#another time i chopped off a dude's tongue

[dragonpyre]

The best part of theater/acting is when everyone's in costume but you're between scenes and just hanging out. To your left you have Mary O'Flanagan, all dressed up in her Sunday best. Next to her is the demon of Hell, Beelzebub, blood coming out of their mouth and eyes black as pitch. They're chatting about Pokemon

[octuscle]

Every Friday Night

What do you give someone who actually has everything? My friend Daniel is celebrating his 40th birthday next Saturday. We've been inseparable since high school. By his own admission, he's had a good life: he's a fairly successful doctor, most people appreciate his pleasant if somewhat reserved nature, and time has only given him the occasional gray hair, a slight tummy and shallow laugh lines on his gentle face.

Although he has had to make some sacrifices over the years to achieve his professional and social status, he admits that it has all been worth it. Until now, I always believed that too. What reason did I have not to? Until we had perhaps one or two too many glasses of wine yesterday. The wine loosened his tongue. And Daniel said wistfully that he regretted not having a more rebellious youth.

Shit, I've had a bit too much wine myself… I'm afraid I've been up to some shenanigans. At least I have a Chronivac app on my phone and I get text messages that my subscription is activated. And there's a countdown. Shit, I have a bad headache. And no idea what's going on.

Daniel calls me and asks me what the calendar entry is for Friday evening. It says "Gym" in the calendar. Yeah, right. Gym. Friday night. Isn't that what we always do? I'm a bit confused. Daniel too. "Yes, of course!" he says. Gym on Friday. As always. Will I pick him up? For some reason, I tell him to meet me at the bus stop. Sure, says Daniel. We haven't taken the bus since school days.

Friday evening. It feels normal to meet Daniel at the bus stop. We're both still wearing our casual business outfits from the office. And a sports bag with us. When was the last time I went to the gym? Shit, last Friday of course. We go every Friday. At least. Daniel greets me with a fist bump and offers me a cigarette. Neither of us smoke.

When the bus arrives, Daniel goes straight through to the back. He sits down in the last row with his legs apart and starts rolling a fag. I sit down next to him. Damn, he smells of sweat and tobacco. i start playing with my cell phone. since when do i have a tiktok account? A guy gives me tips on taking Trenbolone. Daniel looks at my screen, grabs my cock and says that the stuff makes me a muscle whore and shrinks my balls. i ask him why that's a problem. We laugh. The people around us roll their eyes. The bus arrives at our station. As we walk to the exit, Dan lights his cigarette. Before we're even off the bus, I take it out of his mouth and take a deep drag. Fuck the smoking ban!

I think the gym sucks, but Dan really wanted to train here. The other guys are pumping iron in our neighborhood. It's closer and you can go straight to the pub with the lads afterwards. But Dan is obsessed with the big boys. He really wants to become a freak. And shit, we're bros. I have to go with him. And to be honest, I totally dig his gym acne. I bet he's going to be a freak.

Training was like, totally lit, dude! The big boys have our backs all the way, major props. That's so dope. But Dan, he's such a poser, always flexing with pics and posts. And TikTok, non-stop! But man, he's already got a squad of followers. Now we're heading to the pub to meet up with the boys, but we're stuck on this darn bus for another freakin' half hour. The shower situation is a total bummer anyways. A quick spray of Axe under the pits, a dab of wax in the hair – good to go! Hey, Dan nailed it with the fresh cut, maybe I should chop mine off too.

Saturday morning. I feel a bit like I've been run over by a bus. In general… Buses. Shit, what have I been dreaming about buses? Tonight is Daniel's birthday party. He's celebrating at the Savoy. Cocktails at the bar, dinner at the grill… I still have to get my tuxedo from the cleaners. And I still need a present… Stop, wait… Didn't I already give him a present?

The birthday party was nice. A bit stiff. At around 02:00, we sit at the bar for one last drink. And Daniel asks me if I can remember last night. Funny, I have no idea what I did. Neither does he.

Thursday evening I receive a message via WhatsApp. Unknown number. We are supposed to pick up our stuff tomorrow at 16:00. Same place as usual. I have no idea what it's about. Daniel calls me to say that someone has told him that we still owe him 100 pounds for some stuff and that we should fucking bring it tomorrow. We both have no idea what it's about…

I get another message at midday on Friday. I ask if we can bring the appointment forward to 5pm. It's not my new iPhone. It's an old scratched device with a cracked display. I reply: "I'm sorry, but we're still at the gym until 18:00. Unfortunately, I can't make it any earlier." My fingers are moving as if remote-controlled. And now I have to go. The disco-poser biceps don't pump up by themselves.

Yo, so check it out, Dan's out here thinking he's this mega athlete, but homeboy be puffin' on them cancer sticks like there's no tomorrow, I'm talkin' 'bout 10 to 15 smokes a day? Psshh, child's play! Dan be double dosin' that, like he's tryna set the world record for most Marlboros inhaled in 24 hours or somethin'. And then, to top it off, dude's pullin' shady moves like stealin' cash from his pops just to fund his steroid stash! Man, I'm grindin' my butt off every night at the slaughterhouse just to keep up with them gym beasts, and this dude be relyin' on his daddy's wallet? Nah man, he gotta get a real job! Then, as if things couldn't get any wilder, my boy Liam starts talkin' 'bout Tren, that hardcore juice that supposedly turns you into a freakin' beast. I've heard stories, man, dudes growin' extra body parts and all! But me and Dan, we playin' it safe, stickin' to our old school supps for now. Ain't nobody tryna grow a third nipple just yet, you feel me?

I swear, Dan is like a walking perfume factory of pure musk. If he just lifts his arm, he's got every dude and babe in the gym drooling over him. Meanwhile, I'm just here, living my best life at all times. And now, the tattoo sesh with the artist is a no-go. Total bummer. I was so stoked to get my full-on sleeve inked up tomorrow evening. It's just way cooler to flex those guns in a tank at the club, you know? I love flaunting my hard-earned biceps. Gotta keep grinding, you feel me?

I slept naked tonight. And as rumpled as my bed is, I had wild dreams. I've got a movie tear again. My last memory was of strange messages I received on someone else's cell phone. When I walk into the bathroom, my heart almost stops. I have a bloody tattoo on my forearm! I raise my arm to see if there are any more. Dude! Eileen usually epilates my armpits every two weeks. Where did the bush under my arms come from? And why does it smell like I haven't showered for three weeks? I really need to take a shower. Although I have an urgent urge to go to the gym again straight away. That rarely happens. My inner bastard usually wins out at the weekend. And if I'm motivated, I should take advantage of it. I could ask Daniel if he fancies a game of squash at the club, I think to myself as I soap up. When I get out of the shower, I get a message from Daniel. He asks me if I have any idea where his tattoo came from. And whether I fancy a game of squash at the club.

I have no idea what's happening to us. On the one hand, I feel much fitter than I did a few weeks ago. On the other hand, Daniel and I have both started smoking. And we got tattoos. Obviously in a drunken stupor. At the age of 40! Who does that? I mean, Daniel seems so much more relaxed. At work, in his private life. And that pays off. He's never received so much positive feedback… And it's hardly any different for me. I feel so much more agile. And shit, I think about sex all the time. And mostly sex with Daniel.

On Thursdays I somehow always start to get restless. I used to primarily look forward to the week being over. But now I'm looking forward to the weekend starting. Kind of like it used to be. At school or university. And Saturdays and Sundays aren't much different than they were a month or two ago. And I can't remember the last few Fridays for the life of me. And the funny thing is that Daniel obviously feels the same way. It's almost Friday morning when I get a new message from the same number as last week. "Ive got a hell of a lot of m1y on u. Dont let meh down. And if u W, ill owe u 1". I really have no idea what that means. For some reason I save the number under "Liam".

Normally "casual friday" for me means wearing chinos with a blazer. Sometimes with just a white t-shirt underneath. But usually with a button-down shirt. Today I'm wearing a sweat suit with a hoodie top under a down vest. The neckline of the tank top underneath is so low that you can see the gap between my pecs. I actually didn't think about it. It just felt right. And no one in the office questioned it. On the contrary, I get a lot of compliments. My boss personally praises my tight ass. At 3:00 pm I get a message from Daniel: "Dude, were r u? fite starts @ 20:00. Didnt we want 2 trin beforehand? n da photo shoot is b4 tht 2!" I call him and ask him what that shit means. He can't remember any message he's supposed to have sent me. But the fact is that I have to go now, even if I still have no idea where I'm going or why.

Oh my god, this night is straight up LIT AF! Had a sick sesh at training with my ride-or-die homie. Then my first presser, ya boy's the ultimate underdog for this brawl. Cameras flashing like crazy. And then the showdown. Damn, your boy's killin' it. But KO in round two? No one saw that coming. Except Liam, he had faith. Dan's hating, thinking it's all fake. He's just salty. Bros gonna hate, but we're tight. Now we're popping bottles for the win. Liam's shouting that tonight's on him. We ain't gotta be told twice, let's partyyyy!

