#another Loudspeaker comic?

[black-and-yellow]

Working on something

[1-xo-xo-xo-7]

The debate between Bats and Mans >>>

[The BatKids are currently in a heated debate, after a rather uneventful patrol, gathering on a random building's roof- crouching around eachother really]

Signal : So... [Is holding up a picture of Batman]

Batman is a man who dresses up as a BAT, right?

Nightwing : Uhuh, we're certain about it, Little Light.

Signal : BUT, [Is holding up another picture of a famed comic book character in Gotham] ManBat is a part man-part bat HYBRID.

Signal : Now, if ManBat dressed up as a man to fight crime...

Signal : Would he be ManBatMan?

Red Robin : No, he would be BatManBat.

Signal : Explain.

Spoiler : But wouldn't ManBatMan just be a Batman who was bitten by a radioactive man?

Orphan :... Huh? [Is very cutely confused after spacing out for a while]

Nightwing : But, Batman IS a man.

Robin : You're speaking about a man who would have powers of a man.

Red Robin : That's just... ManMan

Signal : Wait, isn't ManMan just Man?

Orphan : But what if ManMan dressed as a bat?

Red Hood : That's just Batman.

Oracle : [Is on loudspeaker on Robin's IPad] No, if a man dresses as a bat- That's Batman.

Oracle : But if ManMan dresses as a bat- That's BatManMan.

Signal : Then what about ManBat?

This is from Big Bang Theory added with a bit of my creative liberties ^^

I don't know why but I just want to see some BatKids bonding.

[fandomonetwo]

nothing like this — cobra kai

▸summary: you believed you were ready for anything. anything did not mean this. nothing like this.

▸characters: robby keene, gn!reader, miguel diaz

▸tw: miguel’s fall scene, uhhhhhh, emotions, angst, adult words

▸a/n: let’s begin my blogging experience with angst, why not? it sucks ass, but here ya go

PEOPLE SAY THAT IN order to be successful in life, you must expect the unexpected.

Well, this was unexpected and you did no expect it at all.

You knew that there was always going to be some beef between two pretty girls when they used to share a mutual boyfriend, but goddamn, you never expected it to be broadcasted over the loudspeaker. 

Of course, you had no idea what happened. Just that Samantha LaRusso had done something, and Tory Nichols was coming for her. Those words began the chaos that would make or break the tension between the two rivalling karate dojos. 

Now, you weren’t in karate. No, the only way you were affiliated with Miyagi-Do Karate was purely because you were Mrs. LaRusso’s assistant secretary, and thus made regular trips to the family home in order to be taught how to do things and make sure that she did them correctly. 

Whilst you made these visits, you often times came across the students that Mr. LaRusso taught in his backyard. Thus far, there were only two, his daughter Sam, and another boy named Robby. Robby Keene.

Gosh, since the first moment you met, you were smitten. What was there not to like about him? He was good-looking, humorous, had a great personality, and he was kind. He was sweet. You knew this because one time, you were late to the home, and wasn’t watching where you were going, so, of course, you bumped into someone in pure comic book romance fashion. All the papers you had been gathering in your hands had been dropped, and it was a miracle that they didn’t all get out of order. It was still frustrating, though, but you still began profusely apologising to the person you had bumped into. 

You knew you had been rambling for about twenty seconds before you were stopped by the other person’s laugh, and soon you were laughing together. Mrs. LaRusso was watching from the window, and Mr. LaRusso was from the side gate, but they’d never admit it. They were quite happy to listen to you guys completely lose your shit over something so small, but alas, both of you had things to do. 

No matter how close you two got, you weren’t surprised when Robby asked Sam out for a date. And despite how much it hurt, of course you were going to help Sam pick out an outfit. What kind of friend would you be if you didn’t? Well, more employee than friend, but you get the point. 

Cutting back to the current day, you was concerned about what Sam could’ve done to Tory that warranted such a reaction. So, with the rest of the school, you brisk-walked to where the biggest crowd was. Right in the middle of the hallway. You couldn’t get passed the rows of people at first, but eventually, you wound up next to Hawk, someone you knew of but had never really spoken to. You had no reason to. Now she did. 

“What’s happened?” You peered curiously at the two girls, circling each other like Scar and Simba in that one scene from The Lion King. 

Your question was not answered by the person you had asked it to, but by one of the said lions in the cage. “You kissed Miguel.” 

Tory’s tone was so cold, yet so heartbroken, that the words she spoke yielded such an uproar from the crowd. Gasps were heard all around, and you felt your eyes widen as they met with Robby’s on the other side. His eyes looked so pained, so vulnerable, you wanted nothing more than to hug and shield him from the cruelties of the world. 

You weren’t quite sure what really happened. Everything went by so fast, and you were quite literally pushed away from the drama, so you didn’t get to see too much. Despite this, and despite nearly being run over by Demetri sprinting from Hawk, you headed to where you knew the rest of the school would be going.

The stairs.

For some reason, you had wound up at the bottom of the stairs even though you were on the level above a few moments ago. The real trick now was to make your way up to the upper level without getting your face broken. 

You were not going to do anything with the girls. No, girl fights are best left alone. Your main concern was how far Robby was going to go, because from the angle you were at now, he wasn’t stopping. His kicks were never ending, his punches ever blurring, and you didn’t have an opening to go and see the damage. You didn’t have to like Miguel. You had only ever spoken two word to him and he seemed like a good kid. But you liked Robby. And you knew that Robby would keep going until either, or both of them, were dead or close to it. 

So, when you found your opening, you raced upwards, narrowly avoiding Tory’s stray fist, and managing to haul yourself to the upper level. Where you arrived just in time to see Miguel pin Robby to the ground. You saw him whisper something to the boy on the tile, his raised fist gently falling to his side as he stood up. You breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that this part was over.

It wasn’t.

No sooner had Miguel began to arise than Robby felt the fire erupt once more in his chest. He whipped around, and you watched as he continued aiming his hits at the poor boy.

“Robby, leave him alone!” Your words had no affect, but you thought you may as well try. Plan B then had to be out into motion. Ignoring the advice you had given yourself long ago about not getting in the middle of fights, you found yourself doing just that. You raced to the boy in the blue hoodie trying to get him to stop. Unfortunately, his brain was already in the fight mode, so he wasn’t stopping for any money.

The fist you had stupidly grabbed was flung forward, you trailing behind it as you were thrown into Miguel’s chest. Instinctively, his hands grabbed your arms and pulled you down as Robby foot aimed at his chest. He harshly pushed you away, which you weren’t concerned about, and caught Robby’s other foot with his hands. He didn’t catch the other one that struck him across the face and you put your hands over your mouth as you sat there on the tiles with you body trembling and you tears gathering.

The boy you liked, you crushed on (you had thought), was unhinged. He had deluded himself that he was defending himself, and he didn’t notice that his defence had turned into offence against his opponent.

Soon enough, Robby had Miguel pinned against the railing in a dangerous way. You had raced to your feet and had tried to grab one of Miguel’s outstretched hands, failing miserably. Robby had to grab your arm to keep you from falling over the edge.

And so you watched the boy fall over the edge, your knees buckling as he hit the staircase handlebar. Your hands were shaking, your breath was heavy and trembling, your eyes were watering and wide.

Robby had grabbed by both arms, and now you were aware of it. You threw yourself away from him, shoving him back in the process.

“Get off me!” You were hysterical. You had seen a classmate fall at the hands of the person you had thought you would stick by through thick and thin. “Get your fucking hands off me!”

Robby looked lost, and as his fight dwindled, his flight rose a hundred fold, and he bolted. Your vision became blurry as you sank to the tile, the adrenaline running out as you struggled to comprehend what you had just witnessed. Because it shouldn’t have been this.

Nothing like this.

[lavendelhummel]

Music Tag Game

I was tagged by @onaperduamedee, thank you for that!

The aim is to put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs + tag 10 people.

Okay! I just cooked and put the music on while doing that, but I have to say, I am a big skipper, I skip 80% of the songs when I shuffle (added to the list for years but factually only listen to the same few songs on repeat for months). Let's go before my food gets too cold!

Love today (orchestra version) - MIKA

At the Library - Green Day (yeah, I skipped), there also came up Bang Bang later on, which seeing as I added the whole album in one go a long time ago, I don't count extra.

I am sad so very very sad, from the Scott Pilgrim soundtrack (it's only 12 sec, so there was no time to skip), but also another one from that soundtrack: I heard Ramona Sing! Definitely didn't skip that one, I never skip Scott Pilgrim! I love that movie to bits, which is funny given that I don't enjoy comics, animated things or gaming (no shade, I obviously gave Asterix&Obelix and Tintin a try but it just doesn't work for me)

Je m’en fous - RIDSA (I only added that last week because I needed something run some anxiety off and this had a good tempo and what better lyrics for that mood haha thats why I'm keeping it)

Quatre murs et un toit - Bénabar

Sandy (Grease, John Travolta), and then also Look at me I’m Sandra Dee (oh the memories to a parisian suburb life with my obsessed roommate, we'd put this on loudspeaker and the speaker in between the two bathrooms our apartment had and get ready for work that way. It was days without worry and we did see the musical in the end)

Sick of loosing soulmates - dodie

Tri Martolod - sung by Nolwenn Leroy (I love the whole album so much)

There is an Answer - A Great Big World

I’m Stepping out - John Lennon

If you also want to share random music, I am tagging: @lilolilyr @anandabrat @ginnyjyng @lakeofsilverpike @wibblywobblyida @trollocks-in-my-bollocks @rinari7 @thatordinaryoddity @akittennameddaisy

[headingalaxys-spicy]

I have arisen from my deep slumber 😌

Could I request a part 2 for the Yandere Bully America ask? I like these kind of dynamics, which I also have discovered in another tumblr blog a few months ago, where America is being a total douche to the new country. I think their name was llamacup or something like that.

Anyway, have a nice day or night, thank you~

🥹😘

Hello there it’s 2023 and I’m filled with DETERMINATION ahahaha.

I want to answer all my story posts this year! 🌟

Tw: Death-of minor characters and torture.

✨⭐️Happy First Friday of the year⭐️✨

“You’ll never see the light of day again,” was a promise that hasn’t been broken.

Darkness became your new muse for crafting your mindset in captivity. Fear was on the loudspeaker having your mind teeter on the edge. When would you hear the dreaded clicks of his oxford loafers on the marble floor? Anxiety permeated your nervous system causing you to tremble like a neverending earthquake. How did things get this bad? Why, you? Why did it have to be you?

You felt hollow and sullen like a decaying tree succumbing to an infestation of black turpentine beetles. This is already after America stormed into your life like a hurricane and damaged you and your nation permanently with his supreme act of violence against you and Britain at the world meeting.

However while you may have been in captivity your love was not.

“Mr. Kirkland, how would you like us to give you some added assistance? We don’t have our duties at the palace today.” Some of his loyal long-time palace guards wanted to join in on Operation: Silent Alarm.

The messy golden haired blonde ceased his hurried pace towards the black Audi A1 car headed to the airport.

“It’s quite alright, gentlemen. I already have some of my best men with a solid plan to rescue Y/N.”

“Oh come on lad. You know that brute will definitely try to kill ye again. We can be a great backup after all we are trained and well equipped with weapons.”

Arthur couldn’t help but allow a small smile to form on his normally grumpy face. He loved how dedicated some of his people were to him and his royals. He still had to be as discreet as possible in order to get under that crafty American’s nose. It took him a few months in order to finally locate (Country Name). The bastard had her imprisoned in the New Hampshire wilderness underground in an elaborate labyrinth Alfred created back in the 60’s. He also had his pesky guards and security system to break through. Thankfully MI6 was more than ready to deal with this.

He again turned their offer down but requested that they be ready for him and his return with you. He would not be leaving without you. They relented and allowed him to leave so that the mission could begin. Arthur pressed the small button on his discreet earpiece.

“Testing operatives lavender and thyme do you read me? Have the both of you successfully landed in D.C. to carry on negotiations?”

A few moments drifted by while the diver started the car while Artheur continued to make sure all the pieces were in place for his rescue operation.

He waited tensely as he waited for a reply.

“Yes, operative Bluebell. We’ll let you know if we’ve located the Burger Man.”

“Copy that. Tally ho. To save y/n here we go.” Like a soldier getting ready to lead the charge on horseback Arthur sprints to his private jet that would take him just outside of Pittsberg, NH.

*******

After laying down in your own tears and mucus for what felt like a few minutes you lift your head up to look at the somewhat barren room you were confined to. It had the basics of what America thought you’d like to keep you entertained while you’re in captivity. A TV that had basic cable, Youtube, and Netflix. A plain (favorite color) journal, a stack of comic books and manga, art supplies, and a few old books that he clearly pulled from his attic in an attempt to try to find more things to entertain you since he plans on living the rest of your existence out in that tiny room.

You were beginning to go Stir-crazy from being confined for so long. Your only comfort was a man that you considered to be a monster that was crafted from a Stephen King novel. Your life became to that of a drawn out horror movie except the only difference is that the monster had taken a liking to you and fucked your brains out on numerous occasions.

“Damn it.” You spat in frustration. You growl under your breath, you wish the mental anguish would simply fade away. You begin to pace back and forth in your room. You listened carefully to the soft crunch of the marshmallow-like carpet given away under your feet. As you continued to do this for hours you eventually heard a few peculiar sounds that piqued your interest. At first you ignored it considering that what you were hearing was nothing more than maybe America or one of his staff milling about through the… where ever the fuck you were. Not that it mattered. No one could hear you nor could anyone-

The flatscreen TV that's mounted to your wall suddenly sparked to life. It startled you and you quickly jumped up in the air like a cat that’s seen a cucumber and flung yourself onto your plush bed and shielded yourself with your (favorite color) duvet.

“OH SHIT!”

“Y/N, Y/N do you can you hear me?” A familiar British accent called out from the screen.

With heavy drawn in breaths that filled your lungs it took you a few moments for your brain to recognize that it wasn’t the monster….

“Y/N?” He says much more gently this time. As if calling out to a severely injured dog. The tone was heavy with sadness. “Y/N… please …I hope you can hear me.”

A few tears pricked your eyes. His voice was the only thing that sounded like a daydream after being in this watered down version of hell.

“A…Arthur?” You say in a weak hoarse voice. There was still a voice in your mind screaming that it was a trick, a facade, a cruel prank that America was playing. All of the alarms in your brain were going off in a blaring symphony of panic. You were too afraid to remove your cover still and your shaking had begun again.

Silence hung over the room. You dared not to speak again.

Arthur stared at his screen that allowed him to see where you’d been imprisoned. He knew he had seen your slightly battered form run for the covers. He knew full well that you were not in the best headspace for any human nor country to be in. But he still had to try, because being left to America he'll surely turn you into a completely different country. You’d be unrecognizable. He tried not to think about all the ways that you’d change and did his best to put the images of you being America’s wife out of his mind.

Arthur called out once more with his voice cracking, this time you finally decide to take a peak from your massive duvet and look at the screen to see those dazzling emerald eyes. They were coated over with salt water that already began to spill onto his somewhat reddened cheeks.

“Oh my god it really is you. But…”

“Listen , Y/N we’ll save the heartfelt conversations for later. Let’s concentrate on getting you out of here. Within the next 30 seconds I need you to push your nightstand aside. One of my agents has constructed a tunnel that will lead you to the East and into the forest where I’ll be. I just need you to stay calm and….. It’s going to be okay.” He reassures you. Judging by the tension that you had in your face and the terror pouring from your eyes he knew he had to be more verbally accommodating to you in your fragile state.

‘Definitely going to ask France to make us a nice meal and I’ll actually have to be nice to get him to do it. Y/N is in some desperate need of pampering and escapism after this.’ He mused to himself.

You were still shaking tremendously. You hadn’t even registered his words in order to take action. However the agent Rosemary had reached you and effortlessly moved the nightstand from the hidden entrance that crumbled.

“(Country name)?” The agent calls out from the hidden tunnel. “Hurry, we have to get out of here. The guards are distracted but some of the other personnel will come to check on you and we have to allow the decoy take over for you before-”

Numerous footsteps pounding against the marble floor swarmed through the labyrinth. They began to draw nearer to your room.

“Y/N I promise it will be okay just listen to agent Rosemary. She’ll get you out of there safe and sound.”

“What are you guys going to use as a decoy?” Curious as to what your British love interest was scheming.

“This love.” A realistic hologram of you sprung to life from the screen. It was realistic. “Now tally ho. Get the hell out of there!” His transmission ends while your hologram continues to be projected through the screen. It wouldn’t be long before America’s guards figured out that it wasn’t you.

“My lady.” Rosemary pushed you into the escape route and you began to crawl for your life. With the agent right behind you couldn’t help but feel the tension that was in the pit of your stomach and made you somewhat nauseous. You had to cling to the fresher memory of Arthur in your mind to continue your escape and not be caught.

You had to get back to him you were determined to.

*******

In Washington, D.C. Burger Man I mean America was in a deadlock debate with Lavender and Thyme over trade deals. Agent Thyme’s golden hair swished violently as he pounded his fist against the table in heated debate with America.

“You can’t just harbor a personification and then begin a hostile takeover of their government and start spreading your propaganda like some twisted infestation! It’s illegal first and foremost. And second it VIOLATES THE ENTIRE BLOODY UNITED NATIONS CHARTER! And you’re supposed to be a LEADER?! You act like such a petulant child!”

“Funny that comes from a man that had more than half the world in the palm of his hand. How dare you insult me in my own senate.” He hissed back at England in pure defiance.

(they die at the end.)

“You’re acting like a super villain in one of your stupid comic books that you melt your already stupid brain with.”

The verdant versus aqua eyes collided with one another. Neither was the type to let their pride down. The air was tense with a thousand needles and no one wanted to be caught in the crosshairs. Teeth biting, nervous shifting, and over hundreds of eyes witnessing the showdown between two sworn enemies since the betrayal. Some cracked their knuckles to at least relieve some tension that was broiling within the room. America had reached the point where negotiations were at a stalemate and….

America’s earpiece beeped in his ear and although his facial expression stayed neutral and as distant as the moon. His eyes bled out with rage and stared out at ‘England’ with a look that was meant to obliterate one within mere milliseconds. He stood up suddenly as if a giant had been awoken from a peaceful slumber and was in a terrible mood.

He snapped his fingers.

Secret service surrounded Thyme and Lavender. The ruse was up.

“Kill them. Right here. Right now. They’re fakes.” America ordered.

“It was a pleasure working with you, Lavender.” The spell that Arthur originally put onto him wore off and their true identities were revealed. They raised their hands high into the air.

“We did our duty.” Lavender uttered her last words she’d ever speak in this world.

A few hundred rounds were fired off within seconds filling the air with deathly gunpowder. Two less souls came out of the senate that day. The monster raged through the White House all night. It was a scene straight out of hell. Glass broke, things set ablaze, people injured, and some even parished. The only thing that most who were in earshot of the White House could hear

Y/N HOW DARE YOU!

UK I WILL KILL YOU!

Y/N IS MINE!

Then just more hellish shrieks would follow. No one really wanted to question what was going on for fear they would be caught up in the chaos. They stayed away and allowed it to happen.

*******

For the first time in a while Y/N could rest peacefully without having a horrid lucid nightmare that would only bring her down deeper into depression. She finally felt okay for a moment between England’s athletic arms. She actually got to sleep and recharge her broken soul.

“Is everything going to be alright Arthur?” Your anxieties are still nibbling at the back of your ears. It was nice that you could talk to him but you still feared that he’d leave you because you’re damaged and neurotic. A ball of untamable wild energy that no one would want to deal with.

“Y/N it’s okay. I want you to relax. I won’t leave you. I won’t harm you like America. I promise.” He kissed the back of your collarbone. You felt a million bright butterflies fly from that area and through your entire being you felt relieved and could live in the moment. You felt relaxed and safe. Nothing could ruin this for you. You melted like hot butter in Arthur’s arms. You didn’t want to think, just feel. Nothing else mattered.

Except for the brewing storm that was brewing from across the pond.

[an-aussie-button-masher]

FROM SCRIPT TO SCREEN: FIVE OF GAMING’S BEST VOICE ACTING PERFORMANCES

   What’s the first thing people tend to look for when rating a video game? It’s usually the graphics, the controls, the writing, the soundtrack; those are the most common features critics tend to focus on. However, there’s another important part of many games that is often overlooked: voice acting. What good is strong writing if all the characters are droning on like they’re just flatly reading lines off a script? How interested can you get in a game when even the characters sound lifeless? Voice acting is a much more important aspect of video games than many people think, and it requires just as much acting talent as any big blockbuster film or your favourite TV series. You might even be surprised at how many “big-name” film actors also do video game acting, or how similar the two types of acting can be - voice-acting often involves just as much ad-libbing and physical movement as live-action acting. I’ve put together a list of five particularly standout voice performances in video games, from superhero action adventures to psychological puzzlers. If nothing else, maybe after you’ve read about the importance of voice actors in games here, you might notice them more often in your favourite games! Enjoy.

Kimberly-Sue Murray as Gamora (Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy)    For such a goofy, comedic, over-the-top game, Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy has some surprisingly moving moments. Certain characters that have been reduced to comic relief in the films, like Drax, are given story beats that demonstrate how serious and genuine they can truly be, and their respective voice actors really give it their all to create some truly touching scenes. Throughout the game there are several genuinely emotional scenes that are played straight without being undercut by gags, and Gamora’s voice actress Kimberly-Sue Murray absolutely masters these moments. There’s one scene in particular that gives a glimpse at how broken and haunted Gamora really is by her past as Thanos’ assassin, and Murray gives a marvellous performance of the on-the-verge-of-tears anger of the whole scene.

Kevan Brighting as the Narrator (The Stanley Parable)    This is the story of a Narrator named Kevan Brighting. The Stanley Parable is a game all about walking around a big empty office building, either doing what the Narrator says or going against the “script”. It might sound a bit dull on paper, but Brighting’s voice work makes it extremely engaging and memorable. It’s entirely up to his voice to carry the whole game from start to finish and back again a hundred times over, and he does an excellent job of it. The Narrator goes through a huge range of emotions across all the different endings - excitement, sadness, frustration, fear, rage; it can sometimes feel like the Narrator is a wholly different “person” from one ending to another. For purely a disembodied voice, Brighting demonstrates a brilliant talent at acting that will bring you back to the game a hundred times over.

Mark Hamill as the Joker (Batman: Arkham Asylum)    For those that find that name familiar, yes, that Mark Hamill. A lot of people might only know him as Luke Skywalker, and they’d be surprised to hear that he often voices Batman’s infamous archenemy since it’s such a completely different kind of performance. While I personally wasn’t impressed with a lot of the voice acting in Arkham Asylum, I have to say Hamill’s Joker absolutely steals the show. Hamill nails the entertainingly psychotic villain, and the fact that he sounds practically unrecognisable compared to his acting as Luke really says something about his impressive range. Joker’s constant maniacal giggling and sociopathic comments over the asylum’s loudspeaker gives him the most amount of lines in the game, which is definitely a good thing as I never got tired of his antics due to just how darkly hilarious they always were.

Christopher Judge as Kratos (God of War 2018)    Sometimes, with enough of a time skip between appearances, a character can seem like a totally different person - which is occasionally a good time to switch up voice actors to demonstrate their new personality. Kratos, the vengeful deity-butchering star of the God of War series, is an outstanding example of a new voice for a new demeanour. In the fourth entry to the series, released in 2018, Christopher Judge replaced T.C. Carson as the voice of Kratos to suit the older-and-wiser shift in characterisation. Judge voices Kratos with a much more stoic and solemn bearing, while still giving a cold and powerful gravitas to everything he says. Kratos’ fury is much more restrained (usually), but you can still clearly hear the repressed anger and deep-seated guilt from his violent past in his voice, and Judge perfectly captures all sorts of emotions without fully breaking the stone-faced seriousness of this new Kratos.

