could have used upon heading to the bar. 

Red at the cheeks, you can already feel the sheer mix of alcohol and excitement as everyone starts to chant some improvised loser anthem to welcome back Wooyoung at your table, his cocky smirk untouchable as he finds his spot right next to you with the confidence of a sore loser facing the tragic ‘game over’ screen of a video game. Looking for the support he can’t find in any of you, Wooyoung immediately reaches for the first glass in front of him — yours —  and chugs it down his throat in what you count as two painfully slow gulps. Within a second, the glass hits the table back with a loud thump.

“Can’t even get your own drink?”

“Hhhhh— chill, babe, what’s yours is mine, remember? and yes, that includes YOU, Joong!” Wooyoung smirks a little bit too proudly, your cheek pinched between two of his fingers as he manages to equally piss you and your boyfriend off with his typical provocative tone. 

Lucky for you, Hongjoong is quick to let him know he wouldn’t go near his dick even if he was about to die and the only remedy was laying in his cum– and as the topic eventually dies with Wooyoung quietly chuckling to himself, the back of his head hitting the leather of the booth you had claimed as yours over an hour ago, Seonghwa calls for another round, ready to keep the night going. 

It’s nothing close to unusual, having a bunch of friends in their twenties naturally leading the conversation towards their favorite topic: sex. More specifically, a heated debate over who’s getting some and who gets to take the “no bitches” status home for the week. Seonghwa usually gets the party started– as a photographer, the man never fails to share the crudest anecdotes about a photoshoot turned into some sort of orgy, sparing no details even though being asked to ‘get to the point’ about a thousand times throughout his stories. Then, Wooyoung would usually make his contribution by sharing some of his latest Tinder encounters, using this moment to be his favorite version – the center of attention – and turning a random story about a date in a coffee shop into a Shakespearian drama, tone and everything, to entertain the crowd. 

By the time the two single pieces of your gang are done, they typically enjoy teasing you – the happy couple – asking if sex hasn’t turned too boring yet, as you’re soon to be entering your third year as an item. But tonight, for some reason, shit unexpectedly hits the fan when a silly comment makes your boyfriend flinch into his seat, eyebrows knitted together as Wooyoung’s voice – always too loud and high-pitched – comes out with a secret you thought would be kept forever, merely a piece of information, a glitch from the past, nothing to even discuss— unless Hongjoong decides to make it an issue. 

“You two slept together?” you only realize he’s been quiet for a while when his voice surprisingly cracks under the utter shock of picturing his girlfriend hooking up with the womanizer sitting by her side. Until then, never considered a threat but now standing awfully close to the woman Hongjoong liked to claim as his, brand new information instantly breaking the perfect balance between a long-time friend and an ex-lover he didn’t see coming. 

“I wouldn’t technically call it ‘sleeping’ — I mean, there was no bed involv—”

“Shut up, Wooyoung” you cut him off immediately, rolling your eyes at the way he simply NEEDS to add useless details to his statement.

“That was ages ago” While you feel the urge to add context, the way Hongjoong’s hand immediately stills between your thighs, matching the one holding his glass close to his lips as he tilts his head with a quick, unimpressed chuckle, says it all. He is pissed.

The rest of the evening is quite a blur as you fail to focus on any of the ongoing conversations, your attention entirely drawn to Hongjoong who's gone quiet ever since he heard about a whole section of your life you had managed to keep undercover to this day. And though you try to make eye contact every now and then, you’re a bit concerned to face his clenched jaw and a stone-cold silence, his body only reacting from primal instinct whenever Wooyoung wraps an arm around your shoulders to joke around, your boyfriend’s eyes following his every move like a predator ready to jump if he dares coming closer.

The silence between you two occurs for the rest of the night and follows you through the streets as you struggle to match your boyfriend’s pace, alcohol and stilettos as the worst combination with wet concrete from a drizzly evening. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?” You eventually dare to ask, your hand reaching for his arm to stop him in his tracks – quite honestly you’ve grown tired of staring at his back and strolling behind like a puppy who’s just wet the new carpet. 

“Take a wild guess” Hongjoong almost hisses as he finally turns to face you, one of his hands collecting a fistful of his black hair to push it back and in this moment, you hate the fact he looks so divine, droplets sparkling all over his face like skin made of a billion diamonds, thick lashes battling against a storm as he locks your gaze, trying desperately to read through your puzzled expression.

“For Christ’s sake Hongjoong, that was YEARS ago— a whole different life!”

“It’s not about ‘when’ it happened, Y/N, I’m just wondering why it never came up before. God knows he likes to talk about the places his dick has been before, we had a complete walk through a world tour— Wish I knew you were one of the stops.” 

“It never came up because it means nothing– doesn’t it prove anything at all? We were just horny college students! It was over before it was even a thing!”

“Seems like you left quite the impression” Hongjoong snaps back, his fingers fiddling with his pocket, looking for a lighter and what seems to be the only cigarette left in the packet he immediately crushes and tosses into the nearest bin – baffled. You try and recall Wooyoung’s words and the way he carelessly exposed one of your flings, letting the entire table know about how you had dragged him into the corner of a busy street following a night out in a club, begging to be fucked. Like you said, a whole different life— a life when you didn’t care much about settling with anyone, sick of the dating scene and more importantly, a life when you could still perceive Wooyoung’s sex appeal. Back then, it was easy to be charmed whenever he smiled at you, tongue poking into his gummy cheek like he was a second away from bending you over the sketchy couch of his pocket-sized student bedroom. Back then, mindless sex with your best friend seemed like a perfect compromise, especially when you two ended up too horny yet too lazy to go out and seek for a Player 2. 

Now, though? Wooyoung remained your best friend, a comfort place always willing to make you laugh through darker times— but when it came to sex? You couldn’t even recall the last time you had felt attracted to the man. How could you, when the one staring at you right now, eyebrows furrowed, lips pinched together and quite obviously dismantled by the whole situation was still, inevitably, profoundly, everything you wanted and needed from a partner?

“You know he can’t compete…” you feel the urge to insist although you can’t recall a time when you haven’t praised your boyfriend’s skills in the bedroom— or wherever he feels like having you. Truth be told, no one could ever make you drift away from Hongjoong. Even after years of dating, the man still managed to take your breath away. But you would also lie if you said you didn’t like his jealous side just a little. The way his lips turn into a natural pout as he sucks onto his cigarette, his eyes obviously avoiding yours as he frowns towards a random scene happening on the other side of the road between another couple whose fight seems way ahead of yours. You can’t help but notice the irony. Maybe something in the air?

“It’s not a competition, Y/N” Hongjoong rarely uses your name— typically prefers to give you his favorite pet names instead of some boring formality, and tonight is one of those rare exceptions when he is too mad to act like your usual caring boyfriend. You know he is probably rummaging through the most haunting thoughts— thoughts of you pinned up against the wall, clinging onto Wooyoung, both of you still half clothed as he rockets himself into you, making you call his name in the middle of the streets and for everyone to see. 

Rain has gotten you drenched by now, the fabric of your dress sticking to your shivering skin as you curse yourself for ditching a coat just because none of your warmest jackets would fit your vibe that night. Your impeccable fashion taste was actually one of the many things that had caught Hongjoong’s eye when you had first met and to this day, your boyfriend never missed a chance to praise your looks— every morning he would stare at you with a loving smile, a second before pressing his lips to your neck as you both stood in front of your bedroom’s mirror, his sweet voice whispering the most devastating compliments only to conclude with a daily “I love you”. 

“Let’s get you home, you’re gonna catch a fucking cold” Hongjoong adds, taking off his own coat to let it rest like a cape upon your shoulders. Though the fabric is just as drenched as you are, it feels comforting to smell the familiar scent of his signature fragrance, the one that never fails to get you hot and bothered, only because it is particularly crafted for your boyfriend. Rich, fancy with just enough masculinity in the undertone to make you feel like he owns you entirely. 

Although you hear him curse for parking the car so far from the bar, his hand still finds yours as you lock your fingers together, his pace now matching yours — and while you know he isn’t ready to calm down just yet, there’s a sense of comfort in the way he still manages to make you feel loved and cared about. 

The warmth of the car hits you like lava as Hongjoong immediately sets the heat above normal in hope it’ll dry your clothes faster. Though he has started the ignition, he seems to be frozen still, his eyes staring upfront, hands on the wheel as you notice just how tensed he actually is, from the sharpness of his jaw to the way his skin turns white around his knuckles from holding the wheel a little too hard. 

“I don’t want to picture you two together everytime we hang out, Y/N… Actually, I never want to picture anyone else with you, but me — do you understand? or do I sound crazy to you right now?” 

Hongjoong’s possessiveness is no news to you. Not after years of dating the man and witnessing his sudden change of mood whenever he sees a man standing a little too close, let alone having a conversation with you. It’s not a fight you never had before and you know, deep down, it won’t be the last. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you” he adds, almost apologetic as his eyes finally find yours “but now all I can see is his hands all over you… It’s fucking killing me” you watch as he closes his eyes, growling at his own tormented thoughts while the back of his head hits the leather of his seat. By now the windows are covered with a thick, steamy layer, making it impossible for you to see the road ahead. Or to be seen. 

Taking on the opportunity of having your boyfriend still processing his own demons, you decide to let your intrusive thoughts win this round as you peel yourself off Hongjoong’s coat, letting it pool on the seat 

“How about I give you something else to think about?” you smile, wasting no time in straddling your boyfriend whose eyes suddenly open wide at the unexpected intrusion. There’s a little space for you to maneuver between the wheel and his chest but you somehow manage to make it work, your thighs pressed on each side of his while your arms lock around his neck like two pieces of a magnet smacking together at last. 

“Babe— I don’t think you should play this game right now” Hongjoong’s voice is full of warning, his tone a little deeper than it usually is, but you’re not typically the one to give up on a plan, especially when it involves fucking the anger out of your boyfriend. 

“Give me one good reason to stop” brushing your lips against his, your hips naturally start to grind over his lap, putting on an obvious show while his hands travel up your thighs, creasing the wet fabric of your dress until it crumples at the wake of your hips. 

“I could hurt you” the words vanish against your tongue as you deepen the kiss, dying for a taste of him while the sour mix of whisky and cigarette invades the back of your mouth like a drug you can’t ever get enough of.  Caged into his arms, you feel a little boneless, your own body going limp against the stiffness of his muscles as his fingers dig into your flesh, lacing your skins with thin little red ribbons as he carries your pace by pushing your pelvis back and forth against his growing bulge. 

“When did I ever ask you to go soft on me?” you tease, the tip of your tongue tracing the outline of his lips as you chuckle at the sight of him crumpling in front of your eyes. One of his hands eventually detaches from your thigh, traveling up your stomach, between your breast, palming your chest until it rests against your throat in the shape of a fist ready to choke the air out of you. 

“Want me to go rough on you, love?” Hongjoong smirks, his white pearls as a permanent threat while his grip tightens around your neck, a slight change of shade showing a bruise from a couple nights before, now a little too faded for his liking. 

“Fuck I like to see my prints all over your body— show the world you’re fucking mine.” The daunting mix of his filthy words with the growing stiffness between your thighs is enough to have you mewling like a kitten as you tilt your head back, arching perfectly against the wheel while giving your man the most breathtaking view over your breast as it escapes the thin fabric of your dress — and though it’s been a while since you gave up on wearing a bra, the sight never fails to make Hongjoong go completely feral, his lips attacking your tits like a starved animal. 

“Joongie— fuck” you almost squeal as soon as his teeth graze the sensitiveness of your erected nub, pulling at it just enough to have you lost in limbo. Halfway between excruciating pain and absolute bliss. By now, your hips are jolting at the most crazy pace, your entire body craving for his touch as you no longer fear for him to witness your utter desperation for his cock. With his mouth still tightly wrapped around your tit, Hongjoong reaches for your chin with one hand, his fingers pressed to your jaw, his thumb finding your mouth already agape as it lands flat against your tongue like a priest feeding you a wafer on Sunday Mass. 

While his finger never comes close to the absolute treat of having his junk at the very back of your throat, you still make sure to put on a show as you suck the flesh out of his thumb, taking off his silver ring only to spit it out over his lap with a content smile. Eyes filled with a darkness you know too well, Hongjoong wastes no time fumbling between your thighs, pushing your lacy panties roughly to the side and almost tearing the fabric open from lacking patience as his thumb finally finds your slit, your own saliva melting with the abundant wetness of your cunt. 

“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of this” he almost growls, his mouth attacking your neck, chest and every piece of skin coming close enough to his starving lips, devouring your flesh entirely as you instantly clench around two more of his fingers while yet not full enough. 

“Joongie please” you don’t care how begging you sound right now with your hand smashed against the window, leaving its print behind while bouncing against his palm like you’ve been cock deprived for months. There’s just something about this man that simply leaves you putty into his hands, desperate for more and constantly craving his touch. Whether you’re standing in a crowded room or alone at home, you can’t recall a moment when you don't feel the instant urge to jump his bones. 

You’re lucky the steam is covering up for the mess happening inside your car right now as if anything, everything looks absolutely obscene right now. From the way your dress isn’t doing its job at covering your dignity, all tits out and dripping inside your boyfriend’s palm as he hooks his fingers into you, hitting your special spot just right with every snap of his knuckles, to the increasing sound of your voice as you moan his name like a broken record, brain fuzzy from the upcoming orgasm taking over — yet the thought of being caught isn’t that terrible. You’ve had this conversation with Hongjoong before. When mentioning your kinks and wildest fantasies, you can perfectly recall the time you had told him about how you wouldn’t mind doing it somewhere people could see— while not entirely into the exhibitionism scene, you didn’t hate the idea of having an audience. 

Hongjoong’s hand — the one clenching around your throat until now — finds its way between your bodies, fiddling with his belt as you lift yourself up slightly to give him just enough room to unpack your favorite treat in all its veiny glory. Any other day, you would take your sweet time to give him head and have him fuck your throat until you’re sore but there’s some sort of emergency in the air as you grab his wrist, breaking contact as his fingers slip out of your gaping hole so his hand finds a new nest over your chest, covering your skin with a messy coat of arousal as you finally slide down his pole until it empales you entirely. 

Nothing ever comes close to that first stretch. No matter how many times you have fucked, Hongjoong still feels like a first everytime he pushes himself into you, tearing you apart with the girth of a cock who has definitely made you cry before. Both from pain and pleasure. But today there’s no time for adjustment as you use the car door and headboard as a lever to bounce over Hongjoong’s lap restlessly. The whole scene is messy, almost crude as you pour over his slacks, the buckle of his belt bruising your skin with every hard thrust of his hips as soon as he starts to pound himself back into you, wrecking the pace and your insides all at the same time. 

“Should have invited your little friend to watch” Hongjoong growls, eyes half shut with the veins of his neck growing twice its size from using all of his strength to pistol his hips into your groin from under. “Show him how it’s done” he adds, using both his hands as a belt around your hips to keep you still as he keeps pounding harder with each thrust. By now your brain has turned into mush as you bite into the back of your hand not to scream, completely unable to think about anything else but the insane amount of pleasure piling up into your guts as you feel yourself reaching your high at a rocket speed. 

“What happened to you, baby? Lost your tongue?” he smirks, slowing down for a bit only to go harder a second after, forcing your back against the wheel so hard the car starts to honk with each thrust, making you nervous while Hongjoong doesn’t seem to bother about the sudden attention. 

“H—hongjoong— backseat— please” you barely manage to moan, almost gasping for air with each word as your boyfriend eventually slows down until he comes to a stop, blessing you with the delightful sight of his dismantled face, sweaty and red with his black hair plastered all over his forehead, thick veins pulsating on each side of his throat, chest glowing with dampness. He couldn’t look hotter if he tried. Peeking at his underarm as he pulls you into a kiss, you refrain a moan at the sight of his tattoo as your tongue instantly melts with it, saltiness of sweat melting with your saliva as you come down from your high slightly while enjoying the complete bliss of cockwarming him for a while. 

Breaking the kiss, Hongjoong simply tilts his head to the side, motioning for the backseat, commanding as ever without actually saying the words. Obedient and climax deprived, you lift yourself up and off his lap, trying your best to crawl in the backseat with as much grace as possible while Hongjoong wiggles out of his pants just enough to give himself more room as he follows you there, visibly unpleased to find you with your back against the seat, facing him. Again, without a word, Hongjoong gives you a little twirl of his finger, ordering for you to turn around and get on all fours for him, smacking your ass as soon as it rises upfront in all its glory. 

Pushing a knee between your legs to spread them apart, Hongjoong spits into his palm, coating it with saliva as you squirms with impatience, picturing his fist around his cock as soon as the familiar sound of your boyfriend jerking himself off hits you, making you clench over nothing — luckily not for long as the comforting stretch of his cock tearing you apart steals the air out of your lungs merely a few seconds later. 

“Fuck I’ve been dying to have you like this since you put on that dress, tonight” Hongjoong grunts, one of his hands wrapping your hair into a tight ponytail while the other rests firmly at the small of your back. Although his thrusts are definitely slower this time, you can’t help but cry out everytime he bottoms out, filling you up to the brim with each snap of his vicious hips.

“What took you so long?” you moan, hands clenched around the head-rest as Hongjoong tugs at your hair a little harder, probably as a punishment for provoking him again. 

“Couldn’t wait to get you alone— although maybe I should’ve fucked you right accross the table for everyone to see? I know you’re desperate for an audience…” The filth of his words match the brutality of his hips as Hongjoong pulls out entirely, smacking his throbbing head against your clit until you whine with desperation. By now, that dress is completely ruined, crumbled around your hips like a vulgar rag and definitely covered with sweat and cum but you can definitely recall the way Hongjoong’s eyes had twinkled when giving him a little spin earlier in the privacy of your bedroom. You knew he was a goner every time you wore a dress so thin he could catch a glimpse of your tits hardening under the fabric and today wasn’t any different. If it wasn’t for the unexpected Wooyoung-gate, you knew Hongjoong would have fucked you braindead in the sketchy bathroom of the bar. Not that it would be a first. 

“H— joongie— i’m— close” you almost sob, already overstimulated as your guts suddenly tighten into a knot, your body almost collapsing under Hongjoong’s last efforts to get you exactly where he needs you. Lifting you up with one arm snaked around your chest, fist locking your throat, Hongjoong quickens the pace, the abundance of skin-on-skin mixed with the brutality of his thrusts making the car shake under your knees as you suddenly stiffens under his touch, your screams muffled into his palm as your boyfriend is quick to follow, thick white ropes filling you up to the brim as you both collapse against the seat, exhausted.

It takes you a while to come down from your high as Hongjoong helps you settle back into the seat, cradling you. Your hands filled with strands of his wet hair, pushing it back to unveil his blissful face, you cannot help but sigh with the most sincere happiness when his lips find your neck, pecking it slightly, his tongue darting against a bruise left from his fingers tightly wrapped around your throat earlier. In this moment, nothing much matters except for the two of you and the unconditional love you two share.

No more jealousy. No more fighting. 

[patscorner]

ok, I see you need requests, so here's one, something for Chris where the reader is Jealous?

absolutely!

Defeaning Silence

Summary: Both you and Chris attempt to seal the cracks in your relationship

wc: 1,517

Pairings: Chris x fem!reader

Contains: Swearing, arguing, fighting, insecurities, toxic, mentions of alcohol

______________________________

You and Chris both knew it was coming, you’d seen the signs. You both just chose to ignore the evidence, and delay the inevitable.

Chris and you had gone to Tara’s party. You were less than happy to go, as you were swamped with schoolwork, as well as your boss forcing you to work overtime. The last thing you wanted to do on your day off was be around a bunch of people who were drunk and less than unaware of their surroundings.

But, you hadn’t spent a bunch of time with your boyfriend, and he had invited you to this party. So even though you’d rather be under a warm blanket, watching a movie and eating your favorite snacks, you suck it up and go out.

Everything is going well, as it usually does. You had been glued to Chris’s side the whole time, not having the energy to go out of your way to talk to anyone. Chris wasn’t super pleased with the hesitation you had when he asked if you wanted to go, he felt like you weren’t being super appreciative of the invite he’d given you. He, of course, didn’t communicate this with you, not wanting to cause an argument. So he instead attempted to hide his feelings and just to enjoy your company.

As the night progressed, the more people got drunk, the more irritated you had become, the more the uneasy tension grew between you and Chris. This was unusual for you two, as you were usually that one couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But tonight, you stood uncomfortably at each other's side.

Chris mumbled something along the lines of ‘fuck this’ before turning to you. “Can you at least pretend to be having a good time? You’re really ruining this for me.”

You look up at him, your blood instantly starting to boil. “What? Where is this coming from?” you spit at him. This is truly not the time nor the place for this, both of you being slightly under the influence, and already upset with each other.

“You’re standing here, being all dry and shit, and you're really starting to piss me off. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, ‘cause I know you’ve been hella busy. But, come on, you’re not even trying.” he exclaimed, flailing his hands around.

You’re stubborn, so even though deep down you know he’s correct, the last thing you’re going to do now is agree with him. “I am trying, Chris, that’s why I’m still fucking standing here. I do not want to be here, and I’ve already sucked it up. I don’t know what more you want from me.” you say, just as loud as him.

Chris rolled his eyes. “If you’re gonna be all mopey and shit, then you shouldn’t fucking be here.” Chris says harshly, his words laced with venom. Your eyes widen.

“Are you being fucking serious? You asked me to come, I’m here now, so what is the fucking problem?” You both are eye to eye now, screaming in each other's face. You know you should call it quits, sleep this off, and come back to it in the morning, but all logic has left, and you’ve both let the alcohol and frustration from earlier take over.

“My problem is the fact that I feel like I haven’t seen you in about two weeks, and when I try and be a good boyfriend and get you out of the fucking house, your acting like a bitch about it.” he spits bitterly. His words hold a hint of truth, despite his slight intoxication. “I might as well go hang out with someone else.”

You stand in front of him, speechless, as you let what he said sink in. Finally, you find your voice again. “Go hang out, with someone else then, Chris. See if I care.” you say untruthfully. You don’t mean it and he knows it.

He laughs even though this situation is far from funny. “I’m not falling for that again and you’re fucked up for trying to put me there.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, finding his implication shocking. He’s referring to a party you guys went to a while ago.

You’d only been dating for three months, so nobody really knew about your relationship. You had gone to a party, one that was far more packed than you thought it’d be, so you lost Chris pretty quickly. You’d had an argument before the event, so you assumed he had gone to hang out with his friends.

But after a while, you found him, talking to a girl who was the exact opposite of you. Her hands were on his chest, and his arm was snaked around his waist. You’d seen them talking, and you watched as she pulled him in for a kiss and how he didn’t pull away as their lips interlocked.

When they pulled away, he locked eyes with you, and you stood there, in shock. His eyes widened as he made his way to you, but you were already out the door. But he was fast, and he was able to talk you into letting him take you home so you both could speak privately. The car ride was quiet and awkward because, of course, it was.

You’d gone home that night, and the next morning, he explained himself. It wasn’t a good explanation, but you had always believed in second chances, so you let him attempt to make it up to you.

That didn’t stop you from having your own insecurities, though. After the party, you had him under a microscope. Every party, if you saw him talk to another girl, you’d be pissed for the rest of the night. Chris wasn’t able to do anything with anyone of the opposite gender, all because you were scared he’d kiss them again.

This led to a plethora of apologies and Chris practically begging you to relax. Your jealousy and his prior infidelity made it impossible for you both to have a positive relationship. It had turned toxic extremely quickly, but eventually, it got better. After long talks, you both attempted to work out all the issues you’d had.

Tara’s party was the first party you’d gone to since then, which was a year ago.

Back to the present, you were still staring at each other with such hatred. It’s like that flipped a switch in Chris. He realized you were both still hanging onto the past and it wasn’t going to get any better if you didn’t heal first.

He sighed deeply before grabbing your hands lightly, dragging you out of the party. “What’re you doing, Chris? Look, you can stay, I don’t care.” you ramble, wanting nothing more than for him to enjoy himself.

He opens your phone and orders you an uber, without saying a word. He hands it back to you and you look at it, then back at him. “We need to talk tomorrow. When we’re sober and cooled off.”

You don’t say anything, but nod knowingly. Chris sits down on the steps, and you follow as the silence surrounds you. Unfortunately, the quiet had become a recurring theme in you and Chris’s relationship.

When the uber arrived, Chris walked you to the car, and opened the door for you. Before you get in the car, Chris kisses your forehead. You smile sadly at him. “I’m sorry.” you mumble.

“I know, love, me too.”

The next day, Chris showed up at your apartment. You could tell by his demeanor what was coming. You both knew. It was only a matter of time.

“I’m sorry. Us being together is not healthy. And I know you know. We need a break. I just- I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s not just your fault, I know that. But you and I both know this isn’t good for us.”

At first you were in denial, knowing how much you loved him. “We can fix this- please, we can figure it out, we always do.” you begged tearfully.

Chris shook his head, water brimming his eyes as well. “Baby, I’ve figured it out. We’re only hurting each other.”

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?” you ask, swallowing your pride and biting the bullet.

Chris looks down. “The truth hurts, baby.”

“Lie to me then.” You whisper. Chris looks at you and smiles sadly.

“Baby.”

“I know. I just think there are other ways to solve this, a way where we don’t have to leave each other. Tell me what I can do to fix this. Please. Anything.” you're sobbing now, feeling pathetic.