I could swear my nose looks like it's been broken in more than one fight. Somehow I remember boxing matches from the past. But when? At university? I was more of a debating and astronomy club kind of guy. Shit, Daniel and I need a new sports club. This stuffy country club is for wimps. Yes, we're 40 years old. But fit as fuck. There may be customers and colleagues who turn up their noses at us because of our tattoos. But hey, we weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouths. We've fought for everything we've achieved. And Dan and I agree that we've been really successful.

Yes, we like our jobs. And we're both good at it. But real life starts on Friday afternoon. Damn, you can bet your life on it!

[impala-dreamer]

Trouble On Set

A Short Story

~Jensen and Jared have a habit of messing with costars, but what happens when one of them fights back?~

Jensen x Reader (ish), Misha, Jared / Dean x Carrie, Sam, Castiel

2,963 Words

Warnings: Pranks and Drama and Adult Behavior. Fluff.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Dean raised his hand once more, ready to strike, and Carrie cringed in fear, shrinking down into a tiny thing, like a flower retreating from the frost.

“Please, don’t!” Her voice was weak and trembling just like her fragile frame. Blood trickled down from the cut on her lip, bruises blossomed beneath her smooth skin.

Dean froze, his fist hovering in the air above his head. He caught his breath and crumbled inside, green eyes going wide with sadness. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

Sam rushed past his brother, nearly knocking him to the side as he fell to his knees to check on Carrie. She lunged forward into his big arms, finding a bit of comfort as they wrapped tight around her.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

She looked up from Sam’s shoulder to Dean, her eyes huge with shock and betrayal. “Dean, I-”

A loud, blistering pop of air ripped through the room, accompanied by a rotten smell so foul that Carrie could not hold back her disgust.

“Dean, I- I-” The smell permeated her senses and her gag reflex activated. “Oh god-”

Jared laughed, his giant body shaking, still wrapped around Y/N. She gagged loudly and tried to pry herself out of his grasp.

“Cut!”

“Oh my god!” Y/N held her breath and shoved at Jared’s chest, finally pushing him away.

Above them, Jensen looked down with a wicked smile. “Jesus, dude, what’d you eat!” He waved a hand in front of his face as the smell finally reached him.

“You’re disgusting,” Misha added, standing off to the side on his mark. “So gross.”

Jared stood up and shrugged as he adjusted his jeans, yanking them up back into place. “Hey! Shit happens!”

Jensen burst into a loud cackle that bent him clean in half. “Did you shit yourself?”

Y/N tried to stay calm, keep herself professional, but the smell seemed to be getting worse. “Wow.”

“Think something died in your ass, dude,” Jensen went on, hands on his knees as he laughed.

Jared took it all in like he was winning an award, smile beaming as the crew reset.

“OK! Settle! Let’s go again.”

Dean raised his fist high, his jaw twitching with anger.

Carrie shrank down and away, terrified and aching from his previous blow. “Please, don’t!” Her voice trembled, her hand shot up to hide her face from his wrath.

Dean froze, his fingers unfurling as he looked down at her, pain and sadness filling his freckled face. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

Carrie stared up at him, tears flooding her pretty eyes.

Jensen licked his lips slowly, seductively, and raised an eyebrow at Y/N.

Sam rushed past Dean and dropped down to his knees next to Carrie. She fell forward into his big arms as her breath became labored with heavy sobs.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

Jensen bared his teeth and ran the tip of his tongue across the edges, licking his chops like a wolf as he stared at her.

Carrie looked up from Sam’s shoulder and a tear fell from her eye. “Dean, I-”

Again, Jensen used his tongue, this time flickering it quickly between his teeth, then rolling it suggestively. He smirked as Y/N shivered, distracted by his movements.

“Dean, I-”

Another slow, long roll of his tongue.

“I, uh…”

“Cut!”

Jared leapt to his feet and went over to Jensen, continuing a conversation from before the first take. Misha pulled out his phone, and Y/N simply stayed on the dirty studio floor, wiping real tears from her face with the hem of her shirt.

“You OK?”

Blue eyes were wide with genuine concern, but Y/N waved Misha off. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Her smile was weak but managed to help calm her frustration.

“OK, people. Let’s go again! Take ten…”

And so it went.

After five days of filming the first of her seven episode run, Y/N had messed up nearly every shot she was in, whether by design or fear of having it ruined. Jared and Jensen were terribly wicked, making her break constantly, tripping her, making faces at each other or her, farting- it was almost unmanageable. Through it all, Y/N tried her best to stay calm and keep going. It was a huge thing- landing a spot on such a great show, but she didn’t know if she could do it for much longer. The frustration was boiling up inside of her, and- not to mention- she felt unwanted and severely disliked. Everyone always talked about how nice Ackles and Padalecki were to guest stars, how playful and loving the set was, how the cast and crew were like family. Y/N sure as hell wasn’t feeling like family. More like the black sheep no one wanted to talk about. Or to.

Dean raised his hand once more, ready to strike, and Carrie cringed in fear, shrinking down into a tiny thing, like a flower retreating from the frost.

“Please, don’t!” Her voice was weak and trembling just like her fragile frame. Blood trickled down from the cut on her lip, bruises blossomed beneath her smooth skin.

Dean froze, his fist hovering in the air above his head. He caught his breath and crumbled inside, green eyes going wide with sadness. “I- I didn’t mean to…”

Sam rushed past his brother, nearly knocking him to the side as he fell to his knees to check on Carrie. She lunged forward into his big arms, finding a bit of comfort as they wrapped tight around her.

“It’s OK,” he whispered, “I got you.”

She looked up from Sam’s shoulder to Dean, her eyes huge with shock and betrayal. “Dean, I-”

Jensen looked up at the ceiling, refusing to meet her gaze. He puckered his lips as if whistling, completely ignoring her.

“Dean-”

He tongued his cheek and sighed, seemingly annoyed by her acting.

“I… um…”

Y/N cleared her throat and grit her teeth, determined to make it through the take.

“Dean- I’m so sorry.” Carrie let loose a stream of loud tears, pouring them into Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry!”

“And...cut! We got it. That’s dinner, people.”

Y/N stepped out into the cold Vancouver night, totally uninterested in dinner or anything other than collapsing into her bed back at the hotel. She needed a shower, a drink, and a call back home to her best friend. The job she’d been looking forward to for weeks had turned out to be a nightmare.

Finally alone, she closed her eyes and lifted them towards the dark sky, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Things were not what they had seemed.

Boots echoed behind her and Y/N startled, turning to see Jensen walking towards her, a kind smile upon his plump lips.

“Hey.” He stopped a few feet away and tucked his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels nervously.

Y/N’s anxiety spiked and her stomach tightened. “Hey.”

He licked his bottom lip slowly, green eyes flashing over her face. “Great job today. Made it through that scene nicely.”

Confused, Y/N swallowed down her annoyance and nodded. “Thanks. You too.”

“It’s not easy to cry like that,” he complimented, voice smooth and sweet. “I’m impressed.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, not sure what was going on. “Thanks?”

“Really,” he pushed with a smile, the apples of his cheeks burning pink under the lot lights. “You did great.”

Y/N couldn’t respond; her thoughts twisted in utter confusion. She stared at Jensen as if he were some alien being sent to drive her insane.

He tipped back on his boot heels and took a deep breath, prepping for something. He cleared his throat and locked his knees. “So anyway… I was wondering if you… wanted to come get a drink with me? We’re pretty much done for the day. I think they’re just reshooting Jared’s scene with Misha next, so you and I could sneak away.” He held his breath and dug his front teeth hard into his bottom lip, waiting for her answer.

It was not what he expected.

Y/N’s jaw dropped and she blinked furiously at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

Jensen laughed timidly. “There’s a bar we like to go to downtown. We can… go hang out? Get a buzz on?” He shrugged and smiled.

Y/N snapped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He jolted. “What?”

“I said, are you fucking kidding me?” she spat, turning towards him with rage pulsing from her form. Jensen took a step back but she came closer. “You… you have been fucking with me all fucking week!” Her voice echoed down the alleyway, giant metal buildings amplifying her rage like a blow horn. “You’re so mean! You… you and Jared have been fucking up every take for me! You tripped me twice, I slammed into a wall yesterday; you’re making disgusting remarks and faces at me while I’m trying to cry. You’re ruining this for me!”

Jensen’s hands lifted from his pockets to surrender, his palms facing her in the dark. “Whoa. It’s not… we’re not-”

“You’re not? You’re not! You’re gonna get me fired! Do you even care about anyone but yourself? This is a huge deal for me and you’re going to ruin it. I’m gonna get fired because you can’t keep be fucking professional and Jared can’t stop eating burritos for lunch!” Y/N caught herself, gasping for a breath while her pulse raged in her ears. “Fuck!”