Dameon Clarke as Handsome Jack (Tales from the Borderlands)    Handsome Jack, one of the most prominent characters throughout the Borderlands series, is among the most well-known and popular antagonists in the gaming world. His charismatic and megalomaniacal nature makes him an extremely memorable villain, and Dameon Clarke’s performance is one of the biggest factors in Jack’s popularity. While his role as the main baddie in Borderlands 2 is the most famed, it’s in the spinoff game Tales from the Borderlands that I believe is his best portrayal. Clarke brings back the same manipulative and narcissistic jerkass act that fans know and love, and shows new sides of it with more vulnerable and genuine moments where it’s hard to tell if he’s actually mournful and regretful of his actions, or it’s just more manipulating and gaslighting. It’s best shown in Jack’s final moments in the ruins of the Helios station, constantly flip-flopping between red-hot murderous fury towards the main character Rhys and begging him not to “kill” him again.

   I hope you enjoyed a look at what I think are five of the best voice acting performances in video gaming! Of course, there are countless voice actors in countless games that would probably fit perfectly on this list, so if you have a favourite voice that you think deserves a spot here, let me know! Thanks for reading!

[goonification]

yungi smut

[18+] Mingi gets hard before stages and has no idea why. Neither does Yunho but he’s happy to help.

The fast-paced voice of a MC echoed through the hallways over a loudspeaker to introduce the lineup for the night’s show. No one was listening too carefully though to the tinny voice, as the livestream usually only acted as a reminder that, in the same building, the Music Bank stage was soon to be lively with performances for the next 90 minutes. It wasn’t uncommon for the muffled sounds of the host to be overshadowed by the busy chatter of stressed out staff and excited idols, donning various elaborate and colourful outfits. 

It was less than an hour until Ateez were supposed to be rounded up and ushered to the wings of the stage, prepared to give the nth performance of their most recent comeback.

While most idols we’re counting down the minutes to their upcoming stages, Mingi was rushing back to his group’s green room, hoping to god it was empty.

He scuttled through the crowds, politely bowing at passing staff and tucking behind ongoing interviews to not draw attention to himself. A lanky, 6ft man with a hand on his crotch lumbering through the background of someone’s acrostic poem segment would be bound to draw the wrong kind of online attention.

Hand grasping the doorknob of their assigned green room with relief, the sounds of the hallways were snuffed with the thick door shutting behind him. 

He gave the space a quick once-over, falling at ease when he found it seemingly empty. With the room barren of members or staff, Mingi pressed his back to the door as a makeshift lock and shamelessly dropped his pants below his waist.

This wasn’t an uncommon scenario.

There are plenty of different ways that the human body can react to a stressful situation. Some people overthink to the point of a headache. Others have physical reactions, like shaking or sweating. Some people even feel faint or collapse.

However, Song Mingi got boners. Plain and simple. He doesn’t know why it happens. Often, he doesn’t even know when it’ll happen. 

The regularity of stage fright had faded away to a fear of the past. With the exception of the occasional special stage, Mingi typically didn’t get stressed out over every individual performance but, for some godforsaken reason, his body seemed to know what a pre-show countdown sounded like and reacted regardless. 

Nervous or not, popping a semi backstage was a shamefully familiar feeling for Mingi. He was well aware that there had been a couple of fancams where his half-hard cock made far more of an appearance than he wanted and, determined to not repeat history if he could help it, intended to try de-escalating his problem before stepping foot on stage this time.

Mingi looked down at his dick, standing fully upright.

It was mocking him.

Frustrated at his situation, Mingi furrowed his brow, scowling at his penis before feeling grateful that no one saw him do that. Nothing like a healthy dose of random horniness to cloud every crevice of his brain with a layer of fog, stopping him from thinking rationally. 

He collected his composure with a deep breath, using his knees to pinning his pants at his mid-thigh in case someone entered unexpectedly, and got to work.

A large hand wrapped around the proportionately large shaft and began to pump, so quickly in fact that his whole body lurched forward at the sudden relief. It wasn’t long before his knees instinctively spread and baggy pants fell to his ankles. There was no use picking them back up. Not a minute could be wasted. The door behind him could open at any second. With his very noticeable presence missing, someone was bound to be looking for him to reunite him with his members.

Mingi didn’t know how much time he had. A few drops of spit and a dab of precum was all he could gather as lube, forcing him to slow down his pace to avoid discomfort. Mingi whined. He knew this wouldn’t take long at all if he was back in the dorms with his usual creamy lotion or the constant flow of a soapy shower to keep his length slick.

He could practically hear the threat of a ticking clock in his head. The bustling sounds of people on the other side of the door weren’t helping. The MC’s voice echoed again, saying something about a commercial break, probably the first of several. He was desperate to fix his problem fast and would need to try something different.

A shaky second hand joined the first, holding it steady as his hips took on the task instead. The closed tunnel of his fist stopped the air from drying away his precious moisture, allowing for a more comfortable friction than before.

“Ah-” Mingi couldn’t stop the escape of a single low moan as he fucked his hand, balls slapping against his curled fingers and stretched wrist with each thrust.

It felt good, definitely better. But he was still too distracted. While his new technique was undoubtedly more successful than the first, his brain was still going a mile a minute with the looming reminder of the risk he was taking. His hands were shaking, needing to readjust their grip every few seconds. 

Mingi didn’t want to cry; he had just had his makeup done. Yet, still, every shaky slip of his hands was contributing to a growing frustration. 

It was becoming more difficult to keep quiet. Mingi was being assaulted with the buildup of both dull pleasure and throbbing pain and needed some way to express it. Small grunts were turning into breathy moans, low and long, to try to keep the sounds contained in the room.

Suddenly, even through welling tears, his eyes caught sight of a slight movement caught in one of the dressing room mirrors. What Mingi assumed were just piles of jackets on a couch began to shift, before he noticed the pant legs of a stage outfit, matching the one Mingi was currently “wearing”, donned on a long set of legs. A pair of large boots stuck upright off the end of the couch.

“You’re terrible at staying quiet.” Yunho’s familiar voice spoke out from under the pile before he threw a heavy jacket off of his head, exposing his tired face in the reflection of the mirror. He was basically eye-level with Mingi’s cock.

“Ah, what the fuck!” Mingi shouted, trying and failing to pull up his pants. In that moment, he silently cursed the stylists for always putting him in the baggiest outfits. He repeated his expletive of choice. “What the fuck were you doing under there?”

Yunho squinted tightly, shaking his head as his eyesight adjusted to the harsh fluorescent light of the room. “I had a headache and couldn’t find the light switch.”

“Oh.” Mingi stood dumbfounded and beet-red. Yunho was as giant as he was and it wasn’t like he was exactly hidden. He mentally scolded himself for not checking the room better before fully exposing himself, accidentally baring his entire cock and balls to his friend.

“I knew you were horny earlier!” Yunho exclaimed, like it was his own personal victory for guessing correctly. “You were all bouncy and quiet during stage rehearsal. Kinda like before you take your extra long showers. Always before the stages too, huh? Why is that?”

Mingi shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. He especially didn’t know that Yunho was so attentive to his behaviour. It made him think back to every time he busted what he thought was a secret nut but maybe he wasn’t so private after all.

It was a lot of information to take in with his pants around his ankles. He had so many questions. Mingi started with an easy one. “Why didn’t you say anything when I came in here? I would’ve stopped.”

“Honestly, I thought you were here to get me.” Yunho was fixing his hair at the mirror, composing himself while stealing occasional glances of Mingi’s cock in the reflection. “At least, until I heard you all -” He mocked the deep timbre of Mingi’s voice and moaned comically. Painfully to Mingi, even the unflattering imitation made his exposed dick twitch. He hoped to god Yunho was too busy laughing at him to tell.

Noticing the shift in posture, Yunho offered some comfort, not wanting his friend to feel too embarrassed. “I didn’t mind. Really.”

“But why did you scare me like that?” Mingi’s embarrassment shifted to anger. Yunho’s logic wasn’t making any sense and Mingi still didn’t have a plan for how he was going to get his dick down.

Yunho avoided the question. “How long until we go on?”

“Huh?” Without context, the request went right over Mingi’s head.

“Fine, I’ll look for myself.” Yunho raised an eyebrow before checking a nearby phone. “Forty seven minutes until our stage? That’s tons of time.” 

The tension on Mingi’s face unwravled with a small ounce of relief. The events of what felt like hours of pure frustration likely took place over a mere thirty seconds. He just needed to be reminded.

Still, the reality was that Mingi was rock hard and not as alone as he thought. As one problem disappeared, another became even more prominent. Yunho made his way towards Mingi and the door, hopefully to leave the room, and pretend he saw nothing. 

Even in that best case scenario, Mingi wasn’t sure if he could ever recover from the mortification of what just happened.

Wanting to drop the hint and give Yunho better access to the door, Mingi shifted to the side, movement restricted from the pants still pooled around his legs and too ashamed to pick them up.

However, Yunho didn’t turn towards the door. He instead turned his attention towards Mingi, who had backed himself into a corner. They were uncomfortably close considering the fact that Mingi’s lower half was fully nude.

Yunho smiled stupidly as though the confusion on Mingi’s face was unwarranted. “What? You were struggling to get off, right?”

“Yes...” Mingi admitted, still confused over what exactly his friend was doing. “It was that obvious?”

“Believe me, I know what it sounds like when you’re getting off. What I just heard sounded like a struggle to me.” Yunho never broke eye contact with Mingi. There was a glint of joy in his eyes as he explained his thought process, while never actually revealing his intentions.

Everything he said only raised even more questions. So many that Mingi didn’t have the brain capacity to sort through. Right now, he was more curious why Yunho had him cornered in their dressing room. 

“Mingi,” Yunho uttered his name as though he was scolding him with endearment. Telling him off for being so apparently stupid even thought Mingi thought his confusion was very much justified. “Do you want me to help you?”

Yunho wanted to jerk him off? Mingi thought he had heard wrong.

On first thought, it would fix both problems at once and still leave time to spare, even if the idea of his friend touching his dick would leave Mingi with a whole new slew of questions to plague him until they got back to their dorms. That is, if Yunho would even want to talk about it.

Mingi was getting ahead of himself. He needed to answer the question first.

He kept thinking, pushing through his stress and arousal to conduct a clear thought. Yunho was handsome. He was always clean and smelled good, and liked holding hands with Mingi. Though his qualifications were sparse, Mingi was almost surprised at just how unopposed he was to the idea of Yunho helping him cum. After all, that’s all it would be, right? A friend helping out a friend.

“C’mon, you’ll feel so much better afterwards. I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Yunho pouted as he got closer to Mingi’s face. He was being sweet. Buttering the other boy up without knowing that it wouldn’t even take any convincing to get him to agree.

If only Mingi could answer the damn question. All he could muster up was the confidence for a moment of warm eye contact and a gentle nod.

It was signal enough for Yunho, who leaned in for a hesitant kiss. Mingi’s puffy lips were already parted and set to lock with his own. As they brushed against each other, Yunho’s tongue peaked out, sliding over Mingi’s bottom lip and making him shudder before dipping inside his gaped mouth. 

The gap between them closed even further when the fabric of Yunho’s pant leg accidentally brushed over Mingi’s hard cock, which was poking out and occupying most of the space between them. Mingi moaned into Yunho’s mouth, a gentle reminder that they had a goal to achieve.

“Mmm. No more,” Yunho sighed with regret. He pulled back as Mingi stupidly chased his lips in a daze. “We need to be quick, remember?” 

“But you don’t need to see your hands to jerk me off.” Mingi pouted comically, trying to convince him to return to their greedy kiss. He didn’t expect to enjoy kissing Yunho that much and was wondering if it could turn into a hobby of theirs.

Yunho simply chuckled, obviously knowing more than Mingi about his plans for his mouth. After a breathy “huh?” Yunho took the cue to drop to the floor.

Mingi froze. He was expecting a steady hand to help jerk him to completion at the most but this was so much more. The sight of Yunho on his knees, locked upright so he could keep his face raised inches from Mingi’s cock was making his head throb in more ways than one.

He watched as Yunho’s eyes darted around, carefully examining every inch of him as fast as possible. If he knew Yunho was going to be that close and personal with his junk, Mingi would have shaved that morning. 

“I knew you were big but, damn.” Yunho’s vision stayed locked on to Mingi’s shaft. His eyes were wide and his lips were parted. He looked just as needy as he felt.

“I mean, you don’t have to go d-” Mingi couldn’t even provide an alternative, let alone finish his sentence before Yunho’s tongue was curling itself around his head, soaking his cock with a sudden warmth. Mingi’s hand flew to the wall, then his thigh and, finally, Yunho's hair, needing to grab a fistful of something to keep him steady.

Yunho tilted his chin, relaxing into Mingi’s touch and exposing the length of his neck towards the ceiling. Still, he stayed connected via his tongue. Mingi gulped loudly at the sight of Yunho’s throat swallowing, which was suddenly looking very empty to him.

The soft stimulation prompted beads of creamy white to escape from Mingi’s cock, directly onto the flat surface of Yunho’s tongue. He moaned at the taste and vibrations surrounded Mingi’s stirring cock head. Embarrassingly and against his will, Mingi pushed forward a bit, cock sliding across Yunho’s tongue and spreading the pre-cum all over the wet muscle.

“Sorry.” Mingi sheepishly apologized as he returned his hips to where they were before but, to his surprise, Yunho bobbed his head. He artificially repeated the motion over and over until the entirety of the cock’s head was trapped inside Yunho’s mouth. His tongue was running indulgent laps as it circled the pulsing tip.

Mingi was a panting mess. He wasn’t sure if he should speak. Should he tell Yunho how it felt? Would that be too much?

It was then that Yunho’s gaze flickered up to make eye contact with Mingi. His eyes were glossy as though he was stuck in that moment. Mingi’s stomach did a flip at the sight. He was waiting for Mingi’s approval.

“It feels good, you know?” Mingi whispered as the fist in Yunho’s hair released to scratch at his scalp. Mingi didn’t exactly sound confident but Yunho could tell the words were genuine considering how the other boy was falling apart above him. The upper half of Yunho’s face lit up with a would-be smile at the praise.

Meanwhile, his mouth stayed open wide, lips surrounding Mingi’s cock with a gentle suction, before pushing forward slowly. Yunho didn’t look away, not even once, as Mingi watched his cock disappear inch by inch inside his friend's mouth.

“Jesus, Yunho...” He hissed as more of his shaft was coated with the slippery friction from Yunho’s spit.

Yunho was only two inches from fully swallowing Mingi’s cock before he came to a halt. As he paused, he shifted with discomfort on his knees. The breathing from his nose became more erratic, puffs of warm air bouncing off of Mingi’s pelvis. It was clear he had reached his limit. Even while he couldn’t get Mingi’s dick all the way down, his determination was admirable. Cute, even. It was especially impressive considering Mingi presumed it was Yunho’s first time doing this. 

Mingi dropped his hand to fall behind Yunho’s ear, rubbing his neck with a long thumb. Not experienced with dominant dirty talk, he merely offered a simple smile to let him know it was okay to retreat.

When Yunho began to pull back, Mingi caught sight of a bulge in his throat deflating as his dick reappeared. The thought of being that deep inside any of Yunho’s holes made him shudder with excitement.

Less than a second of the cold dressing room air had cruelly returned before Mingi’s dick was throbbing with need again. The shaft was a reddened, slobbery mess as Yunho cupped him against his hands before returning his mouth to the leaking tip.

Now, when Yunho bobbed down on the cock, his movements were more confident, knowing his limits and puffing up with pride over his abilities. Once he reached the checkpoint, he twisted two slippery hands over the base to make up the difference, fully covering Mingi’s large cock in one way or another.

This time, when Yunho pulled back, he tried sucking in his cheeks. He was so concentrated on making Mingi feel good, eyebrows furrowed in a way Mingi would’ve thought was adorable had the air not been just knocked out of his lungs by the new sensation of suction inside Yunho’s mouth.

Yunho never let the tip leave his lips before taking the entire shaft deep into his mouth again, producing extra spit only to suck it up again when he pulled back. It was clear he was enjoying himself discovering his newfound talent. 

Not as much as Mingi was enjoying himself.

The feeling was unlike anything Mingi had ever experienced. Yunho’s mouth was like being surrounded by an always-moving, sopping-wet warmth. The boy on his knees took the term ‘sucking’ dick very literally. Wet and sloppy sounds echoed through the tiny room as Yunho slurped at his cock. 

Mingi was fully collapsed against the wall at this point, fighting gravity to keep himself standing. His moans were deep, guttural and spurring Yunho to move even faster, knowing that Mingi must be close. 

He was. Mingi was seconds away from cumming and already panicking over where he was going to finish. As pretty as he would be covered in streaks of white, Yunho was already in his stage clothes and makeup, ruling out that option. Alternatively, it wasn’t like Mingi could just leave a puddle of his release on the green room floor. The clock was ticking and Mingi didn’t have any alternatives left.

Yunho, more intuitive than Mingi was aware of, must’ve sensed his panic. He looked up at Mingi as though he was trying to tell him something, eventually slowing his neck’s momentum to a standstill and grabbed his attention.

As Mingi’s eyes were full of panic, Yunho eased his fears with a small nod of approval, motions mostly restricted by his throat accommodating the deep curve of Mingi’s cock. Yunho’s eyes were glistening with tears but dark with determination. He was ready to let Mingi take over.

Mingi whimpered, clawing at the wall as he realized what Yunho was telling him. 

“In your mouth? Are you sure?”

A gurgle escaped from the back of Yunho’s throat as he pushed his limits even further, allowing the cock to sit the deepest it had been. Despite his gagging, his actions were entirely permissive, knowing he wouldn’t have to endure the pain for long before Mingi would finish.

Dormant hips sprung into motion, sliding back at first and dragging his cock along the inside of Yunho’s mouth. Strings of thick saliva followed the path, dripping from Yunho’s bruised lips. Carelessly, Mingi’s ass hit the wall with a thud with how roughly he fucked backwards, making Yunho wince in preparation for him to return.

When his hips snapped forward, it wasn’t as bad as Yunho expected. Sure, Mingi was rough in his desperation but the slickness of collected spit gave the cock a smooth re-entrance past Yunho’s lips, into his mouth, and down into his raw throat. Yunho couldn’t help but moan as he felt himself loosen up to accommodate, hoping that the sound got concealed beneath the low sounds of Mingi’s own pleasure.

Mingi fucked his willing mouth again and again, inching just a little deeper each time whether he knew it or not.

“Yunho. Feels good.” Mingi grunted out, unable to conceive proper sentences as his vision was flashing white with fast growing pleasure. “So good. Fuck.”

With the added motion of Mingi’s thrusts, those final two inches that he couldn’t quite conquer seemed like a task from forever ago, Yunho’s throat gladly opening itself up to accommodate until Mingi’s cock was buried completely. It wasn’t long until his nose was bumping against a set of abs.

Ready to be emptied, Mingi’s heavy balls smacked against Yunho’s chin with each greedy snap of his hips. It should’ve been humiliating but Yunho found himself arching into the motions. It felt good to have Mingi use him.

Yunho kept his needy gaze up at Mingi, watching the way his mouth fell agape and the muscles in his jaw clenched. His chest was heaving as he got closer and closer to completion. The sight inspired Yunho to work through the increasing soreness to help Mingi succumb to his pleasure.

“Ah!” Mingi yelled loudly and abruptly, followed by several softer stutters. His hips suddenly began to jerk in a rhythmless pattern he couldn’t quite control and then the first hot spurt of cum splashed against the back of Yunho’s throat. The second erupted into the cavern of his mouth as Mingi fell back further, shaking with pleasure.

Yunho hollowed his cheeks, not allowing Mingi to retreat any more and trapping the twitching cock inside his mouth. He sucked deeply and used the rest of his energy to relax the entire length of his throat and milk Mingi’s shaft until he was empty.

Mingi’s head fell back in awe as Yunho’s tongue lapped every last drop of cum that emerged from the hole on his tip. He was going above and beyond at this point, the aftershocks of Mingi’s orgasm already starting to subside.

“You can stop if you want.” Mingi’s voice was shaky, hoping Yunho wouldn’t take him up on the offer. The gentle warmth felt nice against his softening cock, easing him back to reality gradually instead of all at once.

“Mm, I probably should, shouldn’t I?” Yunho croaked out against his dick, giving the tip one final kiss before letting it fall limp against Mingi’s thigh.

They paused for a brief moment to catch their breath. Mingi dropped a hand to Yunho’s shoulder, giving it a soft massage as a thanks. “Are you okay?” 

Yunho tried to answer but, at first, the words got caught on their way out. Clearing his throat, Yunho choked out a laugh at the discovery of how raw his throat was. “It’s a good thing I didn’t plan to sing live tonight.”

Mingi giggled at the half-joke before yanking up his oversized pants, needing both hands to hold the flowy fabric up so they wouldn’t fall again. Kindly, Yunho helped him tuck the now satisfied cock away before zipping up his fly.

“You know you might have less of a problem if you just wore underwear?” Yunho poked roughly at the downsized but still prominent bulge in Mingi’s pants.

“But it’s uncomfy.” Mingi whined, clearly more willing to go the lengths of jerking off before a performance rather than just wear another layer. Tired and needing to conserve his energy, Yunho rolled his eyes and found another spare phone to check the time. He clicked on the homescreen with little care for the fact that one of their fellow member’s phones was currently being contaminated with Mingi’s dick particles.

“Was that really only ten minutes?” Yunho’s eyes widened at the screen and Mingi went red in the cheeks. “Guess I’m pretty good at that, huh?”

“Yeah. You could say that…” Mingi nodded, getting shy again as the realization set in that his best friend’s lips were just around his cock and they were already back to business as usual. That is, if they didn’t count how disheveled they both looked from the aftermath. Mingi ruffled his hair back to look as close as possible to how the stylists left it.

Not having too much time to dwell on what their new experience meant for their friendship, a loud knock on the door made both boys jump out of their skin. The knock was only a warning as the hinges creaked and the door swung wide, trapping Mingi behind it.

Panicked and then relieved, Mingi stumbled against a plastic knob on the wall, the room falling into darkness just in time for someone to enter the doorway.

“Yunho, are you in here?” Hongjoong’s voice carried through the small room until he saw Yunho by the mirror, hopefully only looking like he woke up from the best nap of his life and nothing else. Definitely nothing else…

“Hey, what are you doing in the dark?”  Luckily, he couldn’t see Mingi. His voice continued. “And why are you on my phone?”

Mingi cringed when Hongjoong snatched the phone back and placed it on the counter. He thankfully had no idea where Yunho’s hands had just been and he would probably never find out.

“Just checking the time.” Yunho replied nonchalantly, rubbing at his jaw.

“Yes, we’re on soon!” Hongjoong sounded excited. Enthusiastic about even the task of coraling up his fellow members for their performance. He seemed too distracted to notice Yunho dabbing away at his lips to clean himself off.

He patted Yunho on the back for encouragement before turning to leave out the open door. “Can you find Mingi on your way back too? We don’t know where he is.”

“Sure thing, Hyung!” Yunho did a goofy salute, playing the clueless role with ease as he bid Hongjoong farewell out of the room. The door slammed shut, leaving both Yunho and Mingi in the pitch dark.

“Hey Yunho,” Mingi whispered loudly, as though the darkness would make it harder to hear.

“Hm?” Yunho’s boots squeaked as he turned to face the voice.

“I think I found the light switch.”

.

.

.

[adarlingmess]

Ugnayan

Summary:

Filipino word, noun: connection between persons, groups, countries, etc.

A collection of works detailing a manananggal clan’s relations with the Treses, and their allies.

II: Bad Habits

Summary: After disrupting one of House of Arko’s operations, one of the Kambal meets up with their informant.

Words: 4540

Characters: Basilio, Crispin, Sabina (OC), Alexandra Trese (mentioned only), Ammie (mentioned only), Reyna Manananggal (mentioned only), Dominic Villaceran (mentioned only), Mama Grande (mentioned only)

Relationships: Basilio/Original Female Character

Language: English, with a few Filipino words and phrases sprinkled in.

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Strong language, violence, mentions of abortion, references to human trafficking + sexual trafficking, sexual themes

Author’s Notes:

I am: back on my bullshit again

People were looking for a part 2 so have more Basilio x OC stuff. Spoiler warning for Verdugo: Takutan because this story heavily references its lore and events! The comics are known to be darker in tone, and so is this fic, so heed the warnings above. No Taglish version this time, Darling niyo pagod na 😩

This was supposed to be a simple job.

Get in, rough up House of Arko’s operation while Bossing is paying them a visit in their mansion, get out, and watch as Bossing confronts them about it at the next social gathering they’ll host.

But nothing was ever simple about the aswang, right?