Chris pulls you into an embrace rubbing his hands up and down your back. Eventually, he pulls away, his own tears falling.

“Thank you for being the light of my life.” Chris says, grabbing his keys and heading towards the door. Before he walks out he turns to you and looks at you with sympathy.

“We almost made it.” And with that, he closes the door, leaving you in the deafening silence.

______________________________

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[ditto-the-alien]

I Hate My Job

A story I wrote for a college class, You can ignore. 1010 words

Synopsis: Death vents to a psychologist about their job.

I really, REALLY hate my job. I’ve had it for my entire adult life, yet it never gets easier. You think it would be easy, just go in, lead them where they need to go, get out, and maybe take a bit of a break afterwards to catch your breath. But no, more people need to be led to their final destination every minute of every day. 3383729 people every year, 9246 people every day, 386 people every hour, 7 people every minute. I used to have to do a lot more, but thankfully more people got hired a while back. I still got stuck with one of the worst places to have to do the job though.  I mean you probably know that you LIVE there.

“…I’m still confused on why the grim reaper is in my office.”

Well, you are technically dead right now.

“So, the defibrillator won’t work?”

Nah, it probably will, time just slows down when you are either a reaper or a soul. I’m taking advantage of this to actually talk to someone about my job. And before you ask, I am not going to describe what happens after OR if any of the religions are right. I don’t know, I just lead people to the end, not go in with them.

“So why me, of all people to talk to?”

You happened to be the closest psychologist currently dying or that is currently dead and not in what happens after. Now can I please continue talking?

“Sorry, please continue.”

Ok then. The United States is possibly the worst place to have to be a reaper, for several reasons. The first of these has only really started happening in the past decade or so: have you ever had to console a child who has just been taken away from everything they knew because some wingnut thought “Hey, I’m going to shoot a bunch of people!” And I know that’s really simplifying what happens but the end result is the same: you end up not knowing what to say. Either because you didn’t expect someone to go and kill a bunch of elementary schoolers for who-knows-what reason, or because you have seen it go play out so many times you don’t know if there is anything you CAN say that hasn’t been said before.

“You know a lot of people feel that way about that, right?”

Nothing ever changes though. I’M the only thing that isn’t supposed to change, you know, “Death is inevitable” and all that jazz. Instead this hellhole is stuck in an endless loop of me having to go back and forth.

“You said there were several reasons that you dislike your job.”

Yeah, Failed childbirth. Regular old dead babies are fine. Sure they are loud but I don’t have to explain what happened to them. But when the mother dies, oh boy do they cry like hell. All they want is to hold that child in their arms, and then they kick the bucket before doing it and feel like they “Abandoned them”. Then they try to hurt me thinking I’m the reason that they died, but I’m just the messenger! 

“Wait you don’t kill people?”

No, I don’t! If I could half of the problems, I have with this job would not even matter! And to be honest that kind of pisses me off too, the fact that people blame ME for them dying. I did absolutely nothing, people either die thanks to their own actions, someone else’s actions, or because their body hates them! If it wasn’t for the fact that Jack gets mauled every single day, I would take his job of dealing with the animals because at least THEY don’t think it’s my fault!

“… There has to be at least one positive about your job. If not, why are you even working there?”

The one good thing is that sometimes when a person dies, one of their deceased dogs goes and tackles them to the ground and licks their face. It’s nice to see at least something get fixed or reunited every now and then, but that happens so rarely. it makes me really pissed that its either “Do this job” or “Un-Exist”. And before you ask, yes, if reapers quit we cease to exist and some other shmuck has to do this job. 

“… Wow…. That… to be frank, really sucks.”

Yep. To be honest one of the few reasons I do this job is so that nobody else has too. I did it back when one of you got mauled by a sabertooth tiger and I’ll do it when one of you decides to kill the only other person on the moon with a rock. Corporate barely listens to my requests, it took eons for them to even hire people for the other continents and even longer for the individual countries. Thankfully at least Jack always dealt with the animals so I never had to worry about that. 

….

You know, I think I just really needed to get that off my chest. Given that I haven’t been able to actually take a break in years, even just venting about how horrible my job is helped. It made me realize that as long as you even just have someone to talk to, your day can be made just a little bit better. 

“Perfect. Well, I am pretty sure the EMTs are going to restart my heart soon, so I guess this is goodbye.”

Yeah.  *BUZZ*

…. huh. well, see you next week I guess.

“You too.”

“…Wait what do you mean see you next we-” HUNDREDS DEAD IN HOSPITAL EXPLOSION

At Approximately 3PM Wednesday afternoon, a large explosion rocked the Saint Joey Memorial hospital. After the psychologist Wilson Adams had a heart attack, Doctors arrived with a defibrillator. However the gas main had broken in that room, and the electrical charge ignited it, causing a chain reaction of explosions that eventually caused the entire building to collapse. Wilson Adam’s body was found among the wreckage.

[a-libra-writes]

How the Peaky Blinders React To You Being a Jazz Singer

In This Preference, You’ll Be Singing To: Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby, John Shelby, Ada Shelby, Polly Grey, Michael Grey, Esme Shelby, Alfie Solomons, Lizzie Stark, Isaiah Jesus, Luca Changretta, Aberama Gold

THOMAS SHELBY

True to his reputation, he’d be interested in you right away, and that would inevitably grow to infatuation. Tommy would come to see you towards the end of your shift, when most of the customers are passed out and you’re sweetly crooning in a room of smoke and spilled drinks. He’s ready to drive you home, ignoring any questions about why he’s awake in the wee hours of the morning. Don’t be surprised if your club is suddenly bought by the Shelby company, especially if your boss wasn't treating you well. Tommy claims it was just a good business decision, since you’re popular and the club is close to their territory, but you know him well by this point. You’ll be well protected by guards and he often visits during your rehearsals, always looking tired and a bit lonely. Tommy's clearly relaxed by your singing, though maybe encouraging his advances isn't for the best.

ARTHUR SHELBY

No surprise, he takes a liking to you right away when you’re hired at his club. When you’re performing, he gets distracted, especially when you’re croning a love song in the wee hours to a bunch of drunk, passed-out patrons. In the corner of your eye, you’d notice Arthur looking at you like you’re hanging the moon. He’d die if you smiled at him during that. He’s incredibly protective of any weirdos trying to catcall you or grab you while you’re singing; he’ll grab them by the collar and throw them to the street or just bash their faces outright. The thing is, Arthur quickly learns your everyday personality is much different than your stage persona … and it makes him nervous to talk to you when you’re not working. You being so close and personal, not distant from the stage, makes him far more bashful.

JOHN SHELBY

The club you ended up at was always a favorite of his, and it was made even better by your singing. Eventually he stopped bringing his rowdy men around because their hollering and whistling began to piss him off - though he laughed his ass off when you threw a drink at one and continued your song. When it’s much later in the evening he’ll visit, since it brings John some peace, especially after a hard night of following Tommy’s orders. He’s too embarrassed to approach you at first, though it’d be easier if you worked for a Shelby club. He’d have an excuse to talk to you, for one. His crush would be painfully obvious, though he’s far more comfortable when he meets you outside the club. Conversation and jokes come more naturally.

ADA SHELBY

You two met by chance outside of work, and tonight she was finally coming to see you sing. That's when her little attraction turned into a full-blown crush. While Ada isn't big into jazz clubs, she's into you, so she'll visit several nights a week. Once you both are close, she insists you stop by her place after work, when the sun is just coming up. She gets up to let you in and brews you some hot tea to soothe your throat before you both fall asleep in bed. When you finally agreed to work at a Shelby club, Ada wanted it extra protected. She's ready to raise hell with her brothers if they think about starting something stupid at the club you work at.

POLLY GRAY

While Polly enjoys visiting the club you perform at, she warns you about the job in general. There are plenty of entitled men that could harass you, not to mention all the idiot drunks and brawls. Before long, you’ll be employed at a Shelby club to get some “proper” protection… though Polly will still ask you to carry a knife or a gun. Her protectiveness aside, she likes to tease about what you're wearing for the night, especially if you've a habit of getting ready at her place. When you're performing she likes to give you winks and knowing looks in the hopes you'll get flustered. If she’s had several drinks, she’ll whistle.

MICHAEL GRAY

He’s not the type who likes to be smitten with people right away, so he’ll swing between trying to impress you and trying to distance and be aloof. Michael finds your performances relaxing, even if the other club guests ruin it with their noise and loud drinking. Because he wants to avoid that crowd, he shows up early during rehearsals or very late in the evening, when you’re about to quit for the night. Even before you both are an item, Michael is protective and might hire an extra bodyguard for you. He waves off your concern by insisting all Shelby club employees are kept this safe (they aren’t, and he gets jealous of the guard anyway). Michael’s feelings are so obvious to you, but he’s too proud to admit it, even when he’s driving you home and buying you flowers and leaving nice gifts in your dressing room.

ESME

She doesn’t understand why you put up with that noisy, smokey club, with all those men that stare and try to make a move the second you step off stage. She prefers when you both sing together, outside in the sunshine or under the stars. When you come home after a long night of singing, she wakes up early and gets you in a nice bath or snuggled in bed. She’ll keep the house dark through the day so you can sleep. Esme understands you need to sing to eat, but you shouldn’t work your pretty voice until it’s hoarse!

ALFIE SOLOMONS

He doesn’t visit these kinds of jazz clubs that often; it’s not Alfie’s scene, but he closed a deal in one of them. You were singing that night, and it was the only pleasant part of the evening. So he sent flowers. The next time you received flowers, it was because his men and Sabini's tore up half the club in a brawl. The third time he figured he should deliver them personally, and that's when he walked you home, too. Afterward you suddenly had a job offer in Alfie's part of town, and sometimes you'd spot him while you rehearsed. Alfie only flirts and chats when you approach him first. He doesn't want you to feel indebted or intimidated, especially since your singing really does relax him.

LIZZIE STARK

As much as Lizize loves to hear you sing, she worries about the weird men you might encounter in the club. She urges you to carry a weapon when you’re going home, or she just walks you home herself. She enjoys helping you with make-up and dressing before a show, it feels sweet and personal, and keeps her mind off any unpleasant men that might bother you in a few hours. It’s not just that they annoy her and make her worry for your safety; she gets pangs of antsy jealousy when they’re all staring and drooling after you. She’d never tell you that, though. When you come home in the wee hours of the morning, Lizzie wakes up just to give you a hug and an exhausted good morning before falling back asleep.

ISAIAH JESUS

Isaiah stumbled into the club you sing at by accident, and he wouldn’t call it love at first sight… But he does swing by nearly every other night to watch you perform. You’d start to recognize his grin and starry eyes, and even during slow nights, Isaiah would be there. He’s had some trouble with your boss because he’s quick to cause trouble with the drunks that try to harass you, but eventually you two got to talking. Isaiah was the one to talk you into joining a Shelby club because it’s safer and you’d be paid better… and he’d get to see you more. He’s pretty embarrassed by his friends teasing about his crush, but he’s undoubtedly smitten by you.

LUCA CHANGRETTA

He was a huge flirt from the start. You didn’t even work at one of his clubs, he was invited there as an exclusive guest by some New York politician, but his attention was taken right away. After a second visit, he sends a fancy bouquet. After the fifth, it’s a gold bracelet with some diamonds. Luca likes the ego boost of you looking his way and recognizing him in the crowd, and eventually he’d invite you to work for one of his clubs - especially once the one you’re at gets involved in a gang brawl. Word spreads quick that anyone making a ruckus while you sing is getting thrown out… and any idiot that tries to approach you after the show is getting a hand or nose broken. He will melt if you sing in Italian or Spanish.

ABERAMA GOLD

He’s not a regular visitor to these fancy, noisy clubs, but Aberama will make an exception for you. He loves your voice, though he much prefers hearing you hum to yourself as you get ready for the evening’s set. It’s probably for the best he doesn’t watch you sing too much, because the moment a drunk catcalls you or tries to get on the stage, he’s got them in a chokehold and politely suggesting they leave. But no matter what, if Aberama isn’t working, he walks or drives you home, no matter the hour you’re finished with work. If you work at a Shelby club and there’s some drunk or brawl that causes you trouble, he’ll absolutely give Tommy grief about it.

[salemwritesxx]

happy birthday, kacchan

summary: Y/n and Bakugou celebrate Katsuki’s birthday every year ever since they were little.

w.count: ~ 3k

content warning: childhood friends to lovers, dating under 18, fluff, confession

Ever since Katsuki was little, he remembered being surrounded by a bunch of people – people his age, people older than him, people younger than him. And everyone would faun over him and his amazing quirk. It was inevitable that after kindergarten and throughout his school years, ‘friendship’ was something he valued less and less. Who needed friends anyways? He was amazing, everyone was just there to probably gain something from him and his amazing skills.

But, despite his best efforts to get rid of people in his life that he deemed unworthy to be his friend, there was someone Bakugou could have never pushed away – and that someone was you.

You and Katsuki had lived in the same neighborhood, your mother was friends with his mother and they both worked in the design industry and, in the end, you were born barely one month apart as well. So, it was inevitable that he and you were basically together ever since you were born. You shared everything. From laying in the crib together to bathing together to sleeping over at each other’s houses, you were always together growing up.

The one and only friend he deemed worthy, the one and only person that he could never get rid of and that he actively sought out when frustrated and angry – it had always been you.

---

“Kacchan!”, you smiled brightly as you called his name and ran towards him, the 4 year-old in question immediately turning around and in the end, catching you when you flopped into his arms.

“Y/n! Don’t glomp me!”, he embarrassingly yelled, though he also didn’t push you away, thus you didn’t care and instead, you took his sweaty little hand and pulled him with you.

“Kacchan, come with me. Come with me!”

“Eh?! Why??”, he whined annoyingly, yet he followed without any restraint.

“Close your eyes.”

“No! I don’t wanna!”

“Please.”, you looked at him so pleadingly, your e/c eyes sparkling, thus he just clicked his tongue, blushing lightly and closing his ruby eyes.

“Fine, but don’t do something dumb, Y/n!”

“I promise, I won’t!”, and so, you pulled him further into a secret little corner.

Bakugou then stood there for a few moments when you let go of his hand, only to open his eyes the moment you said, “CHACHAN! Happy Birthday, Kacchan!”, a big, wide grin on your lips as you held a limited edition All Might figurine in front of his eyes.

“Y/n…”, immediately, Katsuki little, ruby eyes sparkled as he grabbed the box, then he shouted in glee and before you knew it, he glomped you this time, making you laugh and squeal in excitement as you fell to the floor together.

“Kacchan… do you like it?”, giggling happily when he nodded and sat back up to stare at his new figurine, his words “This is the best birthday present ever, Y/n!” melting your little kid heart, knowing that begging your mother and helping out at home just so she would buy it for you, was well worth it in the end.

-

It was the day Bakugou, you, Izuku and some other friends were marching along the riverside. Your friend was quite excited, shouting his song about the Bakugou agency while you just smiled and shouted along.

Then, as you walked across the river, it happened, Bakugou slipped and fell, cutting his singing off as well as your own.

“KACCHAN!”, was your knee-jerk reaction as you looked down, the other kids mocking you for being so ‘dramatic’ and that Bakugou was Bakugou – amazing, he wasn’t hurt.

Izuku, however, had basically the same reaction as you, though, as you ran back and down the little cliff, you only heard a slapping noise.

Bakugou had slapped away Deku’s helping hand, he was visibly angry, feeling like he was mocking him and yet, you didn’t care about his furrowed brows or that he was about to cry from fury that was gleaming in his eyes – you just jumped him out of worry.

“Kacchan!”, you cried and your little arms held your friend as tightly as you could.

He should have pushed you away, he should have been as angry as he was with Deku, yet, he could barely press out a “Don’t glomp me!”; though, when you sat back up to look into his furious, ruby eyes, he was startled as he saw tears streaming down your face.

“B-But.. I was so scared, Kacchan… What if you would have hurt yourself?”, the way you cried over such a silly accident – why wasn’t he annoyed and angry the same way he was with that stupid Izuku?

Katsuki was still too small to comprehend these weird feelings and all he did was just click his tongue, look the other way and mumble something like “You’re such a stupid crybaby, Y/n!” while he didn’t push you away and just let you hug him.

Back then, neither his friends, Izuku, you or Bakugou himself understood why he had such a different reaction or why he didn’t push you away.

-

“Kacchan!”

“Don’t call me that!”, the 14-year old growled and stared at you with those angry eyes, yet you just smiled and then pulled out a present.

“Happy Birthday, Kacchan.”, you were never scared of his attitude, probably because you had lived your life by his side for as long as you could remember. Plus, he hadn’t pushed you away yet, like any other friend he had had.

“Why? I don’t need that shit.”, Katsuki tried so hard, but you insisted and pushed it into his hands.

“Kacchan… You don’t get presents from anyone because no one likes you…”

“HA?!”, he was so close to blowing up your present, but then, you leaned in closer, your noses almost touching and that stupid, wide smile playing around your lips.

“But I will always like you Kacchan, even if you are really mean to me. Mhmhh.”, you giggled, then rose again, “I hope you like it.”

Bakugou on the other hand was blushing furiously and he tried to kick you, though you chuckled and jumped back.

“You are such a dumbass! Don’t say that shit out loud…”, yet he still took the present with a little bit of grumbling.

He didn’t want to show it openly, but he was a tiny bit happy, there had never been a birthday in his life where you didn’t give him a present, even though he was sometimes mean to you, you were still as inseparable as you were in kindergarten. Bakugou didn’t know why he couldn’t manage to push you away like he had pushed away anyone else, but maybe it was because he didn’t even try hard enough…

“Y/n… Where do you get these all the fucking time??”, he held another limited edition All Might merch in his hands, his ruby eyes sparkling like they did when he was still a little kid.

“Hehe, that’s a secret.”, grinning widely, you grabbed a chair from in front of his desk to sit on it, he was the last one in the classroom anyways as everyone else had club activities or went back home.

“Wanna come to my place today, Kacchan?”

“Eh? Fine! I guess I have no fucking choice, ha?”, rolling his eyes, he tried so hard to sound annoyed when he grabbed his bag and the merchandise, his new pride and joy, and walked with you out of the classroom eventually.

On your way out of the school building though, you ran into someone, someone Bakugou didn’t know so he assumed you also wouldn’t know them, but he was wrong.

“A-Ahh! Y-Y/n-senpai!”, they stuttered, obviously embarrassed as they played with their fingers, not even acknowledging Bakugou beside you.

“Oh, Saito-san.”, you smiled at them and waved.

Why was he so pissed when he saw that? Why did he feel his heart quench when someone else besides him managed to make you smile? You weren’t supposed to smile at others like that…

“Y/n-senpai, I… uh. D-do you mind showing me- uhm… A math problem tomorrow? I- I’ve heard from my friends Y/n-s-senpai is really good a-and…”, they tried so hard and yet, Katsuki found their stuttering annoying, but what really pissed him off was your gentle smile as you nodded.

“Of course Saito-san. I’ll come by your class tomorrow at lunch, okay?”

Watching as they smiled so brightly and bowed made Katsuki angry.

“Don’t smile at him like that! Don’t stutter so much! Don’t try to get with him so fucking obviously!”, Bakugou thought, trying to keep his thoughts to himself as he only stared at them with his usual scowl.

“Shall we go?”

The way you smiled at him, the way you grinned, it all made his heart ache – but why? Why did Katsuki feel so… betrayed?

“Whatever!”, and with that, he threw his bag over his shoulder and walked with you back home, not knowing that this feeling of “being betrayed” would not fade away too quickly.

-

“Y/n-senpai! I like you, please go out with me?”, another one confessed to you.

And Bakugou had to witness it.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it just so happened when he walked out of the school. You were so close to graduating, you were both ready to go to UA together – his one and only friend. Though… could he really call you “a friend” any longer?

Over the past year, Katsuki managed to figure out why he felt betrayed – it’s because he didn’t want to share you with anyone. You were his. Your smile belonged to him. Your laugh belonged to him. Your body was supposed to cling to his and no one else.

“You don’t get presents from anyone because no one likes you… But I will always like you Kacchan, even if you are really mean to me.”

Those words still echoed in his mind almost every day after it happened. At first, he was confused why such words as “I like you” from another boy could make him feel so… weird? He had only ever seen you as his best friend, but nothing more.

And yet-

“I’m sorry, Suzuki-san. I already like someone else. And… there is no one else for me but them…”, you said, smiling to yourself and bowing lightly.

Who was it?

He didn’t know.

Why?

Why didn’t he know?

It almost ate him up inside that he didn’t know who you liked. But why was Katsuki even so obsessed about knowing? It’s not like it was any of his business anyways…

Bakugou didn’t like anyone – a lie.

Bakugou didn’t have any romantic feelings towards you – a lie.

You were just his friend – a lie.

Why did he keep lying to himself all throughout Middle School?

-

“Kacchan. Happy Birthday.”, you smiled so brightly like you always had, though this time as you handed him the present, others in the class 1-A came closer.

“Y/n- I-“

“Woah it’s Bakugou’s birthday, huh? Happy Birthday man!”, Kirishima said, even though they barely knew each other at that point.

He was pissed. He didn’t want anyone to know or acknowledge his birthday. Only you were allowed to.

“I don’t need your fucking birthday wishes!”, he grumbled and stood up and for the first time in 16 years, he pushed the present back into your hands and stomped away.

“Kacchan…”

Bakugou didn’t look back, he just stared straight ahead when he walked along the big hallways of UA. He didn’t want to see your hurt face.

“You don’t get presents from anyone because no one likes you… But I will always like you Kacchan, even if you are really mean to me.”

He wondered if that was still true. How long could he hide his true feelings behind his mean attitude towards you before you would turn your back? Katsuki was a shit friend, he knew. All he wanted to do was focus on his hero career. And yet, he had to deal with things such as “love”? Pathetic…

“Kacchan!”

There it was again. When he turned around, you were there chasing after him, like always. Ever since you were little, but this time you stopped a few feet away from him. It was a quiet spot just by the lockers, so no one was nearby.

“Ha? Didn’t you fucking hear, dumbass? I don’t want it!”, Bakugou wanted to sound threatening, his usual dark growl in his voice had scared almost anyone – anyone but you.

“Kacc… Katsuki.”, you then suddenly said, your usual happy facial expression turning so serious it hurt his heart, “If you don’t want to be my friend anymore, that’s okay.”

Wait! What?! When did you-

“You have pushed everyone away and I thought, I could stay forever. I… wanted to stay by your side, but… You have so many new friends now. I think I am obsolete, don’t you think?”, your sad smile was enough to make him feel like his heart was ripped in two.

“No- Y/n-!”, he hated how he could barely choke out your name, because he never thought the day would come where you would turn your back on him.

“That’s why…”, then you stepped closer and presented the gift again, “I want you to have this last gift from me. Please accept it, Katsuki.”, you pushed it into his hands that he just couldn’t help but take it.

For the first time, his tongue was tied and he didn’t know what to say.

When you turned around and walked away, he wanted to call out to you, tell you to stop being so stupidly dramatic, but in the end, Katsuki just said, “”I will always like you Kacchan, even if you are really mean to me” That’s what you said to me, no!? So why the fuck are you leaving?!”

You stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Kacchan… Whenever I’m close to you, my heart hurts. My head starts spinning, I get dizzy and my stomach turns, because all I wanna do is grab and kiss you… but I CAN’T!”, then you slowly looked back, that sad smile playing around your lips again, “But you don’t get it… You don’t have time for this “mushy shit”, right?”

Bakugou’s heart was thumping so loudly, his ruby eyes widened as he stared at you with mouth agape. Trying to realize what you just said to him. You liked him – like REALLY liked him. Like he liked you.

“Y/n… I don’t understand…”, he was lying. And it made you furious.

Before he could react, you had kabe-don’ed him against the lockers, both of your hands above his and your face so close to his he let the present fall onto the ground in order to claw at your school uniform – he didn’t know why he did that.

“Don’t tell me you don’t understand. You are a fucking genius, you ace every exam, you have an amazing quirk, so don’t play fucking dumb anymore.”, it was probably the first time in his life he saw you so… Wild? Angry? In Pain? And all of those emotions were because of him.

Suddenly, he had hot tears welling up in his eyes – it wasn’t out of sadness. Katsuki was frustrated and angry. Angry at himself for never realizing it. Angry at you for never clarifying it. Angry at everyone and everything.

Before you realized anything, he suddenly reached out and his lips brushed against your own.

His face was beet red, he was visibly pouting and scowling deeply, especially when you stared at him, completely taken aback.

“Kacchan… Do you mean…?”

“Ever since fucking SaItO-SaN wanted help with their math problem… but you never realized anything…”, Katsuki rolled his eyes, making a single tear run down and over his cheek, “I am so fucking jealous… When you talk to someone that isn’t me…I feel betrayed and alone… You should only smile at me, dumbass!”

“Can I kiss you?”, your question almost made his head explode with embarrassment as it came so suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, but then he just grabbed your neck and pulled you down on his own with a “Don’t fucking ask.” before your lips collided.

A very clumsy first kiss.

He didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to do. But it was okay.

Everything was okay now.

“Don’t you dare…leave my side… ever again, stupid.”, was the one thing he whispered as your noses brushed against each other, before you hugged him tightly and he buried his face at your shoulder and yours buried in the nook of his neck.

“Never!”

-

“Happy Birthday, Baby.”