Jensen shook his head in shock and lowered his hands. “Y/N, it’s… really not what you think. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Oh, he’s sorry!” She spun around, telling the world. “He’s sorry he’s going to get me fired, everyone! Jensen Ackles is sorry! That makes it all better!”

He stood, dumbfounded and guilty, his shoulders falling low, his eyes filling with hurt. “Wow. I’m… really sorry.”

Y/N took a deep, shaking breath and turned her eyes away, not wanting him to see her cry. “Yeah. Thanks for the apology.” She crossed her arms and spun on her heel, turning her back on him. “Think I’ll pass on drinks.”

Jensen tried to say something, to find some way to smooth things over, but his voice died in the back of his throat, his mind empty and unsure. “Yeah,” he mumbled, backing away. “OK.”

She heard him walk away and she did the same, stalking towards the parking lot.

From the shadows, a dark figure emerged, black hair a mess, trenchcoat flapping gently in the breeze.

“You know he’s just fucking with you.”

Misha’s voice called to her and Y/N turned to see him leaning against the corner of the building, clearly having heard and seen everything.

“You usually lurk in the shadows like that?”

He laughed and shrugged. “No, but I’m usually in the right place at the right time.”

Y/N shook her head. “Not me. I’m clearly in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong profession.”

Misha pushed himself away from the wall. “Nah. You were really good today.”

“Was I?” she snit, sarcasm coating every inch of her. “Sorry. I’m just- they’re torturing me and I don’t know why.” Her voice cracked. “They fucking hate me. What did I do?”

He laughed.

“Oh, that’s funny to you?”

He shook his head. “They don’t hate you, Y/N.”

She huffed. “I highly doubt that, but thank you.”

Misha came closer and lowered his voice. “You know, they only torture those they like. Especially Jensen. He’s only like that with people he… really likes.” He emphasized the last like as if he were the grade school gossip and Y/N scoffed.

“Yeah, right.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Believe me or don’t, but it’s true. At least with you around, I’m getting a break.”

Y/N’s shoulders scrunched up high as she processed the new information. “He… likes me?”

Misha nodded. “Yup. He’s like a kid on a playground,” he told her. “If he dips your pigtails in ink tomorrow, don’t be upset. It’s like his mating call.”

Y/N cracked the first smile in days and hummed devilishly. “Hmm…”

“That’s a scary hmm,” Misha laughed.

“It is,” she agreed, turning to meet his gaze. “Maybe we can use this,” she said, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “Maybe we can prank him back.”

He laughed. “Yeah, that never works. I’ve tried.”

Again, Y/N’s brain turned in circles as her plan pieced together. “Hmm…”

Misha leaned back and watched her think. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Carrie walked into the kitchen, her face covered in bruises; a tiny butterfly bandage above her eyelid holding together a deep cut. She tiptoed down the steps and skirted the perimeter, eyes ever on Dean who sat alone at the table. He nursed a beer, two empty bottles haphazardly lined up next to it.

“Rough night?” she asked, her voice cracking with nervous emotion.

Dean didn’t look at her. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long sip, his eyes closing as the brew flooded his tongue. He came up with a heavy breath. “Rough life.”

She nodded and took a step towards him. “Yeah. I don’t doubt it.” Bare feet were sticky on the tile as she went to him, stopping at the edge of the table. “Do you wanna-”

“Talk about it?” he snapped, cutting her off, looking up with pained, red-rimmed eyes. “No. Do you?”

Meekly, Carrie shook her head. “No.”

She started to turn, meaning to leave him alone to wallow, but Dean’s hand shot out to grab her wrist, pulling her down to him. He looked up, a little drunk, mostly guilty.

“Why are you still here?” he whispered, tears choking his deep voice.

Her bottom lip trembled as his grip tightened. “W-what do you mean?”

Dean sat up, drawing closer to her, gaze digging into her soul. “Why are you still here? I almost killed you.”

She swallowed hard and leaned down, breath passing over his lips like a warm breeze. He closed his eyes but the kiss never landed. She pressed her cheek to his and whispered in his ear. “Because I can’t leave you…”

Dean’s eyes welled with tears.

Y/N’s whisper continued as the camera zoomed in over her shoulder on Dean’s reaction. “Because all I can think about is taking you out back and sucking your big, juicy cock over and over until you die of dehydration.”

Jensen choked on his own spit, so shocked by her words. He coughed to clear his throat and the scene was dead.

“Cut!”

Y/N pulled back and stared down at him, daring him to say anything. Jensen was stunned, looking up with wide eyes.

She winked.

He shivered.

“Back it up! Reset!”

Carrie tiptoed down the steps into the kitchen, bruised and battered from the night before. She saw Dean and shivered, body tensing up as she walked the edges of the room

“Rough night?” she asked, voice shaking.

Dean ignored her and lifted the bottle to his lips. “Rough life.”

Carrie took a step towards him. “Yeah. I don’t doubt it.” She floated towards him, nervous but needing to help. “Do you wanna-”

“Talk about it?” he growled, looking up at her.

Y/N let her eyes go soft and parted her lips. The tip of her tongue shot out to slowly drag across her bottom lip. Jensen swallowed hard.

“No,” Dean snit. “Do you?”

Carrie shook her head. “No.”

She started to leave but Dean reached for her wrist, pulling her down to him. He looked up and gasped.

Y/N puckered her lips into a perfect circle and Jensen couldn’t think of anything else but her mouth wrapped around his cock.

“W-Why are you... s-still here?” he whispered, chest heaving, eyes gazing over.

Carrie’s lip trembled “What do you mean, Dean?”

Y/N spoke his name with half a moan and Jensen squirmed in his seat, feeling his dick grow.

“Uh…Um...Why? W-why are-”

“Cut!”

Thrice more, Jensen mucked up the scene. Staring at Y/N, he couldn’t get any words to properly form, let alone a tear to fall. She licked her lips, batted her lashes, sucked her fingers, moaned in his ear. The closer they got to finishing the scene, the harder she teased him, and in the end, he could barely stand.

Dean stood quickly and Carrie backed away, afraid he would strike her again. Her wrist was snagged in his hand, his grip unbreakable.

“Let me go!” she demanded, twisting in his grasp.

Dean walked her backwards until she hit the countertop, her breath pushing out in a shocked huff.

“Dean!”

He kissed her silent, releasing her hand only to hold her cheeks, push his breath into her, his pain, his guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

She licked his kiss from her lips and closed her eyes. “I know.”

“Cut! We got it!”

Jensen dropped his hands from Y/N’s cheeks but didn’t back away right away. She bucked her hips forward and he groaned deep in the back of his throat. He was hard against her, his erection straining in his jeans.

The crew carried on their business and slowly, Jensen backed away, clasping his hands in front of his crotch.

“You figured it out,” he said with a faint laugh.

Y/N tongued her cheek and looked away, over his shoulder. “I had a little help from an angel,” she confessed.

Jensen dropped his head. “Damnit Misha.”

Y/N lifted her eyes to his. “Damnit, nothing.” She cocked her head and leaned close. “Wanna go get that drink now?”

Jensen’s lips puckered and he let out a slow breath. “Hell yes.”

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[shveris]

collage au with toji, sukuna and satoru living together and it’s surprisingly clean and well kept.

mention of emotional & physical abuse from family members and trauma

toji is the most messy out of the three but sukuna hates dirt so when he finds it he cleans it. satoru is a perfectionist who grew up in a tidy mansion so he always has the need and urge to keep his new environment just as clean — he feels very uncomfortable and restless otherwise.

they fuck around once in a while (yes, literal fucking) but it’s mainly because none of them have the actual mental to have proper relationships and despite satoru’s very extroverted behaviour, he actually hates touching people. he thinks they’re dirty, unsanitary, because he doesn’t know how they live and what their hands and clothes have been touching.

sukuna is clean though, he knows because he regularly buys those very expensive bodywashes and puts all their underwear into another cycle just after the first one is done.

toji is clean since he is kinda trained to adapt to his environment. he eventually even stops punching sukuna when he tries to put lotion on his very dry face after a scorching hot shower and he starts washing his hands when he comes home.

they don’t talk about how all of them have sex with each other at least twice a week — trice, if there’s exam stress — and usually the apartment is filled with bickering.

“six, you told me you’d send me that fucking report an hour ago.” satoru just stares at toji in his doorway and clicks his tongue because, yes, he completely forgot.

“have some fucking manners, dude”, he snaps back but sends him the report. they got thrown into this group project for three months with this emo named choso and a guy named ino, not that any of them gave a fuck. they were just laughing at sukuna because he was stuck with four women staring down at him.

there’re also regular outbursts of sukuna throwing items around — at satoru and toji as well — because he feels threatened. by what? they don’t know. they don’t ask. they just go with it and make a game out of it.