Now there’s a huge one trying to eat Basilio alive.

“Damn it, Basilio. Your recklessness is a bad habit that’ll bite us in the ass later!” his older brother berates him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Now might be the right time to call for backup kuya,” he strains, attempting to pull the  magubat’s jaw apart with his superhuman strength. His fingers slip from the drool and it almost bites his hands off.

Crispin’s busy with a horde of mailap, taking turns in taking pot shots from him in the shadows. “We should’ve taken a page from Carlos’ book and brought palm fronds. Who should we call?”

“What about Maliksi?” Basilio suggests.

“What’s one tikbalang to all these aswangs? We need something bigger, maybe a higante to take on that magubat!”

“Gago, a higante can’t get here as fast as a tikbalang!” Basilio snaps.

“Mas gago ka! What about that playmate of ours from when we were kids, y’know, the one that tipped Bossing off about this whole trafficking operation anyway? Think she can fly her way here?” Crispin growls, shooting down a mailap who was foolish enough to ambush the more cautious twin from above.

Ah, yes. Sabina.

Boyish, intimidating, hard to figure out- but still hot enough to flirt with, despite being aswang; that’s how Basilio would describe her. This Sab was a far cry from the Sabina Marie he once knew years ago, the one who used to wear an all-girl Catholic school uniform, shyly shared her snacks and books with him, and kissed him farewell when her mama told her she’ll not be coming with her to meetings with the lakan anymore.

A few days after they caught up with each other, she turned up at the Diabolical not too long ago with a flash drive for Alex’s eyes only. She didn’t even breathe a word to him, much less look at his direction, but Basilio could only surmise that it’s his fault.

“Sabina? Well, manananggals who follow the queen can shoot. It’s- ungh- worth the shot!” Basilio answers back, straining as he gets swatted to the side with one gigantic claw. “You make the call, my hands are full!”

“Give me your phone, I don’t have her Facespace.”

Basilio looks down from several feet, and gives his brother a sheepish smile. “Uhhh, okay, but she’s been seenzoning me.”

From behind his mask, Crispin frowns. “What did you do?”

“She might’ve seen me tagged in Ammie’s story when I was supposed to watch her gig. I got there when her set was ending, and she was pissed.”

Grumbling, Crispin takes his frustrations off on a mabangis charging towards him, a flurry of bullets raining upon its body. “What did Bossing say about getting personal with informants?”

“What? It’s Sab. She’s-”

“An aswang who might have an ulterior motive in helping us. Tangina Basilio, think with your head sometimes! The one between your shoulders!”

Distracted, Basilio failed to stop the jaws of the magubat from closing in on him. As quickly as his reflexes allow, he tosses his brother his phone.

“Just call already! Tell her it’s an emergency.”

The older Kambal flies up and extends his free hand to catch it. Crispin launches Basilio’s Facespace app and begins to search for their informant. He found her under the name Sab Evasco. Crispin pretended not to see the string of messages Basilio left for her, all left on read.

Her phone rings. One time. Two times. Three times. Crispin dials again. Twice. Thrice.

Someone picks up. He puts the call on the loudspeaker.

There’s someone strumming a guitar in the background, accompanied by a drumset’s cymbals. They come to a halt and Crispin hears a frustrated woman’s voice from the other end of the line.

“Ulol gago, fuck you Basilio, you can tell me if you’d rather go on Starbreaks coffee dates with a wind girl than watch me play.  I’m a grown woman, I can handle a simple ‘no’. I’m not in the mood for your games! Now fuck off, I don’t want to hear from you. I have a gig to practice for.”

Basilio cringes as he listens to Sabina’s tirade. Crispin guns a charging mabangis down, and his mask dematerializes for a brief moment, just enough for him to mouth to his brother “Gago ka talaga.”

“Sabina, it’s Crispin. We could use some backup here. We’re being swarmed by aswang.”

The sound of a guitar being unceremoniously dropped and the mad shuffle to catch it can be heard from Sabina’s line, followed by quick footsteps. Sabina talks again, calmer this time. “What? Couldn’t Basilio get his own ass on the phone and tell me himself?”

With an exasperated expression, Crispin turns on the camera, and points the phone at Basilio, who’s caught between the magubat’s jaws. “He said you were ignoring him, and he can’t get on the phone right now, as you can see.”

The Kambal heard her fumbling with more equipment, which sounded like a guitar case being zipped up and carried. A brief argument with her bandmates follows, then Sabina talks again.

“I’ll be there. Stay on the line.”

Now they wait.

As much as Crispin wanted to help his little brother, his hands were full with the wave after wave of aswang coming after them. They’re relentless. This is their food supply the Kambal are cutting off, after all.

“Any luck with Sab?” Basilio asks, attempting to shoot the roof of the mabangis’ mouth.

The bullets barely penetrate the thick membrane. He’ll need to transform the Armas Infinitum into a more powerful weapon to lobotomize the gigantic aswang, but seeing how he’s separated from his twin, it’s impossible at the moment.

“She said she’s on the way. She’s still on the phone. Here!”

Crispin throws the phone back to Basilio, who catches it with one hand, while his other arm continues to struggle with the magubat trying to swallow him whole. He tucks it in his breast pocket, and he jumps near the row of the magubat’s front teeth, prying it open with both arms.

Through the aswangs’ growls, Basilio could faintly hear a woman cursing and the jingling of keys from the other side of the line.

“Hey Sab! It’s Basilio. Sorry again about missing your gig.”

“Shut up and hang tight. If I didn’t care for you at all...” Sabina snaps. Basilio could barely make out the words Sabina was saying due to the wind and sound of traffic. “I’m on my way.”

“Ngh, can’t you come any sooner? I heard that aswang intestines are nasty.” Basilio pauses, realizing his mistake. “No offense.”

“I said zip it. Isn’t it enough that I went out of hiding and agreed to be Trese’s informant? Now I have to be your backup too?”

“Working with Bossing has its risks. We made that clear, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

There’s more turbulence and wind from Sabina’s line. If Basilio guessed, she’s now flying to the scene. The Kambal’s struggle with the aswang continued until they heard their informant’s voice through the speakers again.

“Big bad war demigods can’t handle a single fucking magubat?” Sabina deadpans, the turbulence and noise no longer accompanying her voice. “Open the fucker’s mouth wide. Make sure he’s facing east.”

“Kuya! She’s in the area, help me pry the jaws open!” the younger Kambal shouts to his older brother, who dodges a leaping mailap and quickly flies up to his aid.

“What’s the plan?” Crispin asks, and Basilio shrugs.

“I don’t know, she just asked me to do it!”

Before Crispin could question Basilio, a shot rings throughout the building, and the magubat collapses. The Kambal let go of the heavy jaws and flew away, watching the near-twenty foot aswang crush a few of its regular-sized kind. Upon closer inspection, a bullet has torn its way through the roof of its mouth. It’s a clean shot. The magubat isn’t regenerating, much to the Kambal’s surprise.

It’s a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.

“That’s for trying to eat my brother,” Crispin spits, kicking the dead aswang’s head.

Soon, more of the aswang started dropping like flies, too. Razed by bullets from an unknown assailant, the House of Arko aswangs started to panic.

“Wait a minute, I know manananggals who follow the queen can shoot, but Sabina is a sniper? Do you know about this, Bas?” Crispin exclaims, tearing his eyes away from the dead magubat to face yet another wave of mabangis.

“No! Damn, she’s using special bullets too. Where’d she get those?” Basilio mutters. A mailap attempts an ambush attack, and before he could react, Basilio watches it get shot mid-air as it attempts to jump him.

“You’re mine,” Sabina hisses, her voice crackling through Basilio’s phone speaker, smooth through the static.

Her emphasis on the word “mine” made goosebumps ripple through Basilio’s arm.

“Hot. Could you say that again?”

What he got instead was a groan. “Fuck, don’t distract me Basilio. I’m not here for fun.”

“You seem to be having fun shooting House of Arko’s minions though.”

“Fair. You two better look for the hostages. I have a bone to pick with this lot.”

The Kambal looks at each other, and nods. Glass shatters as they fly out the building’s windows, to the upper floors. After taking care of the guards, they saw them. Men and women in cages, all naked, and herded like livestock. 

“Please, help us,” one of them whimpers, crawling to the front of the cage and grabbing Crispin by the arm. She’s dirty, and her belly is swollen. Basilio turned on the lights and they saw it clear as day: most of these women are pregnant. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

House of Arko farms their food, breeding humans like livestock, and harvesting fetuses from them.

Sirens are blaring outside, both from police cars and ambulances, waiting for the hostages to be rescued.

All is well, or so they thought.

“Fuck!”

The cry came from their informant’s line.

“Everything alright?” Basilio asks her after fishing his phone out of his breast pocket.

“There are a few of them who found my vantage point. They’re heading towards my position.”

“Get out of there already, the hostages are secure.”

“They saw me. I can’t let them report back to Mama Grande and her sons that a manananggal is helping you. Suspicion would fall on my clan.”

Crispin nudges his younger brother. “I’ll handle the hostages and wait for Bossing. You make sure our informant’s alright.”

“Way ahead of you kuya,” Basilio replies, taking his guns out and flying out the window.

Under the pale moonlight and the city’s lights, Basilio spots a group of aswang scaling a dilapidated building east of him. On the rooftop, he sees it. Wings black as night, flattened against the concrete. Sabina lies prone and is aiming her scoped hunting rifle downwards, picking off the advancing horde one by one.

“Time to play.” The demigod rushes in and makes bullets rain on the hostiles.

He takes out a mabangis approaching their sniper from her blind spot. Those who didn’t die from being shot fell to their death, regeneration halted either by his or Sabina’s doing.

Basilio descends on the rooftop, and he walks his way towards the manananggal. His mask dematerialized, and the wind tousled his long hair. Just to be safe, he kept a pistol in one hand.

Across him, Sabina takes out her wireless earbuds and puts them away. Then, she slings her rifle on her shoulder, safety on. With her wings, she crawled towards his direction, like how a bat would move. Then, uses her wings’ sharp claws to plant herself on the concrete, a feat regular bats couldn’t do.

“Thanks for the help, Sab. About that gig…”

Before any more words could come out of his mouth, Sabina holds up her forefinger and presses it against his lips. “Shh. No more apologizing about the missed gig. Just make up for it. You owe me.”

Basilio nods, smiling at her. He watches as Sabina fishes out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from her vest. She’s wearing a black, long-sleeved polo shirt underneath it, and its sleeves are rolled up. Her shirt was unbuttoned just enough for him to catch a glimpse of lace peeking through. For all her boyish, edgy posturing, her choice of underclothes is girlier than what Basilio expected.

It almost makes him want to unwrap her like a Christmas present, but he’ll keep that thought to himself.

“Nice outfit. You were rehearsing in that?”

“We had a presentation for a class. No time to get changed. Now there’s a hole in the back, so I might as well wear this more often on future operations,” Sabina replies, placing a stick of Marlborough Reds between her lips.

“I’m in the mood for a smoke and maybe a chat,” she continues. “Join me?”

Basilio nods.

“How did you know about House of Arko’s human trafficking thing, anway?”

“Believe it or not, it was a hunch,” Sabina explains, black fingernails scratching the sparkwheel several times. “Ugh, fucking lighter dying on me again. I just had it refilled… must be the wind,” she growls.

Basilio couldn’t help but chuckle at her frustration. “A hunch?”

“Hmm… maybe hunch isn’t the right word. It’s an educated guess. Mama Grande loved serving boiled fetuses to her house guests, correct?”

Basilio nods, waiting for Sabina to continue her explanation.

“I suppose that it’s my place to judge if their mothers didn’t want to raise them… I’m a manananggal, for fuck’s sake. But there’s one red flag House of Arko failed to hide. From what I can tell, those fetuses are around five to eight months old.”

Sabina’s lighter finally lit up, and with a triumphant laugh, she lit her cigarette. Then, she carries on with her explanation.

“Most abortions happen during the first three months of pregnancy. It’s rare to see expecting parents get rid of them that late.”

“So? What does that have to do with the whole thing?”

“House of Arko serving older fetuses could mean one of two things: either all, and I mean all of the abortions they performed are from those who are truly in need of one that late, or they’re getting them from another source, possibly an illicit one. They don’t have the most benevolent reputation, so my intuition tells me it was the latter. So, I paid the place a visit and recorded what I could. I guess I should be thankful that your bossing found that blurry video trustworthy enough,” Sabina concluded, watching as the victims were clothed and herded into ambulances.

Dumbfounded, Basilio scratches his head. “Wow. Glad you’re on our side. How did you know that three month thing anyway?”

“Research and personal accounts.” Sabina’s response is clipped. Cold. Abrupt. It only raised more questions than answers.

“Personal accounts? You’ve met people who got them?”

There’s a flash of regret in Sabina’s eyes; regret that she opened her mouth and let him know more than needed. She cuts him off. “I can’t put my informants’ identities in jeopardy either now, can I?”

Per his older twin’s advice, Basilio’s finally using the head between his shoulders. “No offense, but you’re a manananggal. Y’know, known for eating babies? Hearing that from you is suspicious.”

“Yes, I am,” Sabina says through gritted teeth, glaring at him. “I can assure you, I’m following the accords and I’m not exploiting loopholes like what House of Arko is doing. I’ll reveal everything in due time.”

“Alright, keep your secrets. For now.”

A tense silence has befallen them.

“So- '' the manananggal blows a cloud of smoke away from Basilio, “-is this going to be a regular thing? Because if it is, I might finally quit smoking. Nicotine makes my hands shaky. Can’t risk accidentally shooting your ass.” She pauses, looking at him in jest. “ I’d rather do that intentionally.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Sabina Marie,” Basilio retorts, clutching his chest in mock pain.

They share a laugh over it, the mood lightening up.

Basilio looks in the distance, taking in the view of the cityscape. “Maybe you should quit. Singers shouldn’t be smoking in the first place.”

“The tar helps me belt out raspy screams, but yeah, you’re right,” Sabina chuckles.

“So, when is this next gig?”

“Next week. In Ilocos Norte. All the way up in House of Arko’s ancestral home.”

“Should I take that info to Bossing?”

“Yep. It’s open to the supernatural public anyway, so it's not like I’m giving you top secret info. Even the wind tribe is invited, despite their bad blood with my clan. Hopefully things won’t get physical. Most of my sisters are still bitter over how they blew us away when my mom- I mean, Inang Reyna decided to side against the Treses.”

So that explains some things.

“I dunno, maybe I should bring Ammie so I can watch the two of you in a catfight.”

Sabina elbows him in the chest, hard.

“Not funny at all, Basilio. I don’t even know her personally! It’s you I was pissed at.”

Now he grabs his chest in genuine pain as he croaks out an apology. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. Bring whoever the hell you want, just keep your distance from me when you decide to go. Even my father’s going to be there. I need to be on my best behavior.”

The demigod turns to their aswang informant, interest piqued. She’s divulging a lot of information. Perhaps he can sway her to spill more secrets.

“Didn’t know that the Reyna Manananggal had a king.”

“Oh, no. She’s not the type to share her power with a man.” Sabina pauses to take another hit of her cigarette. “I meant my biological father. Villaceran.”

Now that was unexpected.

“You drop bombshell after bombshell whenever we meet. Tomas Dominic Villaceran’s your old man?”

“Look at me. I’m almost the splitting image of the guy. If there’s one thing I’m grateful for, it’s inheriting his good looks.”

Basilio grins. “Can’t deny that. Most of the manananggal kuya Crispin and I encountered look...”

“Hideous, I know,” Sabina says outright. “You still haven’t seen that side of me, so don’t be too quick to judge my sisters.”

Basilio treads carefully, knowing that he might be prying on a sensitive subject. “So, about Villaceran…”

“I’d rather not talk about him. Our relationship is… strained.”

Giving her a sympathetic, understanding look, Basilio nods. “Right. Never mind.”

Another interval of silence passes between them. This time, it’s a little somber.

“So, does this party have a dress code?”

“Yeah. Filipiniana. Wear a barong. It’s one of those pretentious events that attempts to make House of Arko more appealing to the masses or whatever. Manipulative assholes.”

“You can just refuse to go, Sab.”

“I could, but being Trese’s mole among the aswang means I have to attend clan activities to supply more information. That also means attending every single party those Arko fucks throw.”

“You really hate House of Arko, huh?”

Looking towards his direction to meet his gaze, Sabina’s eyes are filled with a sea of emotions. Hatred, indignation, and something Basilio couldn’t quite place.

“Why wouldn’t I? Mama Grande raised boys who can’t take no for an answer. The Arko brothers have no respect for us manananggal. As if we weren’t fetishized enough in Manong Karma’s stupid aswang dating book...”

Sabina clears her throat and calms herself down. Bad blood between aswang clans could mean war. Basilio knows he should take that to the boss. His gears are turning tonight. He asks Sabina questions that could risk her support.

“Is that why you agreed to be an informant? You wanna bring House of Arko down? Then what, your clan will fill the space they’ll leave?”

“What? No, I have no desire for power, not like how Mama Grande or my own mother does anyway. My personal gripes with them aside, the House of Arko wants to ‘unite the aswang under one banner’ with no respect to the other clans’ autonomy and customs.”

“So you wanna protect your clan?”

“That’s one of the reasons, yes. Mama Grande’s been trying to play kumare with mom- I mean Inang Reyna-” This is the second time Sabina slipped and called her mom. She clears her throat and composes herself. “And I need to stop that. Inang Reyna already made the mistake of going against the Accords once. Allying with the House of Arko will ruin us further.”

Basilio leans in closer. “And what are your other reasons?”

Sabina looks at him for a few, quiet seconds, and looks away. “I’ll reveal them-”

“In due time. Yeah, yeah, I can take that as an answer. So, making you sing in that event is a result of them being magkumare?”

A defeated laugh bubbles from Sabina’s chest. “You got it.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t invite sirena to sing.”

Sabina rolls her eyes and tosses the butt of her expended cigarette on the concrete. Basilio took it upon himself to crush the embers under his heel, seeing how her lower half is hidden someplace else.

“Oh please, this is House of Arko we’re talking about, Bas. They believe aswang are superior. Letting them shine would take away the spotlight from the aswang. Mama Grande asked for me from Inang Reyna so they can gloat that even aswang can make better singers than the famed sirena. Ugh, I doubt my singing style even matches the performance they want from me.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of performance are they going for?” he asks her.

“Now that’s another secret. You have to show up to find out,” she hums in response.

Turning away from him, Sabina checks how many sticks are left in the box. Two. She takes one and lights it up.

“Screw it, I’m going cold turkey. I guess this will be my final box. Maybe for tonight. Maybe forever.”

“Then maybe you should stop with the stick you’re smoking and throw the last one away,” Basilio suggests.

“Are you mad? That’s a waste of money!”

“Still counting your blessings even with your mama’s wealth huh?”

“Old habits die hard.”

Sabina blows smoke away from Basilio’s direction. The wind made it waft to his face anyway, and she mumbles a quick apology. He shrugs it off. Not like the adverse effects of secondhand smoke affected him anyway. Hank smoked and was polite enough to turn away too, but Basilio can still smell it. He didn’t mind it. Still, Hank had told him and Crispin that it was a tough habit to break, so he never touched a cigarette.

Not until now.

Basilio takes the box from Sabina and picks up the last stick with his lips. Then, he inches closer to her.

Ironically, in an attempt to help an old friend quit her smoking habit, Basilio engages in it himself.

Little did he know, a new bad habit was forming between him and the little lady before him.

“I’ll make sure it won’t go to waste then. Light me.”

Sabina raises an eyebrow. “Just don’t start at all. Give it back.”

“One smoke isn’t going to get me hooked, princess.”

Brows knitted together, Sabina chastises him. “Take it from me, bad habits start with just one little taste, Bas.”

“One little taste never hurts anyone...”

“One little taste could leave you wanting for more.”

Basilio can feel himself getting hot under the collar. He’d never thought an aswang of all creatures could make him feel all bothered, yet there he was, getting turned on by her choice of words.

“Princess, are we still talking about cigarettes, or something else?”

Hearing his question, Sabina exhales sharply through her nose, cheeks dusted pink. “Maybe both. Whatever. Come here.”

Black fingernails scratched at the sparkwheel. Sparks were flying, but there was no flame. The cigarette remained unlit.

“Well, it looks like fate isn’t letting you smoke, so better just give me the damn cigarette back, Basilio.”

With a sly look, Basilio closes in on her, and presses the end of his cigarette to the embers at the end of hers, linking them together.

To his surprise, Sabina is neither backing away nor babbling defensively like she usually does whenever he gets close. Instead, she presses her chest to his, a challenging look in her half-lidded eyes. She wasn’t wearing her glasses like usual, giving Basilio an unobstructed view of her heated gaze. Was it bloodlust or desire? Either way, it got his blood pumping.

“You’re chattier than usual tonight,” Basilio comments. “Bolder too. I like that.”

In the form she’s in now, Sabina’s eyes glowed an eerie white, and aside from the wings sprouting from her back, little horns sprouted from her scalp, the root concealed by her crown of short, wavy hair. Basilio didn’t pay mind to her dangling guts, instead, his eyes were transfixed on that cute little lace bra again.

Through the layers of cloth between them, he can feel her heart beating. Basilio faintly remembers the taste of human and sigbin hearts.

Now, what does aswang heart taste like?

A dark part of his psyche- perhaps from being Datu Talagbusao’s son- wanted to tear it out of her chest and eat it to find out.

Basilio felt the urge to taste all the battles she fought through her blood, and possess her heart in a way no other person can.

The memory of seeing his father tasting his mother’s blood inserts itself in the present, and the fear of turning into the monster he was is enough for him to shake that thought away.

Basilio tries to focus on something else.

His eyes wander to Sabina’s mouth. He might’ve imagined something else between her dark lips, in place of the cigarette. Something bigger.

Something of his.

Sabina’s been pliable tonight. Perhaps he’ll push his luck with her one last time.

“So, any plans tonight, dear princess?”

“Unless you intend to treat me like one, don’t call me that.”

“I’m done with work, so if you want me to make good on that and make up for my mistake…”

Giggling, Sabina flies a few feet away from him. The black wings on her back are translucent against the pale moonlight. They almost looked like a dark shade of red.

“Go tell your brother about the information I gave you for now, then meet up with me afterwards. I hid my lower half in an alleyway behind that motel,” she tells him, pointing to the building’s direction.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll get to rearrange my guts. Literally and figuratively.” Sabina continues, a naughty smirk blooming on her lips.

Taken aback by the pun, Basilio laughs. “I didn’t think you were capable of dirty jokes.”

“You should know by now that I’m full of secrets and surprises.”

Grinning darkly, Basilio finishes the rest of his cigarette as he watches her fly away.

“And I’ll uncover them all, dear princess.”

Translations:

ulol - crazy; Filipino profanity

gago/gaga - foolish or stupid; Filipino profanity

tangina - contraction of putang ina, lit. whore mother. Used as an expression to express irritation, anger, or astonishment

Inang Reyna - lit. Queen Mother.

mare/kumare - derived from the Spanish word madre/comadre; kumare a reciprocal appellation for the godmother or for the child's mother. In a more modern and colloquial context, it’s used to refer to a female friend. Magkumare means women who are friends with each other.

Filipiniana - Philippine related book and non-book material

barong - also known as Barong Tagalog. An embroidered long-sleeved formal shirt for men and a national dress of the Philippines.

[black-and-yellow]

Silly stupid insect fic, send shivers down my spine.

[peterofthedrakes]

hello my friends have a bullshit comic i did about camp here & there

id under the cut

IMAGE DESCRIPTION: a cafeteria from a summer camp, with kids sitting around a long table. It is focused on two kids, having a conversation. Overhead, a loudspeaker broadcasts someone saying 'Your husband must be a real nice guy-'. One of the children, with a long braid, says 'I didn't know Mr. Sydney and Mr. Jedidiah were married!' and another child, with short hair and bright blue and red skin, replies 'They're not, Mr. Sydney just wanted to get the box.', causing the first children to say 'ohhhhh' in realization. END ID.