He was groaning a bit, still tired as he slightly turned, one eye open to look at you, mumbling an “It’s too fucking early, Y/n…”, that earned him your giggle as you hugged him tightly, face cuddled into the nook of his neck.

“I can’t help it… I still wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday…”

Inevitably smiling a little, he just softly kicked you and mumbled a “So mushy.”, before he grabbed your hand to lace your fingers together, your wedding rings touching. Though, you had other ideas when you rose and then turned him as well so he was laying on his back, groaning a bit again.

“Y/n- mh!”, being interrupted by your lips, Katsuki just didn’t have the willpower to push you back and instead, he wrapped his arms around your neck when you pushed him into the soft mattress.

“It’s our first time celebrating your birthday in our own place, Baby… You don’t have to go to the agency today, right?”, it was only 5 in the morning and yet, you already were so horny and purred so seductively that, even though he rolled his eyes, Katsuki grinned and pulled you back in for another kiss.

After celebrating 19 birthdays with you, the 20th was probably one of the best he had thus far.

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: I don’t know if I forgot to mention, but this is for Bakugou’s birthday :) jk jk lmao hope it was enjoyable! I kind of had this idea of them celebrating each and every birthday together so… I couldn’t help but make it a childhood to lovers thing; AND it’s only 2 days late so I am happy with that

[cinnaminsvga]

Undercover (M)

→ summary: the company banquets that your family loves to host are often drearier than you would like them to be. lucky for you, your bodyguards have the perfect solution: why don’t you play a little game with them? 

the only rule? you must keep quiet at all costs.

→ pairing: vamp!jungkook x reader x siren!seokjin → genre: bodyguard!au, supernatural, smut → warnings: dom!jin, switch!kook, sub!reader, remote vibrator, rough public sex, fingering, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, blood-drinking, hypnotization, jin is kinda sadistic, basically pwp ;_; → words: 5.4K → a/n: this is for the holiday fic exchange that was held on @btsghostiewritersnet!! my fic is dedicated to ms @jincherie​ (aka the loml and also the recipient of 1/3 of the fics i’ve written this year??) who requested this prompt. i’m not really good with poly or smut fics, but i tried my best??? it ended up being a lil more jk centric than i anticipated but HHHH IDK I JUST HOPE YOU LIKE THIS EVEN A TEENY BIT ;o; anyway... happy holidays everyone!!

You can feel their eyes on you.

Except that isn’t much of a revelation—they are always watchful of you, after all. Your father pays a hefty enough salary that they would risk their lives to keep you safe, so it isn’t much of a surprise to know that they are lurking at the sides, keeping distant and close all at once.

This time, however, is different. You know for a fact that it is different. There is a subtle shift in the air, something tangible enough that you can almost touch it, taste it. You know that if you glance back at them, you will find two pairs of eyes, watching and waiting for… something.

That fact alone is enough to keep the goosebumps on your arms from subsiding. You feel like a canister just waiting to burst, a small disturbance enough to get you to erupt into flames and burn every last inch of propriety left in your being. Tonight, they are here to ruin you.

“Why are you acting so damn fidgety? Stand still,” your brother huffs after a while, pinching you lightly in the side. It breaks you from your reverie, causing you to jolt away with wide eyes.

“W-what?” you ask breathlessly. You wipe your clammy hands across your expensive dress, leaving wrinkles in their wake. “Sorry. I just… had a lot of coffee before coming here, is all. I needed the wake-me-up.”

He watches you for a moment, raising an eyebrow at your odd behavior. You can tell that he’s suspicious, but he inevitably shrugs it off, too unbothered to care. Like you, it takes a whole deal to get Yoongi excited about anything, and having a jumpy sister is far from reaching his quota. “Whatever. Just don’t cause a scene, alright? These events might be boring as hell, but dad has a bunch of important people here tonight, so you better get your shit together.”

You snort. “Right. Like when does he not invite important people to these parties?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Just behave, alright? I’m not covering for you if you piss someone off.”

“Wouldn’t have dreamed of asking,” you mutter. Little does he know, you are already planning on behaving tonight, anyway. That is the name of the game, after all.

On a makeshift stage at the head of the ballroom, your father has just finished giving his opening remarks, thanking all his esteemed guests for making it to tonight’s banquet. Polite applause follows soon after, the clamor loud enough to mask the way you inhale sharply in surprise. Your back straightens imperceptibly, your body going rigid as if you had been struck by lightning. To your left, your brother is none the wiser to your panic, his attention glued to his phone.

When the clapping breaks, you nearly speak your prayers aloud when the ambush on your senses suddenly stops as well. You take one, two calming breaths, your core throbbing needily as you await the second wave to hit. Disappointed when nothing comes, you smooth your dress down, fighting the urge to look around to see if anyone was watching.

Legs slightly weaker and breath a little shakier, you walk among the throngs of people as they make their way to their seats, getting ready for dinner to be served. Instead of heading to where your family’s table would be located, you change direction halfway and walk towards the back. Yoongi does not comment, just nodding back at you and going the other way as well. This is normal etiquette for both of you, anyway—your father has always expected the two of you to wander during these parties, greeting guests and socializing with them as proper hosts should.

Except that isn’t on your agenda for tonight. Right now, you have a game to play, and you don’t intend on losing your focus to anything else.

It does not take you long to find who you are looking for. Just like he promised, Jungkook is standing close to the east entrance, standing stock still against the wall in his designer black suit. When he notices you approach, his stern demeanor softens, a small smile gracing his Adonis-like features. It is nothing more than a quirk of his lips, but it is enough for a flash of something sharp to catch your eye. It disappears before you can even blink, but you know that what you had seen is far from a figment of your imagination.

To an outsider, Jungkook looks as intimidating as any regular bodyguard should be: tall and muscular, coupled with a dangerous gaze that could pierce diamond. He certainly works like one too, as your father would have never hired him if he wasn’t 100% sure that Jungkook was up to his lofty standards.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there is something else that sets Jungkook apart if you just looked close enough. Even from a few feet apart, you can see the redness lining his irises, the deathly pallor of his skin, the sallowness of his cheeks. As you get closer, you notice other things too, like how his hands tremble against his sides and how his breathing has gotten shallow.

Everything about him screams vampire—a starving one, at that.

“How long has it been now?” you murmur, gently nudging your shoulder against his. You keep close to him, feeling yourself relax at the mere scent of him. Jungkook always somehow manages to smell good; you suppose that’s a given since you don’t think he’s even capable of sweating.

“Since the party started?” he asks.

“No, silly. How long has it been since you last fed?”

“Three days, seventeen hours, and twenty-one minutes, ma’am. But who’s counting?” he wheezes, offering you a strained smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not really, but I know you,” you reply. A little too well, in fact. “Seokjin hasn’t even allowed you a snack? Even once?”

Jungkook coughs out a laugh, amused. “You and I both know that hyung wouldn’t be that merciful. He did say that if I behave today, then maybe…” he trails off. You don’t miss the way he stares longingly at you, thinly veiled desire rolling off him in waves.

You feel the blood rushing up to your face, turning away from him in embarrassment. You have to remind yourself not to rub your neck, lest the make-up covering your fading scar give away your dirty little secret. “I’m sorry, by the way. I kind of did this to both of us, huh?”

Jungkook chuckles, snaking an arm around your waist. You shoot him a warning glare, but you both know he only dares to get comfortable with you when he’s sure no one is watching. Besides, it’s always been hard for you to get mad at the boy, not when he has always been so sweet with you.

“No, it’s fine. We all agreed to this when you proposed it. Besides, neither hyung nor I are going to risk our health when your safety is on the line. It’s not that bad, I promise.”

“If you’re sure,” you say, glancing at him doubtfully. You have never seen Jungkook quite so… unhinged before, as if he’s just a step away from teetering off the edge. It scares you just as much as it arouses you, but you make sure to keep that to yourself. “I honestly didn’t think Seokjin would be this ruthless.”

Jungkook snorts. “I’ve known him for a long time, Y/N. Trust me when I say that he is definitely going easy on us, especially you.”

“If this is easy, I’m afraid to know how he’s like when he goes all out then,” you say, but the thought of Seokjin becoming even more merciless than usual sends an excited shiver down your spine.

“How about you?” Jungkook asks. “Are you doing okay with the, um, you know?” He flushes, still shy to even say it aloud even after all the things the two of you have done together.

You giggle, unable to resist the urge to tease him. “You tell me, Koo. You can smell me, can’t you?” You lean closer, looking at him through your lashes. “You could probably smell from across the ballroom, especially with how hungry you are… My poor baby,” you coo. You have your chest pressed against his, your low neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. And yet, his gaze is fixed elsewhere, red eyes following the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips.

It’s a rhetorical question; you know he can smell you. The remote vibrator in your underwear has been on the lowest setting ever since the night started. The vibrations are persistent enough to keep you constantly aroused, but it’s never enough to give you what you really want.

And just when you think you’ve gotten used to the sensation, Seokjin will spike it up occasionally, causing your composure to crack ever so slightly. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t turned it on to the highest setting yet, but judging from how the dampness of your underwear has seeped past your thighs, you aren’t sure if you’d be able to keep your cool if he did.

“Do I smell good, Koo? I know you said my blood tastes sweetest when I’m like this, right?” you whisper, trailing a finger down his chest. He does not reply, his nostrils flaring as he struggles to control his breathing. He has a dangerous edge in his expression, a simmering darkness just begging to be released. It’s the kind of lust that sweet and lovely Jungkook hardly ever has the capability of showcasing, except during moments like these, when he is at his hungriest and most desperate.

“I’m not going to lose the game this early on,” he says, voice quiet. There is danger in still waters, you recall your mother telling you when you were younger, and you find that there is truth behind her words after all. Jungkook may sound calm, but the edge in his tone is laced with meaning.

“No fun,” you laugh.

As if on cue, your own dose of karma hits you when Seokjin decides to turn the vibrator up to its maximum setting. “Shit,” you gasp, barely holding back your moans. You nearly double over, mostly from shock, not expecting the intensity of the vibrations. You feel your legs turn to jelly, your body heating up and breaking out into a sweat. You have to lean against Jungkook for support, your grip on his biceps so tight that you’re afraid that you might have torn through the fabric. If he had been human, you might have worried that you were hurting him.

Jungkook stumbles slightly against your weight, surprising the both of you as he’s normally as sturdy as a brick wall. Your worry for Jungkook supersedes the lust addling your brain long enough to wonder if his blood fast is starting to affect him.

“S-sorry, Koo. Are you okay? Are you getting dizzy from hunger?” you ask, your words stilted and breathy as you try to ignore the pleasure coursing through your veins. “We can go somewhere and—fuckfuckfuck—”

You are unable to finish your sentence, having to muffle your moans by biting into his shoulder. You’re shaking and panting, the relentless assault on your clit causing a fresh wave of arousal to drip down your cunt and ruin your panties even further. The coil inside of you is close to snapping, your long-awaited climax just inches away. You have half a mind to reach under your dress and chase after your high, but the sensible part of you reminds you that you are still at a public event—your father’s public event, to be exact. So instead, you wrap your arms around Jungkook to restrain yourself, looking to all the world as if you were just two lovers in an embrace.

Just as you’re about to finish, the vibrator shuts off completely, snatching away any hopes of you coming. You want to scream in frustration, a few tears threatening to fall as you squeeze your eyes tightly. Eventually, you release your death grip on Jungkook, keeping your head bowed to hide the way you’re still short for breath. When you feel less hazy, you take a shaky step away from him while muttering apologies to Jungkook.

“S-sorry about that. So much for Seokjin going easy on me, huh? I really didn’t expect him to pull a fast one on me like that—”

When Jungkook doesn’t respond, you turn back to face him. “O-oh,” you whisper lamely, your blood heating up when your gaze meets his. “Jungkook?” you call out, though you don’t think he’ll be up for much conversation right now.

You have never quite seen him like this before. His eyes have started glowing red, so much so that there’s barely a sliver of white remaining. His fangs have extended far past what should have been humanly possible, its sharp tips puncturing his bottom lip. He doesn’t even appear to be moving, not even showing any signs that he might have been breathing at all.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. You tug on his sleeve hesitantly, but he stands as still as a statue. “Jungkook, get a hold of yourself!” It takes you a few moments of coaxing and shaking before some semblance of lucidity returns to him.

He blinks a few times, but his incisors have yet to retract. “Sorry,” he grunts, bringing a hand up to his face. He rubs at his eyes, and when he reopens them, they’ve stopped glowing. His irises are still a deep shade of red. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d lose myself there. That’s never happened before.”

“You were kinda scary there for a second,” you laugh nervously. “Almost like you were going to eat me alive.”

“I honestly might have,” Jungkook admits. “If Seokjin hadn’t stopped you from coming right then, I might have just fed from you right in the open.”

You shiver. You kind of hate yourself for liking the sound of that, even if it was hypothetical. Your bodyguards wouldn’t risk your reputation like that. For a moment, it almost could have been real though, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

“You would’ve lost the game then,” you say instead.

Jungkook chuckles weakly, shaking his head. “You, Seokjin, and I already knew from the start that if anyone was going to lose, it was always going to be me.”

“Conceding defeat, then?” you ask. You press your thighs together in anticipation, catching the way he watches your movements like a predator awaiting its prey. “Is anyone watching us?”

With your back facing the party, you would never have known if anyone was close enough to hear your strangled moans back then. Ever the attentive bodyguard despite hunger and lust clouding his mind, Jungkook had still made sure that the two of you were far away enough from prying eyes. Well, with the exception of one.

“He was watching us,” Jungkook mumbles. You don’t turn to look when he points somewhere behind you. “He’s by the northwest entrance. He was watching us the whole time, but now he’s talking to your brother’s bodyguard.”

“How much do you wanna bet he won’t notice us sneaking out?” you ask, giggling when Jungkook gives you an incredulous look. “What? Didn’t you once say you could sneak me out of anywhere without my father knowing?”

“Your father and Kim Seokjin are two different people in two different leagues,” he points out. He glances at Seokjin once more, rubbing his neck nervously. “Oh, he’s definitely going to figure out what we’re doing the moment we get out of here.”

You shrug, already tugging him by the hand towards the restroom outside the ballroom. You wink at him, your giggles full of mischief. “Then it’s settled. We lose this game, and then we start another one.”

“Another one?” Jungkook echoes, following you like a dutiful pet. When you exit the ballroom, you find the reception area empty save for a few other security guards loitering by the elevators, surreptitiously on their phones. You easily make it past them and head to where the restrooms are, setting your sights on the polished wooden doors.

You push Jungkook inside the women’s restroom, locking the door once you both are settled inside. Turning to face him with an eager grin, you almost let out a laugh at the overenthusiastic gleam in his eyes. “New game plan. I call this one the ‘let’s see if we can get off before Seokjin catches us’ game.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Jungkook chuckles, but he’s already opening his arms when you walk over to him. You accept his embrace, pressing him against the marble sinks and slotting your lips together.

The kiss is fiery, all teeth and no finesse. He has one hand grabbing fistfuls of your ass and the other cupping your jaw as he holds you in place. Your own hands almost seem like they don’t know what to do, scrambling up and down his sides before finally locking around his neck as your mind goes blank.

Jungkook’s incisors cut your lips accidentally, causing droplets of blood to trickle down. They don’t even make it past your chin before Jungkook’s voracious tongue is already lapping it up, his groans echoing in the vastly large room.

You barely register the pain before Jungkook is offering another distraction in the form of his lips trailing down to your jaw until he reaches your neck, his breath leaving goosebumps across your skin. “Y/N,” he rasps, his fangs dizzyingly close.

Before he can choose to do anything, you trail a finger to his chin, forcing him to look at you. His eyes appear glazed over, almost as if he isn’t even fully cognizant of his surroundings. But when he catches sight of the way a fresh droplet of blood is already beginning to take form on your lips, his gaze hardens immediately.

You smirk, giggling when he groans at you licking up your bloodied lip. “No marks on my neck, baby. You’re gonna have to drink from down there.”

In any other scenario, you might have been concerned at how quickly he drops to his knees. He doesn’t look too bothered, however, as he bunches up your dress to your chest and tears your pathetic excuse for underwear into shreds. The small purple vibrator falls to the ground along with it, neither of you worried about where it is rolling away.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, burying his nose into your cunt. You yelp loudly, sensitive after hours of edging. You unconsciously try to trap him with your thighs, but he holds them apart with an iron grip. From your vantage point, you can only see his eyelashes grazing your stomach as he licks two long stripes across your slit, nearly causing you to fall over had he not been holding you.

“Shit.” He leans back to look at you properly, his mouth shiny with your slick. “Can I? Can I please?”

You don’t even know what exactly it is that he’s asking, but you’re already nodding anyway, eager for him to do something, anything. “Yes, yes, yes. C’mon, Koo. Give it to me,” you whine. Your voice sounds hoarse to your ears, desperate and delirious.

Not one to disobey, Jungkook does exactly that. One moment he is on the floor and the next he is lifting you with ease, placing you on the marble counter and standing between your legs to keep them spread. He returns to kneeling and hooks your legs onto his shoulders. He caresses your thighs with a gentleness that seems out of place, craning his neck sideways so he can plant a chaste kiss on your inner thigh.

You whimper impatiently, nudging him with your knee. “Jungkook, this is sweet and all, but my pussy has been aching to be stuffed for hours now so I’d really appreciate it if we can just get on with the pro-o-g-gram—” you stammer, your verbal skills forgotten the moment his thumb brushes your clit. Your body jerks on instinct, his delicate touch like lightning on your skin. “Ah, fuck! Jungkook, please!”

You have your head thrown back, unable to keep still when he proceeds to push a finger into you without warning. He pumps into you slowly, the drag of his fingertips torturously slow as you incoherently beg for more.

“More? You fucking asked for it,” he grunts, adding a second finger and being rewarded with another chorus of moans from you. He fucks his fingers into you like a drill, the obscene squelch of your sopping cunt coupled with the sound of palm hitting against your clit is like music to his ears. He can sense the way your blood is rushing through you right now, pleasure thrumming through your limbs and making you intoxicatingly sweet.

“I can’t wait to taste you, darling,” he says, licking his lips in anticipation. “You must love this, don’t you? Love it when I finger you like this, even though you know hyung is going to catch us and punish us for this?”

You nod fervently, incoherent babbles dribbling from your open mouth. “W-want both of you! Want S-Seokjin to catch us and make us cry.” You gasp, your stomach clenching when he curls his fingers in just the right way to make your toes curl in pleasure. “Koo, I’m a-almost there!”

Your pussy, despite hours of being constantly aroused, still feels like a vice grip, selfishly sucking him back. He relishes your moans, drawing more sounds out of you that you had not known you were capable of producing. There is no time or space for shame as your whines grow higher in pitch, calling out his name when you sense your orgasm approach.

Jungkook feels feverish when he finally takes a bite from your skin, your blood made sweeter when you climaxed from his fingers alone. The meat of your thigh gushes crimson like a fountain upon his desert-like tongue. He is drunk on you; not even nectar can be sweeter than you.

He drinks for what feels like hours, lapping at your wound until he cannot stomach another drop. A blatant lie, of course, but he also does not wish to drink you dry. So with a heavy heart, he pulls away, leaving one last lick up your thigh to stop the bleeding. He slumps back on his knees, his head lolling drowsily as he looks at you with a satisfied smile.

You are in no better condition, your chest heaving as you struggle to regain your sanity after both the mind-blowing orgasm and blood loss. Still, you smirk sleepily back at him, your eyebrow raised as if in question.

“What?” Jungkook drawls.

Instead of a verbal response, you point at his crotch with your feet. When he looks down, his dick is completely hard, his erection straining against his slacks. He was so deeply engrossed in the flavor of you that he had not even stopped to consider his own arousal, but now that it has been so kindly pointed out by you, the need to be inside of you consumes him like a fire burning him on a stake.

A guttural sound escapes his throat, a renewed fervor pushing him to climb to his feet in an instant. Impatient, he struggles for a moment to loosen his belt, has half a mind to just tear his pants in two when—

“Jeon Jungkook, can you hear me?”

Jungkook stiffens. Unable to hear the voice coming from his earpiece, you give Jungkook a quizzical look, wondering why he’d suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Koo? What’s the matter?” you ask, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Jeon Jungkook, answer me,” Seokjin’s voice is slightly garbled by static, but the authority in his tone is unmistakable.

Jungkook swallows thickly. He lifts the small microphone attached to his lapel, bringing it closer to his lips. “H-hyung?” he stutters. Your eyes widen, realization and panic seizing you.

You both share a frantic look. Fuck!

Seokjin chuckles darkly. “Took you long enough. Did you and our little mistress have fun?”

“W-well, we—” Jungkook stammers, looking to you for help. You shrug your shoulders, equally as tongue-tied. He returns to his mic, “We were just, umm…”

“Open the door,” is all Seokjin utters before Jungkook’s earpiece goes dead. Jungkook rips the small piece of plastic from his ear, both of you turning to the door when a loud knock reverberates across the restroom.

“It’s…” Jungkook cuts off, but he doesn’t need to say anything for you to know exactly who is waiting outside the door.

“Open the door,” Seokjin repeats, but there’s a certain quality to his voice that makes both you and Jungkook immediately want to follow his command. Without another word, Jungkook stands up stiffly, his feet dragging as he unlocks the door to allow him inside.

“No fair,” you complain. You pout, crossing your arms. “You used your siren voice on us!”

“I wouldn’t have needed to use it if you two weren’t acting like a pair of brats,” Seokjin says, sickly sweet. He’s smiling, but there is darkness lingering in his expression. It doesn’t help that your lower body is still exposed, free for his gaze to roam. “Do you have any idea how much trouble the two of you are in?”

“I’m sure my father is hardly concerned,” you scoff, filled with false bravado. You smirk when his eyebrows furrow, keen to tempt his anger. After all, Seokjin is the most fun to play with when he lets go. “Besides, I pay you to look out for me, don’t I? I’d expect you to come up with an excuse on our behalf.”

“I suppose so,” Seokjin hums. He glances at Jungkook, whose prior arousal has yet to subside. In a flash, Seokjin has Jungkook backed up to a toilet cabinet, roughly grabbing his bulge. Jungkook wheezes, his eyes flashing open in surprise.

“And you?” Seokjin asks, using his free hand to force Jungkook to face him. “You understand that you left your post, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jungkook gasps out. Seokjin’s grip tightens, and Jungkook releases a soft moan.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes hyung,” Jungkook emphasizes, his hips unconsciously rutting upwards. Seokjin situates his thigh in between Jungkook’s legs, letting the younger boy rock against it for a few moments before pulling back just as quickly. Jungkook whines pathetically, jaw agape.

“You both lost the game. What makes you think you deserve anything?” Seokjin asks. He directs his question to you, glancing over his shoulder. “Well? Did I interrupt something I wasn’t supposed to see?”

When you don’t reply, Seokjin frowns. “Answer me, Y/N.”

His voice is musical, and it pulls the answer out of you, unable to resist. “Yes,” you say, through gritted teeth.

“What were you going to do?”

“He was going to fuck me,” you say. You smirk when his shoulders tense. “We were going to fuck without you.”

At your admission, Seokjin considers you with an unreadable expression. The tension in the air is tangible. Jungkook has his eyes averted, but judging from the way his cock twitches in his trousers, you know he’s also aware of what’s going to happen. All you need to do is wait a little, and then Seokjin will—

He steps away from Jungkook and walks towards the chaise lounge situated near the wall of the entrance. He sits on it primly, his back straightened as though he were about to call you in for tea. “Go on then,” he says, flapping his hands flippantly. When neither of you moves, he quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “What? Don’t let me ruin your fun. Continue where you left off.”

“Um…” you say, thoroughly at a loss. This is usually the point where Seokjin decides to punish either of you, or perhaps drag the two of you back home for more adequate disciplinary action. Instead, he seems content to allow the two of you to do as you please. He has a mask of indifference on, and it’s always been a little hard for you to figure out what he was really thinking.

“But…” Jungkook gulps. “W-we wanted you to, um…”

“What? To join you? Oh please,” Seokjin laughs, a little cruelly. “No, I’d rather not stop your fun. Carry on.”

“But—”

“Carry. On.” Seokjin commands, his power trickling onto his words. At once, Jungkook straightens up, his feet carrying him towards you and spreading your legs apart. You gasp, the sudden movement surprising you.

“Seokjin, what are you..?”

“Fuck her, Jungkook,” Seokjin interrupts, ignoring your baffled stutters. “Fuck her until she can’t even stand.”

Jungkook shoves down his pants and underwear in one swift motion, kicking them off his ankles somewhere behind him. He situates his cock against you, rubbing the tip against your slit for a second before thrusting forward and splitting you open.

You both scream and moan at the sensation, your warm walls clamped around him deliciously. He begins his brutal pace immediately, both due to his desperation to meet his orgasm and also the magic imbued in the simple command given by Seokjin.

The intoxicating roll of his hips has your eyes seeing stars as he pulls out nearly all the way before pushing back in. He angles himself until he hits your sweet spot with every thrust, ripping ragged whimpers from your throat. Your second orgasm is quickly building before you know it, your body tightening up as he continues to rut into you.

With a trembling moan, you gush around him, coating his cock with your arousal. Your legs are still shaking even after you finish, your entire body going limp from the exertion. Jungkook slows down, still painfully hard inside of you.

“Did I tell you to stop? Keep going,” Seokjin utters quietly. He is the picture of calmness, his hands folded delicately onto his lap.