“if one of you hits my face i will actually chop your dicks off” is usually what satoru enters the living room with but when the tv remote slams into his jaw ten minutes later, he can’t help but laugh menacingly and throws himself onto the culprit elbow first.

their evenings are filled with study sessions (sukuna and satoru take their academics very serious and toji is just sitting there because he enjoys watching their facial expressions contort into frustrated confusion), playing video games, sex, uno that almost always ends up with sukuna and toji trying to kill each other, bad horror movies that make sukuna hungry, and some times they’re actually peacefully talking with each other until satoru falls asleep.

almost everyone on campus thinks they are dating and neither of them have an issue with that rumor (“it keeps the weird chicks away” sukuna had said and toji rolled his eyes). they don’t even act like couples, more like competitive boxers with too much testosterone (shoko’s words).

even with sukuna’s constant berates, insults and slurs, he loves cooking and always looks for a chance to brag about it to satoru.

“i bet your private chefs at home ain’t shit in comparison to me” or “the michelin chefs your parents are friends with can only wish to be at my level” or “this is my first time cooking this recipe and i fucking rocked it”

toji doesn’t mind at all, he loves all kinds of food, he’s the opposite of picky. whenever there’s something on satoru’s plate that he doesn’t like, he gives it to toji who will happily eat it for him.

sukuna even makes an effort to learn the recipes to his roommate’s favourite foods, perfects them in a few weeks. making mochi was probably way too much effort but he feels very proud whenever satoru brightens up upon eating the sweet treats. he’s glad toji is on the easier side of all this, the man loves chinese food a lot; dumplings, egg drop soup, lamb skewers and some simple noodle dishes.

toji doesn’t look like it but he enjoys the other two men’s company a lot. they never judge him for who he is, they never expect him to be a certain way, and not once did they ask why on some nights he comes home covered in blood. they just tell him to clean up properly and throw his clothes into the washer for three circles. they don’t ask him why he has that scar on his lips or nag him about that massive one that wraps around the left side of his body.

satoru is curious, his eyes speak volumes, but he never says nothing about it and just traces the tissue with his fingertips after sex. sukuna doesn’t even seem to acknowledge it at all, ignores it almost, but he always tells him to apply more lotion to it after scorching showers together.

grocery runs with them are always a complete mess; satoru only has eyes for sweets, toji grabs the next best instant ramen from the shelves, sukuna is constantly scolding them for not eating more healthy, says both of them would have vitamin deficiency if it weren’t for him.

he absolutely hates going out with them to the store but it’s necessary in a way. it’s a way of bonding, they get to buy everything they need once a week and then don’t have to go there for another seven days, and it makes cooking plans easier — and satoru is there to pay because he’s rich and the other two ain’t.

they also always end up buying a few packs of condoms and lube, much to the cashier’s horrors upon reading “extra large” and “strawberry flavoured”

sukuna and toji are rough, absolutely and utterly wild. satoru often calls sukuna an animal with no other instincts than to bite and breed and tear him inside out whereas toji just always knows how and when to abuse his prostate in the weirdest positions — satoru now has to stretch everyday to keep his limbs flexible.

when toji and sukuna fuck, the bedroom turns into a warzone. there’s bite and scratch marks everywhere on their bodies and when sukuna finally gives in and bottoms, neither of them actually make an effort to stretch him. never goes well. sukuna actually cries but he loves pain so it’s okay because satoru gives toji a really big scolding after and then both of them try to somewhat take care of him.

which also never goes well because all three of them never had good experiences with physical touch, nor do they know how to take care of someone else or themselves.

toji was barely holding himself together after graduation high school, having started some heavy drugs when he was sixteen and he never really grew out of it for years because of his fucked up family or his even more fucked up friends.

satoru was homeschooled, had no friends, didn’t know anyone his age — he had no concept of social life, of interpersonal relationships, pop culture. his face never showed any emotions because he just didn’t feel nothing, he felt hollow. nothing in his life brought him joy. his own mother barely paid any attention to him and when she did, there was nothing but hatred in her words.

sukuna grew up with a mother that had fun torturing him, may it be emotionally or physically. when he was younger, still an only child and his father too busy with work, she’s used him to press out her cigarettes, told him to stay still and then watched his face with great interest. there’s a long list of things that he had to endure and he hates remembering it.

they don’t know how they found each other.

i will deffo write more for this au bc i miss toji and satoru terribly

[xhoneygirlxx]

i just know for a fact Eddie doesn’t know any celebrity names but he knows the most random shit.

i’m just picturing husband or dad! Eddie, somewhere around 30s/40s in age.

you guys are in the car and maybe the basic radio is playing or you’re hooked up to the bluetooth, either way there’s music playing.

Dua Lipa’s ‘Dance the Night Away’ comes on and even though you’re paying more attention to the cars that pass by, a thought pops in your head.

“Baby,” you turn to him, “do you know who sings this?”

For a second he just listens and you can see the gears turning in his head like he’s trying hard to figure who’s voice is coming through the speakers.

“Yeah, it’s Jen Montana.” Eddie says it with so much confidence, smiling brightly that he could remember.

When you correct him and tell him the actual name, he proceeds to tell you that Jen Montana is a real person and she was a very famous popstar. He clearly meant Hannah Montana.

Another time you guys are in your living room sprawled out on the couch, lazing about. Deciding that you had enough phone time, you asks if he wants to watch a movie and he quickly agrees, saying there’s on he really wanted to watch.

Leaving your spot on the comfy sofa, you pad to the kitchen to make some popcorn. When you return Eddie’s got his Ipad in his hand, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, tapping away on the screen clearly looking for something.

“I thought we were watchin movie, baby.” You say and he turns his head up at you, tongue still poked out from when he was concentrating.

“We are! I just couldn’t remember the name of the movie I wanted to watch s’all.”

“Well just tell me the actor or actress and i’ll use the remote to look it up.” Sitting back down in your spot, you place the bowl on popcorn between the two of you.

“It’s that one with Sofia Mascara girl.” popping a handful of popcorn in his mouth, he stares straight ahead at the tv like a small child, excited and ready to watch something.

You’re lost, completely and 100% lost. Who the fuck was he talking about because that clearly wasn’t a person. You’re still staring at him like he has five heads, trying to work every part of your brain to understand who he meant. Turning his curly haired head back to you, his eyebrows furrow at your expression.

“What’s wrong?” It’s almost annoying how unaware he is sometimes.

“Eds, that’s not a person.” you try to say it calmly, not wanting to get upset over something this stupid.

“Yes it is, babe! She’s the girl in that one movie! Remember?” He rolls his eyes at you, like you’re the one who said something ridiculous.

“That narrows it down to like, a thousand people.” You deadpan and he huffs.

“The one movie when she’s like screaming and her boyfriend where a bear costume!”

“That’s fucking Florence Pugh, Edward! Not Sofia Mascara!” He laughs at how angry you get and it makes you even angrier.

“Yeah, yeah, same difference.”

It boggles your mind how he can’t remember a single celebrity’s name, but he can remember things that no one else does.

The two of you are laid out in bed, the darkness taking over the space. You’re eyes grow heavier, sleep about to take over your body.

“Do you ever think about what Aron Ralston is doing?” Eddie’s voice is thick with sleepiness.

“Who?” Your lips are smooshed against the cushion of your pillow, causing your words to sound muffled.

“The guy that chopped off his arm when he got stuck in the Grand Canyon! They made that movie with the Green Goblin’s son.” You don’t have to open your eyes to know he’s looking at you in a strange way for not knowing the man’s name.

Either way, you’re too tired to argue or even indulge in this conversation.

“No, I don’t think about what he’s doing during his day.”

“Maybe you should, dude almost died ya know.” He says to you and you almost want to stop talking.

“Okay, well I’ll send him an apology in the morning for not thinking about his daily routine. Can we go to sleep now?”

So yeah, Eddie doesn’t know mainstream artists and actors names but he can tell you any random fact you wanna know.

-

-

-

[abysscronica]

So this is kind of a question that’s unrelated to any specific thing but I feel like it’d give more perspective on Birdie and be interesting to see different bias’, so my question is what kind of stuff did the crew say about her without her present in her time on the ship? Like, it’s a new person that was constantly kind of evolving on how she is on the ship and with the crew and so I assume people talked about her even if it’s just casual talk of “oh did you see Kids girl today after the rain, she looked like a pissed cat” or just general “so what do you think of this whole thing” conversations. And there’s probably a big difference between people who get along with her (Mohawkian, Booka, Heat, ect) people who are more neutral (Doc and wire) and people who might not care for her (even if they don’t outright insult her in fear of Kid) also a weird second question based on that last part, how does Kid care if ppl talk shit on birdie? Because I know (especially as they get closer) that he wouldn’t like it but is he a “threaten to chop off their balls if they say another word about her” kind of dude or a “she’s strong enough to deal with guys saying stupid remarks about her so she can just handle it herself” kind of dude?