[idontblushsrry]

Itadori Yuuji Boyfriend Headcanons

A/N: Reader is from America and a black female. Idk why i decided to write this but I think that Yuuji would be a fun boyfriend lmao. I don’t entirely know what the reader’s cursed technique should be so lmk if you have any ideas. Until then enjoy Yuuji and reader being 2 idiots in love. Spoilers for all the eps of jujutsu kaisen up to about episode 11, nothing past that though as I want to finish the show first before reading the manga, so please be respectful of spoilers and label them (and tag if necessary) in the comments. Also srry if this cuts off abruptly bcus of the point the show is at. This is also like, all over the place but whatever.

(also sorry this was posted later than usual oops)

Word Count:  1943

This dork-

He is so sweet and kind and considerate 

But also a dumbass but also like he’s your dumbass

You and Yuuji are both equally stupid like bless yalls hearts

You and Yuuji met during his time at the Tokyo Academy when you transferred from America

The moment this man saw you walk up with Gojo-sensei he was smitten

Like your skin was glowing??? how???

And you had a slight accent but like he loved it too

And when you came up to greet him and shake hands you smelled so good and your skin was so soft

((He would later come to find out that the root of that was the shea cocoa butter lotion you used))

But yea mans was smitten and he is fully in love with you lmao

Will do literally anything you ask

You hungry? He’s prepared a 5 course, michelin star meal

Want new clothes? He’s been training for the day he could hold your bags for you

Ran out of hair products?? He’s already back with a special box of your products that he had imported from America

To this day you don’t know how he was able to get those products so quickly

He is loves when you tell him things about you from your day, to your times in america, to how your cursed energy works

Yall are the couple that does stupid shit together

Like one time you showed Yuuji one of those life hack videos and he was like 

“We should totally do that” 

And you were like “Bet”

Needless to say Fushiguro was very confused at the sight of bandaids on both of your fingers the next morning

“???What happened?”

“Well you see, I told Yuuji that I should use the glue gun because he didn’t even know where to put the glue stick. And he said nah, I got it and um yea so I fell and the glue gun was plugged in and then he tripped over me and so now we look like this.”

Gojo and Kugisaki thought that this was hilarious while Fushiguro decided that he’d store your guys’ glue gun in his shadows from now on

How yall manage to get through missions you go on together alive is a miracle

Speaking of missions, you eventually ask Yuuji what’s his deal because you feel a powerful aura coming from him but he never uses cursed energy, always cursed weapons

Cue Sukuna’s mouth popping up on the side of his face like “Hey mamas”

(You can’t tell me that Sukuna isn’t the type of guy to ask where his hug at)

“YUUJI WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“Oh, I guess you haven’t met Sukuna yet, huh?”

So he sits you down and explains how he ate Sukuna’s finger and you're sitting there like ‘mhm mhm mhm, sorry you what?’

For like 3 days after he told you that you couldn’t bring yourself to kiss him just because you were processing the fact that Yuuji ate someone’s nasty old ass finger and would have to eat 19 more

And the fact that he’s the vessel of like the worst curse known to man 

During those 3 days, Yuuji’s pouting because he’s like ‘I fucked up, now she doesn’t wanna kiss me let alone talk to me because of this monster inside of me :(’

Meanwhile you’re just like ‘why would anyone eat some random mummified finger?’

Eventually you get wind of Yuuji’s bad mood and immediately, you rush to smooth things over with him.

You knock on his door and hear blankets rustling before he goes, “I’m not in the mood to play fight right now Kugisaki’

“Can I come in baby?”

You immediately hear the most comical almost cartoonish amount of noise ranging from a cup falling over, sheets falling off the bed, and what sounds like Yuuji falling flat on his ass before he opens the door

When he does, you’re laughing and it’s like the sky is no longer grey and the world is filled with color

You smile at each other before your moment is interrupted with Sukuna going “Finally, full offense, his whining was getting annoying”

You step inside his room and apologize for ignoring him, explaining that you just needed time to process things, explaining that you should’ve told him that before dipping

He just grabbed you in a bear hug and lifted you of the ground and spinning you around laughing happily, after all he wasn’t even upset with you, he just missed you

And thus begins the honeymoon phase of your guys’ relationship

Fushiguro is actually really happy for you guys and is the most supportive of your relationship but if anyone asked him to admit that out loud he’d actually apparate to the nearest marooned ship

Nobura doesn’t hate you guys but she thinks all couples are disgusting, so while it’s nothing personal, she does gag when you and Yuuji do so much as make goo goo eyes at each other

Gojo is actually like the main cheerleader of your relationship. 

He is the teacher that changes the seating chart to put students he ships together

He was always pairing you and Yuuji up on missions and placing you as sparring partners like ur not slick

If Gojo is the cheerleader, Sukuna is an actual antagonist

Like the man goes out of his way to CHOOSE violence

Like on time you kissed Yuuji’s cheek on a date and when you pulled back, your lip was bleeding and Sukuna’s mouth was smirking at you

Another thing he likes to do is tell you all of Yuuji’s simp^tm thoughts

Like all of them

Now Yuuji isn’t ashamed of how much he loves you and is in fact very open with it, but he doesn’t need Sukuna telling you that the only reason he bought x mouthwash was because it made your breath smell like “sunshine” and he had to see if it would work on him

Speaking of dates, good luck

Now I stand by the fact that Yuuji would never half-ass a date and things with him are certainly never boring

But he’s also like a country boy in the city and his tourist tendencies tend to get the best of him

Like you’ll be trying to find a spot to eat and when you look back Yuuji’s gone

((Prolly to buy another I <3 Tokyo shirt so you can both match))

He always catches up with you ad you eventually learn that but like the first few times be havin you ready to put up a lost child signal on the loudspeaker

He’s very sweet and this is where his thoughtfulness shines through

You and Yuuji plan dates in the same way one plays bingo

Like because you never know where you’re going to be r when exactly you’ll both be free (especially with Gojo-sensei and his bare minimum ass information) you two tend to go ‘ok well if we’re here we’ll go here and if we’re here, we’ll go here’ and so on and so forth

But Yuuji always remembers such little one-off details about you that make your dates.

Like you mention wanting to try a sushi train and he’s already scrolled through multiple yelp reviews and watched every youtube restaurant review like 9 times

But every high has a low and Yuuji and your’s low comes suddenly and it brings you crashing to the ground with no warning and nothing to slow your descent

When your class of first years were sent to exorcise the special grade cursed womb

When Yuuji’s hand got blown off and he told you to run you froze, your mind racing faster than your legs could even start

“(Y/N) RUN!” Yuuji’s voice broke you out of your fear-based trance

“I- I...can’t...I can’t leave you!” you cried out all your rational senses screamed at you to go, run, he had Sukuna and you were barely a grade 2 sorcerer. But your intuition told you if you left him you wouldn’t see him alive again.

You were trapped in a paralysis of indecision but the choice was made for you when a sticky tongue wrapped around your midriff and you were gulped into the mouth of one of Fushiguro’s frogs

“Goddamn it Fushiguro! Let me go! I need to... save... him.” You were outside the building before you could even finish arguing.

You glared up at Fushiguro but your eyes softened some when you saw how beat up Kugisaki looked.

He gave you this look that said he did what he had to do and he didn’t care what you had to say about it 

You and him waited in the rain for Yuuji or Sukuna to exit the building

You tried to focus yourself and save your negative emotions for your cursed attack

When Sukuna inevitably appeared, one finger stronger, you were fully prepared to fight him

However, he didn’t seem interested in fighting you and more engaged in fighting with Megumi

You tried to urge Fushiguro to wait it out, eventually Sukuna would lose control, but when Sukuna took Yuuji’s heart hostage, you both knew you’d have to fight

You and Fushiguro gave it your all but when Yuuji came back he still died 

It took all your strength to not completely fall apart after his death and the support from the second years as well as Kugisaki and Fushiguro helped

You’d tried to visit him at the morgue but Shoko only told you that she didn’t think it’d be a good idea.

You still slept in his sweaters and the things that smelled like him from time to time, trying to make the idea of him last, but after a month, the smell of him had started to fade

Everything about Yuuji’s memory seemed to become leached away with time, from his smell, to the wear present on things he’d given to you

You couldn’t help but feel resentful towards yourself but also to Sukuna, he’d taken Yuuji from you with the same care that one would throw litter on the ground

The pain in your chest didn’t wane either, it only became ignorable to a degree as training for the exchange with the Kyoto students became more intense

Fushiguro is a comfort to you as well, aside from you, him and Yuuji were the closest to each other and so he gets a lot of what you’re going through and doesn’t push when you become more withdrawn

He also lets you pet his demon dog too but when you ask him why he’s letting you pet it he just says ‘because no one would believe you if you told them’ lies

The bastard really just does it because he knows you’re sad and he doesn’t want you to be sad

Speaking of the Kyoto students, Zenin Mai and Toudou Aoi are permanently on your shit list

You’re relieved that Panda, Maki, and Inumaki came to your guys’ aid but like if you had your way Mai wouldn’t even exist

Anyways Maki has Panda physically restrain you while she tries to calm you down 

“(Y/N), you can kick her ass at the exchange!”

When you calm down, Panda puts you down and even though Mai’s long gone with Todou to go get his handshake, you make a promise that carries through the wind

‘Zenin Mai, pray that the next time you run across me I’m feeling kind, because if not-’, the last word is lost as the wind picks up but Mai feels a shiver rack through her body that more than ensures your message.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xuexiao Goes to the DMV

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen go to the DMV (aka Where Hope Goes To Die) and share a kiss.

That’s it. That’s the fic.

Xuexiao - T (just for some cursing) - Read on AO3!

*

“If you hear about someone going berserk in a DMV on the news, that’ll be me,” the mechanical text-to-speech voice reads aloud, and Xiao Xingchen turns to Xue Yang questioningly.

Xue Yang reaches over and turns the volume down on Xingchen’s phone. “Meant to send that to A-Qing.”

“Are we going to be escorted out? Again?”

Xue Yang grins and looks around the room. They’ve already been at the DMV for over an hour. Dozens of people are draped limply over the hard orange seats, eyes glazed, going down for the third time in a sea of government bureaucracy.

“Ticket 4352, now being served at window thirty-three,” announces the robotic voice over the loudspeaker.

“It would take an alien invasion to wake these people up,” Xue Yang says as a man in overalls shuffles past. “You should see these people. This must be what a lobotomy post-op recovery room looks like.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Like the world’s most incompetent deli, filled with zombie customers waiting to eat the brains of whatever the opposite of employee of the month is. Well, ‘brains.’ They work at the DMV, after all.”

Xiao Xingchen adjusts his sunglasses. “Let's not be mean.”

“And we can all hear you,” adds a woman on his left. “Not that it made much sense.”

Xue Yang makes a face at her and turns back to Xingchen. “If they make me come back a third time, I’m going to go postal. You know, going postal should be called ‘going DMV.’ It’s catchier, for one thing, and I’ve never so much as stepped foot in a post office—”

“I’m keeping you far away from post offices. Those poor people have suffered enough.”

“How so?”

“Well, there must be a reason they go postal, right?”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “If the post office has the same taste in music as the DMV, I don’t blame them. Who picked this station? If it’s not Justin Bieber it’s whoever inflicted ‘Kiss Me Through the Phone’ on the world. I’d like to do something to them through the phone, and it won’t be a kiss, I can tell you that much.”

Xiao Xingchen takes a Snickers bar out of the fanny pack Xue Yang has vainly begged him not to wear. “According to the television commercials, this will improve your mood.”

“My mood?” Xue Yang takes a bite. “If I have to hear ‘Baby’ one more time—”

“Ticket 9753, now being served at window fourteen.”

“ ‘Served.’ Ha. As if.”

Xiao Xingchen feels around for another Snickers bar but comes up empty. He should have planned this better. He’d sensed Xue Yang’s mood coming on last night as Xue Yang went through his documents. He’d been cheerful enough until he found his birth certificate in the bundle of papers he’d been given after leaving his last group home.

Then he’d grown strangely quiet, and wandered aimlessly around their apartment for an hour, carrying his phone around with him and switching between a half-dozen different YouTube videos before deciding to bake brownies at 1am and burning them when he got distracted playing video games. He wasn’t paying much attention to the video game, either, going by his cursing as he got repeatedly blown up by what Xingchen suspects was a twelve-year old somewhere in Japan, and eventually gave that up to go take apart their toaster in the interest of “fixing” it.

Now he sits beside Xingchen, jiggling his leg. Xiao Xingchen wants to ask him about his birth certificate, but he hadn't dared to last night, and doesn’t dare now.

“Ticket 9755, now being served at Window 26.”

“Weren’t you 9754?” he asks Xue Yang.

“Oh, crap—” Xue Yang jumps to his feet and rushes to Window 26, brushing past a mohawked man holding a ticket marked 9755. “I’m 9754.”

The woman behind the glass may as well have been carved from wood. “You missed your number.”

“There was no announcement!”

“Or your number isn’t working. It’s not showing up on my computer.”

“What the hell does that mean? I’m on the screen! Look!” Xue Yang jabs a finger at the screen above the booth. At the bottom of the list it reads Ticket 9754 – Window 26. “9754! Window 26! All you need to do is take my picture—”

“Get back in line. Get a new ticket. Window 13.”

“Get back in line?” He looks over at the line for Window 13. It wraps around the entire room. “I already have a number! I’m on the screen!”

“Back. In. Line.”

“Just take the damn photo—”

Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll get back in line.”

“Like hell we will! I’ve been here since 5 o’clock—I made an appointment! I even brought my own pen! You ever watch Monsters Inc.? You know Roz? Are you her evil older sister? Because you look exactly like—”

“Back of the line.”

“Younger sister, then. Happy?”

The woman doesn’t bother shrugging. “You’re blocking traffic.”

Xingchen begins to move, heading in the wrong direction. Xue Yang has no choice but to follow or else let him walk into a column plastered with posters emblazoned with, Make your visit easy - download the forms at dmv.gov! , Streamline your visit - make an appointment online today!, and We’re here to help!

“Let’s just go home,” says Xue Yang. “The gray, water stained walls are starting to close in. At any second I expect a giant ball to roll towards us. Well, wrong movie—whatever. I’m sick of this place. It’s cursed.”

“We’re just going to have to come back, and you’ll have wasted the hour we already spent here.”

Xue Yang groans and gets in line behind a woman with three small screaming children. “This whole thing is stupid. We can barely afford rent, let alone a car."

"We will, one day. Besides, it's good to have a license."

"We’ll just take trains and buses everywhere, or you can learn to drive. We'll fudge the vision test."

Xingchen laughs. Xue Yang relaxes slightly at the sound. After a moment, Xingchen slips his hand in his. He’s not one for public displays of affection, but there’s an edge in Xue Yang’s voice that has nothing to do with his return to Window 13.

Xue Yang’s hand tightens in his, and Xingchen rubs it reassuringly with his thumb.

“You again?” says the woman at Window 13 when they finally make it there, twenty minutes later.

“That power-mad dictator at Window 26 wouldn’t take my picture.”

The woman tilts her head at Xue Yang. “She wouldn’t?”

Xue Yang tilts his head back at her, as if to say, I know! Who wouldn’t want to photograph me ?

She smiles, a synthetic smile that reminds Xue Yang of his friend Lan Xichen’s dimpled little fiance. “Strange.”

“ ‘Strange’? I knew she could have just done it had she wanted to—”

The woman blinks at him, her smile growing faker by the minute. “I’m sure what she told you was accurate.”

“Sure, and there is no war in Ba-Sing-Se—”

Xiao Xingchen squeezes his hand, and Xue Yang stops talking and passes her his form. She stamps it a second time and hands him another ticket.

He and Xingchen return to the waiting area. Xue Yang puts his boots up on the seat next to him, resting his head on Xingchen’s shoulder.

“Describe the room to me again,” Xingchen says, trying to distract him from his brooding and, with any luck, keep him from taking out his Swiss army knife and carving his initials into the seat and get them kicked out again. Xue Yang has a talent for describing things, and Xingchen has been trying to encourage him to start writing.

Xue Yang begins to play with his long sleek ponytail. “Purgatory’s antechamber. Humanity’s lost-and-found. A void where time has no meaning. Pit of despair and industrial cleaner.”

Xingchen chuckles, making sure it’s loud enough for Xue Yang to hear.

“If their posters were honest, they’d all be in Comic Sans font, with things like, Where hope goes to die; This is your home now; Nothing escapes our pull, not even time; Human sacrifices while you wait—”

“Human sacrifices?”

"Yeah, I think so."

A crackle of static over the speaker as a new song comes on. “You know you love me, I know you care...Just shout whenever and I'll be there….”

Xue Yang starts up violently, but Xiao Xingchen gently pulls him back down beside him. “Some kind of cannibal conspiracy?” he asks, hoping Xue Yang’s knife has remained in his pocket and is not seconds away from being embedded in a blaring loudspeaker.

Xue Yang settles back against his shoulder. “I’m positive Overalls Guy never returned from Window 17. He’s probably in the office barbecue pit.”

“This must go all the way to the top. Shift supervisor too, I’d guess.”

“Baby, baby, baby oh….Like baby, baby, baby no….”

Xue Yang stops playing with his hair and starts picking at his black nail polish. He’s feeling a bit better, Xingchen’s shoulder warm and solid. “I swear that Roz lady put a curse on me. They all probably dance in a circle around a stack of burning Social Security cards every night, chanting.” He squirms, suddenly bored. “You got any more food? I’m starving.”

Xingchen rummages in his fanny pack. “Just a burned brownie.”

“I swear I set a timer!"

The timer had gone off while Xingchen was in the shower last night. Xue Yang had simply ignored it, too absorbed in trying to virtually blow up his twelve-year-old nemesis. He tends to ignore timers while cooking, usually followed by a mad rush to the kitchen to salvage dinner. “You know dinner is ready when the smoke detector goes off,” he likes to say.

Xue Yang sniffs the crumpled foil surrounding the charred black brownie chunk. “Is this the same foil I wrapped your tuna sandwich in yesterday?”

“We only have one earth!”

“Xingchen, I swear—” Xue Yang stops, rolling his eyes fondly. He’s never met anyone who can be so annoying and endearing at the same time.

Xingchen takes the brownie back. “I'll eat it. I like the burned bits.”

"It's all burned bits."

"Exactly. Perfect."

“She knows she's got me dazing, 'cause she was so amazin'....And now my heart is breakin', but I just keep on sayin'....”

“Who wrote this? I swear I won’t hurt them. I just want their address.”

Xingchen knows he shouldn’t laugh at that, but he can’t help it.

They sit there for another half hour, talking. Xue Yang has succeeded in denuding the nails of his left hand when his number is finally called. He gets his photo taken by a man with glazed eyes and no chin, and is shuffled off to the next waiting area.

“They refused to show me my photo,” he says as they settle back down. “I swear the camera stole my soul and is using it to power the fluorescent lights. I feel at peace now. Kind of floating.” He discovers a piece of gum in his jeans pocket and begins to loudly blow bubbles, making full eye contact with the annoyed Bluetooth Guy and irritated Woman With Facial Tattoo Of Bugs Bunny. “I am one with the DMV demigods, part of something larger than myself.”

“Like joining the army.”

“Or drowning in the ocean.” He lays down with his head in Xingchen’s lap, boots on the edge of Bluetooth Guy’s seat. “Why does your fanny pack smell like patchouli? Have you been burning weird hippie incense again? You promised you’d stop after you set fire to your curtains.”

Xingchen would rather Xue Yang didn’t semi-cuddle him in public, but Xue Yang’s energy is calmer when he’s touching Xingchen, and he lets him stay. “It’s that new candle you bought me, remember?”

“Right. Bought you.”

“What do you—”

“I thought it was peppermint.”

Xingchen bites his lip. Xue Yang is…well, he can read well enough to pass a driving test, but his education was…slipshod at best. Next on Xingchen’s list is encouraging Xue Yang to get his GED.

“You smell like a music festival,” says Xue Yang. “I must have grabbed the wrong one in the store. I sniffed all of them. My picture is probably hanging beside the register of every Bath & Body Works in town: ‘Beware the Candle Perv’—”

“At least someone was willing to take your picture.”

Xue Yang laughs. Xingchen rests a hand on his chest, heedless of the people around them. He likes how Xue Yang feels when he laughs, his whole body shaking, making no attempt to hide his feelings. Xue Yang makes him laugh so often, it’s a special joy for him to return the favor.

They’ve been there almost two and a half hours when Xue Yang’s number is finally called. As if the DMV curse is kicking in again, the loudspeakers creep up another few decibels.

“Like baby, baby, baby no, like baby, baby, baby oh, thought you'd always be mine, mine….”

“Xue Yang—” Xingchen starts before Xue Yang can say anything.

“I know, I know. This is penance for my putting that egg in Song Lan’s shoe last week. The DMV knows all. The DMV was here before us, and will be here after we are gone. The DMV—”

“—The DMV will make us wait in line again, if we don’t hurry.”

Together they go to Window 10, where a drab little man sifts through Xue Yang’s documents. “Fifties, balding, completely dead inside,” Xue Yang whispers to Xingchen.

“I’m thirty-nine,” says the man in a monotone, not looking up, “and you’re missing a birth certificate. And what’s this stain on your Social Security card?”

“Definitely not blood.”

The man stares at him with eyes that, had his life force not already been sucked out of Xue Yang by an afternoon at the DMV, would have done the job. “Current passport, or birth certificate.”

Xue Yang hesitates, then slips a folded piece of pink paper under the glass partition.

The man unfolds it with the sterling speed of a drugged snail and spreads it over the counter. He lines up Xue Yang’s Social Security card, bank statement, and birth certificate, and examines them line by line as if he’s a Bletchley Circle analyst and Xue Yang’s documents are intercepted enemy transmissions.

He looks up at Xue Yang. “Is this a valid birth certificate? There are no parent names listed, and the date of birth has an asterisk—”

“I know what it has!”

“What’s your date of birth?” The man slowly pushes his chair back. “I’m going to have to get a supervisor—”

Xue Yang slams the counter. Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. It’s a miracle Xue Yang’s knife isn’t out. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is what they do when—just Google it, okay? I don’t know what day I was born, they just put whatever date they thought was accurate—”

Xingchen swallows hard.

He had known Xue Yang had grown up in foster care, but had assumed he had been given up by his parents as a child when they could no longer take care of him.

Not—not abandoned as an infant—

“And change the fucking station!” Xue Yang adds. “If I have to hear that stupid fucking song one more time I will go fucking berserk —”

The man’s dead-eyed stare intensifies. “Sign here,” he says after a moment, pushing a slip of paper at Xue Yang.

“You want my love, you want my heart….And we will never, ever, ever be apart…”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Xingchen asks as they step outside. The words sound hollow, and he wishes he had simply remained silent.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. It’s almost cool out, a welcome change from the week’s heat. “Well, we escaped. Now we just have to get help for the others. Or do we abandon them to their fates? I vote we abandon them. You should have seen some of the looks I got. It’s like they never saw someone threaten a DMV employee before, something I’m willing to bet happens a dozen times an hour.”

Xingchen takes his arm as he begins to walk. It’s easier than using his stick in the crowded city. “Xue Yang…”

Xue Yang’s muscles tense beneath his arm. “What?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lip. He’ll have Xue Yang feeling better soon enough. “What street are we on? Turn in on 33rd.”

“What’s on 33rd?”

“Just let me know when we’re there. 33rd and 7th.”

“The train’s on 36th.”

“But the restaurant’s on 33rd.”

“The what?”

Xingchen wants to smile, but is afraid Xue Yang might take it the wrong way after what happened at the DMV. For someone who does his best to project an I-don’t-care attitude, Xue Yang is surprisingly sensitive.

“What’s today’s date?” He already knows the date, of course. It’s been on his mind for weeks now.

Xue Yang’s arm grows even stiffer. “Is this a ‘you-don’t-know-when-your-birthday-is-so-every-day-is-your-birthday’ thing? Because—”

“Not at all… Remember the day we met? You made fun of my shirt—”

Xue Yang frowns at this sudden change of subject, but goes along with it. Better than talking about that damn birth certificate. “It was white, and ruffled. You looked like an escapee from a high school production of Hamlet. What was I supposed to do?”

“You crashed a motorcycle not three feet from me. An unregistered motorcycle with stolen plates.”

"I bought you coffee to make up for it, didn’t I?”

“You had them put four sugars in my cappuccino. It was undrinkable.”

“One was a Splenda, and anyway I took you to dinner to make up for the coffee, didn’t I?”

“Pizza at one of those dollar-a-slice places you have to stand at a counter to eat. I paid for it.”