“What?” you exclaim. “I can’t, no, it’s too much—”

But when it comes to Seokjin, his word is the law. Between the two of you, Jungkook has always been more susceptible to his voice, completely powerless under Seokjin’s influence. And so, Jungkook resumes fucking into you, mindlessly obedient.

“I’m too—Jungkook, stop, I’m sensitive,” you cry out, but your pleas go unheard as he reaches between the two of you, his thumb grazing your clit and causing your entire body to jolt forward. Your walls squeeze around his cock in response and Jungkook trembles in pleasure. His ministrations on your clit, in tandem with the swiveling of his hips, are almost vicious, the sting both pleasurable and painful.

You can feel the beginnings of tears forming, the assault on your senses almost too unbearable to handle. “S-Seokjin, please! Make him stop!”

Jungkook is nearing his climax, his rhythm growing erratic and showing no signs of slowing down. He is unable to hear you past his desire, completely entranced and hypnotized.

“You want him to stop? Fine,” Seokjin says, amused. “Jungkook, stop.”

“No, please!” Jungkook lets out a tortured wail. His body freezes in place, his cock still twitching inside of you. The poor boy lets out a few stray tears, his eyes squeezed shut as his body refuses to do his bidding. He sobs, his voice cracking as he pleads, “Hyung, I was so close!”

“Not my problem,” Seokjin giggles. He gets up from his perch on the sofa, leisurely walking towards the both of you as he surveys the frozen boy with a satisfied grin. “That ought to teach you a lesson,” he says, patting Jungkook on the back.

“And you,” he says, facing you, “aren’t getting away so easily.”

You gulp, a shudder running down your spine. “B-but, the party..?”

Snorting incredulously, Seokjin taps his microphone on. “Namjoon-ssi? Yes, I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly. I found Miss Y/N. It seems that she is having stomach problems, so I’ll be escorting her home. Please inform Master Min about her early departure,” he says in one breath, shutting his earpiece off before the other man can reply.

“It seems like everything is already taken care of,” Seokjin says angelically, even though he is anything but. He bends down to pick up Jungkook’s discarded pants, handing them to the younger. He also finds your forgotten vibrator under one of the sinks, picking it up and placing it neatly into his pocket.

He smiles. “Get dressed, both of you. The night is still young, after all.”

[hiccanna-tidbits]

The RotBTD+ Gang Plays DnD! (Feat. my ships, sorry not sorry XD)

So highkey I’ve actually been wanting to do a “The Gang Plays DnD” type post for AGES now, but then I saw @hobie-brown and @ohlooksheswriting-wips do DnD AU posts for RotBTD, and then I was like “Ah shit, I really should finish mine, eh?” So thank you to both of you for inspiring me to get off my ass and actually write the post!!!

Hiccup DMs. He comes up with this super complex plot revolving around dragons (because of course) where the party has to dismantle this society ruled by evil knights who want to genocide all of the dragons. Imagine his chagrin when the party wants to do nothing but fuck around in towns and aggravate NPCs 90% of the time.

They usually end up playing at Jack’s apartment, mainly because Hiccup’s dad doesn’t really want a bunch of loud nerds yelling about 20-sided dice in his household while he’s trying to work, if he can at all help it. Jack’s sister regularly barges into their living room and roasts the fuck out of Jack and his friends for being such damn nerds and eats all of their DnD snacks they’ve set out. If they’re in the middle of a combat session, she always gleefully proclaims that they’re all going to die. While Jack is annoyed by this, the rest of the party finds it deeply hilarious.

Jack Overland plays the absolute mayhem warlock Jack Frost, who got his powers through making a deal with the archfey Prince of Frost and has absolutely no qualms about being an evil god’s mortal Sower of Chaos. He spends the vast majority of the campaign doing such useful things as creating ice slicks under annoying NPCs and freezing people’s drinks. He also plays a Tiefling because absolutely no one can talk this boy out of playing the creepy demon race.

Rapunzel plays a woodland nymph druid who is also the party healer (because of course she is). Her name is probably Sunlily or something else suitably hippie-esque. Whenever there’s downtime (or whenever the rest of the party is also dicking around, and she can get away with it), Rapunzel likes to go into the nearest forest and pick the best berries and nuts for the rest of the party. She also loves baking fruit pies and cooking the best nymph food for her companions when given the chance. Definitely the party Cinnamon Roll (every party has one!). She often will turn into cute animals to distract the guards while the party infiltrates a building.

Merida’s character is the party archer and general ranged weapon master, as well as a raging lesbian. Hiccup learns very quickly that any male NPC who tries to flirt with her will very quickly get impaled with an arrow. She can’t ever decide if she wants to be a ranger or a rogue, so she multiclasses in both for flare. She also plays a Tiefling, and continually insists that her character is both scarier and sexier than Jack’s. In combat, she either Leeroy Jenkins her way in with a sword and just starts slashing every which way, or just shoots 90% of the enemies with arrows before the fight even starts. There’s really no in between. She can get away with this because she’s highkey one of the party tanks, and consistently deals a shitton of damage.

Anna plays a human bard, basically having read over the class options and going “Wait, in this one I get to make stylish medieval music??? And wear dramatic and garish outfits and a dumb hat??? And cast wacky illusion spells??? And do silly little magic tricks??? And INSPIRE EVERYONE??? Hell yeah, I’m in!!!” She mostly uses magic attacks in combat (definitely favors Tasha’s Hideous Laughter), but occasionally when she’s out of spell slots she’ll just take to slamming enemies in the face with her lute. She also has WAY too much fun with Vicious Mockery, let’s be real.

Elsa, upon hearing Jack’s character concept, rolls her eyes so far up in her head she can see her damn brain, and vows to play his concept, but serious–solely out of spite. She rolls up a super OP elf Chaos Sorcerer, filled with lots of brooding angst about how uncontrollable her winter powers can get if she isn’t careful. She combines it a bit with Storm Sorcerer so she can create literal blizzards, and Hiccup ends up allowing it just because he thinks it’s cool. Although Elsa’s character is undoubtedly aggravated by the rest of the party’s antics, she starts becoming grudgingly protective of these idiots and can deal some pretty crazy damage when her companions are threatened. She also contains one of the party’s only brain cells.

Eugene of course plays dashing rogue master thief Flynn Rider. Although his high deception and lockpicking skills certainly come in handy, he’s the most chaotic neutral fucker you’ve ever met and will take any excuse to rob NPCs blind or cheat them out of every cent they have in a tavern card game. It’s nigh impossible to get him to cooperate with the rest of the party much of the time, and often Elsa’s character has to either bribe him with some of her family’s gold or threaten to freeze him to stop him backstabbing one or more party members. Eugene’s character forces Hiccup to add in many more heist plotlines than he originally intended. This delights Eugene immensely, and sometimes he goes a bit crazy planning elaborate heists.

Moana plays a sorcerer water genasi. She can control any body of water, but she has a special affinity for controlling saltwater (i.e. the ocean lol). She also requests an animal handling bonus, but only with marine animals, solely because she thought it would be funny. She’s also an ex-pirate who robbed a lot of wealthy merchant ships and freed their slaves back in the day, which Merida thinks is incredibly badass. Moana tends to get bored and unengaged when there are no bodies of water to play around with, so Hiccup ends up having to add a lot more lakes, rivers, and oceans to the campaign than he originally planned on. Moana also takes a sailing skill, and thus the party often ends up traveling by boat. Typically Eugene and Rapunzel will infiltrate and hijack it, and Moana will sail it. Moana probably contains the party’s only other brain cell.

Astrid plays a gigantic berserker orc barbarian who is never without his trusty axe. Astrid is hands down the party’s top tank, and unquestionably deals the most damage every combat session. Much like Merida’s character, Astrid’s character is absolutely a shameless power fantasy. Hiccup pretty easily picks up on this, but is too polite to say anything about it. Jack also picks up on this, but is hardly as courteous as their DM, and teases Astrid mercilessly. Astrid is not amused.

Rapunzel requests that her weapon of choice be a frying pan, her justification being that her character found a discarded one at the edge of a human village outside her woods and mistaked it for a highly-dangerous human weapon. Hiccup is like “…you know what? Fuck it” and rolls up stats for a goddamn frying pan. Jack has nigh-endless admiration for Rapunzel for choosing such a goddamn memey, absurd, yet oddly effective weapon and it definitely makes the poor boy even more smitten with her than he already is.

Eugene and Merida have a bet going on who can sleep with more sexy barmaids. Merida is currently winning, much to Eugene’s chagrin. She’s not even inherently better at seducing NPCs, she and Eugene have the same charisma stat–she just consistently rolls better than Eugene. Eugene is incredibly salty about this.

Anna and Elsa want to be sisters in-game as well, but neither want to change their race–so Anna decides her character was adopted. Hiccup and the rest of the party go along with it, mainly because there’s something deeply hilarious about a regular human bard being adopted and raised by a family of high-powered elf ice mages.

Astrid is absolutely the sort of player who tends to get bored and restless outside of fights, and tends to fidget and twiddle her thumbs waiting for the next combat session. Jack picks up on this, and purposely does more roleplay for longer just to piss her off. He’s also just a very dramatic fucker and highkey loves roleplay.

When she’s not causing mayhem around the town or sleeping with hot women, Merida tries to entertain Astrid between combat sessions by offering to spar with her. Unfortunately, this does not usually end well for poor Merida, as even the most hardcore and badass of tieflings is prone to getting dumpstered by an 8-foot-tall barbarian orc with an axe. Astrid is, nonetheless, grateful to have someone to fight.

Rapunzel, Elsa, and Moana will humor Hiccup and attempt to actually play the main plot. Meanwhile, Jack, Merida, and Eugene are a DM’s worst nightmare. They constantly derail the damn campaign to fuck around, cause mayhem, and do inane shenanigans in every. Damn. Town. They go to. Anna is kind of a wildcard–she’ll typically go with whatever group looks like they’re going to be doing something more interesting. Astrid will go along with whichever group is more likely to get into a fight–which, often as not, is Jack and his posse of terrible Chaotic Neutrals (who have definitely pissed off a number of NPCs into attacking them).

As the campaign goes on, Elsa and Eugene become the beleaguered Party Mom and Dad. Both are quite aggravated by this–especially poor Eugene, who just wanted to play a morally-gray charming rogue who stole everything and got away with it and then accidentally ended up caring about these idiots he got stuck with.

Anna initially joins the campaign because she has a planet-size crush on Hiccup, and inevitably is the one who dragged Elsa into it too. Being the hopeless romantic that she is, Anna writes a love interest into her backstory. Hiccup eventually has the party run into said love interest, and Anna is overjoyed. He starts flirting with her as the love interest, and it’s easily the best 30 minutes of Anna’s life.

Moana and Elsa also give Hiccup pretty detailed backstories, and he works in little subplots for them. Moana gets to bring water back to a dying part of the jungle in the middle of a draught, while Elsa gets to go on a whole sidequest to explore her family history and how they came to be sorcerers.

Jack, Merida, and Eugene also give Hiccup fairly elaborate backstories, but Jack’s and Merida’s are like 99% memes and Dumb Shit. Hiccup tries to give all of them backstory-related plot hooks, but inevitably any hooks he provides are either stabbed, robbed, or frozen. Honestly any plot hook offered to these 3 will be all but spat in the face of and tossed off a cliff.

The one relevant part of Eugene’s backstory is that he and Rapunzel decide they used to be partners in crime before the campaign started. Rapunzel would infiltrate and scout out places he wanted to rob as small, unobtrusive animals (her preferred Wild Shape is a chameleon) and later distract the guards as a bunny or kitten while he went in and took every gold coin in sight. In return, Flynn Rider would bribe builders to not develop into Sunlily’s forest. Rapunzel and Eugene partly came up with this For Funsies, but also it was Rapunzel’s sneaky way of tricking Eugene into having prior connections in the party so he’d be less likely to betray them. It works pretty well–although the entire party is protective of Cinnamon Roll Sunlily, Flynn is certainly especially protective of her.

Astrid does the absolute bare minimum as far as backstories go. She is literally just here to smash stuff, slice people, and beat some fuckers up.

Rapunzel has a backstory, but she’s typically so invested in the main plot and the other party members that Hiccup rarely needs to bring it in to keep her engaged. She’s highkey the party emotional rock, and probably the only one keeping them all together.

On that note, Rapunzel’s character is the ONLY one who can get Jack’s character to take the plot even REMOTELY seriously. Like he’ll be dicking around in the nearest tavern challenging the nearest orc to a drinking game, and Rapunzel will come in and ask him to help them on a Main Plot Quest. And he’ll be like “come onnnnn I’m having funnn” and she’ll be like “Jack pleeeeeease?” and you just. Can’t resist Sunlily’s puppy dog eyes. At all. Also, whenever Sunlily is genuinely threatened, any silliness immediately goes out the window and Jack Frost is OUT FOR BLOOD.

For better or for worse, Rapunzel is not immune to being looped into Jack’s shenanigans. Occasionally if either Merida or Eugene have a particularly hare-brained scheme she’ll go along with it, but by and large Jack is the most successful in convincing her to temporarily abandon the plot and cause mild mischief with him. They once wasted half a session creating an elaborate “ice theme park” for some squirrels in the forest.

Hiccup tries to get Merida to play the main plot by eventually having there be no more sexy female NPCs to seduce in the towns they go to. Unfortunately, this backfires–Merida just hooks up with Moana’s character instead. When asked to roll for how good the lay is, Merida gets a nat 20–and thus her character and Moana’s character end up hooking up regularly throughout the rest of the campaign.

Hiccup introduces a few Wise Old Mentor-type NPCs to guide the party throughout the campaign. While Rapunzel, Elsa, Moana, and Anna actually try to listen to them and take their advice, Merida, Jack, and Eugene absolutely refuse to take them seriously and mercilessly play pranks on them.

At one point, Hiccup gives the party the option to attempt to tame a group of wild dragons and use them as mounts. They all have to make animal handling checks. Anna, Rapunzel, Elsa, and Moana pass. The rest of the party fails, with Jack and Eugene crit-failing. Hilarity ensues.

Hiccup ends up bringing back Anna’s backstory love interest as an NPC regular. Anna thinks he’s just being a good friend and a good DM and trying to incorporate her backstory as much as he can, but really, he just wants an excuse to regularly flirt with her. He hardly has the balls to out-of-game.

Merida comes out as gay toward the end of the campaign. Everyone in the group is extremely supportive, of course, but everyone is also like “Merida…with the amount of barmaids you’ve banged…and the amount of times you and Moana’s character hooked up…this isn’t exactly surprising.”

Hiccup actually finds a way to use Jack and Elsa’s same-concept-opposite-execution characters to the plot’s advantage. He decides one of the main villains will have a prophecy saying he’ll be taken down by a powerful ice mage. The party manages to fool this guy into thinking this ice mage is Jack, and sends Jack to fight him. As soon as the villain sees Jack, he’s like “WHAT??? THIS clown???” (word has absolutely spread throughout the land of Jack not using his ice powers for anything besides mildly annoying trolling). Naturally, the bad guy lets his guard down after thinking he’s going to fight this literal joke, and then Elsa crashes in from the side and absolutely dumpsters him.

Jack tries to defeat the final boss by just annoying him so much that he leaves. Unfortunately, he just annoys him so much that he attacks Rapunzel’s character. Jack’s just like “oh HELL no” and attacks with absolutely nothing held back. Turns out he’s pretty terrifying when he’s not using his magic for Dumb Antics.

During the final boss of the campaign, the Big Bad tries to one-shot Moana’s character, and Merida’s character super theatrically jumps in front of her to take the blow instead. Rapunzel just barely manages to heal Merida’s character, but it’s a really close call. During all this, Merida is like “ah shit...maybe I’m NOT just in this to get fantasy-laid.” After the fight’s over, her and Moana’s characters have a big dramatic love confession and share a Big Damn Kiss in front of everyone. It’s pretty epic.

After the final session of the campaign, Merida drags Moana outside Jack’s apartment and sputters and trips over her words for a solid minute before she finally gets out that through all this nonsense...well...maybe it’s not just in the game that she thinks Moana is hot. Moana just gets this HUGE grin on her face and says “c’mere, Leeroy Jenkins” and just pulls Merida in and kisses her. Cue the rest of the party barging in on them. Merida and Moana freeze, and there’s a moment of terrified silence...and then the entire party starts cheering them on like “took you long enough!”

The entire rest of the party could detect the sexual tension. Literally all of them.

But Eugene is like “HA, THIS MEANS IF WE DO A SEQUEL CAMPAIGN I’M WINNING THAT BET! BECAUSE YOU’RE GONNA BE DATING MO’S CHAR AND THUS NOT ABLE TO SLEEP WITH ANY MORE BARMAIDS!”

By the epilogue session, Jack and Rapunzel are dating. Merida and Moana are also dating. Hiccup and Anna STILL haven’t figured out why they’re so prone to spending half the session flirting when Anna’s love interest shows up, and Hiccup STILL hasn’t figured out why he likes to have Anna’s love interest show up so often. Bless their souls. Maybe they’ll figure it out next campaign...?

Damn I actually really like this...maybe if people like it I’ll do some incorrect quotes or a drabble or something??? Or maybe some HCs from next campaign???

[imagining-in-the-margins]

I Like It Like That (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer is jealous after a rowdy party. Request: Reid & Reader already had sex a couple of times but one night Reid's dominant side comes out. He feels guilty about it but she liked it a lot. Couple: Spencer Reid/Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Dom/sub, penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, degradation, unprotected sex/creampie, hair pulling Word Count: 3.1k

MASTERLIST

It was no surprise to me that (y/n) is flexible. I figured that fact out pretty quickly after she showed up at my door one night after the rest of the team fell asleep.

I learned a lot about her that night. Like how loud she screams my name when she squirms on my fingers, or how tightly she pulls my hair and how hard she digs her manicured fingers into my scalp when my face is buried between her thighs.

I loved these things about her. I just didn’t love the rest of the team learning about that side of her.

So when I heard the overjoyed, playful screaming from all the girls except my girlfriend, I was not excited to come back to the room. Call it intuition or just regular logic, it didn’t matter, because I knew what I would see.

Sure enough, after I found the courage to turn the corner I saw her straddling Garcia as the music blared in the background. I’d heard the song before, it was on the playlist (y/n) usually played when she was getting ready for a night out.

‘If you could see it from the front, wait 'til you see it from the back, back, back, back, back.’

Except now, instead of dancing a private show for me in the bathroom or bedroom, she was grinding in a familiar pattern over our coworker. I hated myself for feeling both turned on and furious, because even if it wasn’t me under her, I couldn’t deny the way it made me feel.

She’d done the very same thing in my lap on several occasions.

‘Wait 'til you see it from the back, back, yeah, back, back, back.’

There was something hypnotic about the way she could move those damn hips. I couldn’t stop thinking of the way it felt to hold her up by that perfectly sculpted ass while I fucked her into a wall. 

But the fact I was thinking about that heavily suggested that I wasn’t the only one. That thought was confirmed when Luke appeared next to me, taking a swig of whatever the hell he was drinking.

“Damn, Reid. I didn’t know you could handle a woman like that.”

The words burned my ears, lighting a fire deep in my chest as I clenched tighter to my own glass.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied through half-clenched teeth, which led to him laughing as he shook his head.

The only thing worse than his words was the way he was watching her.

She had turned around now, her hands running over her hair as she crouched, showing the exquisite control she could maintain in her stomach muscles despite shaking her hips at a dizzying pace.

“If you don’t know what I mean, you’re either blind or ungrateful.”

Fuck, she had to stop.

He had to stop. I knew he was drunk, but that was my fucking girlfriend.

Luckily, Rossi had caught on to what was happening from a few feet away, and he put an arm in front of me as I started to approach the women.

“Easy, kid. Let her live a little.”

The nonchalant manner he said it only pissed me off more. He just shrugged, like it was an inevitability that I should let a bunch of other people ogle my girlfriend. She was practically lighting a fucking 'open for business' sign over her head.

“It’s humiliating,” I finally ground out, but the older man just chuckled, taking a drink of water as he turned around to leave.

“She’s not hurting anybody. As long as she’s still going home with you, just be glad you’re a very lucky man.”

That certainly made it significantly worse.

He pat my back as he left, and I found myself stewing in the rage building in every atom of my being.

Why the fuck did she think that was a good idea? Was she thinking at all about me? I mean, I understood that she wanted to have fun, but she wasn’t the only person that was impacted by her rash decisions.

The thing we had was relatively new, and I didn’t want her to see this side of me yet. But there I was, ready to drag her off Garcia and out the door to tell her exactly how I felt about it. I wanted to slam her against the wall and remind her that I want her enough that she’ll never need to even look at another man again.

 I needed to calm down, but all I could see was that look of feigned ecstasy on her face as she finally looked at me.

And that bitch smiled. She thought it was so funny watching me struggling to remain composed while she played her body like a siren’s lyre. At that point all I knew that was that she better hope that I’ve calmed down by the time I get her alone.

Because I was not feeling nice.

My boyfriend was mad at me. It was obvious from the way his jaw stayed clenched and his hand left the wheel to run through his hair every couple of minutes.

Oh, and the fact he’d been lecturing me for... about ten minutes.

I'd almost regretted asking him why he was mad, since he was apparently very keen on explaining. Honestly, if I'd known I was going to get yelled at for the dance I would have done a lot more of it just as a big ‘fuck you.’

The spiel continued all the way from the car back to my apartment, where Spencer somewhat surprisingly followed me in. Not even bothering to argue back, I just kept rolling my eyes and scoffing at the appropriate times (which was most of the time).

Most recently, it was him saying, “What were you thinking?”

My eyes having tired from the constant workout, I decided it was time for me to finally bite back. Flinging the door open for the both of us and continuing down the hallway, I half-shouted into the empty room, “It’s called having fun, Spencer! You should try it sometime!”

I could hear the door shut with a little more force than necessary, and I had to wonder if Spencer did it on purpose. Of all the time I’ve known him, much less dated him, I’d never seen him get even slightly aggressive.

I knew it was a little fucked up, but part of me was excited by the idea he was angry enough to do something about it. There was some darker part of him, but he kept it so locked down. Even from me.  

So when I turned around and saw he was right behind me, I almost lost my breath.

“Did you even hear the men on the team?! The things they were saying about you?”

God, he was so beautiful when he was angry. His hands were gesturing in the space between us, and the anger was emanating from his entire figure.

“I don’t care about them!” I yelled back, “And besides, they were joking. It’s not like I was dancing on them!”

I tried to walk past him, but I wasn’t able to. His hand fell heavy on my shoulder, pushing me against the wall beside us with only a little force. I wasn’t sure if he saw the dangerous glimmer in my eyes, but if he did, he did not like it.

“Yeah, because I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

Bringing his entire body closer, he forced me to look up at him to meet his eyes. And god, did I want to meet those wild eyes.

“Oh, you wouldn’t?” I teased, keeping my hands staying at my sides, no matter how badly I wanted them to run over his chest.

“No. I’m the only one you get to touch like that,” he muttered under his breath before bringing his hand to wind into my hair. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like that.”

With one fluid motion, he yanked my head back by my hair, dangling his face inches away from mine. I felt the heat from his heavy breath as he tried (and failed) to control his composure.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, Spencer,” I spat while pressing my hands against his chest.

He didn’t move.

“You don’t own me! I’m not your fucking property!”

What happened next was so quick I’m not entirely sure how it happened at all. But Spencer’s hand on my hair and my hip spun me around with ease, slamming my front against the wall as I braced the impact with both hands.

A bitter laugh in my ear, he growled, “You want to bet, bitch?”

The words caused goosebumps to raise over the back of my neck, and I shuddered against the wall. But that feeling was nothing compared to the one that immediately followed when I heard him unbuckling his pant and his hand not in my hair began roughly hiking my dress up over my hips.

“W-what are you doing?” I stuttered.

He didn’t even bother answering before shoving his hand in my underwear and beginning to stroke my already damp sex.

“In case you forgot, I’m from Vegas. I don’t lose bets.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but I heard him loud and clear from the few inches away. “Because I don’t make them unless I know I’m going to win.”

I choked on a moan when he began harshly pumping his fingers into my heat, apparently delighted to find that I was already ready for him.

“Someone’s excited. Figures you’d like to be manhandled. Why am I not surprised?”

A desperate moan tore through my throat as his hand began palming at the firm bundle of nerves at my crest, and I swear I almost felt tears in my eyes from the over stimulation.

“If you wanted me to treat you like a slut, you could’ve just asked.”

With that cruel taunt, his fingers were gone, leaving me teetering on my toes as I tried to stay upright. He wasn’t done yet, though, because he immediately went to pull my underwear down just enough to have the access he sought.

“Spread your fucking legs.”

I didn’t give a single argument or ounce of hesitation, forcing my legs apart despite the resistance from the tiny cotton fabric still around my thighs.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but some part of me was still shocked when I felt him bury himself to the hilt inside of me with one thrust.

“Fuck!” I cried as my body pressed even harder against the wall when he slammed into me again.

Everything he was doing was intended to elicit a response from me, and I was more than happy to deliver that for him. That being said, it was impossibly difficult to focus with how hard he was currently plowing into my body.

“What’s wrong?” he said with a smile, “Is there not enough of an audience here for you to play along anymore?”