Hey, thanks for the ask and sorry for the long wait. This is a very interesting question! I can reply but unfortunately only incompletely because we'll touch upon this in Bonds and I don't want to give everything away.

Birdie was obviously a very hot topic among the crewmates during the month she spent with the Kid Pirates. The conversation shifted over time, as her own role with the crew changed. At the very beginning, men were mainly making lewd comments about her looks, what they'd do to her, and how the captain may be enjoying her. Not everyone of course, Heat and Wire were neutral and not interested in such conversation, the doc doesn't engage with the other guys too much in general, the girls were obviously absent at the time (you'll see why in Bonds), and I assume some of the others are gay/non binary/not interested in birdie anyway, so they wouldn't care much. After they see her fighting alongside them, the topic shifted to her fighting skills, like "did you see the marine girl today? She's a fucking good shot!". Not that the coarse appreciations completely died out but they were diluted, and more so after her sniping show against Daifuku's ship. At that point, her out-of-chart sniping skills were the hottest theme. Slowly but surely, the crew developed respect for birdie as a warrior, and that's when the gross sex-related discussion finally ended. Then, alongside respect, a sort of affection started to blossom - birdie's sharp tongue, her outbursts, her sarcasm, these things were endearing for the Kid Pirates. The men abandoned degrading comments and switched to subtle praise. Like "our little marine girl was moody today, eh? Choppy sea with the captain, I guess". They also started using her name more. Finally, when they realized Kid had actual feelings for her, the conversation evolved to her relationship with him, and whether or not she would become a proper crewmember. Many of them already considered her one, at least subconsciously, so they'd talk about her as such.

Of course this is a very general summary. Heat and Wire, as stoic dudes and officers, wouldn't discuss her with the crew at all, and the doctor too. The men knew about Heat's relationship with birdie, so they'd avoid talking about her when he was around. The Mohican started praising her quite soon, while Booka would turn aggressive if anyone talked shit about her. As for Kid, once again, the men wouldn't bring up the topic when he was around. If by any chance he heard something he didn't like, I figure he'd just punch the man who spoke without a world, a gentle reminder to be more aware of where your captain is. 😂

[ficsforeren]

What do you think would be the Erens advice to a man who can’t keep up with his wife sexually? I feel like himbo would try to give the sweetest advice lol

keep up with his wife sexually--you mean like, can't satisfy his wife with his dick? ejaculating too quickly? running out of stamina in bed? gotcha

Rockstar Eren: "You have ten fingers and a tongue. Use them."

Himbo Eren: *is shocked, then gets really sad* "oh my god, bro, I'm so sorry. I mean, I've never had that problem before--thank god--but I can imagine how hard it must have been for you. Umm... Maybe try to do some morning run, hit the gym, you know to increase your stamina? and watch porn, bro, seriously. that helps me a lot. here, let me give you a list of channels that can help you make your wife squirt in like three minutes. I tried to do it once and she came like all over my face, bro. just like, splashing everywhere. You don't even need to use your dick for this one. Here. Yeah, i have like a hundred channels, at least. too much?"

Soft Knight Eren: "Talk to her. Ask her what she wants you to do to her. So next time, instead of just going straight to the main course, you can spend more time pleasing her with mouth and your hands. Make her reach her high first before anything else. Kiss her and tell her how much you love her as much as you can. Sex isn't just about satisfying your psychical needs. Your emotional bond is much more important than that."

Yandere Knight Eren: *is disgusted* "You can't keep up with your wife sexually? Do you still call yourself a man?"

Soldier Eren: "Have you tried talking to her? Communication is the most important part in a relationship. Maybe what you've been doing wrong is that you've been doing the things you think she likes, and not what she actually likes, that's why she's unsatisfied. This is the kind of problem that you have to talk it out. If she loves you just as much as you love her, I'm sure you can work things out."

College Eren: *is laughing* "fuck man, i don't know, I've never had that kind of problem before. sorry, dude."

Vampire Eren: *is cackling* "okay, wait, let me get this straight. You're saying that you're alive and healthy and well and you can't get your dick hard again when your wife ask you for another round? bro, i'm literally dead and I still can go on for like five rounds in one night. the only thing that stopped me is because she passed out from losing so much blood."

Secret Agent Eren: *is shaking his head in amusement* "I'm sorry, bro, I wish I could help you but you're asking the wrong guy. Do you think I've ever experienced that kind of thing? nah. Just use viagra bro."

Mafia Eren: *snorts loudly* "can't satisfy your wife? just chop off that fucking useless dick. I know someone who can do that for you if you want. I'll give you a discount."

Idol Eren: "maybe the reason you can't get your dick hard is you're no longer attracted to pussies. yeah, i'm saying you're gay. and i'm saying i'm gay too, sometimes. wanna try? i can make use of that dick 😏"

[katsu28]

maybe something more

pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

summary: JJ and Y/N have feelings for each other, but neither of them want to address it until now

warnings: light swearing but I’m pretty sure that’s it (lmk if I missed anything though!)

a/n: y'all i started mapping out this idea in my head on the bus last week and deadass sprinted home so i could write it all down, may or may not have almost tripped over multiple curbs :D

masterlist + taglist

(gif credits to @jjmayday)

“Welcome to the—oh, it’s you guys again.” Your standard customer greeting turned into a teasing remark when your eyes landed on the three boys that had just sauntered into the Wreck.

“Don’t act like you’re not happy to see us, Y/N.” John B shot back, all three boys taking a seat at their usual table in the corner. You rolled your eyes playfully at him, wiping your hands on your apron as you angled your head towards the kitchen.

“Hey Kie, your friends are here!” You called.

“Are we not your friends too?” Pope chimed in, to which you merely shrugged, your hands effortlessly pouring a round of sodas for the boys like you’d done so many times before. Once they were full, you rounded the counter, sliding the cups across the table with a smile, but letting your gaze linger on JJ’s for a few extra seconds. He held your gaze cockily, the left side of his mouth quirking up into an all too familiar smirk while his hand slid itself up the back of your leg and into the pocket of your apron to snag a few straws. “Oh my god, will you guys just go get a room already?” Pope groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t need to see you two groping each other while I wait for my food!”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, dude.” JJ shrugged, but the look he was sending your way said otherwise. You aimed a wink at the blond boy before slipping out of his grip and taking your place behind the counter again.

Your relationship with JJ was a little hard to explain. You were both definitely attracted to each other, always flirting with one another and making excuses to touch each other—his hand on your knee when you hung out with them at bonfires, your fingers dancing along his broad shoulders during boat rides on the HMS Pogue—and you were definitely more than just friends, but neither of you had addressed what was going on between you yet.

“Quit getting handsy with my girl, Maybank,” Kie warned jokingly, materializing at your side and hopping onto the counter with a teasing smile. “Food’s up in five. We can take it to the beach for later.” The three boys nodded, and then Kie turned to you. “Wanna come with us? We’re just gonna surf the high tide and chill for the night, maybe even have our own little bonfire.”

“Y’know, while that sounds like a blast, I do have a job to do here, and unlike you I can actually get fired, so…pass.” You chuckled. Kie frowned, holding one finger up in the universal wait a second sign and hopping off the counter, sticking her head into the order window.

“Hey, dad?” She called into the kitchen to Mr. Carrera, who was chopping some lettuce at the prep station.

“What’s up, sweetpea?” He replied, setting his knife off to the side and looking up at his daughter.

“Can Y/N get off early and come to the beach with us?” She asked hopefully. You opened your mouth to protest, because although you were close with the Carreras since you’d started working at the Wreck last year, the last thing you wanted to do was take advantage of that closeness, but Kie smacked her hand over your mouth.

“Sure she can,” Mr. Carrera nodded, much to your dismay. “I hear the sunset’s supposed to be really nice today, and I was planning to close up early anyways and surprise your mom with date night. Added bonus that you won’t be home for a while.” Kie stuck her tongue out at her dad for that last remark, but thanked him still.

“Looks like it’s settled.” She grinned at you mischievously, wiggling her eyebrows before calling out to the boys. “Y/N’s coming with us!” They all replied with a variety of different responses, but you couldn’t help letting your eyes linger on JJ again, who was genuinely smiling at you. No smirk, no half crooked troublemaker smile, an actual grin—like he was happy you’d be there.

-------

As soon as the food was ready, everyone loaded into John B’s ugly old orange hippy van, aptly dubbed “The Twinkie”. You’d settled in the seat next to JJ, not missing but choosing to ignore the suggestive look that Kie kept sending your way when JJ’s hand didn’t leave its place wrapped around your wrist, mindlessly fiddling with the frayed and faded purple bracelet on your arm. Your heart jumped a little in your chest when you got the the beach and JJ studied you with his hand on your waist as you hopped out of the van, and again when he bumped shoulders with you as he pulled off his shirt to get into the water and winked at you as he backpedaled towards the surf with his board.