“And I paid for your kombucha, whatever the heck that is.”

“And I paid for the band-aids we had to go buy after you cut yourself after playing catch with your knife.”

“You were distracting me!”

“I was quietly eating my pizza.”

“The light reflecting off your shirt ruffles got in my eyes.”

“Four dollars for the band-aids. You insisted on Hello Kitty.”

“Spongebob was also on the table." He wrinkles his nose. "I've got about three-fifty in my pocket, if you want it. But what’s your point, exactly?'

Xingchen smiles. He enjoys winding up Xue Yang, and it’s by far the most effective way to distract him when he’s in a dark mood. “Just that you better not put extra sugar in the fondue.”

“The what?”

“A-Qing read me the dessert menu. Chocolate fondue with bananas, blueberries, pineapple, and cherries. Strawberries, too, I think, and marshmallows, maybe even non-charred brownies—”

Xue Yang stops walking. “Xingchen—”

Xingchen lets go of Xue Yang’s arm, takes his hand instead. Kisses him soundly, right there on Sixth Avenue.

“Forget your birthday," he says. "We have a new date to celebrate every year." He gives Xue Yang's hand a little squeeze and kisses him again. “Happy anniversary, Xue Yang.”

*

Liked it? AO3 👉👈

Ruffle shirt reference

Obviously, Xue Yang was simply distracted by how pretty Xingchen was.

[obae-me]

hmm mc singing Barbie girl (you know I never noticed when younger but its quite sexual lol) and their reaction? if you're not up for all maybe luci, Satan and belphie?? 👀

Word Count: 2635

Author’s Note: I never noticed how suggestive it was when I was younger either, and even now just reading through the lyrics I connected a few dots I hadn’t before. I’m sorry this took so long, and I hope it’s enjoyable to read! Thank you for your request, Anon! 

Lucifer

He had come to check on MC to see how their studies were doing. He respected that they insisted on doing their schoolwork on their own, but he still felt the need to check up on them, just in case. Too often did he find people slacking off.

He was just about to knock on their door when he heard MC’s voice reach his ears through the frame. “Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please, I can act like a Star, I can beg on my knees.”

It was a song he had never heard before, which wasn’t too surprising. He didn’t bother with anything...distasteful. He was a very picky listener. He gave himself a few moments to comprehend the lyrics. It sounded almost like a song Asmo would listen to.

He was taken aback, to be honest. The music itself was absolutely annoying, like some kind of glittery audio, but the lyrics coming out of MC’s mouth stirred something in him. He was a demon for sure, and he was no stranger to the more risque aspects of sin, but to hear such things coming out of their mouth drove him up the wall in more ways than one.

He opened the door without knocking, entering like a shadow. MC didn’t even have a pencil in their hand, dancing in their seat, their schoolwork the furthest thing from their mind.

“You can touch, you can play, if you say I’m always yours-”

MC felt a looming shadow behind them, their voice faltering as their heart fluttered. Lucifer’s hand reached around them, touching their D.D.D. to turn off the infernal melody with the taunting lyrics. MC looked up at him, the frame of his body blocking out the light in their room. He glared at them with red glinted eyes, a smirk tugging at the taut corners of his lips.

“That can easily be arranged.”

A dark shade of red covered MC’s cheeks as Lucifer shut their school book,his gloved hand tracing the spine of the book before doing the same thing to MC’s chin. They didn’t seem to be getting much studying done anyway, so further delaying them would do them no harm, besides, then he would have an excuse to be their strict tutor.

Lucifer is going to want to carry out those lyrics as punishment for MC saying such bold and tempting words in his presence.

Mammon

He had finally managed to get MC in his room to hang out, just the two of them. He had felt that his brothers were spending way too much time with them, and it was his turn to have his human. Lucifer had prevented both of them from going out since it was far too late and all of them had to get up far too early the next day.

To get around this conundrum, Mammon had a bottle of wine and demonus already chilled in his room. He’ll do his best to brush past the fact that he had stolen both of them from his older brother.

It didn’t take too long for both him and MC to get drunk, partying it up in his room much to his siblings annoyance. MC was pumping a bunch of human world music from his loudspeakers, and Mammon was secretly loving it. When Barbie Girl came on, he’ll admit he found it strange at first, his face burning as MC sang the lyrics to the song.

“Life in plastic, it’s fantastic, you can brush my hair, undress me anywhere.”

MC would look at him, glancing his body up and down to the words, almost like they were teasing him. His first reaction was to tell MC that they couldn’t just sing stuff like that. Someone would take it wrong, someone would...he didn’t want anyone else to hear those words but himself.

MC would convince him to sing the other part, begging and pleading with him. He eventually agreed, but only this once, and only because MC was the one who asked.

He’ll get surprisingly into it, and they’ll sing it again and again on repeat so much, they both would be capable of singing it in their sleep. MC would laugh anytime Mammon would purposefully lower his voice to a comical degree.

MC was almost torturing him, singing “If you say, I’m always yours”, dancing with their body moving way too close to his, their eyes painted with a sultry glow. He could only take it for so long before he turned the music off, causing MC to frown. Then he got in real close.

“Yes, you are mine.”

Levi

He had invited MC to a karaoke night, one of the few activities he’d do outside his room. It showed up in anime so often, and he would be able to sing his favorite songs as loud as he wanted without fear of bothering anyone. It was just him and MC, he didn’t want to risk the possibility that his brothers would ruin this already rare opportunity.

He sang some sort of anime opening, and he went hard, hitting notes that MC didn’t even know he could reach. It was beautiful. Levi thought nothing would be able to make this moment any better. Then MC retaliated with Barbie girl, and as soon as the first few lyrics left their lips, Levi went completely still. He was frozen, his concentration buffering.

“I’m a blonde bimbo girl in a fantasy world, dress me up, make it tight, I’m your dolly.”

They were purposefully teasing him, but he couldn’t do anything about it. MC had him completely red, his hands up to cover as much of his embarrassing face as he could. With his eyes still free to watch MC, of course. Sure he had probably heard and seen worse in anime, but he never said anything like that aloud, he had never...heard that aloud...by another person.

MC directed it all towards him, bouncing up and down on their feet as they sang, giving him flirtatious winks. If this were an anime, not only would he have had a severe nosebleed, but his soul might’ve just floated out from his body. Unfortunately for him, this wasn’t an anime. He was still frozen to his seat.

“You can touch, you can play.”

MC came on over to him and sat next to him, getting real close to him, tugging at the collar around his neck, playing with the stray hairs at the bottom of his head. He got so freaked out, he slipped out of his own seat and onto the floor, accidentally dragging MC along with him. MC almost couldn’t continue singing due to how much they wanted to laugh.

“If you say, I’m always yours.”

Right now it seemed as if MC had him as theirs instead of the other way around, with them on top of him on the floor, Levi feeling like he was literally melting. He wasn’t a huge fan of anything without some sort of connection to anime or video games, but he’d give this song a pass this one time.

Satan

While he can be a fan of some music, he typically likes silence, it makes things easier to read. But when MC asked if they could listen to some of their music while they studied together, he let them. He was curious about their tastes if anything. He took it as an opportunity to learn more about them, but he didn’t know that they were planning on testing his patience.

Their songs came up randomly, each one of them obnoxious noises. Satan knew immediately that the only reasoning to them was to see which one annoyed him most. MC tried hard to hide the smile on their face, but Satan’s expression left them highly amused.

He had just about had enough, ready to blow a fuse along with MC’s D.D.D. Then Barbie Girl came on. The breathy squeaky noises felt like they had taken a few centuries off his lifespan, but then MC started singing to it.

“You can brush my hair, undress me anywhere.”

He pressed his hand to his chest. This kind of song, these words, this behavior...was completely inappropriate. It’s what he wanted to say anyway, but anytime MC sang something else, he found himself speechless.

“Imagination, life is your creation.”

He ended up having to turn his head away from them, closing his eyes and doing his best to tune them out long enough to get his focus back, to get his logic back. He was ignoring the growing heat in his face.

He didn’t move until the song was done, and then he hastily took MC’s device from them, turning the music off and then insisting that they get stuff done. MC whined a little bit but obliged, having been mostly satisfied by his behavior.

The only thing was, now Satan was lost in his own mind and thoughts, unable to even comprehend what he was reading. MC would ask him a question, and he would find it difficult to even try to come up with a solid answer. He could only look into MC’s eyes and angrily shut all his books.

There would be no more studying tonight.

Asmo

Human world music or not, he knows this one by heart, and he loves it. It’s so playful and sexual, it’s exactly his thing. So, it was actually Asmo who had the song playing in the first place, much to MC’s surprise.

He had MC over for one of their self-care nights. He would do their nails, their hair, make sure their skin was nice and moisturized, and maybe they’d let him give them a deep massage. He had some of his music playing to set the mood. Some of his hype songs. When Barbie Girl came on, MC snapped their head up in surprise.

“You know this song?”

Asmo almost had to put down his polish, exasperated at the question. “Do I know this song?? Honey, I adore this song.”

He was the one who started singing, making his body sway and move as he gave MC flirtatious glances. MC shrugged, figuring the song was too catchy to not join in with. Asmo had never been so excited, he wanted to shout, maybe post it on Devilgram.

“Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky.”

He’s heard people talk dirty before, trust him, he’s just never heard MC talk like that before. Even if they were just singing goofy lyrics of a song, he had always wondered what it would be like for them to say such things. Only now, now that Asmo had finally had a little taste of what he wanted, he couldn’t handle it.

He had been doing his nails, but now his entire finger had nail polish over it. The air in his lungs was suddenly absent. He felt like breaking the bottle in his hands, so he quickly put it down.

“You can touch, you can play, if you say-”

MC had been interrupted by Asmo almost body slamming them against his bed. They stammered and sputtered for words as Asmo whined and almost cried for them to stop giving him false excitement, he wouldn’t be able to take it.

MC, maybe slightly influenced by the song, the mood the demon of Lust had set, and maybe some alcohol, told Asmo that maybe they wouldn’t mind if it were him.

Screw his nails, he had more important things to do right now.

Beel

MC swore the only reason why Beel even knew what flirting meant was because he had Asmo for a brother. He didn’t really take any steps himself to be promiscuous, and if he ended up doing something...spicy, he didn’t really mean to.

So when he came into the kitchen to check on MC while they were on cooking duty, he wasn’t sure how to feel. At first, he was just so happy to hear MC sing, if they were happy, it meant the food they were making would taste ten times better. Somehow he knew how someone was feeling based on the food they made.

Then his second reaction was towards the actual words they were singing. It made his stomach feel kind of full, even though he hadn’t eaten anything for a few minutes. MC was looking pretty tasty...

Then he shook his head to himself, shooing away those kinds of thoughts. It was just a song, nothing to get so worked up over for. He wasn’t like Asmo. Or his other brothers apparently.

MC will admit they were a bit disappointed when Beel started rummaging through the kitchen for a few pre-dinner snacks, ignoring the song. They expected a bit more of a response. MC loved trying to get a jolt out of the demon brothers, but Beel was Beel.

The demon of gluttony just kept them company while they cooked, none of the lyrics setting him off. He just happily munched on some crackers. Beel told MC they had a lovely voice, and while he wasn’t a huge fan of the song, he respected their taste in music.

He was almost too pure sometimes.

Belphie

He had been asleep for much too long, and in such a deep sleep, nothing seemed to be able to wake him up. Each of the brothers had tried and subsequently failed. They had given up on him, even Beel who went off in some search for food after his attempts left him starved. Only MC remained, and they tried the first thing that came to their mind.

For some reason their idea had been playing Barbie Girl and singing it to him in the most ridiculous way possible. They turned the song up on their D.D.D. at full volume and started dancing and singing on his bed while he remained fast asleep.

“Come on Barbie, let’s go party, ah ah ah yeah.”

With each little ‘ah’ and ‘oo’ that came out of their mouth, they poked Belphie’s body. Still nothing. If MC wasn’t able to see his chest moving and the air from his nose pushing the hair covering his face, they would’ve been convinced he was dead.

Except the fact was, he was awake, wide awake in fact, he was just pretending to be asleep. MC’s voice had both the power to snap him awake or lull him to sleep. Right now he was doing his best to stay still as they continued.

Yes, he kinda wanted to kill them for waking him up. Yes, the song was driving him absolutely crazy in the worst way. But also, MC kept touching him and saying things he had never heard them say before. The breath against his pillow was getting warmer, his nerves feeling jittery.

When they finished, MC was a bit disappointed to find Belphie still ‘asleep’, their plan had failed. They turned the music off and missed Belphie’s immense sigh of relief. They went to move off his bed, but he snapped to attention to grab their ankles. In a blur of movement, Belphie had them pinned down on his bed.

He had planned on just falling back asleep on top of them, but their expression...now he was awake, restless, and left with only one way he would be satisfied enough to sleep.

Bonus: Each and every one of the demon brothers has had this infernal song stuck in their head for literal days. A few of them don’t quite mind, and for the rest of them, they wonder if they’ve been subjected to some sort of torture. Lucifer has banned the song for eternity, and each of his siblings, with himself included, has some sort of demand for MC to fulfill as payment.

[jeongi]

caught me. | jjk (m)

(edit done by my love, @httpjeon)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 13.5k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | roommate au. slight e2l au. smut. porn with very little plot.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. mentions of vaping. mutual masturbation, sex toy usage, oral sex (f + m receiving), gagging, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, some wall fucking, riding, unprotected sex (you know the drill, wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, jungkook has tattoos, long wavy hair and a giant schlong.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you hate your temporary roommate, jungkook and it doesn’t help that he’s been catching you at the most inconvenient of times.

“Seokjin, how could you do this to me?” You whine from the kitchen island, reflexively stabbing at the bowl of cereal in front of you. You can’t believe your roommate is just now telling you, a day before he leaves for vacation, that his “friend” will be temporarily moving in while he’s away. Of course, Seokjin pays no mind to your tantrum. Instead, he continues packing the last of his luggage in the living space, across the room. Simply rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh in response, he’s far more acquainted with your antics than he’d like to be. He could almost call you the younger sibling he most certainly never wanted, a nuisance wrapped in feigned misery. The arrangement between the two of you seemed nothing more than the result of a last-ditch Craigslist roommate search.

He should have known the consequences, he supposes.

Another sigh escapes his lips as he turns his attention away from the luggage. “_____, I’m only leaving for three months.”

You wail again, this time, your arms stretching across the cool, granite counter to push the bowl away from yourself. You’ve wholly lost your appetite, ready to wreak havoc as you slide off the stool you’re sat on and stomp your way over to him.

“I don’t care about you leaving me!” Seokjin scoffs at this statement, returning his focus to the open suitcase laid on the floor in front of him. “I care about you stuffing me in this apartment with a complete stranger while you’re gone.” What was the fucker’s name again? Jon Q, John Cook? You’re furious, but of course, Seokjin fails to take notice of this. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone and scrolls through his extensive list of items to pack. He’s only gotten through half of it.

Your words don’t seem to have much of an impact on him, fueling your fury. “What if he tries to murder me? Or even worse, what if I end up murdering him? You won’t even be here to help me hide the body— this is a travesty!” This is followed with another signature sigh, all drama, your wrist shooting up to your forehead as you dab at invisible sweat.

You briefly think you might actually hate Seokjin.

He pauses, dropping his phone into the open luggage before craning his head towards you. Blinking, purely baffled by the lunacy he has to constantly put up with, he internally gives his utmost gratitude to the heavens that his work has sent him on this European trip tomorrow. Three clean months of the peaceful canals of Venice, the Colosseum in Rome, the Eiffel Tower in Paris and most importantly, three lovely quiet months away from you. Suddenly, three months no longer seems an eternity to him. How could it? He assesses you top to bottom, seeing nothing more than a rabid young woman scorned, hands placed sternly on her hips, expectant of a reply.

No sir, three months is not long enough at all.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut as he speaks through gritted teeth. “You are the most melodramatic person I know— you think you can afford to pay my rent for the next three months?” This shuts you up momentarily.

For a moment, you’re disarmed. You can’t argue that he’s right, and you hate admitting it’s the only reason for your new (temporary) roommate.

Releasing his nose, he looks at you, warming a little. “Look, he asked to stay here -temporarily- until he finds his own place. He’s my best friend; wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

That final bit had the effect he wanted it to, and boy, did it sting. Of course, you’d do the same for your best friend. The only trouble is that you know very little information about this John Cook character, only getting brief details about him moving into the big city for the first time and Seokjin “graciously” providing him a rental until he can find something more permanent. It isn’t a fault on Seokjin’s half. You just don’t know the poor bastard.

Beyond that, you know this guy is a Taekwondoin, moving here to join one of the most prestigious Taekwondo academies in the country. Your blood runs cold in a sudden rush, a certain grim realization dawning on you that you’d absolutely be no match for him if he did try to kill you. Perhaps Seokjin has told you so late because he too wants you dead. You really shouldn’t have met him through Craiglist.

You consider leaving a lengthy, final Tumblr post in remembrance of your inevitable end, hoping one of your 12 followers would come forth and save you from a gruesome slashing. At best, someone saves your life. At worst, you’ve written your own eulogy.

Huffing a breath of frustration, something akin to a groan escapes you as you march back to the kitchen island for your now soggy bowl of cereal. It only fuels your now quiet rage further, but pettiness takes over, mentally muting Seokjin’s yelling profanities after watching you dispose of one of his favourite glass bowls. It’s the least you can do as revenge.

As it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is a nearly six feet tall mural of muscle and inked skin that rarely stays home. His dark wavy hair falls gracefully past his large doe eyes, and his plethora of tattoos litter the tight expanse of his neck and arms. Notably, the blossom of two red roses painted over the porcelain of his neck.

Though verbally a silent roommate, you find he vapes far too much and equally plays far too much Fortnite at odd hours of the night. He only comes out of his room to either make himself food or to leave the apartment, and a couple of times you could have almost sworn he might’ve been doing his laundry. He’s a feast to lay eyes on, that much is irrefutable but he leaves at least one utensil unwashed after eating, irritating you to an unprecedented degree.

Jungkook also enjoys eating ramen at two in the morning- you know this because it wakes you up almost every time you hear the microwave blare its oppressive siren. He also figures he must shower each time he returns home from being out, suitably fattening your poor water bill. You’ve only briefly spoken to him a handful of times, mostly about house rules and a tour of the facilities.

It’s only been two weeks since he’s arrived, yet you already seem to despise him- sending Seokjin angry messages from across the globe about this, all of which have been ignored. You’ve been too busy lately anyway, rarely seeing Jungkook who seems to be out for most of the day.

However, it’s today that you finally catch him when you’re just coming home from work. He sits at the kitchen island, flipping through a comic while he loudly chomps on an open bag of shrimp chips, pausing to look at you as you make your way inside.

You’re on speakerphone with your friend Nari, both of your arms too occupied and laden with groceries to normally hold the phone to your ear. Upon seeing this, Jungkook gets up from his seat and immediately rushes to lend a hand. He’s completely shirtless, his loose dark sweatpants hugging the low subtle curve of his hips, and it’s only then that you notice the mosaic of more tattoos scattered across his skin beyond his full sleeves and the two red roses on his neck. He has much more than you had initially seen, a large black and white snake running over his pelvic bone. It draws your eyes forward, let’s it linger over to his bare abdomen, untouched with ink and defined with muscle. You can see it evidently, the indents carved into him as if he’s been sculpted from the finest of limestone.

You catch yourself from staring, thanking him with a silent bow of your head as he turns away from you, all the bags of groceries now racked effortlessly down his taut arms. Your momentary and involuntary ogling is cut short by Nari’s voice booming through the loudspeaker of your phone.

“God, you really need to get laid soon- I’m tired of you being so grumpy.” You freeze, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I already deal with one grump on a daily, I don’t need to add another to my inventory.”

Fuck. “Yeah, well, working on it!” You titter nervously into the microphone. It’s all in vain, for Nari is relentless in her pursuits.

“Didn’t you say your new roommate was hot? Just fuck him, that’d be pretty convenient. It’s like, like...dick-on-demand!” She laughs, guffawing into the mic as though it’s the most hilarious thing she has ever said. You stand there, eyes wide and mortified as the cackle from the other end of the line sounds more villainous than genuine humour. Her words linger still in the air, and a very deep desire to Crtl+Z yourself from life’s current existence fills your petrified body.

You know Jungkook has heard the words because he pauses in his step very briefly, faint stutters in his movement as his back stays turned towards you. Before you catch the slightest motion of his head about to look over his shoulder, you’re whipping around and fumbling for your phone. With the greatest deft you can muster, your thumbs desperately try smashing the giant red ‘end call’ button.

To no avail, the phone screen freezes, Nari’s cackling report still filing through.

You think this feels like a nightmare. In fact, you’re certain you’ve had a nightmare precisely like this before. Except this is real, very much real and you’re humiliated. cheeks surely flushed crimson as you tut in annoyance at your malfunctioning product of capitalism.

Jungkook simply clears his throat and continues moving towards the kitchen once again, acting as if nothing has happened. Under any other circumstances, you would almost be offended, but given the current nature of what has just transpired, you both let the feeling pass. “Anyway,” Nari continues and you wish she’d shut up. “I gotta go, Yoongi just got Minecraft and I’m going to give him the best head of his life,” she groans into the mic in satisfaction. “I love you, bye!” She cuts the mic, completely and blissfully unaware of the impending Armageddon she’s inadvertently spawned. You’re stood there in horrified silence, counting to five in your head before you’re very anxiously swivelling around.

You open your mouth to say something, but words fail you. What could you even say?

Jungkook cuts in. “I’ll uh, put these away. Don’t worry about it.” He beams you a rather charming grin, completely devoid of any awkward tension that filled the air moments ago. Somehow, this surprises you far more than if he had acknowledged it.

You thank him with haste, your feet acting much quicker than your head as you swiftly cut across the kitchen towards the hallway where your bedroom stands. Avoiding eye contact at all costs, your face is surely now painted just as red as Jungkook’s bag of shrimp chips on the counter.

Perhaps it’s to ease yourself more than anything that you decide to get angry over this situation. You’re not angry at Nari, no, you’re angry at Jungkook. Who was he to waltz into your apartment and have you monitor your phone calls? And be shirtless nonetheless? Had he no manners? Why should you have to tiptoe around him? You think if this were Seokjin, he wouldn’t nearly make everything so uncomfortable for you in your own place of living. Seokjin would also wash all his dishes and sleep at a reasonable time. This thought only fuels you more.

The words slip out of you before you can even comprehend stopping. “For Christ’s sake wear a shirt while I’m home, I don’t need to see you prancing half naked around the apartment. This isn’t Magic Mike, it’s home- my home.” You bark, halting Jungkook in his movements as he goes to place a new carton of milk into the fridge. He turns to look at you, the dangle of his silver earrings glinting against the light and you almost grimace at how attractive he looks in this moment.

Before he can respond, you’re pivoting away from him and walking towards your bedroom.

You slam your door with a thud and let out a strangled groan. Perhaps it was too harsh, the anger is now replaced with further distress. You toss yourself onto your mattress, stuffing your face into the nearest pillow and restraining yourself with every ounce of self-control you have from screaming your lungs out into it.

You hadn’t even called Jungkook hot, you had mentioned that he was conventionally attractive- which wasn’t a lie in the slightest. You’re half tempted to call her back and scold her good for the humiliation she’s so blissfully unaware of causing, but as you pick up your phone, a text flashes across your screen with a name you’re all too familiar with. And all too soon, your agitation grinds to a halt, dissipates and metamorphosizes into a goofy, toothy grin.

Taehyung - [1 New Text Message]

Kim Taehyung works just across the room from you on the seventh floor of the accounting firm. He has rich blonde hair and plump pink lips that he constantly wets with a dab of his tongue. You swear he’s been purposely winding you up recently, the brushes against your skin too frequent, the lingering stares too prolonged and the husk in his voice too low when he speaks to you. You’ve had a crush on Taehyung since you’ve started working at the firm, two years ago. Of course, he’s completely unaware of this.

5:44pm [Taehyung]: Hey, can I ask you for a favour?

The squeal you let out is unbearable, even to you. You feel the reminiscence of being back in middle school when your sixth-grade crush, Park Jimin had asked you to the Halloween dance. Of course, that night had ended terribly for you, catching Jimin and your rival, Sooya slow dancing while you went to get unnaturally lukewarm fruit punch from the snack bar. But much like right now, you remember the butterflies fluttering through your entire body the night before the dance.