I was too delirious from the way he was commanding my body right now to give him the answers he was looking for. I could hardly stay standing, each thrust taking me further off the ground and forcing me to rely on his body holding me in place.

“Would you rather me hold you down and fuck you in the middle of the bullpen?”

My attempt at words was actually just one long, drawn out careening cry. The brutal, rhythmic pace he was using to fuck me into the wall only seemed to get harder the longer I remained silent.

“I bet you’d love for them to see what a dirty little whore you are for me.”

The image of him fucking me over his desk was not new to me, but it certainly was new to me that he also fantasized about it. I couldn’t count how many times I’d been caught absently chewing on my pen in the office picturing that very thing.

“S-Spencer,” I squeaked, which seemed to get his attention.

“What was that?” he asked through a smile, his mouth so close to my ear now that I could feel the moisture in his breath. “Speak up. Tell me whose fucking name is in your mouth.”

I couldn’t have disobeyed if I wanted to, because no sooner had the words left his mouth had he pulled me down against his cock, causing tremors to wreck my entire body.

“Spencer!” I cried. It was more like a guttural moan than his name. He didn’t mind.

“Good girl," he praised before pressing a hard kiss against my jaw bone and tilting my head to give him access to my neck.

When he trailed his lips down the sensitive skin, I sobbed from the way it overwhelmed any senses I had left.

“Maybe I should get you a collar,” he mumbled against me. Dragging his teeth along the column between kisses, he gave another little, bitter laugh. “So you don't forget who you belong to.”

“Spencer,” I whined more insistently with my hips bucking wildly against him to try to initiate the movement he’d deprived me of.

“Please,” I begged, “please, Spencer.”

But that was the last audible thing I could say, because shortly after my plea was answered with a brutal thrust into the wall Spencer’s large hand covered my mouth.

The fact I could smell my own arousal on it did more to me than it should have, and I was suddenly unable to think in coherent sentences at all.

“Just shut the fuck up,” he ordered, setting a feverish pace of pounding into me now, clearly convinced and satisfied that he had won his bet.

There was no question about it: He owned me.

“Take what you’re given and be grateful I fuck you at all, bitch.”

That was apparently all I needed to finally lose myself to the climax I’d been chasing since he first slammed my face against the wall. The noises coming out of me were animalistic, and the way I tensed under his touch drove him to become rougher.

“This cunt is mine,” he spat as he held me down on his cock, “Don’t ever fucking forget that again.”

Just as my body stopped spasming, I could feel his dick pulsating as his warm release filled me to the brim, leaking down my legs as he gave a few final thrusts.

We stayed like that for a long, silent moment. The only sounds in the room were those of heated, crazed breath and our hearts beating back and forth at each other through my back.

He leaned against the wall, his forearm next to my head as he finally released my hair, dropping his hand down to my hip.

“Fuck,” he said.

That was about as eloquent as I expected him to be after all of that, and I wasn’t judging him. I couldn’t do much at that point, either. But I had a feeling that he was a little bit nervous, and that was also understandable. After all, he’d never done anything like that before… Ever. Our sex so far had been relatively tame - maybe a little more than vanilla, but definitely not slam me against a wall and call me a bitch level.

Not that I was complaining.

Once he pulled out of me I realized just how precarious my ability to stand was. Luckily he was there to catch me, holding me up as he dropped his head against the wall.

“You okay?” he asked while still trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” I panted, “I’m good.”

Eventually managing to turn to face him, I pulled my already soaked underwear up to prevent any of our cocktail of juices fall onto the floor, at least.

He was staring down at me with the most guilt-ridden look I’d ever seen on him. I pouted a bit at how cute the look was, which seemed to break the dam withholding all of his thoughts.

“I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I-I don’t know what happened I just—“

I licked my lips, swallowing as I watched the way his face contorted with shame and he closed his eyes to avoid looking at me.

“Spencer.”

He winced when he heard his name, peeking at me hesitantly with one eye. But what he found wasn’t a terrified or angry woman. No, he saw my enthusiastic grin.

“If I knew you could fuck me like that, I would have danced on Garcia a long time ago.”

A sigh of relief and nervous chuckle blew through his mouth, and he pulled me forward against his chest.

“You’re not mad at me?” he rasped, clearly exhausted from the workout and a half we’d just experienced together. “Even after I called you a bitch?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, my hands finally making their way around him and rubbing small circles against his back.

“The only thing I’m mad about is that I’m just now finding out about this side of you. You should bring him out more often.”

I felt his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed then cleared his throat. With an unsteady tone, he gently asked, “Do you… Do you mean that?”

Running my hands up into his hair and directing him to look at me, I leaned back against the wall and looked up at him with that same devilish smile I’d flashed him at the party.

“Yes, Sir.”

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

[tarantulas4davey]

HELLO BESTIE I am currently having Ralbert Brainrot and you're the best person go come to for this, obviously,, so PLEASE share! I would like to hear about ufc albert or youtuber race, or dancing partners!! I love them smm

HI YES HELLO USING THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO WRITE UFC FIGHTER AL PART 2 THANKS BABES

i just witnessed a literal crime and i’m Feeling The Rage (boxing judges at mma events can catch these hands) so here is. my brain on anger.

also the first half of this is pretty fight-talk heavy but the second half is more al/ralbert central so message me/send me an ask if i don’t explain something well enough <3

here is the ask i sent to @we-are-inevitable (thanks jac i’m in love with you mwah) and here is part 1 for this au if you haven’t read that one yet !!

also,,,,, this is fairly obvious. but trigger warning for violence/physical fighting, as well as blood. (it’s a rough gig y’all fjdhdb) oh and swearing but that’s pretty much just me LMAO

here i am, bein mad and writing ralbert. therapy time with chandler ig

OK SO

this is after his debut. duh. continuation

i think he’s probably 5 fights in with 5 wins. he’s been running people through, especially with four full camps after a short notice start, and he’s never even seen a decision in the ufc

let’s just say the hype train is moving FAST and it’s moving LOUD

everyone has to have those people that watch their fights just to see them lose, on top of the majority male fan base that have to have a little bit of toxic masculinity and homophobia in there

so there’s A LOT of people that are waiting for him and his hype train to get derailed. but there’s also a fair amount of fans, so you win some you lose some (the way i would die to see this be a real fighter pls)

now albert’s not always the most confident guy, and he’s never been cocky, but none of this shit gets to him. he’s got his coaches, he’s got his friends and he’s got race behind him. he knows he’s got the skills, and he’s got his support system, so who gives a shit what a bunch of cowards on the internet have to say?

and then they put him against someone known for his grappling and stamina. and the “it’s a wrap for dasilva!” bandwagon starts. it happens every time a rising striker and early knockout artist fights a well known grappler with any semblance of later round power (even if al has a background in wrestling and has gone 5 rounds and won outside of the ufc. it’s a bandwagon for a reason)

and it’s not Upsetting, it’s not really getting into his head in any way that’ll make him do worse, but it’s kinda pissing him off. which is bad for his opponent

the last person on earth you want to be fighting is an annoyed albert dasilva who thinks he has something to prove

he works his ass off in camp, and the press tour is a self-assured albert vs. a loudmouth who thinks he’s hot shit cause a few people on twitter think he’ll sweep

and, to be completely honest? it’s starting to look that way 2 rounds in.

it’s a 5 round fight, co-main event on a big card, and so far all al’s opponent has done is pinned him to the cage and kept him there. a few strikes worth anything - at least enough make al’s cheek bleed, no takedowns, which would at least give him some activity, and so submission attempts, so he can’t even gain any ground that way. he’s just- Stuck. and if THIS is how he loses, he’s gonna be pissed

the bell for the second round sounds, and you can actually see al’s chest heaving on camera as he walks to his corner - not because he’s tired or out of breath, but because he’s MAD, and fuck if he’s not going to do something about it

not only that, but he can not only see race and jack standing up by the cage - plus race’s expression, which is slightly annoyed and super anxious, which hurts his chest to think about - but he can hear them too

jack is yelling profanities, as per usual. he doesn’t that regardless of how the fight is going, but it’s less encouraging when you’re the one losing.

race though,,,, race isn’t really yelling, he’s more talking to himself than anything, but he’s close enough to cage and al knows him well enough to figure out what he’s saying. and if the muttered almost-prayers while he paces back and forth weren’t enough, the shiny gold engagement ring on race’s hand definitely is

round 3,,,, let’s just say it goes a little differently than the first 2 had gone.

he opens with a spinning back kick, of all fucking things, and that truly sets the pace

he’s the taller guy by a few inches, like usual, which makes his arms longer. the only reason crushing his against the cage worked is cause the guy he’s fighting cuts weight like a wrestler, so he’s easily got 20 pounds on albert come fight night

but once he finds his rhythm and starts throwing, he starts connecting too. he manages to stay out of range of his opponent and stay his comfortable distance to start t-ing off

this isn’t a one punch power ending. this isn’t a beautiful head kick, or a giant knee, or even just a clean right hook.

this is albert, who’s arms are starting to feel the 3rd round a little bit, hitting this guy with everything he has cause he refuses to lose this fight.

i mean- everyone watched him get up at the start of the round with a set jaw and a scary determined glint in his eye. he’s not a person you fuck with, and he’s definitely not a person you publicly ridicule before being locked in a cage to fight with

the guy he’s fighting is absolutely battered, but he manages to survive until round 4. the first of the championship rounds, something al’s never seen in a ufc fight before, and it feels like the arena is holding its breath

so when al comes out and does the same thing as round 3 to better results - fight ending results - everyone’s a little shocked, honestly

the commentary team’s in disbelief, cause albert is NOT a slow starter, regardless of what this fight would tell you, and the fact he managed a win at all, let alone such a phenomenal one, is fucking astounding

he gets his hand raised, obviously, but the really interesting part is the post fight interview

“albert, man, what changed between round 2 and 3? what second gear did you find?”

“bro, i just— it was pissing me off, honestly. i don’t come in here to get pinned down for 25 minutes. and, y’know, my team gave me good advice. i had all the pieces, straight from the jump, someone just had to force me to put them in place…”

and then he looks over at race, who gives al one of those half grin, half smirks and winks at him, and al just chuckles to himself and finishes answering the question

“the thing that really forced my hand is race. i won’t get cheesy on you, but watching someone who loves and supports you through everything panic cause he’s scared for you - it’s a big motivator. everyone would figure out a lot more of my motivations if they went and watched race’s expressions back instead of whatever the hell i’m doing in here. he’s always been the brains, i’m just the brawn.”

and that’s a better answer than anyone was expecting, plus he’s just had the fight of a lifetime that’s probably earned him a title shot, so he’s done soon after that and gets to have his little in-cage celebration

he hugs his team and jack, who razzes him a little bit as per usual, and makes some dumb quip about going over tapes later like he’s a coach. and then comes race

he hugs him, all tender and cute and also very sweaty cause That’s How It Works, and the camera’s focused on him, so they can tell they’re whispering back and forth. but there’s no mics on them, so what’s said is missed entirely on the audience, but it’s their usual cheesy, in love mess

“congrats, baby. i’m proud of you.”

“oh please. it was 90% you anyway. i meant what i said, it wasn’t just for the cameras.”

“i know that. i’m gonna have to get you back somehow for telling everyone to go back and watch my awful anxious expression. i’ll think of something.”

“i’m sure you will, sweetheart.”

and then al does that awful, adorable lil nose bump thing, and then kisses race. and then jack covers his eyes and whines until they stop like the actual 12 year old boy he is inside

and then they leave the octagon, race and al holding hands, and al throws his arm over jack’s shoulder and shoves his head down and pushes him, cause even though he was just in a literal cage match he’s still a roughhousing teenager at heart

and he’s got interviews and press shit that separates him from his people, and he’s gotta slide that bulletproof mask back down over all the happy and in love shit he’s feeling so he can not smile like an idiot on camera constantly

but every once in awhile he’ll catch jack giving him the finger and laugh before returning it below view of the camera

or he’ll catch race’s eye from where he’s standing behind all the studio lights and do a little wave under the camera and return the wink from earlier, and the unbothered fighter facade will crack a little bit

but he’s not completely convinced that’s such a bad thing

GOD THIS POST IS SO MUCH LONGER THEN I MEANT IT TO BE IM SORRY

but Yeah. Them.

i love this au a helleva lot more than i should but that’s Fine cause i’ve got thoughts for days on it

[diaco1968]

The wandering prince of the outcasts

Fantasy au

Exiled prince Shoto todoroki x reader

Also, smut

Warning! A little smut/ v sex, passive tiny bit of angst, porn with too much plot? XD I just get carried away with fantasy au.

Sprinting out of the village gates with a sharp turn off the main path to shake off your pursuers you had reached a steep slope, immediately realising why there was no path leading this way. In front of you was a giant deep pit and now you couldn't stop running. "Oh crap!" You screamed as you braced yourself to fall down the deep pit of death in front of you. But you didn't, your legs wobbled as you slipped on something and fell on your butt, sliding over the pit and down the slope the rest of the way. You came to a halt on the even ground, heart still beating rapidly in your chest and panting heavily. Your hands only now felt the coldness under you making you look down in awe at the ground underneath you and the path you just slid down on. 'Ice?...' your jaw hung open but the sound of someone clearing their throat right from over you snapped you back to yourself and you whipped back around to look at the source "Ehem. Are you alright?" You saw a hand in your face urging you to accept the help to get up. Your eyes moved up and landed on his face. Oddly satisfying symmetrical two colored hair. And mesmerising eyes. Fair skin, except for a burnt patch around his one sharp blue eye. Definitely not from around here or a regular wanderer. "I'm great." You slowly reached up, smiling sheepishly as you took his hand and stood up "I, um... was that somehow, you?" You pointed back at the ice behind you. "What?" He said unfazed as he glanced behind you before locking eyes with yours again. "The ice that just saved... me...?" You turned around and trailed off. It as all gone. The thick ice had disappeared with just a trail of glistening wet grass. "What?!" You looked at him seriously "I know what I saw! I slipped on a layer of ice that appeared out of nowhere! Now if that is something you need to hide, it's none of my business. I'll keep your secret." You huffed crossing your arms over your chest as you narrowed your eyes at him. "I don't know what you're talking about. But Please do be more careful next time." He replied looking at you amused. "I will. Thanks for saving my life." You grumbled, kind of disappointed as you turned around and walked away from him. You were definitely sure you didn't just imagine that. You had thought you were in for a treat by meeting a mysterious wizard or something, but well, denying he just used magic was logically how it should've turned out. People weren't kind to wizards and the fact that he had it in his heart to save you from inevitable death even though it wasn't any of his concern, had you feeling grateful anyway.

"You're welcome." He said quietly as you walked away out of earshot a half amused smile still on his face. The fact that you just accepted his power and then accepted him denying it without pushing him, had caught his interest. He started walking again and pulled the reigns lightly once before letting go so the white stallion followed him as well.

You were reunited with your bunch at a nearby inn, Kaminari apologizing profusely for getting you in such a mess back in the village. You had brushed him off with a light pat on the shoulder and now you were sitting at one of the tables with him, Krishima and Sero drinking and eating the day's loot away while you waited for Bakugou to join you. A curious bunch. You had met them through Kirishima, when you've been wandering around alone one night and offered the only piece of food you had to a lonely looking dragon that didn't roast you on sight. Much to your surprise he transformed into a bubbly red headed boy right in front of your eyes and despite your protests led you away to his pals. Dragged you by the hand more like. And well a simple 'can we keep her!?' And a bunch of yelling Bakugou later, you found yourself travelling with these guys. Occasionally splitting up to do your own things when you got to a town or a village and then meeting back up somewhere and moving on. A curious bunch indeed.

The familiar booming sound of the ash blonde malre reached you over the sound of the chatter, way before he even entered the inn himself. "Oh there he is!... and... who's that?" Kirishima perked up happily but immediately his expression changed to concerned. You turned your head towards the entrance and sure enough Bakugou was dragging someone in yelling something about being spied on. Low and behold the person he dragged in was no other than the ice boy who just saved you earlier. 'Definitely not a chance of keeping this one.' You thought to yourself as you glanced at Kirishima's defensive expression. He was close with Bakugou and they were for objective reasons... wanted dead or alive. It didn't help that the wandering ice boy, despite obvious efforts at disguise, a brand new traveller's cloak, looked like royalty... or at least some sort of authority. You labled him off as some sort of noble son in his rebel stage of life. "Unhand me this instance! You were threatening a dog for barking at you and I was just watching." The boy objected and you snorted totally seeing Bakugou doing that. You decided to pay him back for saving your life earlier so you stood up and walked towards them "oh my! Is that really you?! What would your father say?" You reached them walking past Bakugou who was now silent looking at you quizzically and gave the boy a light half hug, ripping Bakugou's hand off of his shoulder in the process "don't get me wrong I do miss you! But you are so far away from home." You pulled back and He looked equally as confused as Bakugou, only way less violent and way more calm. You huffed glaring at Bakugou "is that a way to treat my cousin?" He narrowed his eyes at you "your cousin?! He looks like he just came straight out of the royal castle!" Shoto looked surprided at that looking down at his attire and murmuring to himself more so than anything "I do?..." you laughed grabbing the boy's shoulder and started leading him out "he just doesn't know what to wear and where to wear it to. I don't look like royalty to you, do I? My cousin definitely isn't either." Bakugou wasn't too convinced but let you two walk away with a grumpy growl.

Once outside you turned the corner slipping behind the inn with him and a safe distance away from any ears in hearing range, you let him go "of all the people you could randomly piss off, it had to be Bakugou?" You chuckled as he fixed his clothes where Bakugou had crumbled in his fist. "He told a dog, and I qoute, 'you think you are better than me?!' Then he demanded that the dog fight him if it dared when he got barked at..." he deadpanned looking at you. "Yeah that sounds about right." You chuckled looking at him kindly, making a little smile cross his lips. "Alright I'm (y/n) and as my 'cousin', I think I should know your name too." His smile wore off immediately and he looked a bit uneasy making you soften up a bit "look, you don't look like you belong out here on your own. I just want to help. Consider it pay back for saving my life?" He looked up at you wondering why you took 'magic' so lightly. "Shoto, you can call me Shoto." You smiled at him brightly "Alright Shoto, we're go-" you were interrupted at the loud sounds of commotion coming from the direction of the inn. You gestured for him to be quiet as you peeked around the corner to see what was going on. As usual it was Bakugou yelling but this time there were a bunch of people clad in dark cloaks backing him out of the inn along with Kirishima. The moment one of them shot a big blue ball of fire at the two, Kirishima transformed into a dragon, blocking it and flew the both of them away, getting chased by a couple of the cloaked forms who transformed into winged creatures and persued. From the other side you could see Sero and Kaminari hopping on their horses and each rode off in a different direction trying to lose their own pursuers who were hot on their trails.

You stepped out of your cover and you were immediately stopped by one of the cloaked ones smirking down at you with a crooked smirk over chapped lips, topped off with a scar on one side. He raised his hand towards you to grab your face. You gasped in fear but the hand in front you burst into flames and as the guy started howling in pain Shoto grabbed you from behind, whistling his horse over, hopping on and pulled you on as well spurring the giant beast, who reared loudly before galloping inside the forest.

He hadn't paid much attention when pulling you on the horse and now you were draped over his lap on your stomach trying not to throw up from all the movements of the horse. "Okay okay! We lost them! I need to get off!" Shoto glanced down at you blushing as you clutched his thigh to steady yourself. He pulled the reigns and the horse came to a halt with a little skid. You immediately pushing yourself out of his lap and off his horse before he could help you, turning towards the ground to dry heave. He hopped off next to you "I'm so sorry, it was just too dangerous..." you raised your hand to stop him as you caught your breath. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he waited for you.

"Ice and fire..." you whispered. He could feel the cold sweat starting to form on his back. "The power of ice and fire!" You jumped to your feet and looked at him with wide eyes. He raised his hands slowly to calm you down "no, no, listen-"

"You are the cursed prince!"

He winced at the name turning his head to the side "well shit... I mean you no harm- mh!?" With the sharp pain on his chest he looked at you only to find you in his face, poking your finger in his chest accusingly "why didn't you say so!"

"...excuse me?" He inquired tilting his head to the side confused once again. "This is the part you run away, usually screaming, scared for your life." You looked at him mouth gaping "what are you talking about?! We've been looking for you everywhere!"

The flames danced tauntingly as you two stared each other down, each from one side of the bonefire. A bonefire you had pestered him to make using his own fire cause it was freezing cold. "Why would you be looking for me?" He urged on. You took in his form. Sitting up, back straight as a stick and legs folded underneath him neatly. "What do you mean? You are the lost prince!" You insisted making him glare at you. "I am exiled. I am cursed. What do you want from me?" You sighed hugging your knees tightly to your chest resting your chin on them wondering if he really didn't know. "You haven't been back home in a long time, have you?" You asked quietly and he softened up only a little. You continued without a reply "the 'king'," you scoffed "steals, tortures and kills. No one is allowed to stand in his way... he rules with an iron fist. And no one is safe. You are the rightful ki-"

"Stop. I'm a curse. I hurt people around me. Hell I even hurt myself." He vaguely gestured at his burnt face. "I am no one's king." He said firmly looking away from the fire. You watched him shocked at the hateful tone in his voice as he spoke of himself. "I'm a monster. If I were you, I'd leave me be as soon as I could." He got to his feet and stepped away from the fire and you to lie down on the flat floor with his back to you a little ways away. You watched his back for a while before staring into the undying flames, drowning yourself in your own thoughts. Anxious about what might've happend to your friends.

He woke up to the sound of struggle. It was silent, just the sound of something dragging and hitting on the ground of the forest behind him. He sat up and turned around. His eyes locked on a dark cloaked figure standing over what he suddenly realised was your struggling figure, kicking your feet and gasping dryly with a raspy voice. He shot to his feet, fire coming to life in the palm of his hand as he closed the distance between himself and the man and slammed his other hand, covered in a hard layer of ice in the intruders side. He jumped shouting in pain and staggering away only to be stopped by the flaming hand inches away from his face "let her go!"

"You are supposed to be dead!" The guy yelled back angry, and Shoto burned his shoulder as he grabbed onto it. "I said, let her go!" The man yelled in pain and tried to move away. "You get people around you killed. You kill them. Look at her! She is like this cause she was with you!" You clawed at the vine that had sprouted right underneath your head and was wrapped snugly around your neck, tightening ever so slowly. "Don't listen to him!" You managed only a quiet wheeze. "Shut up wench! Come with me and she'll live." Shoto looked clearly torn between listening to him or to you. He didn't know what to do. His head was racing as he lowered his hand from the guys face, the flames dying out slowly. "NO!" you wriggled gasping for air, and it received you a light kick to the legs "quiet! That's it boy. Don't struggle." The man reached out to grab him.

Shoto knew who these guys were. The secret puppets of the king who did his dirty work for him in the dark. Flashbacks of the day he had fled death by what could only be considered a miracle, flooded his mind and before he could stop himself his right hand slashed at the man, freezing him to the ground in an instant. He stared at the frozen man for a second but the sound of your quiet wheezes as your legs seized their kicking and your eyes rolled back in your head brought him to his senses. Hyperventilating as he dropped to his knees next to your head he tried ripping the vines off of you to no avail. "Oh fuck! What do I do?! (Y/n)! Please! I can't!..." he raised his shaky left hand grabbing the vine at where it's root had sprouted out of the ground. He had no choice. He couldn't watch you die... but what if he was the reason you would die? What if he burned you?... he grit his teeth and very carefully set his hand on fire. The vine started to burn off and released you of it's hold as you gasped for air, coughing and turning on your side. He sat back from you, watching you worried. It took you a while to catch your breath, staring at the ground as your vision unblurred. You took in a big gulp of air letting it out and sighing as your hand raised to rub at your sore neck. That's when Shoto couldn't keep quiet anymore "did I burn you?! I'm so sorry! I just couldn't do anything else! You are right to hate me, it's all my fault! I will leav-" you crawled over to him and despite him jerking away from you, your hand reached out and cupped his still warm cheek carefully "shhhh! I'm alright Shoto! You saved me! Again!" You laughed, your eyes betraying your expression, tears pricking the corners, and pulled him close, hugging his head to your chest. He resisted at first muscles tense as dry wood. "None of this is your fault! He was here for me, you just happened to be an extra treat. He would've killed me anyway if not for you!" Your fingers ran through his hair, smoothing it out, feeling him calm down and after a minute or so slowly slump down onto you when he stopped struggling against your hold.

It's been so long since he had last felt the safety and warmth of another's embrace, he just couldn't help nuzzling into you, not caring about the awkward way you two were positioned.

Your eyes moved from Shoto's head to the frozen statue standing just over the two of you, glaring at it hatefully as if he could ever see anything again.

Neither of you could sleep again after that so you decided to lead him to the place you and your little gang of misfits usually met up when seperated, a little hidden cave somewhere deep in the forest. In the way you decided to tell him why you guys were wanted, and hunted; how you were a group considered as dangerous to the throne and how you have decided to look for the lost runaway heir to help him get back in power. He still wasn't too on board with this part of your plan but your sweet talking had managed to get the rough edge off his nerves when he talked about his power. You convinced him, or it seemed so that you did, that for the most part he was in control of his 'powers', you refused to use the word curse. You told him If he sometimes lost control of it was because he had been suppressing it for too long. He needed to accept it as part of himself. He agreed but you couldn't tell if just to make you stop talking about him or genuinely agreed. You told him how there were people, like you, like Bakugou, like Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero and so many others who were born different, like Shoto. How you were all shunned and abused for it and how Shoto would be your saviour. He had asked about you, and you showed him your neck. Healed with no sign of any injury ever received wether bruise or burn. He looked at you in awe for a long time and you caught him stealing curious glances at you.