Oh, you were whipped all right.

You opted not to surf with your friends, instead relegating yourself to stuff-watcher and picture-taker. Mr. Carrera had been right, today’s sunset was absolutely breathtaking, with its pinks and reds and oranges all bleeding into one perfect painting.

Even though you’d lived in the Outer Banks your entire life, its summer sunsets never ceased to amaze you.

You let out a sigh of content, rubbing your arms as a cool breeze whipped its way across the fading sky. Before you could get too cold though, you felt something drape over your shoulders—a blanket. Casting your gaze to your left, you saw JJ dropping down onto the sand beside you, blond locks still dripping wet and chest still heaving from his surf session.

“Thanks.” You said softly, drawing a short nod from him. “Sunset’s really pretty, don’t you think?”

A few seconds passed before JJ answered.

“Absolutely beautiful.” He replied, sounding a little breathless. Your eyebrows quirked up, mouth falling open a little bit when you turned to look at him and found him looking intently, not at the fading sunset, but at you. JJ’s heavy gaze pinned you to the spot, and you suddenly felt hot despite the cool wind ruffling your hair.

“What?” You managed to choke out, eyebrows furrowing.

Was this it? Was this the moment JJ told you how he felt about you? It sure felt like the moment.

The words that left his mouth, however, kind of disappointed you. “Mind sharing that blanket?” He asked, blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

You hid your frown as best you could, holding the blanket open so he could scoot in close. And by close, you meant close. The entire right side of JJ’s body was pressed against yours, his surprisingly warm skin a nice contrast to your cold touch, and his hand immediately came to rest on your thigh, drawing lazy circles on your skin that had you wanting to kiss him senseless.

The two of you sat like this for a while, neither of you wanting to break the thick silence, until you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to say something.

“What are we, JJ?” You asked quietly.

“What do you want us to be?” His voice was the softest you’d ever heard it, and when you looked over at him again and saw the way he was looking at you, your brain quite literally short-circuited.

The next thing you knew, you were kissing him and he was kissing you back. Your hands were tangling into his hair while his slid around to press against your back, mouth not leaving yours as he guided you down onto the sand, bracing himself on his forearms as he pushed himself closer to you.

It wasn’t until you heard a series of yells and wolf whistles from your friends in the distance that JJ pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I really like you.” You breathed, curling your hands around the nape of his neck. When JJ was this close, you could see every detail of his face—the tiny scar above his eyebrow, the flecks of green in his blue eyes, the grains of sand in his eyelashes—and it made your heart flutter.

“You’re telling me you don’t kiss all your friends like that?” JJ teased, shifting off of you and popping to his feet. You rolled your eyes, sitting up and letting him pull you to your feet as well. When he did, he pulled you closer by your waist, pressing a short kiss to your lips before brushing the sand out of your hair. “I really like you too, Y/N.”

“Come and eat, you horny shits!” John B yelled from where the rest of the group had since built a small bonfire. “Unless you just wanna keep eating each other’s faces, that’s chill too. More fries for me then.” JJ flipped his best friend off, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you towards everyone else.

You settled on the sand a few feet away from the fire, graciously accepting the box of fries Kie handed you, while JJ plopped down on the log behind you, reaching around to nab a fry and pressing a kiss to your hair on the way back.

“So…are you guys, like, a thing now?” Pope asked casually. You glanced back at JJ, who nodded for the both of you.

“Fuck yeah, JB, you owe us ten bucks!” Kie exclaimed gleefully, elbowing John B in the gut.

“You assholes bet on us getting together?”

“Uh, yeah. 'Course we did,” John B snorted, begrudgingly passing his friends a few crumpled bills. “It was pretty fuckin’ obvious, guys. I said give it a month-ish, Kie and Pope said three or four weeks tops.”

“Fuck you guys,” JJ rolled his eyes, but was smiling nonetheless.

“But on the real, we’re glad you two finally figured it out.”

“Yeah, we were getting tired of the longing glances and flirty shit.”

“Y’all do know that’s not gonna stop, right?” You pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “I get to mack on JJ right in front of everyone now.”

JJ cheered, but a chorus of boos ensued from the rest of your friends, John B even chucking a wet towel at the both of you.

“New rule, no macking on each other in front of us. Save that shit for later.”

“Oh, so you can mack on Sarah, but I can’t mack on my girl?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That’s not fair!” JJ protested. “Y’know what, just for that—” He leaned forward, reaching around to turn your head towards him and planting a sloppy kiss to your lips that had you giggling against his mouth.

“Gross.”

“Disgusting.”

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

Taglist!

@milkiane @purple-flamingo @scenesofobx

[tinandabin]

How would yanderes Tanjiro and Kokushibou(Separate) react to reader doing a challenge of calling another dude cute? I’d LOVE to see their reactions

Thanks for requesting this!! Hopefully, you like this. C:

Yandere Tanjiro and Kokushibo

( where I found the above picture )

Tanjiro Kamado--

When you call someone else cute he would take time processing it. Just like the scene in which Yushiro called Nezuko an eyesore and Tanjiro was like: loading...

He would be like, 'What?' 'Cute?' 'Who??' 'That guy!' 'You called them cute??' 'WAIT WHAT, YOU CALLED HIM CUTE??!' 

After his whole processing is done he would be pouting. A lot.

And then he would be hugging you from behind in a second and would say, "Darling, what are you doing here?" All the while he peppers your face in kisses.

Don't worry though, he would absolutely burst into 50 shades of red when you return back to your prison home. Haha. 

100% would hide his face in your tummy. 

Do remember that he is a yandere.

And so when you go to sleep, the next day you would be invited to the funeral of the dead boy.

Tanjiro would think you might blame yourself for the boy's death so he makes it seem..like an accident. 

Would be more overprotective plus cuddly after that.

More happier too. 

Whosoever you will compliment will be on his hit list. He would let them go if they promise to leave the village/city or move to a place far away. 

Moral: don't compliment anyone else except for him and Nezuko.

"Can't you see? The world is a scary and dangerous place. If you stay here, you'll be safe. In my arms." ~ Tanjiro Kamado. 

Kokushibo-- 

The fact he even let you out of the house is just a VERY BIG accomplishment on its own. And he let you near someone else other than him?? You deserve an Oscar. Please teach me. 

When you do call someone else cute, he would just like stand in the background looking at you both. 

You are all like, "OH MY GOD, YOU ARE SOOOO CUTE!!" As you squish the person's cheeks and you are screaming extra loud on purpose so Kokushibo can hear it.

No worries, even if you both were 100 miles apart and he heard you complimenting someone else he would 100% know it. 

And if you are in a crowded setting then he would come to you in his human form, if you aren't he is there standing beside you in his demon form. 

I would literally have a heart attack if I saw a six-eyed creature who had sharp ass fangs and is glaring daggers at you ready to chop your head off. 

He would grab you by your neck as if you are a kitten and scowl and glare daggers at the poor boy as long as he is in his vision. He also turned his head 360 degrees just to scare the boy more.

Please pray for that guy, he is traumatised, scared, and paranoid. Half his soul has left his body. 

And when you return back to his hiding place he is grumpily sitting down and pulling you down to his lap as he hugs you tightly. 

All the while you are just nervously laughing and sweating and spewing bullshit like, "Hahahah, you are SOOO cute when you are mad!!" And then his glare turns to you. Getting glared at by someone who has six eyes and also is the second strongest demon in existence is not a good experience and also not gucci. Do not recommend.

And then he says, "I am not...cute...I am hand..some..." After that, for 2 minutes he is in deep thinking and horrified he mumbles what he just thought, "But....you seem to like....cute people..."

"And I am not....cute..."

"I am.....hot..."

"I don't wanna be......cute..."

"But....you like cute....people...."

While he is having an existential crisis, you slip out of his grasp and go after the cute boy you had oh-so-luckily found and just as you are about to propose your love for him and ask him to marry you, Kokushibo is there and cuts the poor boy's head off. :'(

Huffing, he looks at you and says "You're lucky....I'm so nice to you...Anyone else would've.... done something.... horrible, by now..."

And he is not wrong. There are many ( I hope ) KNY yanderes who would have cut your tongue off for even talking to someone else other than them, Take Muzan or Shinobu, or Gyutaro plus one of Hantengu's form and Gyokko for example. Maybe even Kagaya would do that. Or not. Not sure. 

"You're the only person I'd make an exception for. Count yourself lucky." ~ Kokushibo. 

( where I found the above picture )

MASTERLIST

[merpiplier]

baby if i'm half the man i say i am | steve harrington x eddie munson

Eddie must've been dying.