Feeling the crimson warmth return to your cheeks, you clutch your phone to your chest while a coy smile stretches across your lips. You practice your well-rehearsed, five-minute wait before texting Taehyung back, typing and retyping your response until you’re satisfied with a legible reply. Pursing your lips, you go back and forth between adding a smiley face or not, ultimately choosing to go with one just to further the delusions in your head that adding one will somehow make him fall madly in love with you.

5:50pm [You]: of course you can! :)

You gasp when your phone vibrates within seconds, a giddy coo leaving you as his name flashes once more across your screen. You slap a hand over your mouth when you hear the footsteps of Jungkook pass by your door, your eyes darting towards the shadow of his feet seen just underneath the crack of your door. His room- rather Seokjin’s room- is right next door to yours, another unfortunate occurrence in your miserable life.

5:50pm [Taehyung]: Could you possibly drop me off at the airport tomorrow morning? I’ll treat you to breakfast on the way!!

Your grin grows tenfold, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in its hold as you glide your fingers over the keyboard with an answer.

5:52pm [You]: it’d be my pleasure!!

It seems as if everyone but you and Jungkook were going away on vacation from this hell city. Perhaps you may be in need of one too.  

You drop Taehyung off at the airport at five in the morning. You think it should be illegal for anyone to wake up at such an hour. You hadn’t had much time to sleep, Jungkook’s nightly ramen snacking occurring at exactly two in the morning, just two hours before you were supposed to be awoken by the chirps of your alarm. As if the morning couldn’t have gotten any worse, you had learned Taehyung was travelling abroad to meet his very long-term and long-distance girlfriend for the first time. Your luck seems to have worsened as you’ve aged. All the signs you thought you’d seen of him visibly showing his interest in you had all been in your head.

By the time you reach home, it’s six, the sun barely peeking through the hillside view from your apartment and your eyes are droopy, heavy with sleep. A yawn escapes you as you place your keys on the kitchen counter before you kick off your shoes and shuffle towards the living room in a slump. You plop onto the couch, releasing a long exhale as you lift your feet up to lay more comfortably.

Briefly, you think you should stay up and get your day started, as you reckon most people who have their shit together would do as such. Unfortunately for your itinerary, you’re not most people and you’re certainly not someone who has their shit together. You’re _____ and you’re now dreaming, dreaming of a single Kim Taehyung.

His mouth is on yours, golden locks under the tight grip of your fingers and his cock is steadily rocking into you, fingers digging into your sides. He has you seated on the bathroom counter, your legs circled around his waist as his sharp thrusts elicit the neediest of cries from you.

“Taehyung!” You’re moaning, eyes rolled so far back into your skull, you feel the pull of your optic nerve. Loosening your grip on Taehyung’s hair, he moves away from your mouth and rests his forehead in the crook of your neck. Every curve of his dick plunges in calculated fashion into your cunt, egging you closer to your undoing.

Another sharp thrust has your entire body shuddering, a lapse of jitters filling you as your orgasm rumbles through you. When Taehyung lifts his head from the crook of your neck, you gasp. For when you look at his face, it’s no longer Taehyung, it’s now Jungkook.

He offers a lopsided smirk, an indent of his dimple forming around the right side of his mouth while a finger trails down your cheek.

“Wake up,” the apparition whispers.

You gasp awake, spine shooting upright as you heave heavy breaths. Skimming your hands over your face, you let out a frustrated groan, bewilderment and daze hitting you as you land right back to reality.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You hear a low voice and you immediately shriek, arms hugging yourself in a mock attempt to hide yourself even if you are fully clothed at the moment. You look over, glancing at the tall, frozen figure stood in the kitchen. His doe eyes are wide, startled by your reaction, dark hair wavy and long, clinging around the edge of his pale face and you can see the faintest trace of the red ink on his neck underneath the loose collar of his black hoodie. He’s got a knife in one hand and a half-cut tomato laid on a cutting board in front of him. “I-I was going to wake you up for lunch but…” His face has suddenly flushed to a shade of rose, tongue swiftly dabbing at his bottom lip. He clears his throat and hesitates before looking away. “Y-you seemed engrossed in your sleep, I didn’t want to wake you up.” What was that supposed to mean?

When you look behind him, the pot on the stove is steaming and it’s then that you catch the aroma of sauteed onions and oregano. Naturally, your mouth instantly waters, eyes glancing over to the digital clock that displays itself on the stove. It reads as five minutes past noon and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before you’re blinking towards the time again. Had you really passed out for a solid six hours? How long had Jungkook been here? “You...don’t have work today?” You swallow, slowly raising up your feet.

Jungkook merely chuckles and shakes his head no. The silver of his dangling earrings swings with this motion. “I’m not working yet, I’m a student at Master Seong’s.” You had almost forgotten about the Taekwondo Academy, it’s the exact reason he’s now standing here in your kitchen cutting tomatoes. “Hopefully, I’ll be the one teaching by next year.” As he speaks, you notice he has a perfect set of pearly whites but then you think of course he does- anything that would make Jeon Jungkook less perfect at this point would be a micropenis. For whatever reason, that makes your blood boil but as much as you’re in disdain, the thought instantly brings attention to a sweltering puddle between your legs.

Your head shoots down, feet shifting uncomfortably as you feel a slick cling against your panties and it’s then that every aspect of your sex dream hits you in a movie montage. You had fully and wholeheartedly dreamt of Jungkook fucking you.

You gasp, unwillingly, feet losing balance before you catch yourself against the counter. Jungkook pauses and looks at you, a tentative eyebrow cocking in your direction in question.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, more curious than considerate. His voice seems to ebb and flow with the sultry ease that only he could— my god, maybe you do need to get laid.

You use your elbows to push yourself off the counter before you’re walking over to the stove, body brushing against Jungkook’s back as you reach for the vent switch.

“Next time you cook something, turn on the exhaust fan or else it’ll get smokey in here.” You say, voice stoic like ice in this smothering heat, ignoring the blatant arousal seeping out of your cunt. You brush past him once more to make way towards the hallway.

Jungkook sighs in defeat, watching as your figure disappears into your bedroom.

The moth outside your window bats against the patio light with a fierce determination that boggles your mind. You wonder what might be going through the moth’s head: does it ponder this alien, man-made warmth it now feverishly flutters around? Does it understand it in the slightest? Why else would such a simple creature be breaking the peace of a sticky midsummer’s eve?

You glance at the clock on your dresser. It’s now half past midnight, and you’re dying in this stupid heat. Perhaps it didn’t help that you had a six-hour nap, impressed by your ability to do so in broad daylight. And you can’t get it out of your head, the dream. It’s kept you horny all day- in need of relief. You think about the last time you’ve had sex, a one night stand with a tall, polite gentleman named Namjoon. It was quite possibly the best sex you’ve ever had, a shame you never caught his number.

With a less than pathetic groan of protest, you put your head between the pillow and the mattress, savouring the seconds of coolness that surround your head in a desperate bid to lower the temperature however you can. Something’s got to be better than stringing sex and a fucking invertebrate into the same train of thought this late at night.

Raising your head up from the pillow, you weigh your options. You’re not about to drink yourself to sleep, and your secret supply of ZzzQuil has run dry. Fortunately, you have a solution.

It’s nights like tonight that you can’t hold yourself back, orgasms helped you sleep better anyway. Your vibrator mocks you, blinking as it charges for the first time in weeks. You hear Jungkook shuffle on the other side of the room, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as you quietly reach your bedside table for a pair of headphones. You grasp at odds and ends until your fingers find purchase, and with a small sense of victory, you pull a very tangled mess of headphones from the drawer. You hear a cough on the other side and pause, gulping as if you’re fourteen all over again and just discovered the fruits of pleasuring yourself for the first time.

The vibrator’s LED light switches to a solid green, indicating its readiness to abuse your very untouched clit. You flush at the thought, yet eager as the familiar moisture pools in between your legs. You’re suddenly all too ready, all too demanding of the touch of a toy that you haven’t felt in too long. Why had you been putting this off for so long?

Unplugging it from the outlet next to your bed, you slip off your shorts and lay comfortably back onto your mattress. Another blush creeps onto your cheeks, your thumb unlocking your phone and opening the Chrome app. Making sure to switch to a private browser, you hesitantly type it in.

‘Pornhub’

The link loads embarrassingly quickly and you flush further, a mix of both the heat and your self chagrin marking the apples of your cheeks. You don’t even know what to look for, the home page overwhelming you with a variety of sinful thumbnails, begging to be clicked on. It almost makes you grimace in distaste, suddenly too aware of your surroundings and the situation at hand. You decide against pornography, gripping onto your imagination as you toss your phone aside and clear your throat, settling back onto the mattress with your eyes closed.

You’ll think about Namjoon. His broad hands, slender fingers and that deliciously thick cock. His moans, his honey skin and the way he was able to make you come twice that night.

Spreading your legs apart, you fixate the vibrator against your heat, gasping at the cool tip of the silicone already sensitive against your clit. You’re already soaked, the head gliding over your clit with slick.

It feels wrong when you turn the device on, the low buzz of vibrations filling the air. Brows knitted together, you picture Namjoon again. Trying to imagine the stroke of his tongue against your folds as the buzz of your vibrator rings through you, you gasp at the overwhelming sensation. Why didn’t you do this more often? You try to stay quiet, breathing growing laboured as the image of Namjoon between your legs morphs into something else. Rather, it morphs into someone else.

You see it in your head, your fingers threading through dark curls, legs pinned apart by two ink-sleeved arms. When you look down, you’re met by the intense gaze of brown doe eyes, his brows furrowed as his tongue flicks relentlessly against you. It’s almost as he’s smirking at you, the slightest quirk in his eyebrow implying that he knows he’d fucking you well with only his tongue. The image makes you shudder, shaking your head as you kick this sick fantasy out of your mind. Were you out of your mind?

On the other side of the room, Jungkook’s ears perk up to the sound of this low buzz. He hadn’t realized you were still awake. But as the buzzing intensifies, and a rhythmic deep breathing follows, it soon grows impossible to ignore. He has to be certain. Cautiously removing one earphone, he almost leans into the noise, cocking his head to the side.

No, that’s definitely you, alright.

You gasp as you apply more pressure to your clit, eyes rolling back from the waves of vibrations surging through your entire body. You can’t get it out of your head, imagining Jungkook’s taut arms holding you down, his tongue unforgiving against you. The moan that escapes you is wholly on accident, a hand slapping against your mouth in an attempt to silence yourself further.

Jungkook sits at his desk, dumbfounded. Were you really doing what he thought you were? Surely not. It’s then that hears the moan. It penetrates the thin wall that separates the two of you and stirs a familiar twitch in his boxers. He feels it press against the fabric, stretching with every heartbeat that knocks against his ribcage. His breathing begins to deepen, only letting his imagination wander as to what you were doing in this moment, merely a few feet away.

No, he thinks. Absolutely not. Behave yourself.

You’re…well, you’re moaning.

Fuck this, Jungkook’s inner dialogue protests. If you’re not going to play fair, then neither is he. He rises from his desk, tripping slightly over his office chair, clattering the plastic wheels against the hardwood floor. The sound reverberates through what feels like the entire house, and the silence is broken by the impact, which by all accounts seems far too noisy for its own good.

Jungkook freezes, terrified. The buzzing ceases just as suddenly, and the air is replaced with an undesirable discomfort.

Inside your room, your left hand tightens over your mouth the other switches off the vibrator. The kerfuffle seemed to have occurred frighteningly close, prompting a sudden cease to desist all sinful pleasures. The anxieties come in waves, one after another. Did he hear you? Oh God, how long was he listening? Was that even him?

A painful eternity passes. The silence fills the house once more, the crickets outside resuming their nightly song.

Jungkook half expects you to barge into his room, fuming at him for being a pervert and listening in but your feared assault never comes. If anything, his cock only seems to grow harder, the thought of you pleasuring yourself just on the other side of the wall so alluring, he begins to palm himself over his boxers.

You, on the other hand, upon the silence, convince yourself that he hadn’t heard after all. Surely, it was something else, Jungkook had probably already gone to bed.

Jungkook. Your lips form the shape of his name but no sound comes out, only a heavy exhale. This is wrong, beyond inappropriate and downright vulgar. It’s the dimples, you try to argue with yourself. Or those eyes, a deep coffee brown that take away from his masculine frame. It almost brings a childlike charm, distracts you from the surfeit of tattoos that mark his muscular build.

With impatience, you start the vibrator again, placing the device over your clit once more. You’re soaked beyond control, your own fingers itching to be stuffed inside yourself. Thumb hitting the setting button, the buzz of vibrations grow an octave higher as the intensity of the second setting rolls over your bead with a blast of euphoric pleasure. It’s almost too much, legs clamping shut as the judder of silicone repeatedly assaults your clit. Your panting growing quicker, inching you to tip over the edge. Oh, how you yearned to be filled with a cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, giving into the barbaric thoughts in his head. Quietly, he slides his boxers down his thighs and situates himself back onto his desk chair. His cock is throbbing, tip a blushed pink as his heartbeat begins to resonate harder. Were you doing this on purpose? Were you testing him? Teasing him? He rests his head back, eyes fluttering to a close as he holds the base of his painfully erect cock with his right hand.

His hand slowly begins to slide up and down his own length, twisting slightly whenever his fingers cross over his glans. The sensation fills him with ecstasy, and he can’t help but gasp as he tightens his grip and continues to stroke his cock. He thinks of you, on the other side of the wall with your legs spread, flushed and begging to be fucked. How well he’d fit inside you, how well you’d take him in your tight cunt and how you’d whimper his name into his ear. With these thoughts, his pace on himself quickens, breaths laboured against the air. This was wrong, so wrong but hearing you like this, imagining you sprawled on your bed in desperate need of his touch only pushes him further to his climax.

For a moment, he thinks about risking it all and just ripping your door open to fuck you into your next existence. He stays planted onto the leather seat, his hands roaming in a familiar rhythm.

You are minutes, seconds away from seeing strings of white. It’s when you raise your vibrator to its third setting that you come undone, biting the inside of your cheek as your orgasm plummets you to a new horizon and Jungkook’s name sits at the edge of your tongue.

You feel it spray out of you, your arousal sprinkling over your bed sheets in a clear indication of your collapse. You gasp and shudder, quick to turn off the device as its relentless motion becomes far too much for your sensitive clit.

You lay for a moment, gathering your bearings as your high lingers between the furrow of your eyebrows. Your head feels heavy, sleep overtaking every inch of your body and you begin nodding off almost instantaneously, vibrator still in hand. It’s when you shift to doze more comfortably that your thigh makes contact with a cool, wet splotch.

Your eyes spring open and you’re sitting up, flicking on your bedside lamp. You have just squirted all over your sheets, the damp puddle prominent and deride. You sit there in disbelief, blinking at the mess between your legs. You frown, suddenly becoming aware of the incessant pounding in your head from your high and you curse yourself for making such a mess.

Now you have to do the laundry, there’s no way you could sleep in these.

Jungkook is close, frustratingly so…it won’t take much at this rate for him to blow his load all over himself. He places his hand firmly around the chair handle, fingers gripping against the plastic. His other hand strokes faster than ever before, breaths deepening. And as he reaches his climax, the quietest of moans escape his lips, followed by your name. It’s so soft on his tongue, it feels uncouth. The trail of white fluid follows, spurts out of his cock and onto his stomach. He pants, quick to milk every ounce of himself with the squeeze of his palm around the edge of his head and then he’s reaching for his water bottle, taking a cool swig of the liquid.

He has to shower now, there’s no way he could sleep like this.

As you unhook the last of your sheets from the mattress, you quickly roll the fabric into a giant ball within your arms. You’re on your tippy-toes, hesitantly reaching for your door as you twist the knob and pull the barrier open. You look around, relieved to see the hallway engulfed in complete darkness. Jungkook’s door is closed, no light emitting through the cracks which means he must be asleep. Gingerly, you close the door behind you and tiptoe towards the end of the hall where the laundry room is- attached to the shared washroom.

You’re quick to stuff the sheets into the washer, loading the detergent into the cartridges and powering on the machine. The room’s lights aren’t even on, you’re too lazy to find them. Besides, the stark moonlight and LED of the washing machine are plenty of light enough. When you’ve set the machine to its cycle, you ponder on what the hell you can do with no bedsheets to aid in your sleep and your body covered in sweat.

Even if you are hotter than before, sweatier than before, slumber takes a toll on your body. Your head feels weighted, drowsy from your hard climax. You think a shower would work best, turning to go back into your room for a change of clothes when you bump into something, rather someone.

You shriek and take cover under your raised arms, a soft glow of white light sifting through the crack of your arms as the washroom lights get flickered on. Raising your head out of the shield of your arms, you find Jungkook standing in front of you, void of a shirt and clad by only a pair of boxers.

“Jungkook, what the fuck?” You can’t help it, your eyes wander, rake him from head to toe. You can see it, the ever so light outline of a bulge, something that is definitely nowhere near a micropenis.

“I was just...about to shower. I’m sorry- I didn’t know you would be out here, I would’ve worn more clothes” His gaze is soft with worry and you’re reminded of your earlier outburst. It was quite hypocritical of yourself when you’ve just fucked yourself on a sex toy to scandalous thoughts of him. His eyes flickers to the low drone of the washer and then back to you. “You’re doing laundry?”

Your cheeks flush, your voice hitching in your throat as you promptly pull up an excuse as to why you’re doing laundry at nearly two in the morning. “I-I spilled some tea on my sheets, I have to wash them.” You hope it’s convincing enough. “I was about to shower too.”

Jungkook regards you carefully, expecting a scolding for even asking but it never comes. You’re flustered and painted a shade of red he is familiar with. He’s only familiar with it because he too is the same shade of red. You two had been pleasuring yourselves, separately yet simultaneously. The memory almost brings a fresh wave of lust.

“Why are you showering at-” you glance at the time on your phone, “-one o’clock at night?” Jungkook doesn’t expect this question from you. You had never been interested in anything he did other than if it was something bothersome to scold over. He clears his throat and uses his slender fingers to push his hair back. You reckon he’ll need a haircut soon.

“I was exercising in my room.” Technically, masturbation was a certain form of exercise…  

The air is stiff, you feel it. It crosses both of your minds, had you heard one another? Was it obvious? You shift on the balls of your feet, teeth crashing down on your bottom lip. “Well, who’s gonna shower first?” You eye his practically unclad figure. It’s impossible to not take notice of the Adonis belt that leads your vision straight to his casual bulge. You look away. “Technically I was here first.”

Jungkook chuckles and pokes the inside of his cheek with a tongue. “Technically this is your house too, right?”

Your head drops to the ground, a shameful pout crossing over your features. Perhaps you were too harsh earlier, but you may just be feeling this way from the endorphins.

You go against the wish for a shower, it’s the least you can do. “I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, just letting you know. Please don’t make food at some obscure hour of the night or I will kill you.” With that, you push past him, your shoulder knocking against his arm as you head towards the living room.

To Jungkook, there’s something so beguiling about your clear disdain for him. He merely observes you from where he stands, feeling another rush of blood make way to his cock. How could you so ignorantly disregard that you had just been touching yourself? Did you really not know he could hear you? It baffles him, leaves him with another hard-on as he turns away, closing the washroom door behind him before he’s turning on the shower.

Today, you’ve had a shitty day.

Kim Taehyung has put in his two weeks' notice. He’s quitting this job to move halfway across the world and live with his girlfriend abroad and your boss had informed you one of your very own clients have committed tax fraud, costing your firm thousands. Along with this, you’ve spilled coffee over your white button-up and the hair tie holding your crisp bun up had snapped to unleash your unbrushed, unwashed owl’s nest.

When you walk into the apartment, you almost don’t want to look at your reflection in the mirror. It was strategically placed in the foyer by Seokjin, his scientific reasoning behind it being so he could start a positive day by looking at himself one last time before leaving the house. This logic seems like bullshit to you now. Your hair is a lion’s mane, your black bra visible against the translucent, chestnut coffee stain on your chest and your face is shiny from the amount of sweat you’ve had building up throughout the day from this sweltering heat.

Kicking off your heels, you take notice that Jungkook’s Pumas don’t take their usual occupancy on the shoe rack. This means he’s not home and this means, he wouldn’t be seeing you in this state. Relief floods over you.

Somewhere prior to the halfway point of Jungkook’s stay, your animosity for his presence seems to have expired ever so slightly. Perhaps it had to do with your newfound liking towards him from your late-night fantasies, or maybe it was because he had actually been putting more effort into working around the house as of late.

You barely see him now, and when you do, he’s usually made your food along with his own or he’s left you sticky notes telling you he’s taken out the garbage for you or cleaned the washroom. It has warmed your rigid heart but only to an extended degree.

Carding your fingers through your hair, you tame as much of it as you can before you’re unbuttoning your dress shirt and letting the air dry it out. Your bra feels slick against your skin, the mixture of coffee and sweat too unbearable. You unclip it from behind and toss it onto the bar stool by the kitchen island.

After opening the fridge for a can of iced tea, you walk over to the pantry for a snack to accompany the icy, perspiring drink. But before you can make it, you suddenly take notice of it, the twinkling mound of silverware against the sunlight seeping through the windowpane. You look down at the small pile of unwashed cutlery in the stainless steel sink, an inferno flickering in your chest.  

The feeling crawls back, the feeling of wanting to reinforce your disapproval of him. It’s an emotional memory, screaming at you to go back to your familiar disdain, to a more comfortable habit. Or maybe it’s your horrible day, everything bad that’s happened leading up to this breakdown. You feel like an overly emotional pregnant lady, getting fired up over unwashed spoons and forks but you can’t push it down. You’re seeing red.

A click is heard from the bathroom down the hall, followed by the tune of a cheerful whistle. You wrap the open ends of your shirt around your chest, crossing your arms as you stand in the kitchen and await the figure’s emergence from the shadowy refuge of the hallway. Jungkook now appears at the mouth of the hall, one arm rubbing a small towel against his wet hair and the other clutching the towel hanging off his hips. Upon seeing you, his whistle abruptly drops.

“Hey,” he begins nervously. “I didn’t know you’d be home—”

The words come out of you like rapid-fire, all “good deeds” he’s ever done as a roommate escaping through the vents. “You…” You begin, and he winces. “Do you see this?” You point to the sink. “How fucking hard is it to wash your own forks and spoons? Fuck, I’m so tired of picking up after you!”

You’re really unable to stop yourself, weeks of pent-up frustrations just now unleashing, lashing against the boy with such vigor, you can see a gulp send his Adam's apple to a bob. “For the record, if you’re going to smoke, do it the absolute farthest away from the apartment- I cannot stand the scent of fake strawberries and watermelon anymore.” Your arm motions towards the hallway, your foot stomping with it. Jungkook’s gaze very briefly strays to your shirt that unravels, just barely covering your breasts. Were you not wearing a bra?

“For every shower you take after the initial one, you have to set aside two dollars extra towards the water bill and for the love of all things holy, please start eating dinner at a reasonable time- you make it impossible to like you when I’m forced to wake up at two in the morning almost every single night.” With one push off the counter, you’re off towards the hallway to your bedroom, the heat of Jungkook’s stare burning into the back of your skull as you pass by him.

Jungkook sighs.

“I try, you know.” His quiet words halt you in your steps. “I knew you never liked me but I never knew why...that much was always a mystery. It never stopped me from trying to be the best damn roommate you’re ever going to have.” You twist around, taking in his stance. Now his arms are crossed, the towel once on his head now draped over his arm. “And yet you still hate me.”

You’re disarmed, mouth suddenly dry as you take in his words. Jungkook continues. “I...I just don’t get it- and I have to admit it’s a little disheartening,” He takes an idle step forward. “I don’t know what to expect from you- one moment you’re scolding me and the next…” His eyes trail to the exposed delve between your breasts, carefully covered underneath your unbuttoned shirt. You coil into yourself, wrapping your shirt over your chest again as you shift your gaze to the marks of ink blossomed over his skin. “And the next you’re staring at me.” Steadily dragging his gaze back up towards your eyes, he smirks and speaks again. “Kind of like you’re staring right now.”