It was a long ride, full of talk, about him, about you, and by the time you reached the cave half a day later, you found yourself to have grown very close with Shoto.

When you got to the cave, much to your concern, there was no one there. But you decided to give it a little bit of time before getting too worried. You cleaned up around the inside of the cave to make it inhabitable for a while and Shoto tied his horse somewhere close by, making sure it had enough room to rest and eat, removing his saddle and brushing the dust off of it. He brought his saddle inside the cave setting it somewhere in a corner, eyes still watching you curiously. "We need wood for the fire." You said suddenly as you recreated the place for the bone fire, setting little stones back in the place of the old ones. "I'm going to go get some. You stay here and rest." You suggested, wiping your hands on your long skirt, heading out, not liking the idea of having to sit around in the darkness of the cave. "I'll come." he followed you and you turned to shoot him a smile.

The two of you wandered the woods nearby the cave and gathered wood and a bunch of edible fruits and berries. He was silent for most of the walk but he finally decided to voice his thoughts. The one that was bugging him since earlier. "Can you take away any kind of scar?" He blurted out and you paused to look up at him from where you were kneeling to pick berries. You watched him for a little while in silence, him fidgeting uncharacteristically under your gaze as he stared intently at the ground beneath his feet. You stood up and walked up to him his eyes unmoving. You cupped his left cheek softly, stroking your thumb over the burned skin. His eyes slowly moved up from the ground to yours, you smiled kindly at him looking apologetic "no, I can't do anything about old injuries." He sighed and looked to the side "pity." You turned his face back towards you "maybe, but I like it. It makes you, you." You leaned in and watched his eyes grow ever bigger before shutting tight as you traced your lips on the old scar right under his eye, kissing it gently and smiling at him when you pulled away. His face was almost matching his hair color now and his heart hammered against his chest rapidly. You giggled and he couldn't help himself. He leaned in pressing his lips onto yours firmly.

You froze in shock blushing furiously. And he pulled away after a few seconds a stuttering mess. "I'm so s-sorry! I don't know w-what came over me... please excuse my behaviour..." you blinked grabbing his collar with both hands making him go silent as he watched you anxiously "uh...(y/n)? Mph!" You pulled him back to you by his collar crashing your lips against his, kissing him fiercely. He got over his initial surprise rather quickly, hands moving up to your hips and the small of your back, pulling you closer while his lips moved against yours in sync.

You let go of his collar and slid your arms up around his shoulders, pressing your chest onto his as you pulled his head down towards yourself more, deepening the kiss and humming in content. He took a couple of steps forward and you found yourself backed into a tree. He leaned down low, slipping his hands over your curves and grabbing your thighs, pulling you up swiftly and wrapping your legs around his waist, not once breaking the kiss. You were the one who had to pull away to catch your breath, him trailing his lips down the side of your jaw and onto your neck, sucking the delicate skin between his teeth to nip on it lightly before licking and kissing over the abused, redening skin, drawing breathy little moans out of you. "I want you." He whispered by your ear as he sucked on the skin right behind it, making goosebumps rise on your skin. You whimpered, legs tightening around his waist pulling him closer to you. His hard on pressing into you as if his lustful confession needed confirmation. "Take me then." You moaned as you tugged on his hair so you could crash and mould your lips against his again. He groaned in response to your words, kissing you hungrily, his tongue swiping over your lips requesting entrance. Your lips parted letting his tongue slip past and into your mouth, whining as he took his time, slipping your skirt up over your legs and bunching it up around your waist, his now freed cock brushing against your inner thigh. He moved agonizingly slow as he pulled your underwear to the side, rubbed himself over your dripping core, slicking his length up on your wetness. It proved to be deliciously rewarding though, when he slowly started sinking his cock in through your warm hole. You gasped and he stopped moving, pulling away from the kiss and resting his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath, shuddering from having to hold himself back from just pounding you senseless, your tightness wrapped around his head making him feel dizzy with lust. "Are you alright?" His voice was caring but sounded strained. You moaned, nodding your head, which only made him move deeper into you. You bit your lower lip, gripping his hair and tightly clawing into his clothes.

It took him a few more minutes to sink fully inside your heat, careful not to hurt you. His forehead was now resting on the tree behind you, giving you full access to his neck as you nipped and sucked on him to your heart's content, while you were getting adjusted to his size sheathed fully inside you. In retrospect, it wasn't a good idea, cause your lips and teeth on him like that almost made him lose it a few times. You started growing restless, legs tightening their hold around his waist as you clenched around his cock, making him growl in your ear, you shuddering and whimpering in response "move! Shotooo." you whined and he didn't waste a second, pulling away and thrusting back into you right away. You gasped sharply, mouth falling open in a silent cry, digging your nails into his shoulders. His lips were back on yours when you found your voice and started moaning and mewling loudly, eating up all your sounds eagerly, his thrusts never seizing in depth or speed, pressing your back further into the rough barks of the tree each time. You reached your limit first, fluttering and throbbing around him as you came over his cock, leaning your head back on the tree, arching into him, him kissing your neck and helping you ride it out. You were considerably louder as he chased his own release pounding into your oversensitive core over and over with erratic thrusts. Mewling and whimpering, it was almost too much for you; you gripped his hair tight and harshly tugged his head back to bite his jaw and neck. Surprised he hissed at the sharp pain and finally let out a deep moan as he released his load inside you, the warmth exploding deep in your core making you quiver with your second orgasm washing over you, as you clung to him tightly. He kept you up, resting his forehead on yours, watching you with tired loving eyes as you two caught your breaths still connected.

Once he couldn't stand on his feet any longer, he held you close to himself and away from the tree's harsh surface as he lightly dropped to his knees, pulling out of you and setting you down before hugging you tightly to his chest, face buried in the crook of your neck, fingers running through your hair in a soft caress. You nuzzled your face into his chest, rubbing your hands up and down his back soothingly. Both of you enjoying the comfortable calming silence engulfing the both of you in your afterglow.

"Make it go away."

"Hmm. Nah."

"(Y/n)."

"No, 'my' dear Shoto."

"The dog boy will not get off my back for the rest of my life..."

You laughed as you whirled around to look at his blushing face. As you two were cleaning up by the pond he had seen your not too small piece of work on his neck, turning a rather dark purple as it peaked from under his collar.

"He won't notice. Even if he does he is not unfamiliar with being marked. Kiri likes marking what's his. He will not bring it up." You pulled his head down and kissed his forehead.

When you got back to the cave the guys were all already back, Sero and Kaminari, a little beat but alive and well, relieving you of your concern. Not a scratch on Bakugou and Kirishima, as expected. You smiled as you sat with them deciding to introduce Shoto properly after they've all been settled and well rested.

"Oh shit, Todoroki! What happened to your neck?!" Kaminari's voice filled up the small space of the cave, drowning all your chatter into silence, eyes moving all on to Shoto. He sighed locking eyes with you.

"A wild cat attacked me."

Bakugou snorted into his drink as Kirishima grinned sheepishly, much to Sero's and Kaminari's confusion.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Ninety-One [PT. 2]

Words: 2.5K

Warning(s): explicit language, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of domestic abuse

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"Your little one is here as of right now." Dr. Telille says, pointing to a very little area to the far side of my womb and I smile before she switches the focus slightly and then looks at the screen with a slightly odd look before flipping through my chart. "At your previous Obstetrician, did they mention any abnormalities?" She asks me. 

"No." I shake my head. 

"You said in your history you've had recurrent miscarriages?" She asks next. 

"Yes." 

"Okay, Mrs. Sixx, don't be alarmed by this because there is a solution but this," she turns the screen to me again, pointing at a shadow in the picture that looks like it's creating bunny ears or something. "Is a layer of tissue that's not supposed to be there. It halts fetal growth, and ultimately causes miscarriages, often times even before a fetus is interacting with the tissue itself, physically." She informs me and I feel like my chest is throbbing from how hard my heart is beating. "The good news is that we can fix this, I've had to do a few surgeries like this before--we can go in and cut that tissue out without disturbing your baby, but we will need to have it done within the next week--two weeks at the most." She explains and I raise my brows. 

"What's my chance of carrying out my pregnancy to term without the surgery?" I ask, trying to stay calm. 

"With a successful surgery, there is a 80% chance of you carrying it to term, and a higher chance at not facing as many pregnancy difficulties in the future like you've had previously. Without the surgery, with your history, it's very, very probable that you won't get to four months without miscarrying--if that far." She adds. 

"What's the risk of this surgery causing complications?" I ask next. 

"30%." She replies and I breathe out. "You don't have to make a decision today, you can go home and think about it and talk about it with the father but we need to get it scheduled in the next few days." 

"Um, o-okay…" I rub my lips together. 

"And if you are interested in the surgery, we can go ahead and send it in and see if insurance will cover it." She assures me. 

"I don't have maternity insurance right now." I tell her and she looks at me uneasily. 

"No worries, we can figure the costs out after you decide if you want it or not." She tells me, calmly, and I just nod. 

I numbed myself. I would've been freaking out, having a meltdown, begging God to spare my damn baby for once...but as soon as she started in on what was wrong with me, the negative outcomes...I flicked the switch in my brain and just let myself feel absolutely nothing as best as I could. My nervousness was relief compared to blatant breakdown mode that I knew would hit inevitably.

And how the hell did I tell Duff and Nikki that I was going to need surgery that could potentially terminate my pregnancy--or suffer what I'd suffered before and still lose a baby? Oh, right. I didn't. At least, not as soon as I probably should have.

When I get to my new little house I'm renting with my savings, Duff's sitting on the little porch, drinking a beer. 

"How'd it go?" He asks me, standing up as I unlock the door. 

He couldn't go with me this time because he had to go look at a couple houses with Mandy, which I understand because they had already canceled once with a real-estate agent and would get charged extra if they missed another appointment. 

"Good." I lie, clearing my throat. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." 

Whisky's barking at us until he realizes it's me, and then he won't get out from under my feet until I pat him on the head. 

"I need to finish unpacking." I say before Duff can ask anymore questions. 

"Well, it's your lucky day because I know how to unpack." He states, grinning. 

I go change into pajamas and when I get back, he's pulling pictures from one of the boxes, neatly placing them on the coffee table in the living room and I pick them up and start figuring out where to put them. 

"So, my family really wants me to bring you up." He says, optimistically. "I was thinking leave Sunday and come back next Saturday."

"...Duff, I can't just up and leave right now. I have to finish unpacking, and I'm gonna be meeting with Nikki once a week and then him and the guys once a week so that's two different…" I trail off as he cuts open another one of my packed boxes with his pocket knife, a look of disappointment on his face. "...It's not that I don't want to, you know. I just have a lot going on right now." 

"We'd just be gone for a week." He says, looking at me. "It's the only time off I have for a while since we're doing a few shows in New York and Europe." He adds. "And I really want my family to know you, kinda, before you have the baby." 

"I don't know." I hesitantly tell him and he licks his lips. "I don't know, Duff, okay? I just...ughhh." I groan, raking my hands through my hair. 

"If you don't want to meet my family then don't worry about it, Vivian." He says it a little passive aggressively and I raise my brows. 

"'Vivian'? Since when the hell am I 'Vivian'?" I ask, mimicking his tone. 

"That's your name isn't it?" He asks next and I cross my arms.

"You usually call me 'Viv', or...something…"

"Well, I'm not calling you, 'babe,' or, 'baby,' since we aren't dating anymore so…"

"You're being a dick." 

"I'm not being a dick. I'm just family oriented and I want my family to know you and our kid and you're making up excuses to not go and meet them."

"Excuse me for not wanting to be judged." I snap back. 

"They're not fucking judgemental." 

"Oh, so you're cussing at me now, too, huh?" 

"Quit trying to start an argument." He tells me. 

"I'm not starting an argument, I'm making a valid point." 

"You're making an assumption." He corrects me. "My family isn't judgemental. They're really not. I don't even think they're worried with the fact that you were married when we got together because they haven't said a word about it. They just want to meet you." 

"Matt didn't seem so cool about it." I mumble. 

"Matt was trying to keep both of us out of trouble." He explains. "He wasn't judging you. He just doesn't like drama and if we would've gotten caught he knew it'd just be a bunch of bullshit we'd have to get thrown at us." 

I just stare at him. 

"And I'm sorry for cussing at you, but I'm trying to be positive about all of this and I really don't want you to start bringing in your negativity." He exhales. 

"My negativity?" I raise my brows, laughing humorlessly. 

"Please, just come to Seattle with me next Sunday. I promise it'll be fun and my family's fun, they don't mean any harm by wanting you to come up and visit--they're already talking about planning a trip when it's born to be here for you and me both for a few days." He adds. 

I think about it, seeing his eyes glint a little as he slowly smiles at me like a hopeful puppy. 

"Okay." I relent and he puts his hands above his head, folding them together, letting out a loud, "Hallelujah!" and I roll my eyes, trying to hold back a chuckle. 

The truth is, I don't want to leave Nikki stewing that long after revealing to him my miscarriages. He never came back when he left the therapy session yesterday, and I was supposed to go back today but decided I needed another day to just think about everything, but because of Amber's schedule, we won't be able to get back in the same room together--aside from me just visiting him--until next Wednesday...but with Duff wanting to leave Sunday and come back that Saturday, I won't be able to meet then, either. A part of me isn't even sorry that I won't make it since the morale of Nikki's story is that he married a maestro of manipulation that can play victim like no other but is really an evil bitch who loves to make people suffer. 

I gathered that after reading: 

"I married a fucking demon."

"Vivian climbed from hell just to neuter me." 

"My wife's a fucking lunatic." 

"I sometimes think Vivian's waiting for me to die so she can get the money." 

"I hate her." 

"I don't know what's killing me faster: my looney wife, or smack. Doesn't matter--they're both my drug of choice." 

"If she didn't know how to fuck I would've already left her." 

"She flushed every bit of what Jason dropped off last night. Cost me a couple grand. I'm so pissed, if I knew she wouldn't beat the shit out of me and go batshit-ballistic, I'd lay her out on the fucking floor. I'm sure it'd be like foreplay in her sick mind, anyway." 

"I swear she cums every time she belittles me." 

And, my personal favorite: 

"Just woke up from a fucking nightmare. I was fucking around with Vivian and Vanity and once they got their satisfaction they started eating me alive while talking about their love for God. Even with them gnawing on me alive with their shark-like teeth and their completely black eyes, stripping flesh from my bone and going at it like a fucking pork chop, I was turned on. But as soon as they started about God, how good and wonderful he was, that's when I started panicking a little that I OD'd without realizing it and was in hell or some fucking incarnation of it. I see now that's how they both got me, being hot and knowing exactly what to do to get me going. And now they're both sucking the life out of me, eating me alive, while praying to their God and acting like they're blameless in my destruction. CHICKS = TROUBLE." 

At least we both agree that we married demons.

It was strange for me to realize how he saw me--well, how Sikki saw me. Once I was able to differentiate between the two of them, it hurt less reading what he'd write about me. It was just confusing. 

One page would be an entire rant (with unflattering, random song lyrics to match) about something I did that pissed him off--sometimes things I wouldn't even realize I did to make him upset and then the next page would be decently positive things about me that he'd profess after waking up sort of sober…

I knew he felt guilty about how he treated me, most of the entries from the end of '83 to '87 had "I'm an asshole" or "I really fucked up" or some version of it in them but the deeper into '87 he got, the less and less apologetic he got. Both in real time and his dairies. 

Despite the black and white of his diaries, one thing still lingered in the grey area…

I stare at the little TV on my dresser, bowl of captain crunch in hand as I stuff my face while flipping channels, Whisky gnawing on his chew toy as a flickering, fuzzy and static blaring familiar face flashes across the screen as I turn to the next channel. My heart stops for a moment, my finger immediately going back, the screen and audio clearing as I see her. 

Clear eyed and competent. A far removal from what I last saw of her with her gnashing teeth and tortured eyes, spewing at Nikki and I both before he and her got into a fight that left her dragged down the stairs of our old house...guilt tugs at me, remembering the look on her face, the pain, the hurt...perhaps she felt as bad as I did about the situation. 

He was the one telling her he was going to leave me and marry her, after all. My feury swallowed him before it ever thought about swallowing her. 

"...I'm currently looking at other scripts for other films." She replies very calm and composed to whatever question her interviewer was asking...I'm assuming this is part of her press run for her new movie coming out. 

"If you could write a ticket for yourself, Vanity, what would it be?" The woman asks next and she furrows her brows, slightly. 

"Write a ticket? To go somewhere?" 

"No, write a ticket for the rest of your life, and your career. Just everything about your life." She explains. 

"Ohhh," She thinks a moment before shaking her head slightly. "I wouldn't want to do that, actually, because, um, everytime I turn around something new's happening. I'm a very spontaneous person. I just like to get up and go, and I've been doing that since I was fifteen...so, um, I couldn't say I'd like to write that ticket." She chuckles a little, but not the crack-cackle I was used to seeing in her past interviews. 

She's actually sober here. 

"I just wanna go wherever life takes me." She continues. 

"What you're saying then, is, you couldn't write a ticket because what you would write wouldn't be as good as what could happen?" 

"No, I don't--"

"--No?"

"No, I don't think that, I'm not saying that at all. I feel that I have certain goals in my life. Very big, big, dreams that I set for myself. But I wouldn't wanna, um, question God's way about where he's going with me." She states. "That's just...not me." 

"If you could go back and change anything--"

"--Nothing." Vanity says, biting her lip nervously, shaking her head. 

"Any of the decisions?"

"Nothing." 

"Wouldn't change a thing?" 

"Nothing." She buckles down on it and I feel my eyes gloss over. "Wouldn't change a thing…" she trails off, thinking for a second. "...Can't say that I would." She adds, softly. "Because each time that I've done something, whether it be a mistake in my life, it's always...what you might call a mistake in my life is never a mistake to me. It was a definite meant to be and it was a definite learning process. So all the pain and all the glory...I wouldn't change a thing."

She's so unapologetically sincere. 

I cut the TV off as they start closing out the interview, and toss the remote across the room, losing my appetite and putting my bowl on my nightstand before I allow myself to replay what she just said. 

And I cry, not because she was in a relationship with him, not because she tried to steal him from me...I cry because I regret everything. I regret marrying Nikki. I regret meeting Duff. I regret getting pegnant. 

I'm not angry at her.

I envy her.

[cherrywoes]

— five

— abaddon

THE JOSTLING OF THE crowd did little to ease your nerves. You were constantly worried that someone would reach into your bag and steal your wallet—the participants looked that seedy to you—or push you so far to the back of the crowd that you’d sustain injuries in the process. You almost regretted standing so close to the fencing when people started throwing confetti and what looked like bras and underwear down into the arena. That was a UTI melting pot just waiting to happen.

A man sidled up to you after a timer started on the tiny bars lining the fence. You would have ignored him, except his features were striking and his hair was one of the more bizarre styles you’d seen—tufts of spikes, each one seemingly held there by gravity alone—and narrowed eyes that were fixed on his phone screen. His name was written on the sleeve of his jacket, but you couldn’t make it out because of the giant wrinkles in the elbow. He didn’t even seem to notice how close he was to you so you subtly edged away, clutching your bag and looking back at the timer which was slowly counting down from ten.

The closer it got to one, the more rowdy the crowd became. You cringed at the loud screams echoing in your ears and the booming music that had started up, likely to drown out the crowd itself for the fighters, and tried to focus on the opening doors in the center of the arena on either side.

An announcer, hidden somewhere in a back room, coughed and tapped a microphone. The speakers squealed and all of the music cut off abruptly, as did the cheering of the crowd, proving your theory about drowning them out wrong.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, devils and angels,” the announcer said after a moment. “How are we doing tonight?”

The resounding responses were loud enough that you almost jumped out of your skin.

“Good, good! As you all know, the betting pool for tonight’s next match is unusually high; but so is the matchup—if you have not placed bets, I would suggest you do so before the end of the three rounds so you can rake in the rewards.” A sly laugh. “Anyway, we have our first contender: Yuriel Bane! Give it up for the human!”

You watched as a man stepped out of the right door. He wore only shorts embroidered with the company name of his sponsor and waved to the crowd cheerfully. You clapped with the rest of them to be polite, but looking around you could tell that no one was rooting for the man—humans never fared well in Eden, you’d heard, at least in places like this.

“What a polite applause,” the announcer noted, a thread of amusement in his voice. “I almost feel bad for him. What do you all think?”

Like you thought, everyone agreed.

“I thought so. Well, of course, he is fighting a devil—a notorious one at that. I’m sure you all know him, or why would you even be here?”

You had no clue who it was but the crowd did. Their shouts and screams were enough to rattle the fence—or maybe that was you just shaking from nerves—and consequently your bones. You’d have a pounding headache after this, you were dead certain.

“Wow, you guys are really excited huh?” The announcer snickered. “Well, there’s no reason to delay the inevitable. Ladies, gentlemen, devils and angels, I give you Abaddon, the destroyer!”

The door opened—but no one was there.

Faster than you could blink, the human man was already on the floor, hit hard enough that he was reeling from the hit. In a few moments he was up and fighting with the seemingly invisible figure—he was hard to keep up with with human vision—and you watched as the man reached back in his pocket and throw a silvery substance in the other fighter’s, Abaddon’s, face. It sparkled in the light as it fluttered to the ground, but the effect it had on him was surprising; he stopped dead in the middle of the ring, right before the human man.

You couldn’t see much or make out a whole lot since his tattooed back was to you, but you could just barely see the blood dripping to the floor so quickly that it was almost like a running faucet.

“Penalty!” the announcer shrieked, panic overtaking his normal voice. “The opponent has used angel dust!”

Angel dust; you knew the name. It was a particularly harmful substance to devils, used to exorcise the weaker ones from the human world and potentially fatally wound a higher ranked one either in Eden or on Earth. Judging by the nosebleed this Abaddon had, you judged he had to be pretty powerful.

Beside you, the man mumbled,”Oh, shit,” but not for the reason you suspected.

“The medic has requested the match to be paused,” the announcer said after a moment. The crowd was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. “Please wait a moment.”

A man in scrubs appeared from the right door and escorted Abaddon to a folding bench in the corner that you hadn’t noticed before. He stepped in front of the devil before you could get a good look at his nose, swiping what looked like an alcohol wipe over the blood to clean it up and examine his nostrils. Whatever he saw clearly wasn’t cutting it and he made exaggerated movements while he was speaking, pointing harshly to the human man and then seemingly getting angry at the devil when he didn’t respond.

After a few tense minutes, the medic packed up and gave the crowd a thumb’s up, indicating that everything was okay. No one said a word.

You watched the medic leave and then looked back to the bench, curious to see what the angel dust had done exactly, when your body rapidly caught up with what your eyes were seeing—your heart dropped to your stomach so fast that nausea hit you square in the gut.

You knew this devil—except he hadn’t been a devil. Had he? Or… was he one all along?

Oikawa Tooru.

Your eyes were fixed upon him like spears of unholy fascination. He sat upon the medic's bench as if it were his throne, legs bent and spread lazily to make room for the growing puddle of blood at his feet. The muscles in his arms flexed, ropes of black ink and skin and brands moving with the sleek subtlety of a panther ready to strike.

He was agitated. Angry. Pissed off.

You could see the smoke curling up from his shoulders and billowing from his nose and mouth. It was a stark contrast to the pale gray of the fog machine, a brilliant white and rolling into the air. You could feel the nervousness and anxiety coming off of the man beside you in waves, his concern trained on the man in the ring.

"Fuck this shit." You could read his mouth from where you stood twenty feet above behind a steel cage. "If he wants to toss the rules, I can toss the goddamn rules."

He was up and off the bench before the medic could finish sewing up the gash on his cheek. His opponent wasn't expecting it--not the blatant disregard for rules or the superhuman strength behind Oikawa's punch.

You heard the crack of a neck snapping before you saw it. His head lolled back and followed his body in a swift motion, hitting the concrete with a solid thump. Blood wept from a wound at the back of his head, creating a horrific halo around his corpse.

Oikawa Tooru emerged the victor.

But when he turned, ready to raise his arms for the victory cheer, he caught your eye. You hadn't wanted him to, had meant to leave before he ever turned around and caught a glimpse of your coat.

His nose flared, muscles bunching tight like live wire. He could smell you now, over the throng of people tossing money into the pit and the blood streamlining down his cheek, and your blood heated in your veins, responding to a painfully familiar call.

You were caught.

Your first instinct was to run. To run far, and fast, and away from this man, who you had no idea was a devil, or even a man who could kill someone so easily. You couldn’t even focus on the dead body in the middle of the ring; your eyes were pulled to Oikawa’s—or Abaddon’s— like magnets, surprised at the familiar color and the unfamiliar emotions in them.

You had no chance to escape.

He was scaling the fence before you could even blink, faster than a bolt of lightning, and was in front of you within a breath, breathing hard and streaked with blood droplets across his chest and neck. You instinctively looked up at his face, red with blood and his own nosebleed, and felt two hands creep up the sides of your neck and face—gentle, soft, as if they hadn’t just battered the life out of a man just seconds before. You felt blood, warm and wet still, smear down your skin with the movements of his fingers against your skin.