There was no other explanation. He could feel the blood slicking his skin, pooling in the back of his throat, coating his tongue as he sagged into the earth under the horde of bats. He was ready for it; he'd come to terms with it in the short amount of time between chopping the rope down and now.

So, the vision swimming into view must've been his brain's last hurrah before clicking off once and for all. Because seeing Harrington, skin a golden glow in the gloom of the Upside Down, ax raised like a great sword against the swarm of monsters around him, giant brownish wings spread out like a shield around him... There was no other explanation for that, other than a pre-death hallucination. 

“Fucking told you not to be a hero.” Vision Steve hissed, smashing a handful of bats out of the sky before the glow got so much stronger, Eddie having to close his eyes against it.

He didn't bother to reopen them after that, everything too hard to do after that.

Waking up in the hospital after that was... unexpected.

Eddie grimaced, body aching all over as he squirmed. He could feel the stitches all over his stomach and in his neck and thighs, the bruising and the general bone deep ache from recovering from his blood loss.

He really should be dead, so... what the hell?

“Good, you're awake.”

Eddie startled, letting out a pained whine as he did. The voice tutted, and Eddie rolled his head over to find Steve, looking grumpy and tired. “Harrington?”

Steve huffed, his arms crossed, dressed in a fluffy blue sweater that didn't look as good as his yellow one currently lost at the bottom of Lovers Lake, sweats, his hair fluffy and free of product. He looked incredibly comfy. “About damn time, Munson. Was beginning to think I dragged you out of there for nothing.”

Eddie blinked, breath catching in his throat. Why did the thought of Steve carrying him out of that hell hole twist his guts so much? Fuck, he wanted to cry a little bit now, thinking of it. He cleared his throat, tilting his head back as it started aching at the angle he needed to look over to Steve. “I mean... I appreciate it, but you didn't have to.” Silence, Steve's breathing even stopped for a second, and Eddie let out his own trapped breath. “I kinda came to terms with it, dude. Shit was gonna suck when I got back here. How the hell was I gonna come out of this okay, you know? There was no way I wasn't gonna be framed and dying to try to help you guys out seemed infinitely better than taking the fall for that creep.”

Another couple beats of silence, before Steve stood up, and for a split-second Eddie thought he could see that golden light again, just for a bit before he blinked and it was gone. “You're an idiot.” Steve muttered, before he left.

Eddie immediately blacked out, as the door closed, pain swallowing him up with the sweet blackness of unconsciousness.

The next time Eddie woke up, he hadn't felt nearly as bad. There was also a warm, soft hand wrapped around his, a rough thumb brushing over his knuckles. Eddie allowed his head to loll over, frowning slightly when he saw Steve there again, seeming a little guilty as he drew circles into the back of Eddie's hand. “Steve?”

“Sorry.” Steve muttered; his gaze was soft as he watched the patterns he traced into Eddie's skin. “That was a little mean, last time. But...” He looked up then, and Eddie thought for a second Steve's eyes seemed brighter, almost unnaturally so, but when his own eyes focused, they were the usual hazel Eddie had admittedly spent too much time staring into. “Eddie, you should've stuck to the plan, man. We would've figured something out. We did.” He gestured to the room; his lips drawn into a tight line. “Do you think they'd let me be alone with a triple murder suspect? There'd be guards, Eddie.” He leaned forward, frown deepening, and Eddie's eyes must've been going wonky again from all the drugs undoubtedly pumping through him, since Steve's skin seemed to be glowing again, his eyes almost seeming golden in the little bit of light. “As soon as you heal up, you're a free man, Eddie. You just needed to trust us.”

And... wow, okay, that hurt a bit. “Really, Harrington?” Eddie let out a rough chuckle, grimacing as he snatched his hand out of Steve's, pain seeping through his bones with the loss of contact. “I'm really expected to trust a gaggle of kids and the reformed resident jackass to fix the shit show that was my life for the last week. Yeah, okay.”

Steve huffed, hand falling onto his thigh, pain slipping back under a muted blanket with the touch. That was... weird. “Go back to sleep, Eddie.” Steve's voice was tight when he spoke.

Eddie went to sleep.

The next time Eddie woke up, he was alone, and in pain again. His wounds were slowly healing, but according to the nurse that came in to check on his vitals and swap out his IV, they were healing a lot faster than they should've, given the apparently horrific state he came in.

“Honestly, it seems like something of a miracle. It's only been a couple days, and you just about seem ready for the stitches to be taken out.” The nurse smiled at him, comforting and sweet. It wasn't anywhere near as comforting as Steve's grumpy ass. Eddie should probably unpack that a bit later, in private.

“Where's Steve?” Eddie asked, instead, his voice rough to his own ears.

She hummed softly. “He's visiting the young lady that came in about the same time as you. She seems to be recovering fairly well, too.” She let out a soft chuckle, scribbling onto his chart. “It's almost like he's some sort of visiting angel, or something.”

Angel?

The word stuck in Eddie's mind, and he frowned as she left. He faded back to sleep not long after, but he dreamed, this time.

Golden glowing skin, large wings, and a sword raised through a horde of evil. Wings sturdy enough to shield the weak behind them.

Maybe his... blood-loss addled brain wasn't making something up... but... that'd be crazy. Steve Harrington, former asshole of Hawkins High, some sort of weird angel thing?

Yeah, sure.

“What?” Steve groused, when Eddie was awake the next time, finally snapping after Eddie had spent the last several minutes staring him down.

“You're glowing.” Eddie muttered, his eyes catching at the gleam of Steve's skin. It was hard to keep track of, as it seemed to shift if he stared at it for too long. But it was there, Eddie could see it, just at the edge of his vision at all times.

Steve frowned, then looked away, his hand squeezing for a second on his thigh where it'd been resting. “I got a new moisturizer.”

It's said too quickly, all in a rush, like an excuse he'd had loaded and ready. Eddie sucked on his teeth, looking the man up and down. “There's something off about you, Harrington.”

Steve simply shrugged, patting his thigh. “Not my fault you don't pay attention.”

Wow, if that wasn't fucking cryptic and damning. Eddie had no idea how. He knew, somehow, that this vision, or hallucination, or whatever... it was real, somehow. Maybe it was his drug addled brain, but there was just something odd, something just the left of human about Steve now. Or maybe it had been there all the time, and Eddie just never paid attention. Did everyone else know?

“You're really going to save my life and keep me in the dark like this, Stevie?”

Steve's lips quirked at the name, and he tilted his head. “You're not in the dark.”

“But I am.” Eddie blinked, because yes, he was. He had no fucking clue what Steve was, what the hell was going on, he just knew there was something. “Why are you acting like I know what's going on?”

“You're the only one who knows anything.” Steve supplied, then tilted his head in the opposite direction, this time like he was listening to something. He hummed. “I'll be back. Get some rest.”

Just like last time, Eddie's eyes felt heavier, and he could feel the siren call of sleep starting to drag him in. “Steve-”

He was met with a soft smile, softer than he'd ever seen on the man, and that hand squeezing into his leg one last time, before the touch left, taking his consciousness with it.

Not fair, that's cheating... Eddie's sleepy brain supplied, before it plunged into the soft, gentle golden glow of dreams.

“Why did you come back for me?” Eddie asked, the next time he was awake with Steve. The other man was curled up in the bedside chair as much as he could be, legs tucked up, tilted partially to one side, hand stretched out to rest on Eddie's arm as the other flipped through a magazine.

Hazel eyes looked up at him, and Steve gave a crooked smile. “You're one of us, of course I'd come back for you.”

Eddie hummed. “Yeah, okay, then how?” Steve tilted his head and Eddie continued. “You had a job to do all the way across that place, several miles away. How did you get there just in time? Even if you were a track star in high school instead of swim captain, there's no way you'd get there in time.”

Steve nodded, tilting his head the other way. It was... okay, admittedly, it was a little cute. Like watching a puppy try to puzzle out something new. “I flew there.”

There it was again, that tone. Like it explained everything, and maybe it did, but the words made absolutely no sense.

Expect, they did.

But yet, here Steve sat, looking human as ever, no sign of any wings or glowing or anything.

“Good joke.” Eddie said carefully.

Steve's eyes gleamed. “Thanks.”

There were a couple of beats of silence, and Eddie stared at Steve, unashamed, as he focused back on the magazine. “Are you... ever going to come out and tell me what actually happened, instead of letting me think I know?”

Steve nodded, then, that same soft smile on his face, still reading over the magazine page, over a recipe of all things. “When you're home, and we can have some privacy. I'll show you.”

Show.

Eddie swallowed, thinking of the wings he keeps seeing in his dreams, that he saw just before blood loss drug him under. Soft grays and browns, molting in places, pink and red from scarring in others. Fucking beautiful, all the same.

“I'd... I think I'd like that...” Eddie's voice came out more choked off than he expected.