If there’s one thing you hate the most, it’s being called out. Your pride is wounded and you rise to the challenge, huffing a bemused breath. You shoot back with faux scorn. “I’m only staring because you’re practically naked in front of me. Have you no decency in the presence of a woman?” This makes Jungkook cock an eyebrow, and he finds himself closing more distance between the two of you.

He laughs, mirthless but nonetheless amused by your rebuke. “Usually in the presence of a woman like you, decency is the last thing on my mind.” Leisurely, you’re losing each other in one another’s gaze.

You scoff. “Like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play coy, you and I both know you’re not near as good as you think you are.”

This statement catches you off guard, wholeheartedly. Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes flicker between the towel that’s barely clinging around his waist to his eyes that have seemingly darkened, ablaze with something akin to salacity. Jungkook licks his lips, the length of his damp hair sending a tiny trickle of water down the side of his face. “And that doesn’t even count all the weird shit I’ve heard in this house.” Now you’re the one gulping, frozen in place as he takes another step closer. “You moan in your sleep, you moan when you touch yourself at night...” Your eyes widen in horror, he had heard you that night and possibly every night after that.

“I’ll never forget what your friend said on the phone, you know. With lips like that…you make it impossible to forget anything about you.”

Shit.

He’s gotten closer, much closer. With anyone else, the lack of distance between you would be nothing short of uncomfortable and unwanted, but you find yourself pulled towards him. The closing of the gap between you is mutual, and before you have a chance to shoot back a reply, his lips are hovering above yours. “Pretty lips that make pretty noises.” And then, his mouth is on yours.

Your knees nearly give out.

Before anything else, you’re filled with shock, an invasive shock. How could he be doing this?

He… He’s…he’s actually a pretty good kisser. You’re swept away, his arms cocooning around you. His lips pillow against your own, his tongue the taste of mint.

Jungkook is damp from his shower, his skin slick and cool under your touch as you slide your arms around his neck. This motion beckons you closer, pushing your lips harder against his. He walks you backwards and you follow suit, mouths remaining on one another as your back hits the wall right next to your bedroom door. There is absolutely no turning back now.

His hands are sliding down your body, feeling every curve of your body underneath his palms as he squeezes and kneads until he’s reached your ass. You moan into his mouth when he grabs handfuls of your bottom, a calculated grip that he uses to push your pelvic bone against his growing erection. This invites his tongue into your parted mouth, taking in the taste of yours into his own. They cushion around each other, a synchronous valse that only grows the moisture in between your legs. You feel his want for you build against your stomach, the thickness that lays just beyond his towel.

Jungkook’s teeth find the plump of your bottom lip, a gentle gnaw at the flesh before he’s tugging at it. The whimper you let out only elicits a growl to emit from his chest, the hands on your ass now sliding up your sides until they’re cupping your face. It’s then that his clear want for you becomes evident, a taut prominence poking against your stomach.

“M’Jungkook…” You whimper into his mouth, his right hand moving from your cheek to the base of your neck. You gasp as his palm pushes against your sternum, the fingers wrapped around your neck tightening in the slightest as you’re pushed farther against up against the wall. Jungkook hums in response, his lips relentless against your own.

His mouth works in precise vigour against your own. It’s as if he has been starved of this moment for too long, days, weeks of holding himself back. You can’t stop yourself either, not quite being able to comprehend the happenings of this exact moment. Nights of pleasuring yourself to the thought of your roommate and here you two are, your cunt seemingly progressing into an ocean of slick and his cock ready to be smothered in it.

Jungkook pulls away, and when you get a chance to look at him, his cheeks are powdered in a shade of rose, his lips marginally swollen from your heated kissing and his eyes ablaze with a craving you can’t even describe. “Not so smart with that mouth now, are you?”

You swallow thickly, words failing you. Your eyes glance towards the roses stoic on his neck. Oh, how you’d like to lick over them. The situation is beyond words, and you reckon if it hadn’t been, that actions still would fare far better than words.

Jungkook drops to his knees in front of you and fiercely grabs your hips. You inhale sharply, head dropping as your fingers instinctively grasp for purchase against his impossibly broad shoulders. They’re marked with feathers that lead down his biceps in the shape of wings. You can’t help but dig in, your nails leaving thin red crescents slashing across the ink as your back rests against the wall.

“You think you can get away moaning my name every night?” He groans, alternating between breaths and kisses around your pelvis, slowly moving past your navel. His fingers hook around the belt loops in your pants, his free hand eagerly tugging down your zipper. With precision, he pulls your pants down until you’re clad in only your underwear. Thank God, you chose today of all days to wear a thong. The baby pink silk, smooth underneath his fingertips. Jungkook looks up at you wishfully, his doe eyes radiating a boyish innocence that contradicts the ink littering his skin. But then he speaks, his voice a soft growl.

“I hope you taste as delicious as you look,” he says, not doubting for a second that you won’t as he bites the elastic of your thong. You are breathless; it’s hard not to be when Eros himself is between your legs, yearning for a taste of your dripping sex.

Your breath catches in your throat, Jungkook’s thumb skimming down your pubic bone to where you want, need it the most. You shiver as he circles against your clit through the cloth, a purposeful pressure that has you tightening your grip on his shoulders. He can feel the moisture against the fabric, your arousal clinging against the material.

“I didn’t even have to touch you and you’re already this wet for me, baby?” He licks his lips, fingers running up and down your thighs. The nickname baby stays with you, lingers and only soaks you further. You roll your head back against the wall, letting his fleeting fingers latch around the band of your thong before you feel them being tugged down your legs.

It’s almost instinctive for you to want to cross your leg over the other, to keep Jungkook from seeing you so bare and needy for him. But of course, Jungkook doesn’t let this happen. He kisses your right hip bone before tracing a bold lick diagonally down to your pelvis. Your fingers rub against his shoulders, one hand gliding up the back of his head to comb through the mass of his damp dark curls.

Jungkook hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, letting the balm of your foot rest against the delve of his back as he spreads you above him. A broad hand pushes your hip back against the wall, the one leg you’re balanced on steady underneath his aiding grip. He uses his free hand to run his second and third digit up and down your wet folds. You shiver.

He looks up at you once more. This time, a lopsided smug grin adorns his face as he beams you a set of perfect teeth, the familiar indents of his dimples marking against his lower cheeks. “I’m going to make you come so hard.” You’re moaning in response to this, leg wavering as you feel the slide of Jungkook’s forefinger push into you. He hums in appreciation, your tightness inviting the chafe of his finger. He places a chaste kiss just above your pubic bone as he begins a slow rhythmic pump of his finger.

“Fuck,” you breath out, the ridges of his calloused digit filling you far greater than your own ever has. You can’t even begin to imagine how his dick will feel, your fingers laced into his hair tightening their hold as well.

It’s when you feel the point of Jungkook’s deft tongue stroke against your clit that you cry out, his hand gripping your hip harder against the wall as he feels you waver above him. Your eyes flutter to a close, letting him have his way with you against his tongue. He uses it mercilessly, flicks pointed and dexterous against your clit as his finger pushes in and out of your tight heat. “Oh my god, Jungkook.” He inserts another finger and you nearly lose yourself.

Your eyes are rolled back, your hips involuntarily jerking away from Jungkook’s grip as they push forward in search of more of his mouth. You feel it bubbling inside you, each stroke of his fingers and each swirl of his tongue making it impossible for you to focus on anything else but this feeling. He laps around your clit, strict and continuous. When you open your eyes to look down, you see his gorgeous hair enveloped in the thread of your fingers. You’ve never been eaten out against a wall like this and it only adds more to your impending undoing.

Jungkook’s digits move quicker now, with each pump comes a curl that elicits the neediest of whimpers to fall past your lips. He feels his cock twitch with every sound you make, a melodic hymn to his ears. He alternates between sharp flicks and taking the whole of your clit with his mouth in a gentle siphon. This time there is no barrier of a wall between the two of you, this time he can hear you as vividly as he hears the tits chirp outside his window every morning and this time, you are not using a vibrator on yourself, he’s fucking you with his tongue.

He can feel you tightening against his fingers, your walls clenching unimaginably tight around him with every stroke. You are close, so very close and the feel of his relentless tongue lapping around your clit along with his slender fingers has you seeing nothing but the ceiling above you. Jungkook picks up the pace of his tongue as well, his head moving in vigour as he fervently pushes the wet muscle against your bead.

He senses it coming before you do, his tongue and fingers in a violent rhythm. You jerk above him, your hold on his hair impossibly tight as you let yourself go, crying out his name from your orgasm. He feels your squirt spray out of you, it coats his mouth and chin, sprinkling even to his chest as you shake above him. Jungkook does not stop, digits pumping even faster, tongue continuing their assault.

You chant his name as you writhe underneath his grasp. The sensation becomes too much within seconds of your orgasm but somehow his persistence makes it feel as if you can come all over again.

“J-jungkook p-please,” you beg, your fingers unraveling from his hair and tightening onto his shoulders as you try to push him away. He follows suit, unlatching his mouth from your heat before languidly rising to his feet.

When you look at him, his lips are swollen and painted in your clear arousal, your squirt coating down the cleft of his chin, streaming his neck and sprinkled across his chest. It matches his damp hair, uniform with the wetness of his previous shower.

“You...just...squirted. All over me.” You can’t quite tell if this statement holds aversion at first. Truth be told, you’ve never squirted from a man’s tongue against you.

Jungkook steps closer. “Do you know how fucking hot that was?” You don’t know, but Jungkook is taking your hand into his and placing it over it his very hard bulge. You gasp at the feel underneath your palms, unyielding to your touch. It’s far greater of a bulge than you’ve ever felt before.

You smell yourself on him, a faint fragrance that you taste when Jungkook leans forward to kiss you with greed. His mouth his sticky, kisses lingering against your lips. When he pulls away, his fingers glide over the knot that holds his towel up. You watch him, eagerly as he pulls at the twist, letting the towel to fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Fuck.

Holy fuck.

“Oh my god,” you catch yourself saying out loud.

Jungkook is big. Larger, thicker than you could have ever imagined. An erect serpentine that lays firmly in his hand as he takes the base of his cock in his palm, you can’t look away. You gulp, eyes flickering between his daunting length and his growing smirk. Your mouth suddenly feels parched, a tentative tongue poking through the seams of your lips to swipe over your lips. Something about him not using the towel to directly wipe off your squirt makes your stomach flip with somersaults, so aroused by the idea of him wearing your ograsm on him with pride.

Jungkook twirls his forefinger in the air. “Turn around,” he commands and you oblige, twisting your body as you lay the flat of your palms against the cool wall. Jungkook pulls at your hips, mumbling words of profanities as your ass grinds against his thick erection. He already feels so full against your heat.

Kicking your legs open and apart, his feet stand in between yours, making it impossible for you to close them. He places a kiss against your shoulder, your forehead rested flush to the wall as a tender hand kneads at the cheek of your ass. He spanks it once, the echo of both the slap and your yelp of surprise travelling down the hall.

Hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, his damp hair tickles your neck as he whispers. “Think you can take it, baby?”

“Y-yes.” Your answer is short and breathless, hips instinctively grinding against him for further proof of your want. This earns you another spank and Jungkook is taking the base of his cock in one hand, spreading your cheeks with his free hand as he lines up to your cunt.

He nudges past your folds with his head, speaking in a low growl. “Good girl. Now let’s hear you scream.” He pushes in.

The stretch of his tip pressing into you tingles with a sizzling burn, the pressure that follows has your fingers curling against the wall and an arm reaching back to grasp onto Jungkook’s hip.

He takes your offering hand, interlocking your fingers together as he pushes another inch into you before pulling back out. He lets you adjust, your mixed moans echoing throughout the hallway as he juts his head forward to fill you once again.

His girth pinches against your walls, deliciously so and Jungkook pauses every couple of moments to let you feel every inch fill you until he’s reached the hilt.

He lets your hand go and you bring it back to press against the wall in aid of holding you up. “That’s it, baby...take every inch of it.” His voice is low, husky, something so carnally divine in the clip of his syllables that it has you rolling your head back. “You’re doing so fucking good. Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you say as you exhale shakily.

He rolls out of you, his name just on the edge of your tongue before he’s thrusting forward to have it spill out of your mouth. The velvet smooth feel of Jungkook’s cock mixing with your slick arousal makes the pinching sensation come to an ease. He’s swearing behind you, alternating between muttered profanities and guttural moans.

“So. Fucking. Tight. You feel so good, baby, taking me so well.” His fingers are firmly grasping onto your hips, his thrusts now beginning a steady rhythm as he steadily fucks you against the wall. Jungkook’s girth knocks the breath out of you, a full pressure that fills your tight cunt so satisfyingly, you almost lose yourself a second time within minutes from your first orgasm.

Jungkook is panting behind you, fingers surely leaving bruises against your skin as he speeds his hips to pound into you. He loosens his grip, three of his digits tracing a line down your spine before cutting around your waist and hovering above your clit. “Come again for me, baby. One more time, squirt for me.” It’s with these words that you decide, you don’t want to squirt on the floor once more, you want to squirt on him, on top of him.

“W-wait.” You reach your arm back, pressing the flat of your hand to his hip in a gesture to stop. He stills immediately.

“Did I hurt you?” The worry in his voice only causes you to release a breathless laugh, shaking your head no in reassurance.

“I want to ride you.” How could Jungkook ever say no to that? Without a beat of hesitance, he slides out of you, taking his cock in his hand before lightly tapping the head against each of your cheeks. Gripping your waist, he spins you to face him, a dimpled smile greeting you as you reach his gaze.

“Mm, is that so?” He asks and you nod, returning his smile. The dim glow of sunlight pouring into the hallway allows you to see the glowy sheen of his sweat and your arousal glimmer against his face and chest, enhancing his tattoos. The dampness of his curls have dried but a new layer of perspiration forms a film over his forehead.

You take Jungkook’s hand in yours, leaning forward to place a chase kiss on his lips before you’re leading him into your bedroom. You walk him backwards, your hands on his shoulders and his eyes focused nowhere but on yours. It’s when the back of his knees knock against the edge of your bed that he’s forced to have a seat.

He expects you to straddle him, you see it in the glimmer of his doe eyes but instead, you drop to your knees in front of him, arms separating his inked thighs apart. This takes Jungkook by surprise, he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow raising in question.

You hands glide up and down his legs, a grin stretching across your face as you lean forward and place a gentle peck to the base of his thick cock. Jungkook hums in satisfaction, eyes holding a challenge as he watches you with great concentration.

The pink of his head looks all too inviting as you take his cock in your hands. As you do so, Jungkook’s hands roam up your arms before they’re resting on each of your shoulders. He benignly grips at the tense muscles of your shoulders, thumbs moving in circles over your skin. “You’re tense.” He vocalizes.

“You’re fucking huge.” You hit back, eyes wide and mouth salivating at the heaviness in your grasp. It’s tacky, coated in you as you swipe a thumb over the head and Jungkook hisses above you. When you look up at him, his dark eyes are speared to your movements, teeth gritted. You begin moving your hands up and down his length.

“You can take it in your mouth, can’t you?” The tone in his voice depicts a challenge and your ears nearly perk in interest. Of course you can take him in your mouth. You lean forward, Jungkook’s broad hands leaving the expanse of your shoulders to slide up the sides of your head. His fingers comb your hair back, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. The movement flexes the muscles on his inked biceps and you have to admit to yourself that he looks so fucking good.

Jungkook is all too eager as he watches you, the flat of your tongue sticking out to lick around the rim of his head. He chokes back a groan, grip on your hair tightening. You stretch your mouth as wide as you can, a discomfort to your movement as you engulf the whole of his head with your tongue. Jungkook inhales a sharp breath, fingers threaded into your hair as he eases you down to take more of him.

You wrap your lips around the velvet tip, beginning a slow suction. “Fuck,” Jungkook mumbles from above you, shifting on the mattress, watching you. “Open wider, baby.” You do as asked, jaw already sore from the girth of his head alone. He pushes his hips off the mattress in the slightest, grip on your hair firm as he thrusts more of himself into your mouth.

You’re careful not to let your teeth graze over the skin of his cock, your fingers tightening around his length before you start to twist your wrists and continue sucking. Jungkook is careful to be gentle with you, very tenderly urging his cock to fill more of your mouth. It shocks you when you feel the blunt of his head hit the cap of your airway, eliciting a gag.

Jungkook pulls out a millimeter before he’s pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused. Your mouth looks so pretty stuffed with his cock; it’s almost as pretty as your cunt taking him to the hilt.

Another gag rumbles out of you and vibrates against his member, this time, Jungkook being the one to moan. His hips stutter in shallow thrusts into your mouth and you feel the sting of tears threatening to blur your vision.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the walls of your bedroom, followed by the guttural moans of Jungkook as he fucks your mouth. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway.

You release your hold around his length, fingers thickly coated in your own saliva as you find purchase of the flesh of his thighs. You let him have his way with you, your mouth stretched as wide as you can physically make it and a single thread of a tear rolling down your cheek. You look up through the flutters of your eyelashes, pleased to see the Adam’s apple in Jungkook’s throat bob up and down while his head is thrown back in pleasure.

The sudden pull of his cock from your mouth comes with a light ‘pop’ followed by you gasping for air. Using his hold on your hair, he jerks your hair back so you’re forced to look up at him. He hungrily latches his lips onto yours, sloppy and wet with a relentless tongue that intrudes your mouth.

You slide your hands over his thighs, towards the ridges of muscles on his abdomen as he helps you rise to your feet. Your right palm travels up his chest, your other arm circling around Jungkook’s neck as you let him grab a handful of your ass. With a persuasive lift, he places you on his lap, your legs wrapping around his torso as his mouth remains on yours.

“M’let me ride m’you,” you gasp in between kisses, Jungkook’s toned arms looping around your waist as he shuffles closer to the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah?” He moves from your mouth to the edge of your jaw.

“Please.” Jungkook loosens his grip around your waist, letting you rest the front of your calves on either side of him. You situate yourself, raising your hips as your hand finds his still, very erect length to line against your core.

“Look at you so needy for my cock, don’t hate me so much anymore?” The smugness in his tone only grants him a glare from you, a chuckle following his tease. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in need of you too.” You have noticed, his massive cock hasn’t wavered in want in the slightest since he first kissed you.

You huff a breath. “I never hated you.” Rubbing his head a few times over your sex, you finally sink down onto it, your cunt eagerly taking in his head. You gasp at the feel of this new position, his length gliding in much smoother with your previous practice. “You just need to start washing your fucking dish- ah!” You cry out, hands fumbling to grasp at his shoulders as Jungkook juts his hips up, slamming into you. His girth stretches your walls once again and he feels so fucking delicious in you like this. Quite frankly, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to go back to an average sized penis ever again.

“Mm, I should keep pissing you off if it means I get to shut you up like this.” His voice hitches at the last word as you pick your hips up and ram yourself back down onto his cock. You both moan at this, your arms once again looping around Jungkook’s neck as his hands firmly grip your hips in guidance.

Your teeth clash as you kiss him with each bounce of your hips, the position more so letting you gently rock over his cock. Your clit rubs against his skin with each roll of your hips, making sure you alternate between circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Jungkook is losing himself, you know this because he holds you tightly, firmly as he lets you take control. You ride him hard and slow, the pre crescendo to his coming end.

“Come for me, Jungkook,” You moan against the shell of his ear, legs losing stamina as you try to keep a rhythmic pace. But Jungkook doesn’t want to finish just yet, he wants you to come again too.

You yelp as he slides his hands under your ass, lifting you off him before he’s throwing you onto the mattress so you’re on your back. He stands up, above you at the edge of your bed, taking your knees in the crevice of his elbows before yanking you towards him.

“Where is it?” He gruffs, fingers gripping your waist.

“What?”

“Your vibrator, where is it?” If you weren’t flushed already from Jungkook’s cock, you’d be blushing at his knowledge that you even had one. You stretch your arm above you, fingers reaching underneath a pillow where you usually keep it hidden. Grasping the device in hand, you bring it out, idly waving it in front of the ink-skinned boy. He grins, the youthful boy-like glint returning in the doe of his eyes as he releases your leg from the arm that extends to retrieve it from you.

Inspecting the controls, he finds the power button, clicking it on. A low buzz fills the room. the words that follow leaving you breathless again.

“Ah...now there’s the noise I like to hear every night.” Clicking it back off, Jungkook places it carefully next you before hooking your leg back around his elbow, hoisting your hips up. You watch with eager eyes as he pokes his tongue past his lips, letting a string of saliva drizzle carefully over his cock. He smooths the slick over his cock, letting it coat the entirety of his length before he’s guiding his head against your opening.

He gently slaps his head against your clit before rubbing against it, letting your arousal build once more. You shift your hips in impatience, fingers gripping tightly against your sheets. Jungkook leans down towards your mouth, claiming your lips once more, hard and deep. He tastes of sweat and your arousal, a tinge of salt that you lick away. When he pulls away, he’s pushing his cock into you again.

The curve of his dick hits differently with this position, now he has more control with hitting just the right spots. He’s slow at first, frustrating slow as if he’s testing each stroke of his hips to see how you react. When he’s surging forward until he’s got an inch remaining, you’re crying out loud.

“Here?” He asks and you nod profusely, words unable to form on your tongue. Jungkook pushes even deeper, another cry escaping your lungs at the new fullness. Your grip around your sheets grow tighter, teeth harshly biting down on your lip as he begins steady rock in and out of you.

You’ve never been filled so well like this, his cock hitting every surface area of your inner walls as he stretches you delectably with each roll of his hips. He fucks into you, hard and deep, changing from circling his hips to pistoning into you with no mercy. He talks filth into the air, profanities and moans chased by the sounds of skin slapping as he relentlessly plummets into you.

He can feel you about to come, the pressure of your clenched walls tightening around him to un unprecedented degree. With each thrust, your cunt only eagerly invites him back in, needy for his spurts of cum. This is when Jungkook grabs the vibrator he placed beside you, thumb quick to power the device on. You yelp and mewl as he places the silicone tip against your clit, the vibration ringing through both of you. The sensation is overwhelming, the girth of his cock mixed with the jolts of your stimulated clit leave you near screaming his name. You shake underneath him, legs quivering as you feel the rise of your orgasm build through your entire body.

“You can squirt again, baby. I know you can. I know you want to.” Your body jerks and still as the combination of one more thrust and the vibe hit you exactly where you need it to, to come undone. Jungkook doesn’t fight it, the pressure of your squirt pushing his cock out of your tightness. “That’s it, darling, so fucking hot.” He keeps the vibrator on you and you whimper, releasing the clutch of the sheets as you flail your arms towards the vibrator in an attempt to push it away from you. Jungkook does not budge.

“P-please, fuck, Jungkook...it’s too much, please.” He does not stop, watching you with intent as your body shakes underneath his control of the vibrator. He knows you can come again.

“One more time.” Your legs are desperately trying to clamp shut but Jungkook expertly holds your legs apart with his torso as he continues assaulting your clit with the silicone. It buzzes against you, rings through your entire body and within minutes you’re coming all over again. It’s so intense, you nearly black out, your voice clamouring to a scream of Jungkook’s name.

He turns it off and throws it somewhere on the mattress before he’s sliding into you with ease. He fucks your squirt back into you with a push of his cock.

This time, Jungkook wastes no time. This time, he drills into you, clamping your legs together as he pushes them forward until your knees hit your chest. This position allows him to go deeper, watching your cunt swallow every inch of his cock with greed along with every thrust of his hips. He feels his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Each snap of his hips become sloppier, his laboured breathing sporadic as his fingers dig harshly into your calves.

“Where do you want me to come?” He rasps, pulling your legs apart once more.

“I-inside me, please.” Your words elicit a mumbled fuck from him followed by a groan. You watch him through lidded eyes, your head thick and heavy from your plentiful of orgasms. Jungkook looks like the God of sex himself above you, sweat dribbling down his forehead, his dark long waves spilling over his eyes, his inked chest glistening and his muscles flexing with every grind of his hips into you. He is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “Come, Jungkook,” you coo, egging him to come undone. “Come inside me.”

With the last phrase, his hips stutter and still before he’s gasping for a breath as he spills himself into you. He shouts your name, voice getting caught in his throat. He steadily moves again, milking every last drop of himself inside of you as your walls achingly aid him.