It almost felt like those days back at the orphanage.

And then, shattering your innocent thoughts of your past together as children, Oikawa pulled you into a bruising, soul shattering kiss.

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[daughterofhel]

.

My icon died last night.

The little black and white cat, Auk (or-ick). A silly name from a badly remembered name from my childhood.

He was pretty much deaf; car got him.

I haven’t seen him since I left Texas, as I moved for a year to VA before finally moving to be with my wife in Vento. One of my guy friends family took him in on their ranch.

It was fitting; I did get Auk from a ranch. He was used to it, loved it even. And this was without the competition of an unhealthy amount of breeding stays like the ones I grabbed him and Ivy up from. I could only take two, my friend the same.

Funny. I had originally gone there to see the birth of a colt only to leave with a cat. Return the next day and get one more, a friend for my tiny runt of a thing.

And who should but all demand it be him to leave with me but Auk? The friendliest of cats that I’ve ever had the pleasure to be around. He also thwarted my attempts at having two girl cats. He was insistent to leave with me and you don’t argue when you’re chosen you know?

I won’t detail the tears following or the rough road and chaos that went on, but many double shifts back to back to back endlessly, a medicated clumsy grandmother with rapidly failing health, and complex roommate situations, I just wasn’t able to provide the needed time and care for my cats.

I cried the entire 45 minute drive to my buddys property when he said he could take them in. I had to pull over twice. They also cried the entire time, being afraid of the car, which made it harder. My buddy, He was the same guy who rescued a big pup clearly abandoned some years back. I had helped train him to not jump on people and other stuff. His folks also owned a longhorn ranch, lots and lots of space.

Those cats deserved better and this was a familiar element, now neutered, vaccinated, and with no stray competition and the dog was so careful. But god. I never wanted to say goodbye to my cats. It didn’t matter though, what I wanted; they needed care and time I wasn’t able to keep providing.

So I dropped them off. As expected, Ivy kept close but never got too close to the family. She simply doesn’t trust; I’ve no idea why such a little thing bonded instantly with me and remained quite the fixed cuddle bug. But she had. I felt worse about it with her than Auk if I’m to be honest.

Auk loved attention. Loved fetch. Belly rubs. This cat was a classic dog and a huge whore for attention. XD He essentially made himself at home and lavished any and all attention, to which my buddies mother instantly fell for this fuzzy dorks charms. He has been well cared for.

I know younger me could’ve and should’ve done better when I got these cats. Mind you, I’ve been gone for over 10 years now, so it has been quite some time. I’m doing what I wish I could have done for my cats then with the two rescues we got last year here.

I was young and working so many hours for nearly no profit after stuff was paid, even living at home and with roommates. I couldn’t afford the extra vet fees I needed or the fanciest of foods or any of that. I loved them, and I felt them being with me instead of the half starving state they were in from constantly competing with so many other cats, was still a better option for them. I still was at least able to do some of the important visits for them.

I cleared their fleas and earmites. I never did get rid of Ivys worms, though I desperately tried. I tried so many ways to get this pill into that cat. Even crushed into wet food. Friends helping to wrap and hold her to make her swallow. All the tricks we found, failed. She just. She wouldn’t take it. And I didn’t have the cash to go every single day and time she needed a dose to a pet clinic. I had checked more than once. It was so much money.

Older, better situated now.. I’ve been able to do right by the cats, Nyx and Tivali, that I have now.

We even saved Nyx’s eye. We have a system to give her her seizure medicine every 12 hours. They’re both fully up to date with their shots and are fixed. Ears totally clean. Monthly newly added anti flea tick collars.

The best food we can reasonably find at the local pet shop; their pelts are beautiful, soft, shiny, and they never smell.

We’ve even found a biodegradable corn based litter we can flush which has been the greatest find.

We get semi regular check ups on our girls and they’re doing just fine now. I’m still proud about saving Nyx’s eye. It was a tedious ordeal. 3-4 times a day we had to clean and medicate a cats eye. We got good at it even if she wasn’t fond of it. Thankfully the vitamins they required were like treats. Even the antibiotics from the colds they had from the shelter.

I miss Auk. And Ivy. And I wish I could���ve not only given them the life I’ve given my current cats now, (I’ve constructed basket beds, hammocks, a whole canopy jungle gym and rope bridge to boot for them with my wife!), but I wish I could have been the one to have them in my life still. I know it was not possible. It wouldn’t have been possible.

But I think of them. A lot. And I knew it was inevitable. Auk would’ve been well over 13 or so years by now. A little old but could’ve lived longer yet for sure. My buddy didn’t mention he has gone deaf. Of course he rarely goes home himself; I don’t blame him. Life’s complicated.

I have mourned these two cats multiple times now. So I’m not thrown into tears upon this news, I’ve cried plenty over the years already. But I’m still sad to hear that fuzzy delight has passed on. I won’t ask, but I hope, and believe, the accident was a quick end for such a friendly guy.

I’ll mourn him eventually in full. I know I will. But considering this is the fourth major bad news I’ve gotten in less than a month and most of it a week, I thought to write about it. If only to keep sane.

May I not receive the same news of my grandmother or my sister who both remain in the hospital.

And god. May my mother stop forcing me to recall and talk about our shared trauma under my father and just keep me up to date on my families health. I don’t want to be crushed under this suffocating vice on my neck that makes me hesitate to call and see my family. I know she needs to vent. And god. I try to let her. I do. I try to be kind; she needs it.

But it isn’t the time and place when I’m trying to figure out if my grandmother is dying or getting better. I shouldn’t have to receive that confirmation, be granted a brief video called hello and check in, with the price of an hour long dredge through a past I personally have gone to two different types of therapy through to try and cope with. Which, only to some degree, have helped.

One of the last longer calls we had she all but said she hoped her theories on my father possible molesting me were true, so, you know, that would be one more trauma we had in common. She went on and on, even trying to provide loose evidence to her theory. Troubling sentences I would say in my rare visits. Etc. She just. Wouldn’t. Stop. And that was after an hour of recalling how terrible her life was with my father and the abuse, the screaming, the terror, the hiding, the injuries, all of it. As if I wasn’t left to live my life with this very man she said her three years with ruined her more than all her past shit combined.

She assured me she was a good mother who tried. And honestly. No. But I do believe she tried. But she was already weak emotionally and mentally and my father wrecked what was left. She left me sometimes for a couple days lock in that house when I was in diapers. You don’t forget that shit. I’m still scared of the dark. I can’t reason with myself on it. But being mad about all of it doesn’t change anything and would hurt a woman already broken. Why would I do that.

Still. It bothers me. So fucking much. But she’s such a fragile person in a fragile emotional state with everything else on top. She’s been heavily depressed for many many years and it’s a bunch of other stuff that spirals and honestly, at this point, she’s toxic even to herself. I’ve tried working on it with her but it matters not if she’s not willing to work on it too. I don’t know my mother besides her many traumas. We’ve been separated and estranged for most of my life. Unless I was physically able to actually be there and provide a use.

But that’s par for the course; no one will have you around if you’re unable to provide something for it. My wife’s the first person who genuinely seems to enjoy having me around just because and wants nothing more. I do stuff of course; but with her I am not afraid a slip up could mean everything it taken away and lost. I can forget the dishes once or had a bad mental health day and stay in bed without it having catastrophic consequences. She’s such a wonderful kind woman; I cannot help stressing over how to repay her.

I try and I’ve expressed my distraught on the topic and though she always seems baffled and confused about my insistence that I should be doing far more, that lass doesn’t agree at all. It’s her parents home so I am not able to freely run the house as I would on our own, as I’m able and have in many places, so I’m often less useful with the restrictions. She’s also use to the flow and swing of things and has things half done before it’s being asked.

Our own place will make life smoother and calmer for both of us; most importantly her. I’ve watched this family, sweet, but absolutely tone deaf to how many and often their demands are tossed to her. All the other kids moved out with partners. Hell, the oldest s child basically lives here. Our own hurdle with raising a kid who we don’t have the final say on any single thing. His grandparents are enablers cuz they don’t want to hear any loud noises, no matter what. And that causes strain when the kid can and does get anything and everything as long as he kicks up a fit. And he sure as hell does. There are days it’s so bad my wife’s in tears. And that pisses me off. The kids a good person, but the fact no one will actually parent and draw definite lines and be firm with No’s can also make him horrible too.

I’ve to deal with the chess match that is my father. I often call him my own personal Devil. He kind of is. But one I’m familiar enough with at this point in my life. I know where and when to cut my losses, where to step around, when I need to swallow my pride or the easily seen through lies, and nod my head. If he was all terrible, I could have cut him from my life. But no one ever really is. And I do know I owe it to the man; he has helped tremendously in my life as much as he’s been a big problem of it. I know his biggest fear is to be alone and forgotten. I wouldn’t do that, not even to the devil.

I need some bland news. Not thrilling. Not depressing. Just some ‘hey that happened’ ‘oh cool.’ Kind of news. Just a small reprieve.

Im. Scared. Of what’s next.

I. Know that things are teetering dangerously into a very very tragic terrible story on my mothers end. I know her husbands already super suicidal. My half brothers severely autistic, non verbal, among a few other things and will require his whole life to have someone be there for him. He’s not stupid, and I hate when people treat him as so, but he is absolutely unable to care for himself. He doesn’t have the right motorskills even, though we’ve gone to many different places to try and help him find ways to do actions in his own way that still get the same result. I admire how he’s such a positive little man, generally not just happy, but delighted. I aspire to look at the world like he does. He reminds me to try. I do love that about him.

He is, however, a Big boy, 15 now, and growing. He’s also very strong now. My mother is getting to an age where his, as well call em happy slaps, are really hurting her. He is generally good about slapping your hands and not your back if you provide them. But when he is upset he is a shover; one bad fall could really cause a lot of chaos for my mother with her health. The husband spends most of his time locked in his room.

My half sister is epileptic. They have done tests for years and can’t figure out all her triggers or the whys. They just sometimes stop for a long time then suddenly happen. She’s 16, turning 17 soon. And I don’t even know if she’s going to be, since my mother won’t let me know. And there are large gaps from my sister being on tech due to concerns of what triggered her seizure this time so she’s often removed from electronic devices for a time.

When I had turned 21, my mother and her husband tried to have me sign a paper to become legal guardian of my half siblings, should something happen to them, so the kids didn’t get separated.

At that time, I was still taking care of my fathers mother along with working at a shit job, and had a house full of temporary roommates who I had offered rooms to as a sort of safe house for them. I have a knack for finding people from broken homes, what can I say? With the house my father and I built, we had space, so I used it. I was able to help the girls get out of toxic places, get on their feet, and move on. Not all of them always. But it did generally work out. One has a boyfriend who was growing worse to her on top of getting more and more into hard drugs while also she dealing with an abusive aunt who got worse once her mother died of cancer. So she was stuck with the terrible boyfriend. I had her stay with me as soon as I heard.

Another was complicated, but generally revolved around the alcoholic mother and the many, shady, men in and out of the house. The dangers of that alone were.. problematic without the friend also being suicidal and not taken seriously. I’ve stayed many times with her to just hang out, clean, cook, or even read a book cuz she just wanted to hear someone talking and such. You know? Until eventually I had her move in with me too.

Another’s mothers died of a cancer and dad an alcoholic; not abusive, he just became childlike and super forgetful. To a hurtful degree in his totally dependent state, whenever he was home. Plus their whole little trailer smelled of piss. And her boyfriend (they’re married with kids and happy now) was in jail. He had a bad past but had cleaned up his act quite well, but. Well that’s complicated. We all know that the police don’t squint at details of any issue if the accused has a problematic past.

I had two different girls with trouble at home who were being used by their family to constantly work, clean, and pay for everything.

I had an ex and her girlfriend with problematic homophobic parents who were terrible and semi violent so I had them stay with us so they could be together somewhere safer.

I did not. At all. Have the assured means to also be a parent of ten children with very different needs nor any medical benefits to help out with.

I also knew, that, with how my mothers husband was, if he had some guarantees for his children’s safety, he would likely end his life if he could. He’s been so close so many times. If signed this paper, he would have the last big most important concern that’s kept him from.. I just. I didn’t want him to do it. I selfishly didn’t want to be responsible for my siblings that would take away any bit of time I had for myself away. If anything happened, I would not abandon and forget my siblings. That’s absurd. But my mother implied heavily she wanted to be sure of that. And thus this paper.

I was struggling to find aid for college so I could go to school (never got to, by the way. Minus two classes in total. Aced them both, but it doesn’t matter. Credits in the wind). I was already dealing with my grandmother. The girls I chose to help. My shit job. My fathers temper and his horrible horrible ‘on again off again’ girlfriend. The chaos that alone committed.

I was busy providing a safe space in my home and making sure it stayed that way for the rare times trouble makers made the mistake of stepping up to my door to try and harass my girls.

I often worked 10 days in a row before a day off. Many of those days often had double shifts which were 16 hours. Sometimes I got an hour nap on the double shifts.

I just couldn’t do it.

And now. I remember something that came to mind back then that comes back to mind now. My moms husband adores my grandma. She’s been better to him than his own mother. She’s dying. He’s not taking it well and his mental health has always been pretty low and in the last couple years, already dangerously rock bottom. I’ll admit, same.

His daughter is now in the hospital. My brother is smart but there are some things we can’t really explain for him to get. He understands something is wrong but not sure what and it upsets him. He doesn’t like change and gets super fussy for it. Which can be taxing and hours and days and weeks of it. Grandmas been in the hospital for a couple more or more now. She coded a few days ago but they got her back.

If grandma dies. If something happens to my sister…

God. I don’t see that man sticking around.

And with my mom isolated. A lot of it her doing with her own family but also a good part of it being dumb petty bs of other folks that have no reason to behave like that (a whole drama I don’t have the energy to keep up with..). I just.

I see it as a domino effect of terrible terrible events I don’t want to write.

My mothers side im not very close to. I don’t blame my cousins, we were kids ajd our meetings were brief as they were. But the adults kept their distance with me. No one expected me to survive and decided it was easier to not get attached. To not get involved with me, and by extension, the devil himself, my father. So I never got the chance to know that family. Even when I tried.

So the only family I do have some ties to ajd know, is in a hospital bed, or on my dads side, and they’re dying to. And I get it… that at a certain age in life, many of the people around you start to. It’s just life. Ajd it sucks. And I miss having a best friend. I miss having friends who just seem to like to have me around. Want to have me around.

And I wonder if the friends I thought I made with my roommates were just because I provided something for them. Sure we laughed a lot, we cried over shared traumas, celebrated holidays together so as to not be alone.

But not a one speaks to me now. And hey. That’s also life. But it makes me feel pretty shitty; every where I look in the past, I can’t see any relationship, family, partner, friendship, that ever had me around unless I was providing services they wanted and needed. And I don’t mean the natural give and take.

I’m aware that I’m not the friend folks have around. I’m a fun distraction at best and have been told and reminded as such. I feel like shit cuz my wife’s wonderful and the best person in my life, and yet I still mourn having close friends to hang with. I miss gaming together the most. Or the bullshitting. Sharing food.

I’m not a nice person. I’m working on it. I am. I’ve also, for years, been working on my own personal problems so as to not bring them into even conversations. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I just.. can’t seem to keep anyone around. And frankly.

I find myself crying about it a lot with no idea what to do.

And. I’m burnt out.

I don’t want to make friends anymore. And yet I still crave it. Which sucks. I can’t stop seeming to want that. And I keep trying. And trying.

I’m trying to accept and be happy with any bit of time I get from the few friends who talk to me. I try to take my chances where I can to hang out (online, as they’re all distance by now), cuz I know it’s a short window and I’ll be lucky to get a next time in the near future.

Online is harder to provide a use, and once the ‘honeymoon phase’ of the friendship winds down, some drop off the map entirely. A few abruptly. And I just. That’s fucked me ho a ton. I can’t even express how many hours I stay sitting. Thinking. Unable to understand what I am not doing or what I am.

It’s a pity party. I know. But it’s fine. I’m still the only one at it and though I’m quite forward even with nerves eating away at me, I still just don’t know how to keep anyone in my life.

It’s taken almost 6 years for me to relax enough to believe my wife will, in fact, stick around.

But at this point in time, I’ve realized, on a note I just keep getting really sad over, that the bits of friendship I’ll get to experience with people, will be brief, snippets, and frankly, only if I am providing something they’re not getting.

I’m essentially the magazine next to the toilet when you have a bad bad stomach bug and your phones dead.

Man’s that’s.. probably my own doing. I know I’m a lot of woe is me in here. And it’s a post talking to me, so I’m indulging in it. I absolutely can’t out loud or in life. I’m working on just.. trying to feel instead of ignoring it. Per my therapists suggestions. So I feel fucking overwhelmed, sad, and alone. Isolated. Heavily.

Ignorance is bliss for real. I wish I wasn’t so aware that I was the friend you go to when all options are down and you’re bored. When you are in a bind and need a safe spot (I don’t mind that one but it does suck that it’s the only time some folks pop back in or up). That if I’m not working then no one even has a small little want to just say hi. I wish I had people who just wanted to say hi because they just.. missed me? I gues?

I wish I knew how to be better as a person and a friend. I thought I was making strides on that. I really had. And yet.

Here I am. Just.

Bitching to the void. Becuase my wife doesn’t need me to add more to her life with her father (finally back from the hospital after surgery) and his health concerned along with everyone else’s and the own sets of ordeals here. I don’t need her to fret over me.

She’s needed distraction and I’ve left her alone for a couple weeks now to her drawing. Probably one of the best things I did do for her was clean up a space for a literal drawing room for her. She’s happier for it. People compliment her art and she rather enjoys the well deserved attention.

I personally would love to have her around more. But I’m having a lot of bad shit days. Weeks at this point. And I’m using my energy to be useful in setting the table or doing the dishes, the cats, playing with the nephew, etc.

All I want to do is sleep.

Frankly. I’m tired of waking up.

But for her. I will.

[wanderingcas]

5 times Dean had work to do, and the one time he actually enjoyed it.  pairing: dean/cas a commission for @jensenackhles <3 2k words

One 

Dean first heard the phrase a few weeks after his mom died.

John had checked them into a motel—one of the many that they had cycled through in the past few weeks. Sam was asleep in the crib, and John was on the opposite bed. Dean had woken up to a strange sound; he rolled over and saw John at the foot of the bed, head bowed, shoulders shaking.

Dean had never seen his dad cry before. Even right after the fire, when he was telling the detectives what happened at the police station: completely dry-eyed. So seeing his dad cry was… strange. Dean wanted to make it stop. 

He pushed back the sheets and hopped off the bed. Walking on unsteady, sleepy toddler legs to his dad, he put either hand on John’s knees, looking up at him. John was clutching a worn picture of Mary between his fingers.

“Are you okay, dad?” Dean asked.

John continued to stare at the picture of Mary’s smiling face. After a moment, he sniffed. Wiped his face that was striped with tears with the back of his hand. He ruffled Dean’s hair and said gruffly, “Yeah, kid. I’m fine. Get back to sleep, okay? We got work to do in the morning.”

And the next morning in the car, when Sam was crying in his carseat and kicking up a storm, Dean patted his head and said, “It’s okay, Sammy, shh. Stop crying. We got work to do, okay? So you can’t cry. We got to work.” 

Sam just stared at him with big teary and trusting eyes. Dean didn’t even know what he was really saying at the time; what he was getting them into.

Two 

He didn’t make it a habit to say the words out loud often. He said them more to himself, as a mantra to keep himself on track. But sometimes they would slip out, when he really needed to orient himself: when he really needed to kick his own ass into gear and push down the emotions.

The second time he remembers saying it was when he was 25. He was driving to a case with Danny, the son of one of John’s hunting friends. John was out of commission from a nasty encounter with a wendigo, so they were tag-teaming the ghoul hunt. 

Dean felt his phone buzz, wedged between the driver’s seat and his leg. He pulled it up, glancing at it, just in case it was important. His stomach immediately sank when he saw Sam’s number.

Got to Stanford okay, in case you were wondering. Too hot here. Miss you and Dad. 

The muscles in Dean’s jaw jumped as he clenched it tighter.

“Who’s that?” Danny asked, cocking his shotgun. “Somethin’ about the case?”

“No,” Dean said. He pulled into the driveway of the house where the hauntings were taking place. Eased the Impala into park. “Focus up,” he commanded, cocking his own gun aggressively. “We got work to do.” 

Three 

The seal to the gates of hell are open. Ruby tricked them, and Sam triggered the apocalypse. 

Dean doesn’t know what to say. 

History is repeated again, where Dean is sitting helplessly on one hotel bed, Sam crying on the other. He’s bent at the waist, shoulders hunched, tears silently streaming. 

Dean knows that he’ll blame himself forever. He knows that this might break him. 

He knows he needs to say something.

Getting up unsteadily, he walks over to the bed and sits down on the other side of his brother. The bed creaks from his weight. “C’mon, Sam,” he says into the silence. “We didn’t know, okay? We couldn’t have seen it coming.”

Sam remains silent, glaring at the ground.

A lead in his gut, Dean reaches out a hand, and places it on Sam’s shoulder. “We gotta keep going, okay? We just… we gotta keep fighting. We can’t just sit down and take it.” 

“What’s the point, Dean?” Sam asks. He shrugs off Dean’s shoulder and twists around to glare at him. “Why even try, if I keep fucking everything up? Huh?”

“Because people need us, Sam,” Dean snaps. “We need to finish what we started. We gotta make sure the world is safe, okay? There’s no time to sit around and feel sorry for our damn selves.”

Sam stares at his hands, stonily silent.

Dean stands. Holds out a hand to his younger brother. “C’mon. We got work to do.” 

Sam glares at Dean’s hand for a moment before sighing resignedly. He takes it, and stands.

Four 

When Dean met Cas, a lot changed.

His view on angels not so much: he still thinks they’re a bunch of dicks. But the way that things aren’t always so black and white. That people—angels—can change. That Dean can maybe be… loved. Saved. Worthy of it. 

At least Cas seems to think he’s worth it, anyway. 

He tucks all these feelings into his back pocket; doesn’t want them to see the light of day. Because if they did… well. Then he would have more than his brother to be worried about. And in his line of work, any attachments are frankly a terrible decision.

Except, it’s Cas, and Dean can’t keep his eyes off him. 

And he stares at Cas a lot. He knows he does; it’s almost like there’s a magnet that pulls his eyes to Cas’s face and stays there. Sam notices it; Cas notices it; everyone notices it. Dean just… can’t seem to help it.

Maybe it’s that otherworldly look that he always has on his face. Maybe it’s the perpetual five o’clock shadow that paints his sharp jaw. Maybe it’s because Cas is usually staring right back at him, all up in Dean’s personal space no matter how much Dean complains about it (even though he really doesn’t mind. Not at all. He’d love to have Cas even closer, actually). 

Maybe it’s just because Dean has a damn crush on an angel and he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

“So, you’re sweet on my brother, huh?” Gabriel asks Dean with a leering grin.

Dean snaps his eyes back into the room instead of watching Cas’s back leave the room. “What the fuck? No.” 

Across the room, Sam puts a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Dean wants to punch him so that he’ll finally respect his damn elders.

“Liar,” Gabriel says. 

“C’mon, that weirdo? In a trenchcoat? What are you smoking?”

“He has a… jeno se qua,” Gabriel says with a wave of his hand in the air. “A certain sexiness, if you will.” 

“I’m not sweet on him.” Dean can feel the blood rising in his cheeks, and he hates it. 

“Sure, Dean-o.” Gabriel winks. “Sure.” 

Cas walks back into the roomthen , looking adorably confused, and of course Dean’s blush increases. He tries to look casual as he leans against the wall with a glare, avoiding Cas’s eyes. 

Sam sputters as he tries not to laugh at Gabriel batting his eyelashes in Cas’s direction. 

“Okay, knock it off, you idiots,” Dean snaps. “We got work to do.” 

Cas tilts his head in that adorable way, asking, “What do you want me to knock off, Dean?”

“Your pants,” says Gabriel casually. 

Sam loses it then, bursting into laughter. 

Five 

The apocalypse is done. By some miracle, they all lived through it—Cas, Bobby, and even Sam, who managed to push Lucifer out before throwing him into the pit. 

There’s no imminent danger, no immediate threat—which is probably why Sam decides to bring it up.

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?” Sam asks. They’re sitting at Bobby’s table, each nursing a beer. Sam is still exhausted from his encounter with Lucifer, so he’s not getting out to hunt much these days; they normally spend their nights like this, just soaking in the quiet before the next inevitable storm.

Dean looks at his brother incredulously. “What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Sam says. “I’m not an idiot, Dean. I see the way you look at him.” 

Dean grumbles, sipping at his beer. 

“Dean.” Sam sets his beer down. “The world is quiet. For once. The apocalypse is avoided, Michael and Lucifer are in the cage, just—there will be crap that comes up later. It can’t be avoided. But at least now, in this quiet moment, you can figure things out. With him.”

“Just leave it alone, Sam,” Dean sighs. He doesn’t even have the energy to argue with him anymore. Snatching his beer off the table, he says, “Think I’m gonna finish this outside.” 

He ignores Sam’s worried eyes that follow him out of the house. 

Leaning against the porch railing, he sips at his beer, glaring out into the salvage yard. Something familiar catches his eye: a figure wrapped in a trench coat, head tilted back and staring up at the stars. 

Dean takes a steadying pull of beer before stomping down the porch steps. He stands next to Cas, the neck of his beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingers. Cas gives him a nod of acknowledgement before looking back up at the twinkling stars above them. 

Clearing his throat, Dean says gruffly, “So, you thinkin’ of going back there?”

“Back there?” Cas asks.

“To, you know.” Dean waves his beer at the sky. “To Heaven.” 

“Heaven is not in the sky, Dean,” Cas chides.

“Okay, whatever. Just answer the damn question: are you going back?”

Cas lifts one shoulder in barely a shrug. He looks at Dean then, blue eyes sparkling in the night. “I might not go back—if I have a reason to stay.” 

“Well, you might have one,” Dean says. “There’s plenty more shit to take care of down here. Rumor has it Raphael is pissed about you rebelling against the apocalypse, so he’ll probably stir some shit up that you have to—”

“Dean.” Cas turns to him, suddenly very serious. “Do I have a reason to stay?”

Dean can feel his breath catch in his throat. He realizes that he could lie. Could laugh it off with a joke or a snarky comment, like he usually does. But he knows it’s now or never. Cas could leave. He’d do anything to stop that. 

“Dean,” Cas says again. There’s a filter of emotion that comes through to his eyes—it looks like hope. That makes Dean crack. 

“Maybe you do have a reason,” Dean says. “Maybe we want you to, I don’t know—stay.” He looks at the ground. “Maybe I want you to stay.” 

Cas takes Dean’s hand. Dean’s heart rate increases as Cas rubs his thumb against Dean’s calloused knuckles. “I want to stay, too.” 

“Good, that’s, uh.” Dean smiles wide. Steps closer to Cas so that their chests are nearly touching. “That’s good, Cas.” 

+1

Dean asks Cas to marry him six months later on the hood of the Impala, burgers and beers between them. 

He doesn’t see the point in waiting when he just…. knows. Cas seems to know too, since Dean can barely get out the question before Cas is tackling him to the hood and kissing him senseless, whispering Yes between each breath. 

Sam cries when they tell him. Of course. Bobby pretends not to get emotional, but Dean sees him wiping at his face a minute later. The angels are, of course, pissed—but Cas couldn’t care less. 

Apparently Cas had been planning to ask Dean from the beginning—he and Charlie had even been making a wedding scrapbook with Charlie in the past few months.

Cas pulls out the scrapbook to show Dean the next morning, both in their pajamas and sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table. His cheeks are stained from embarrassment, unsure how Dean will take it.

But Dean finds it the least embarrassing thing in the world—he just flips through the pages and pages of wedding decorations, tuxes, and rings, and gets increasingly choked up. He almost loses it when he sees the Enochian words for “Forever” inscribed on a ring that Charlie made in photoshop as a mock-up. 

Dean puts down his coffee, and kisses his fiance soundly. When he pulls back, Cas is smiling, bright as the rising sun. 

Shutting the book, Dean stands, and grabs Cas’s hand with a wink. “Well, Cas. Looks like we got work to do.”

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [10]

Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 10.5 OR Chapter 11

➜ Words: 4.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

➜ Warning: Spoilers to the musical Les Mis.

cr.

You show up in sweats.   If you could, you’d take a swig of the rosette right about now. But you’ve long run out and decided not to buy more after the other day’s embarrassing stunt at Jimin’s doorstep.   You still cringe when you think about it.   So instead, you eat chocolate. You gnaw on the king sized bar like it’s Halloween and you’re indulging in the post-trick-or-treat spirit.    Your hair is also unwashed, a spectacular three day record now. It’s itchy at some parts and when you scratch, white fluff comes dusting from your scalp. You haven’t showered in general for a while. There’s no point, really. Not when you don’t have any arrangements, responsibilities, no job to go to.   The unemployed life isn’t actually a bad one — as long as you don’t think about the inevitable doom of your bank account and having to go into debt to pay off bills.   Your life sort of feels like that picture of that dog that’s sipping on coffee while thinking ‘this is fine’ and the room is on fire. But what can you do?   “Is she…”   “...yeah…”   “....it’s true then?”   There are whispers that you’re not unaccustomed to, stares behind your back that you can feel and sense in your peripheral vision. “...the ghost singer…”   You turn around to look and the girls immediately seal their lips, looking away. They pretend to be discussing other things, but still, you hear it all around you.   “So is she really the Phantom? How is that possible?”   “Don’t ask me.”   “Do you think she can really sing?”   “Probably not. She’s only here because it would bring in publicity. We all know that.”   Your efforts are fruitless. They’re right. You’re not going to get a role. You’re only here to satisfy people’s curiosity.    “L/N Y/N?” The girl reads off her list. “Is there a L/N Y/N here?”   Fuck it.   What do you have to lose? You’ve lost it all anyways.   “Here!”   You raise your hand, voice loud and clear. The murmuring of the girls cease once they confirm that it is you. But you pay them any mind, finishing the chocolate bar in the awkward silence. You chew your mouthful and smear your stained hand on your grey sweatpants, leaving a streak of brown on your thigh.   You toss the wrapper in the garbage.   “Uh...right this way,” the girl says as she gestures past the curtain.   Many auditions take place in closed off rooms, but it’s an open stage this time. A modest size with the pianist tucked in the corner. There are five people sitting before the front row, a panel of them — some producers, directors, writers — you don’t know and you don’t care much for their titles either.   It feels like you’re on some TV show, ready for their judgment.    Your nose runs with snot and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. “Hi.”   “You’re L/N Y/N?” There’s a shuffle of papers, people peering up at you past their glasses.   “Yes.” You swallow the last bit of chocolate in your mouth, clearing your throat. You hope your teeth aren’t stained. Well….if they are, it wouldn’t be the biggest deal.   “You worked at the Phantom of the Opera production?”   You should probably head to the supermarket after this and get some ice-cream. You’d definitely feel better with it, curled on your couch with a warm blanket and some television to drown out the silence of your apartment.   “Y/N?”   The call of your name has you focusing again. “Pardon?”   The woman is dressed cleanly in a blazer with her hair pulled back into a bun like yours. But hers is undoubtedly neater, probably holding a bunch of pins, maybe even hair-sprayed. Yours was bunched up carelessly with a stretched elastic you found on the floor of your closet.   “You worked at the Phantom production?” she repeats.   You give her a bland answer, but one that’s unfortunately the entire truth. “As an intern.”   One of them pipes up, “Can you tell us any details about your previous work at the Phantom production?”   “I did coffee runs.”   “Umm….” The younger female in the middle gestures with her hand. “Did you do anything else?”   “I swept the floor. I did a lot of paperwork and printed things out for the director there,” you list out and shrug. “I don’t know. Things like that.”   They exchange looks with one another, probably not expecting such a boring response. “Did you...contribute to the performance in any way?”   Your eyes dim. Of course — this is what they wanted to know all along. It’s the reason you’re here in the first place. But they shouldn’t have beaten around the bush. If they asked over the phone, you would’ve told them. They didn’t need to waste their time like this.   But unfortunately, the honest truth isn’t as glamorous as they think it is. “The actor couldn’t sing, so I did. Behind the curtain.”   “And how did that come about?” someone asks with a frown, and you can see the girls peeking out from the curtain to your left, listening in.   “They needed someone,” you deadpan. “I volunteered.”   “Well...alright then.” He clears his throat and the others shift uncomfortably in their seats. You wonder what it is that they wanted to hear from you, what kind of gossip they were anticipating. “What are you singing for us today?”   “Do you have a preference?”   “Uh…” They look at one another and some shake their heads. “No, not really.”   You approach the pianist with a sigh. You didn’t prepare, but after countless auditions, you know all the basic audition pieces inside out. Every lyric is embedded into your mind. Pathetically enough. But they’re all the same — they gave you the same outcome of failure.    “Do you have any sheet music?”   The pianist blinks at you and timidly points to the top of the upright piano. “You can look in the binder.”   You flip it open and grab for the first paper-clipped set, passing it to him. “Here.” Then you step up to the middle of the stage again, cueing the pianist with a lifeless hand and the notes start, light and optimistic much to your displeasure.    Usually, you’d begin to feel your palms become clammy. But instead, your fingertips are sticky from melted chocolate. “There’s been a change in me.” Your voice draws from your chest hastily without much care. “A kind of moving on.”   Typically, your heart would be pumping fast to the point where you could feel it all the way in your throat. Your mouth would go dry. A cold sweat would wash down your body. But you don’t feel any of these things.    “Though what I used to be, I still depend upon.”   Your knees don’t quake. You don’t need to hide any tremors in your hands.    It’s not a real audition after all. This is a joke.   And if anything, you feel pissed. No matter where you go, you’re strung along by people for their own entertainment.   “For now I realize. That good can come from bad.”   It’s supposed to be a touching song sung by Belle in Beauty and the Beast. It’s supposed to be gentle. Hopeful. But every word is filled with your aggression. It’s hostile and indignant. You’re exhausted at being humiliated and you wail out the lyrics in grief. It tears from your throat.    If they wanted to hear you sing, they were going to hear alright.   “That may not make me wise. But fuck,” you ad lib, “it makes me glad.”   “And I—” you belt the note in a kind of bitterness reserved for a resentful villain, and a kind of sadness bleeds into it. It’s not at all like a kind protagonist that’s meant to be a delicate princess. Your voice even warbles against your will, cracks at the top, but you don’t care. You embrace it. “I never thought I’d leave behind my childhood dreams. But I don’t mind.”   You look off to the top of the stairs in the small auditorium. You’re reminded of how you once sang on a stage like this, how a brunette boy appeared from thin air and began clapping for you.   “For now I love the world I see.” You shut your eyes to savour the memory. “No change of heart, a change in me.”   You stop. The piano slows and ends. It goes completely silent.   One of the men open their mouth and then closes it. “Um….”   You spare them from having to sugar coat it and tell you how awful you are. “Thanks for the opportunity.”   You step off the stage, grab your bag, and brush past the crowd of males and females preparing to audition. They all stare at you — but for reasons you’re wrong about. Though you don’t dwell long enough to find that their expressions aren’t of detest. You hop down the stairs and take the emergency exit out.   //   You don’t know where to begin with your belongings.   For one, you’re going to need cardboard boxes bigger than those containing your instant noodles. If you’re going to go home, you need to pack up your furniture somehow. But in the meantime, you haul out your dusty luggage from the back of your closet. You kick the busted wheel to roll it a few meters before hurling it on your bed with a sigh.   You’re not sure what clothes to leave behind and which to take with you.   The mattress dips underneath your added weight and you look over to the hanging dresses that you never go to wear, blazers and pencil skirts that are unwrinkled and were only pulled out for the occasional audition….   You stand on your feet after a prolonged moment, not yet feeling the urge to dump all the hangers onto your bed and fold up the clothes into neat squares. Instead, you put it off by heading to the kitchen for more ice-cream.   But as you grab for a spoon, you pass by that counter. The one with the abandoned ticket pushed to the side. It catches your eye and you’re suspended in your spot, feet rooted to the ground. You almost forgot — it’s tonight.   You hold the ticket up to the light. It’s a dark blue with a streak of red, a young girl on it facing the horizon. Les Misérables, a front mezzanine middle row seat.   It wouldn’t hurt to do one more thing before you begin packing to go home…   Right?   //   You’re startled when the bell at the top of the door jingles to signal your entrance.   “Welcome to the Bloom Room!” A female in a green apron turns around with a bouquet of flowers and shears in the other hand. All around her are fancy floral arrangements, from wreaths to overflowing vases. The fresh scent overwhelms your senses, vibrant hues that render you even more uncertain. “How may I help you?”   “Umm..”   She smiles softly at you. “What kind of flowers are you looking for? Anything specific at all?”   You glance at the surroundings, still unsure. Maybe you should get something that’ll convey how sorry you are, for showing up drunk at his doorstep, for saying all those mean things to him. Something that’ll make amends, to tell him you really miss him, his presence, friendship.   You should get something that’ll communicate how thankful you are for him — for always being there even when you pushed him away, for always supporting you, for being your backbone when you needed it.   “Just….something nice, please,” you end up telling her with a modest smile.   “Certainly.” She leads the way, through the shelves and cases of flowers and bouquets. The florist glances at you, sincere in her gaze. “What’s the special occasion?”   “Oh no, there’s not a special occasion.” You shake your head and your hands, and the volume of your voice quiets as you try to explain. “Well, not really. I’m just bringing it with me to a show tonight. Someone I know is performing for the first time on stage.”   “How exciting! What’s your relationship with this person?” She stops at a station that has jars filled with single flowers, an array of brown paper and ribbons on the side. “Friends? Family member? Boyfriend or girlfriend?”   “Umm…..” You don’t know why it’s taking you so long to think about it. “Friends…?”   And you certainly don’t know why there’s a hint of doubt in your voice either.   The florist’s pupils flicker up to you, a hint of a knowing smile gracing her features. “How about peonies? They’re very delicate and I think it’ll be perfect to bring with you to a show. Seven of them and some baby’s breath and lilacs.”   “That sounds nice.” You nod and she begins to choose them. But you wonder if it’s strange to bring flowers to him. You clear your throat. “Is it…” The woman turns to look at you. “Is it weird to give flowers to a guy?”   “Not at all,” she assures you. “Trust me, everyone loves to get flowers.”   “Do you…..think I should deliver it or give it to him?” You’re unsure of what protocol is. You’ve never bought flowers for anyone before.   “Oh, you should give it to him,” she tells you without a trace of doubt. “That’s just me, but I think it’s much more personal to hand-deliver.”   You nod and there’s a moment of quiet before you remember something. It flickers into your mind, a memory hitting you in the face. And your eyes light up.   “C-Can I get them in purple?”   //   The show starts at seven thirty, so you arrive twenty minutes beforehand.    Your ticket gets scanned and you shuffle into the auditorium. There are lots of people, a sea of glamour, couples going on dates to musical fanatics eager to watch their favourite theater performance to critics ready to analyze the show. You tug on your little black number that ends at your knees — it’s modest and simple, but one of the many dresses that you never got to wear. But there's not a lot of time to be self-conscious or to second guess yourself. The people are a tide that rushes in, and you’re overwhelmed, pushed forward by their force and unable to escape.   The theater is grand, brightly lit with the red curtains pulled down. You find your seat and hug the small bouquet of flowers in your lap.   When the show finally begins, the lights dim down completely and it’s glorious. Music begins to play, thundering through the auditorium, and men march onto the stage holding sledgehammers. “Look down, look down. Don't look 'em in the eye.”   Your eyes search for Jimin, but he’s not here.   If you remember the details of his role correctly, you have a feeling he won’t show up for a while. So you sit back and try to relax and watch. But the anticipation and excitement of seeing him keeps you on alert. Any time there are characters entering the stage, your eyes always scan across.   It’s not until an hour later that you finally see the familiar boy at the very corner of the scene, catching the edges of the spotlight. Immediately, a smile tugs into your cheeks.    Jimin’s singing with the others, wearing a long brown coat with disoriented hair. He plays the part of a young man from a rich family well. You can practically see the fire in his eyes.   “Look down and show some mercy if you can! Look down, look down, upon your fellow man!”    The song is similar to an anthem, riling up the crowd for a revolution. “It'll come, it'll come, it'll come... It'll come, it'll come, it'll come…”   Jimin doesn’t have a main role, but he’s still on the stage of Broadway, singing with many others. You’re happy to see him, elated that you know the boy that’s actually performing, and you have to hold back from giving a sudden standing ovation.    “Before the barricades arise?”   The crowd breaks up as the police enter the stage and just like that he disappears again. But ten minutes later, it’s his time to shine again. Jimin’s one of the nine men — the main character, Marius, and the supporting character, Enjolras, taking the limelight, but he’s one of the many students sitting around a table, at a supposed bar.   “Red!” one of them sings.   The male playing Marius faces the audience. “I feel my soul on fire!”    “Black!”   “My world if she's not there!” the main actor responds with vigor.   “Red!” Jimin belts with others.    “The colour of desire!”   “Black!” he sings again, and you can pick up his voice between the timbre of others.    “The colour of despair!”   Jimin sings with the actors and it echoes throughout the theater. While he never sings a line by himself, you can still hear his tone ever so slightly before it melts away. “The dark of ages past! Red — a world about to dawn! Black — the night that ends at last!”   His appearance is sweet albeit short. You see him one more time right before the intermission when the cast comes onto the stage and sings for the hope of the future in ‘One Day More’.    Afterwards, it’s a fifteen minute break. It’s an hour and a half through the show, but the intermission allows people to relieve themselves at the restrooms or grab a drink at the bar. In your case, you stick around, grasping the bouquet. The brown paper crinkles under your grip and you peer at the curtain as if hoping he’ll run out.   Instead, you catch Jimin coming out from the left door as the other people are spilling out of the auditorium.   But it’s bad timing.   He doesn’t come to where you are, but towards the orchestra section, right by one of the closest rows to the stage. An older woman and man stand, clapping and jumping. He runs into the woman’s arms and squeezes him.   It’s his parents, and you smile before turning around to walk away, not wanting to interrupt the intimate moment with your presence. His parents must be proud.   You’re happy for him.   //   The show continues afterwards. Jimin makes a few more cameos here and there without singing any lyrics, simply in the crowd at the barricades. Although, he does say a few lines.   “See! The people unite!” — “So what are we going to do with this snake in the grass?” — “You wear an army uniform.” And when Éponine dies, he comforts Marius. “She will not die in vain…”   But Jimin does sing one line by himself in the song ‘Drink With Me’. His eyes sweep across the audience floor as he steps forward, pretending to take a swig of the empty beer bottle. “Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads!”    And you swear he looks right at you.   As if he had memorized where you would be seated.   But Jimin looks away right after, his eyes passing your spot. You release your held breath, realizing it was your imagination. There was no way he could actually see you.   The show lasts another forty minutes, filled with the spectacular performances of the leads, their beautiful voices that captivate your attention and everyone else’s. During the finale when the storyline has wrapped up, everyone comes onto the stage again. You see him one last time there.   Jimin is singing, smiling wide, looking out at the audience.    It could not be a better Broadway debut.   You muse that he truly belongs on the stage — there’s no place else he should be. Along with the rest of the audience, you give a standing ovation. The applause roars throughout the auditorium, actors and actresses bowing and waving goodbye.    When it dies down, the bright lights come on again. People begin trickling out and you’d leave as well, if not for the bouquet of flowers you’re still holding onto.   You look around. “U...Um excuse me…”   You stop someone who looks like a worker and they blink at you, confused. You swallow hard and hand over the flowers. “C-Can you give this to Park Jimin? He was an actor in the production.”   “Sorry.” The teenager awkwardly points to a family that’s gathering their belongings to show he’s with them and he offers a kind smile. “I don’t work here.”   “O-Oh. Sorry.” You bow your head and they say it’s no problem. But you’re still cringing from embarrassment, and now you don’t know what to do, how to give it to him without having to face him. You should’ve thought about this better.   But before you can contemplate any solution, you hear a sudden—   “Y/N?!”   Jimin’s sweaty. Like he sprinted here as fast as he could the second the curtains fell. His parents are nowhere in sight, probably in the lobby, but he's here with you. Still in costume. The nineteenth century french clothing — blue trench coat, puffy white shirt underneath, brown slacks.   His hair is riled up with what looks like soot pressed to his cheeks, makeup of some sort that makes him appear even more disoriented and soiled. But he doesn’t care. You don’t either.   His chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath. The two of you stare at each other, pupils locked into one another’s, holding the other’s attention. Captivated. Then after a beat, the biggest and goofiest grin spreads into his face. It’s enormous, causing his eyes to crinkle into half-moons.    “You came! You...actually came!”   “Y-Yeah…” You’re stunned and you tear your eyes away, the intensity becoming too much for you to handle. Your arm extends. “These are for you.”   “Flowers?!” He breathlessly giggles and takes them. Jimin doesn’t fail to notice that they’re all shades of purple, from lilac to violet. Because of you, purple has become his new favourite colour. “I love them. Thank you!”   “C-Congratulations on your debut, Jimin.”   He grins, so much that his rosy cheeks look like they’re about to burst. His teeth peek out, eyes crescent moons. “Thank you. I’m glad you could make it.”   “S-Same here…..” You don’t know why he’s gazing at you so intently at you. It makes it hard to keep eye contact. “You were really amazing.”   “I didn’t have that many lines,” the boy giggles, still giddy and hyperactive. It makes you smile.   “But you were still good.” There’s a lot of things you’ve been wanting to tell him, a million versions of an apology that you’ve practiced in the mirror. And now that he’s here and you’re no longer staring at a reflection of yourself, you gather your courage to face your regrets. “You deserve it, Jimin. I’m...sorry for everything that I said. I’m sorry for being resentful towards you. I’m sorry for being jealous. It wasn’t your fault. And all those things I said to you, I didn’t mean it. A-at the time I did, but now I don’t...I don’t know if that makes it any better but...yeah….I just…..you were great, you worked hard, so…”   It’s the shittiest apology. Worse than the first one you practiced. But you can’t get it out right.    You feel nervous for the first time in Jimin’s presence. A kind of anxiousness that doesn’t make you feel sick. Rather, you feel something else in your stomach — it’s fluttery. Something uncertain brewing there, stirring at its pits.   It feels similar in your chest. It isn’t a foreign sensation, but one you had ignored for a long time now.    Jimin suddenly laughs, noisy and hearty. It squeaks, a higher pitched giggle. It makes you look at him, eyes hesitantly lifting off the floor. And then you yelp.   Jimin picks you up right off the ground, arms locked around your waist. He spins you in a circle, squeezing ticklish laughter out of you. Your hands immediately come to grab his shoulders. The boy is unable to contain the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the overwhelming joy of you being here.   “Jimin!” you squeal.   He laughs. “God, I’m so happy that you’re here!”   “Did you think I’d miss it?” you quip and it feels like forever since you’ve been able to joke around like this. “Not for the world, Park!”   He sets you down to your feet again. His swelling smile might just break his face. He nuzzles into you, hair tickling your forehead. Jimin hugs you tight. He’s so happy, you can practically feel it radiate off of his skin. And your chest blooms with pride instead of envy. “Your Broadway debut was amazing. It only gets better from—”   “Can I please kiss you?”   Your heart stutters.   Jimin pulls himself apart from you. The sudden question has you blinking twice. But the temptation for Jimin has gotten too much. If there’s one thing that could make tonight even more perfect, it would be him kissing you…   You glance at his plush lips before your pupils flicker back to his eyes.   “You don’t need to ask.”   Just like that, he roughly tugs you in by the small of your back. The flowers lose a few petals from the harsh motion. But Jimin doesn’t care. He kisses you like he’s been waiting to do it for months now. He kisses you like he wants you. He’s hungry for it and savours your whimper that’s muffled between his soft lips. He’s been wanting to hear your voice like this.   Jimin’s half-lidded eyes soak up your pleasured expression before he gives in, shutting them to succumb to your scent. He breathes you in and you become helpless in his arms, the pad of your fingers pressing against the nape of his neck. You’re unsure if you want to part just to gasp for air, or if you want to push him even closer.   But your thoughts turn to mush as his hot tongue licks inside your mouth, eager. The pair of you don’t care that other people might be watching, that you’re placed in the middle of the auditorium, that you’ve stolen the spotlight.   When the both of you break apart, you stumble back from each other, mouths swollen. You wipe away his saliva that’s made your lips shiny with the back of your hand. The both of you are dazed and embarrassed, catching your breaths, his own cheeks reddened.    You divert your eyes from one another. But then infectious giggles spill over.    God, you might’ve been in love with Park Jimin for a long time now.

Director Lee sits at his desk with a sigh.   He shuffles his papers before sitting back in his swivel chair, unsure. Right at that moment, a blonde, lean man enters with a hot brewing cup of coffee. The assistant sets it on his desk.   “Are you sure you should be taking in caffeine this late at night?”   “Not like I’ll be able to sleep anyway.” He brings the cup up for a small sip. “I’m still deciding on the main cast.”   “Who do you have?”   “The casting director narrowed it down to these people.” He lays out the applicants of possible options and sighs. “Now I just have to decide who’s going to be part of this and who’s who. You should’ve been there today, Kim. If you weren’t late, you might be able to help me right now.”   “Sorry.” Taehyung sheepishly grins. “My alarm clock didn’t ring.”   The director is disgruntled, but still playful. “Same excuse every time, Kim.”   Taehyung laughs, but still tries his best to assist. He scans over the applications haphazardly, but then his breath hitches. He turns his body to get a better look and his eyes grow wide, recognizing you. “Oh. What about her?”   The director follows to where his assistant is pointing and hums a low note. “Oh. Her. We called her since we heard she was the ghost singer of Phantom.”   “Oh yeah.” The blonde nods. “I heard about that.”   “I was thinking about tossing her papers.”   “Why?” Taehyung looks at his mentor, genuinely curious.   “Well, her audition was….” He struggles to find the right words. “Impactful. It was really something. She stood out, that’s for sure.”   “Then….?”   “I just don’t know if we could find the right place for her.” He shrugs and taps his finger against the armrest of his chair. “She might outperform the other actors and actresses.”   Taehyung makes a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat. “I don’t know. But I think she should be considered for a role. That’s just me, but I have a good feeling about her. You said it was impactful, right? Isn’t that what we should be going for?”   Director Lee glances at his assistant, but Taehyung simply smiles and waltzes out the room.