As he comes to a stop, the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of your mixed heavy panting. Jungkook leans forward, pressing a heavy kiss against your lips before he’s pulling away from your mouth and away from your cunt. He watches, mesmerized as his cum dribbles out of you. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, your tight cunt filled to the brim with his seed.

“Fuck,” he pants, reaching his arm out to help you sit up. You roll your head forward into your palms, the rush of dopamine pounding into your skull with a massive headache. “You okay?” He asks and you nod your head, face still encompassed by your hands.

“You...should piss me off more often.” Jungkook chuckles at this. When you look up from your hands, his wavy locks have a newfound dampness, beads of sweat encompassing his tattooed chest. He’s grinning, a lopsided grin that leaves you with a warm feeling pounding in your chest. 

Jungkook offers you a hand, guiding you off the bed. You take it, letting him pick you up to your feet with the strength of his biceps. 

“Yeah, yeah I should.” You’re both walking out your bedroom and towards the shower.

Seokjin wears nothing but a grimace at the kitchen island as he watches you and Jungkook coo at each other. He’s just returned from his trip abroad, hands crossed over his chest as he observes the blasphemy before his eyes. Jungkook is by the stove, flipping the last of Seokjin’s steak and you’re beside him preparing a salad on the counter.

“Disgusting.” Seokjin scowls. “I leave for three months and this happens?” He scoffs at the thought of the two of you cooking him steak for dinner, as if it would break the bearer of this terrible, awful news. You two are now dating. His best friend and his roommate- to Seokjin, it’s an ultimate betrayal.

You sigh and roll your eyes, setting your freshly made salad in front of him as Jungkook brings over a sizzling pan of steak. He wears a grin on his face, a grin that matches yours before you’re leaning on your tiptoes to kiss against the indented dimple against his lower cheek. Seokjin nearly gags at this.

He truly thought he’d be rid of you as soon as this lease had ended but here you were, snogging who he thought to be his best friend. He thinks he’ll have to burn his mattress too.

“Great,” he says, deadpan, picking up his knife and fork. “I’m stuck with you forever now.” With the greatest of fake enthusiasm, he musters a disingenuous smile and angrily digs into his steak.

He hates that it’s delicious. 

all rights reserved © jeongi

a/n: HEWWOOOO. how u feeling!? 🥴i REALLY!!! did not expect this fic to be so long holy shit im so sorry, i went out of control!!!! this was very loosely based off real-life events that were then fuelled by jungkook’s lotte concert look. and badda bing, badda boom, a 13k fic of pure smut is born and i am wholly unashamed of myself. i really hope you enjoyed reading this filth, it was very fun for me to write!!! please let me know what you think and as always, thank you for reading and i love youuuu 💞

[allonsos-evil-lair]

Raphs’ Wrestlemania

“And Galileo is down! Another victim of Abe Lincoln’s Four Score Fisticuffs! The Liberty League wins!”

Raph smiled to himself. Seeing the tag team match between the Sci Squad and the Liberty League brought to mind the claim that Donnie had made about being able to kick Galileo’s butt. The snapping turtle agreed wholeheartedly, especially after that performance. 

Raph shifted in his seat, grateful that the New York Wrestledrome had bench seating to accommodate his larger size. He glanced to his right as his dimensional counterpart shouted enthusiastically. The other turtle jumped to his feet, showering popcorn over the floor and the front of the trenchcoat he was wearing as a disguise. When he sat down again, Raph couldn’t help but be glad that he was enjoying himself. 

“Aw man, I haven’t had this much fun since the last time me and Casey kicked Purple Dragon butt.”

“What’d I tell ya, Junior,” said the counterpart to the snapper’s left, his voice thick with a Brooklyn accent. His disguise consisted of a sweatshirt, sweatpants and a hoodie, similar to Raph’s own disguise. “Wrestling's the greatest sport there ever was.”

The right counterpart, nicknamed Junior, was shorter than the rest of the Raph counterparts and had been begrudgingly given the nickname. He was also one of the only ones to have a girlfriend, who he had met while he was in space, so any teasing about his stature had been very short-lived. 

The counterpart to Raph’s left had been nicknamed Rollerblades initially, due to his and his brothers’ more individualized modes of skating or riding around the sewers, though it was often shortened down to just Roller. 

Both of the other Raphaels were a lot more gruff then Raph would have expected at first. He had found them a little intimidating at first. They had so many cool stories to tell and had done so much with their brothers; going to space, time travel, saving the world. He had felt a little inadequate at first. But they had been impressed that he had been the leader of his brothers and the two of them had warmed up to him after a while. 

“You were totally right,” the shorter turtle agreed, “and it’s great that we can actually walk around, too.” He glanced around the stadium. “Nobody’s staring or screaming. Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much,” Raph replied. “Our New Yorkers see weird stuff all the time. What’s the difference if you add a couple more weirdos.”

Raph felt a tap on his left arm from Roller’s elbow. 

“Hey Spikes,” he said, using the nickname that had been given to the snapper, “we gonna see that Ghostbear guy you keep talkin’ about?”

Spikes sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Nah, I, uh, kinda ended his career.”

Both of the other turtles stared at him, nonplussed. 

“Well, it was more Leo and me. Leo broke his winning streak and then we both beat him in the cage.”

The counterparts’ eyes widened, their mouths agape. 

“You guys fought? Down there?!”

“IN THE CAGE?!?!”

Junior fell back in his seat, a look of newly-acquired admiration for his larger counterpart crossing his face. Roller turned to stare down at the ring as the next bout was starting, his lips parting into a grin that reminded Raph of Donnie’s face just before they had to stop him from doing something morally reprehensible. 

The snapping turtle smiled nervously as Roller looked up at him. 

“That gives me an idea.”

<<<>>>

“Iiiiin this corner,” the announcer declared over the loudspeaker, “ready to fight for the title of triple tag team champions, we have the Liberty League! With George Washington, Abe Lincoln and Liberty Bell!”

The patrons of the wrestledrome cheered or booed, depending on their opinion of the team in question.

“Aaaaand in this corner, after defeating Ghostbear his first time in the ring, he’s back with some friends to bring the pain! Give it up foooooooorr... Red Rage and his Crimson Crushers!”

The crowd roared as Red Rage leapt over the ropes and stood tall and intimidating in his red and black jacket and cargo pants. 

The announcer continued, “...Turtle Terror,...”

Roller leapt into the ring, dressed in a black jumpsuit. 

“...aaand Terra-Pain!”

Junior jumped up to join them, wearing a dark brown leather jacket with a hood and an altered mask that covered more of his face. 

Roller grinned as he took his stance. “This is gonna be great!”

Junior followed suit, letting out a low chuckle in anticipation of the ensuing violence. 

Spikes punched his fist into the palm of his hand to keep up the intimidating look. “Just don’t go too hard on ‘em, OK guys? They’re still just normal humans.”

The other two turtles nodded their understanding. 

The announcer raised his hand. “Fight!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- More interactions with turtles of the multiverse. This time the Raphs all hang out watching wrestling. I downloaded my first brush for this one, using a crowd brush I found online to make the stadium patrons in the background. Roller (03 Raph)'s costume is Raph's costume and occasional outfit from the TMNT Adventures Series by Archie comics.

[deafeningnightcollection-things]

The Music Meister is Back (And This Time It’s GAY)

Chapter 1 -- A day in the life of Jack Kelly

Part 2

Winn Schott had not been expecting the day to end with a song, nor had he been expecting an extra-dimensional prisoner to escape from his cell like it was child’s play, but after a year of working at the DEO and two years of being best friends with a superhero, it was just another Tuesday.

“Red Alert. We have a security breach.” Hank’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “A being with unknown abilities has escaped his cell. All agents need to be on high alert.”

Winn glanced up from the tablet he’d been using to record the data from Mon-El’s latest training session. “That can’t be good,” he tried to play it off like another day (it was just another day), but he was all too aware of his fragile human status every time they went up against a super powered foe.

Mon-El looked over from the training dummy he’d been tossing 50lbs weights at and shrugged, “it’ll be fined.”

Winn laughed, his shoulders relaxing at another of Mon-El’s failed attempts to pick up Earth slang. “Fine.”

“Huh?” Mon-El tilted his head like a curious puppy dog and Winn felt his heart skip a beat.

“The word,” Winn said, looking away as his cheeks turned pink. “It’s fine not fined.”

There was a knock on the door and Winn startled, the anxiety that had momentarily calmed flaring up with a vengeance. He glanced at Mon-El uncertainly.

“Winn?” A familiar voice called through the door.

Winn breathed a sigh of relief. “Kara.” He opened the door quickly. Kara stood there, fully decked out in her costume, looking concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Hank tracked the escapee to this floor, I was worried he’d done something to you.”

Winn shook his head, trying to be reassuring even though Kara’s worry only made him more concerned. “I’ll be fine. I’m very good at running away from trouble.”

“I’ll protect him.” Mon-El said, finally moving away from the dummy and over to where Winn and Kara are talking in the doorway.

Kara glanced from Winn to Mon-El and nodded. “Yell if you need help, I’ll be listening for you.”

Winn nodded. “Let us know when you find him.”

Things seemed to be going better. So, of course the second Kara left the room everything went wrong.

“Hmm.” A vaguely British sounding voice hummed from the back of the room. “It’s awfully drab, have you ever considered come curtains or a new coat of paint?”

Winn and Mon-El turned away from the door quickly to find a dark-haired man in a green suit examining the walls of the training room critically.

“No?” The odd man continued, wiping a finger across the wall and peering at it disdainfully. “Quite dusty too, now that just won’t do.” The last word turned into a high note as he waved his arms and the room suddenly looked like a fancy British tearoom (complete with sunshine yellow walls, frilly curtains, and a small wooden table covered in lace doilies).

As the man spoke Mon-El pushed Winn behind him protectively. Neither of them were quite sure what to make of him. It was logical to assume that he was the escaped prisoner, and, although the ability to materialize all of these things out of thin air was concerning, he didn’t seem like an immediate threat.

He stared at the walls once again. “Hmm. That’s no better.” He waved his hand again and all the trappings vanished as though they’d never been there in the first place.

“Who are you?” Winn called from behind Mon-El, trying not to appear afraid.

The man seemed to notice the two of them for the first time. “Me.” He raised his hands, a top hat appearing in one hand and a cane in the other. He set the hat jauntily on his head and twirled the cane through the air. “Why, I’m the Music Meister.”

Winn quirked an eyebrow. The villains always insisted on naming themselves, it was rather disappointing for Winn who had decades worth of comics knowledge saved up and was quite prepared to name any foe they came across. Still, he had to admit, it was a cool name.

The Music Meister examined Mon-El and Winn just as critically as he’d examined the walls and it made Winn uneasy. “There’s an awful lot of unresolved tension there.” He tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully, “all spark and no bite? Well, that just won’t do at all.” With those words he vanished.

Winn blinked a few times, suddenly uncertain if the man had ever actually been there.

There was a clapping sound behind them and Winn turned quickly. The Music Meister stood just a few feet from Winn, well within arm’s reach.

“How about a helping hand?” The Music Meister flashed a dazzling smile, and then, quick as the Flash, reached out a hand and tapped Winn on the forehead.

Winn stood there, confused, for a moment. He was certain nothing had happened when the world began to tilt. The last thing he was aware of was slumping into Mon-El’s chest before everything went black.

“Jack?” Hands are shaking Winn. “Jack. Get up, the morning bell is ringin’.”

“Huh.” Winn sat up groggily, disoriented by his odd surroundings. “What’s going on?”

He appeared on the roof of a building on a cot, some sort of metal railing ran along one side of the roof. There was a tube of papers, shoved into an alcove and sheltered from the wind.

The person who had been shaking him (a young boy of about 14 with sandy blonde hair and a crutch) laughed. “Ey, how much of that whiskey did you’s drink last night?”

Suddenly the boy froze, that in itself was not odd, but the wind died down in an instant and the cloth on the railing stopped mid-flutter.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” A new voice shocked Winn. He glanced to his right to find the Music Meister looking down at him in concern.

Winn was quickly getting fed up with whatever game he was playing. “Where’s Mon-El?”  

The Music Meister smiled gleefully, “that’s the answer to the game.”

Winn sighed, resigned to the fact that playing along might be his only option. “How do I play?”

The other man clapped his hands, looking like a child who had been given a cookie (it was an expression that Mon-El often made when Winn agreed to get drinks with him, but thinking about that at the moment filled him with worry). “Follow the story and sing.”

“But I can’t sing.” It admittedly seemed like an odd thing to point out at the moment, but Winn wasn’t sure what would happen if he couldn’t play the game.

“Are you sure about that?” With those words, and a wink, the Music Meister vanished and everything snapped back into place.

“Jack. We’s gotta get the papes.”

The blonde boy was looking at him in concern and Winn decided that just going with it might be his best option. “Yeah, sure.” He stood up and moved over to the fire escape.

This did nothing to ease the concern on the other boy’s face.

“You’s forgettin’ a shirt.” Said shirt hit him in the face directly following these words Winn, and he caught it awkwardly, finger just managing to hook in the collar. “Did Kath kiss ya stupid or somethin’?”

Winn resists the urge to ask who that is, knowing it would only raise suspicion. “Something like that,” he muttered as he tugged on the shirt.

“Hey, Crutchie, you’s coming?” A voice shouted up the fire escape.

“Hold yer horses, Racer.” Crutchie shouted back. “Jackie’s still dreamin’ ‘bout his sweetheart.”

There was a whoop, and an appreciative murmur ran through what certainly sounded like a group of teenage boys.

Somehow Winn managed to get from the roof to the distribution center (at least that’s what the sign says, but he’d heard it called various demeaning names in the space of 30 seconds by all the boys as they entire. So, he wasn’t entirely certain what it was called).

He got into line with the others because that seemed like the right thing to do. The boy in front of him moved to the front of the line.

The man behind the desk took a puff from his cigar, before yelling to the boys behind him. “Fifty papes for the racer.” The boy slapped something down on the desk and took the offered stack of papers.

The man took one look at Winn and laughed. He called over his shoulder, “hundred papes for the cowboy.” The man looked at him expectantly, “you gonna pay, wise guy?”

“Uh.” He fished around in his pocket, finding no wallet and only a handful of change.

A hand reached in front of him and dropped two pennies on the desk. “I got this, Jackie.” Winn glanced at the owner of the arm and was surprised to find Mon-El winking at him.

Winn’s face turned bright red and he ducked away, taking the stack of papers quickly. The other boys swarmed around him though, murmuring enthusiastic greetings. One stood out from the rest though, “hey, Davey.”

“Hiya, Crutchie.” Whereas all the other boys spoke with a very old time yankee accent, Mon-El, or at least this boy who looked like him, spoke with the same twang, but his words were carefully articulated and grammatically correct. “Did you guys drop Jackie on his head again?”

The boys chuckled and one responded snarkily, “nah. He’s always been slow.”

“Like you’s one to talk, Racer.” One of the other boys called back as the group devolved into a playful tussling match.

Winn dragged Mon-El off to the side as the boys tussled. “Is it you?” Winn asked him critically, trying not to sound like a crazy person in case it wasn’t actually Mon-El.

“Of course it is.” Mon-El said, immediately dropping whatever accent he’d been faking. “Did you see the Music Meister once you got in here?”

Winn nodded, “he told me to play the game and sing and I’d…” see you again. “Well, we found each other. So, what now?”

Mon-El shrugged, “maybe all it takes is a kiss.”

“What?” Winn spluttered, his entire face turning red.

“Kara told me that everything is worked out with a kiss,” he looked at Winn’s face, gauging his reaction. “Is that not how things work?”

He was mentally strangling Kara for telling Mon-El that, while also trying to stop imagining what it would be like to have Mon-El kiss him (admittedly this was not a new thought, but at the moment they needed to focus on figuring the game out).

“Uh.” Winn tried to focus on giving Mon-El an intelligent response to his words. “No.” He nearly smacked himself in the face. “Kisses only solve everything in fairy tales.”

Winn was saved the embarrassment of having to say anything else by one of the boys shouting at them. “Hey, Cowboy. You’s girl is here.” There was a series of whoops and catcalls, following this exclamation.

Winn turned in the direction of the voice and froze, because standing directly in front of the group of cheering boys was Kara. No, Winn shook himself mentally, not Kara. The clothes were all wrong, a high-collared dress that reached down to her ankles and her hair was done up in simple curls. With a spiral notebook clutched in one hand and a pencil tucked behind she ear, she looked every bit like Kara would have, had she landed on Earth a century and a half earlier.

No, that wasn’t quite right. There was an air about her, Winn had spent the better part of a year watching Kara, and he knew that however much this girl might look like her, she wasn’t Kara.

She noticed Winn’s gaze and smiled at him, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “Are you going to hide over there all day, Cowboy?”

“Uh.” The other boys laughed at Winn’s tongue-tied expression. The girl rolled her eyes and walked over to him gracefully.

“Careful, Kath.” One of the boys hollered, “you’s scrambled his brains last time.”

She stepped closer to him as the boys continued to hoot and holler. “Nice to see you didn’t run off to Santa Fé quite yet, Jack.”

Winn could only nod dumbly and smile. Maybe it wasn’t Kara, but she was still standing so close and looking at him in a way that Kara never had and it was honestly breaking his brain. He raised a hand to her cheek gently, because it was all he could do not to kiss her.

A cough startled Winn out of his trance. He glanced away from Kath? (he’s pretty sure that’s what the boys called her) and looked to his right. Mon-El was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“Kath.” Winn tested the name on his tongue carefully, “I need to talk to Davey for a moment.” Winn’s voice stuttered a little, as he tried to remember the name that the others had called Mon-El. Kath looked at him oddly, but didn’t protest.

Mon-El dragged Winn a few feet away, far enough that they could talk, but close enough that the others shouldn’t get suspicious.

“What are you doing?” Mon-El sounded angry, but Winn couldn’t guess why.

Winn’s cheeks burned with shame, “we’re supposed to play the game.” It was an excuse and they both knew it.

Mon-El’s jaw clenched and he looked away for a moment. “So you were just going to kiss her and pretend she was Kara?”

Winn was suddenly angry. He had been mooning over Mon-El for months and he’d never once looked at Winn like that. How dare he judge Winn when he’d finally gotten the chance to kiss the girl he’d been in love with for over a year. “Like you wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to kiss her,” Winn bit back, not caring how petty it sounded.

“I wouldn’t.” Mon-El’s voice was soft. “Maybe when I first met her, but not now.”

Winn’s anger faltered for a moment, shock flooding his senses instead. “What…” Winn was suddenly aware of how much closer he’d stepped to Mon-El, his anger driving him to get directly in the other’s face. Now, though, there was another feeling driving him to stay close to Mon-El, one that he only admitted to himself when Mon-El wasn’t looking. “Mon.”

“Jackie,” one of the boys called, and Winn suddenly remembered where they were. He backed away from Mon-El hurriedly.

The rest of the day passed quickly, or at least it seemed to, time passed oddly in the game. The day somehow seemed to last minutes, while also lasting a few hours.

Hawking the papers was easier to learn than Winn thought it would be, or maybe the Music Meister had designed the game to be easier if he just played along. Winn and Mon-El had paired together naturally, neither of them eager to play the game alone (never mind that now that he’d found Mon-El, Winn was reluctant to let him go). Thankfully, the others had considered this normal behavior and let it go without comment.

Kath had been looking at him strangely, but Winn didn’t think much of it. Hopefully they’d finish the game before she got suspicious.

By the time the sun had set, Winn was tired and exhausted, he’d spent all day walking and yelling in the hot sun. He leaned against Mon-El as they walked, “maybe he’s trying to teach us that work is hard.” Winn said, half heartedly, just wanting the game to be over.  

Mon-El laughed, which turned into a yawn as one of his arms came to rest around Winn’s shoulders. Winn’s head nestled further into Mon-El’s shoulder, nearly falling asleep even as he walked. Mon-El’s arm tightened around Winn’s shoulders as he yawned again.

The clack of cobblestone under a boot sounded behind them. Winn was too sleepy to do more than vaguely cast his eyes to the right, but Mon-El looked behind them and froze. Winn sensed the change immediately, an air of danger temporarily dissipating the sleepy fog in his brain.

Standing behind them on the dimly lit street were the two boys who’d stood behind the counter with the cigar smoking man. They had matching hats and sour expressions on their faces, one was brandishing a small black pistol (only just visible because of the light from the street lamp glinting off of it).

“I thought you knew better, Jackie boy.” One of them taunted, a tight sneer stretching his face eerily in the low light. “This ain’t the kinda company you should keep at night.”

“Had a feeling about you,” the one holding the gun continued, “nothin’ quite right with any of you’s Newsies. But you, you’s inspire the others to do this.” He pointed his gun at Mon-El instead.

“Look,” Winn started, trying to move in front of Mon-El, but the second that he moved the gun was back on him, keeping him frozen in place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, let’s just put the gun down and we can talk about this.” But Winn had a sinking feeling that he did know what this was about, they must’ve been sent to a much earlier place in time than he’d originally thought.

“Huh, whad’ya know?” The one without the gun smiled crookedly, “he’s talkin’ fancy now. Guess he has been spending too much time with Dave.”

Mon-El moved forward, taking the gun and the focus off Winn. Mon-El kept moving toward the two, seemingly unbothered by the threats and insults they hurled at him. Winn stood frozen with terror. Mon-El was upping the danger in a clearly already dangerous game, they had no way of knowing if he was still bullet proof.

However, Mon-El didn’t seem to have nearly the same reservations as Winn, he was now halfway from their would-be attackers (an arrogant determined smile firmly on his face).

“Stop.” The boy leveled the gun at Mon-El’s chest, his hand shaking slightly. “I’ll shoot.”

Mon-El spread his arms wide in an inviting gesture.

Bang.

The shot went wide.

Both boys took off, suddenly terrified of the weapon they had brought.

“See,” Mon-El said, smiling. “This game isn’t too hard.” His gaze dropped to Winn’s torso, the grin on his face froze and then fell.

Winn collapsed to his knees, blooding leaking through his shirt. The shot hadn’t gone wide by much, just far enough to miss Mon-El and go right through Winn. Exhaustion and blood loss were coupling together in his brain, making the world feel sluggish and distorted.

Something warm wrapped around Winn. He hoped it was Mon-El, but it could easily have been his own blood as he lay on the cobbles.

“Winn, Winn.” Maybe Mon-El was shouting or maybe he was whispering. There was a wringing in Winn’s ears that threatened to drown out every other sound. He groaned as a hot wave of pain rippled through his abdomen.

There was a swirl of green in the corner of his vision and Winn wondered if the white light he’d heard so much about was green after all.

“Pity.” Said a familiar voice, “I’d hoped to have a little more entertainment than this.” The Music Meister almost sounded bored as he examined the scene before him. “Well, you know what to do.” He prompted Mon-El, who’d been staring at him, frozen with shock. “Hurry now, it doesn’t look like you have much time left.”

“Mon.” Winn groaned, trying to make sense of the conversation. “What is it? Did he tell you how to beat the game?” The last words were barely a whisper, it was hard to breath.

Mon-El took a deep breath and started to sing, “we were never meant to meet. And then we met. Why knows why,” Mon-El tried to focus on the song even as a trickle of blood ran out of Winn’s mouth and down his chin. His next words were watery as he struggled to regain his composure. “One more stranger on the street, just someone sweet passing by.” The next words lodged in his throat, thinking of Winn as an angel felt far too literal at the moment. “An angel come to save me. Who didn’t even know he gave me something to believe in for even a day. One day may be forever,” that’s not okay.

Winn felt a surge of warmth run through him as Mon-El sang. It took him a moment to figure out that the warmth was more than just a glow in his heart, something odd was happening to his wound. On impulse, he put his fingers to the wound and they came away less red than before. “But that’s okay.” Winn continued for Mon-El, since it seemed the latter’s voice had given out for the moment. “And if I’m gone tomorrow, what was ours still will be.” Because it was theirs, wasn’t it? (Even if they’d never acknowledged it)

Winn grabbed Mon-El’s hand with all of the strength he could muster. “I have something to believe in, now that I know you believed in me.”

Mon-El nodded, squeezing back just as fiercely, “Do you know what I believe in? Look into my eyes and see.” A tear ran down Mon-El’s cheek and Winn reached up to wipe it away gently. “It was you, always you.” He whispered, kissing Winn’s forehead.

And then everything went dark.