Steve hummed, then tilted the magazine up. “Looks good, huh?”

Eddie didn't even glance at it, just looked into Steve's eyes, told the truth, raw and vulnerable for the first time since the boathouse. “Yeah, yeah looks good.”

Hazel eyes crinkled, all too knowing, and Eddie glanced away finally, feeling a bit too much like Icarus chasing the sun.

He could catch fire in Steve Harrington's gaze, all too easily. And Eddie would be glad to, would welcome it, after surviving the end of the world.

Eddie settled on the bed in the bedroom of Steve's apartment, feeling awkward. He'd half expected to be dragged into the Harrington mansion when Steve offered his place to take care of Eddie post hospital stay, so seeing the dingy apartment complex at the edge of town come into view instead Eddie couldn't help the way his eyebrows raised, surprised.

“Disappointed?” Steve had asked, not a drop of malice in his tone, teasing. “I had to find someplace after dad cut me off last year.”

“I'm sorry.” Eddie had offered, because what else do you say to that?

Steve had simply shrugged, a private little smile on his face. He seemed relaxed, happy. “I don't mind it.”

That lead to Eddie where he is now, his hands locked together in his lap, in Steve's borrowed clothes after his trailer had been ripped in half in the 'earthquake', surrounded by a surprisingly bright and cluttered room. Polaroids decorated just about every wall, sneaky little pictures taken of the kids, Steve and Robin together at Scoops Ahoy and then later Family Video, a handful of pictures of Nancy and Jonathan, smiling and laughing. A mess of tapes by an obviously used stereo, a handful of little trinkets and items gathered around. Nothing at all like Eddie had expected, not a single piece of the old King Steve visible, no trophies or anything of the like. The final nail in the coffin for Eddie's crush.

“You okay?” A soft voice knocked him out of his head, and Eddie looked up, finding Steve smiling at him, bright as sunlight after rain. “Is it okay?”

Eddie swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, yeah it's fine.” He cleared his throat, looking away for a moment. “I don't know what I expected.” He lied.

Steve hummed, striding into the room and plopping onto the bed beside him. His skin seemed to have that odd almost glow to it again, shifting as if it was avoiding his eye. He felt warmed like a blanket over him as Steve settled by him. “Did you still want to talk about what you think you saw?”

I think you know what I saw. Eddie nodded slowly, sucking in breath to set his gaze firm on to Steve. “I'm pretty sure you swooped in like some sort of... I dunno, but you had wings, Steve, you were glowing.” He swallowed as Steve's expression didn't change, the only movement in him his eyes shifting down to stare at Eddie's mouth as he spoke. “I-I thought I had imagined it, because I was dying. But then I didn't die, and I'm pretty sure you did something, but I don't know what, because I don't know what you are.” He finally took a breath, then reached a tentative hand out to Steve, settling on his leg, hazel eyes meeting his once again. “Steve, you're not human, are you?”

A beat, then Steve smiled, soft and sweet. “I was.” He hummed, his own hand covering over Eddie's, making his heart do traitorous little skips in his chest. “Back before all this started, I was. You remembered me like that, I was horrible. Then this happened, and something about having to protect everyone, wanting to protect the kids, then Robin, and Nancy... And you.” He trailed off, finally breaking eye contact. “I knew something had changed, and I kept it a secret for such a long time. Because I was scared, at first, I had no idea what was happening to me. I just rushed in to protect everyone, without thinking, it was instinctual. And every time afterward something would change. No one else seemed to notice so I thought... it was just me.” He looked to Eddie again then, his hand squeezing Eddie's. “Then you saw, somehow. No one else knew how I made it across the Upside Down like that, like you said. There should've been no way for me to do that, for me to even know something had happened to you.”

Eddie swallowed, feeling more now than ever like he was burning in the presence of Steve. “How did you?”

Steve hummed. “You've been like a little knotted thread attached to my brain since the boathouse. I can feel you, wherever you are. It's how I knew where you were at Skull Rock... how I knew you were in trouble.” His expression shifted, and Eddie felt scolded for the moment. “I had told you not to be a hero, Eddie.”

Eddie flushed then, looking away. “You said that before, too...” He swallowed, looking back sheepishly. “So... what are you, then?”

Steve didn't seem to appreciate the change in subject, but he simply sighed, standing to put a couple inches of space between them, hand still holding Eddie's. “I'm not entirely sure, but I have a guess, just based on everything. Some sort of... guardian angel, I suppose.” He wrinkled his nose then, letting out a short, choppy laugh. “I don't like thinking of myself like that, though. I feel... like it's my way to make up for everything I did before this, so I... don't think I really deserve to be called that.”

It made sense, with everything Eddie saw. He really did seem like a guardian at that point, using his own body to protect Eddie, beating away the bats like a warrior out of one of Eddie's campaigns. He swallowed, turning his hand in Steve's hold to squeeze his hand back. “I think you're doing good, Steve. You saved me, after all, you didn't have to.”

“I did.” Steve immediately answered, using his free hand to tilt Eddie's head up by the chin, sending a thrill down Eddie's spine. “I wanted to. I think you wanted me to, despite whatever reasoning you had for doing that, you wanted to live.” He smiled softly. “I wanted you to live.”

Eddie's heart gave a yearning tug at his heart strings, and Eddie sighed as Steve's fingers skimmed along his jaw. “Maybe.” He answered, not wanting to give Steve the satisfaction of being right. He paused a couple moments, his eyes skimming over Steve's frame. “Is there... can you make them come out at will? Or just when one of us need rescuing?”

Steve gave a light chuckle, before he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Eddie's forehead, making his heart soar into space, dance among the stars, crush speeding at a dangerous rate to something close to love. “I'll show you when you're better.” Steve smiled then, gently settling Eddie down to the bed. “I'll bring you some medicine and food once I've gotten your things settled in place. Just lay back and let me take care of everything, Eds.”

It was too late for Eddie. He let out a soft punched out breath, following Steve's softly given orders. He settled against the too firm mattress, sunk into the blankets that smelled like sandalwood and lavender, letting his eyes drift close as he watched Steve putter around the cramped room, adding bits of Eddie into the mess of the reformed Steve Harrington.

His heart ached, watching the scene, watching Steve smile privately to himself as he settled Eddie's minis onto his tiny desk, right beside the chewed-on pencils of Steve's, notebooks full of song lyrics right beside the kept movie ticket stubs. He drifted off to the sound of Steve humming softly, some pop song Eddie had heard playing in Steve's car on the way over, Steve making happy sounds to himself as he integrated Eddie into his space.

He tried not to think of it too much, not to let the thought of Steve being happy with coiling Eddie into him get under his skin. If he dreamed of Steve wrapped around him in the bed, of soft pink lips tracing over his still healing scars...

Eddie could keep it to himself, bury it deep in his chest and never let it see the light of day.

“I like this...” Steve muttered, his chest rumbling against Eddie's arm. They were too close, squished together on Steve's tiny couch, a handful of weeks after Eddie had been taken in to heal. Steve had gotten into the habit of bringing movies back home to help Eddie spend time at home – at Steve's home, not...not his.

Eddie couldn't have focused on the movie if he wanted, Steve's warmth invading every inch of his body, welcomed into Eddie's core with greedy hands. He hummed, his eyes blinking sleepily as he nuzzled back, brain moving slow. “'m glad. Me too.”

Steve chuckled, then, nuzzling into Eddie's skin. “I like you.”

Eddie would've choked, panicked, if not for the lazy happiness coursing through him. He tilted his head back, looking into brighter hazel. They always seemed so bright now, every day, bordering on that gold Eddie had seen him with nearly four months ago. “I... Do you mean that?” Eddie asked, his heart waiting, caged up, ready for disappointment.

Steve simply answered with action, tilting Eddie's head back just an inch more, fingers gentle on his jaw, and lips infinitely softer on his.

Eddie's heart burst from its cage, screaming the highest energy song into the cool fall air, singing Steve Harrington's name to the clouds. No turning back, Eddie would either fly on, soar higher and higher with Steve's warmth encompassing, or he would eventually burn up in the face of Steve's daylight. He would take the chance, anything to feel the plush touch of lips against his again, to be handled soft and sweet like something to be cherished.

The movie was forgotten, Eddie freeing up space on the couch by turning to climb into Steve's lap, hands coiling into Steve's hair, pushing back against Steve's softness with all the need he'd been holding onto since he'd pushed Steve back into the wall, glass bottle in hand, fragile as the bars that held his too strong feelings at bay.

“Can I see them?” Eddie had asked, again, more direct than the last time he had, nearly a year ago.

He'd kept to his end of the bargain; he'd healed up aside from scars several months ago. He was under Steve now, the other man shirtless above him, skimming hands over the silvery skin of Eddie's stomach, lovingly tracing the pattern of his scars. With anyone else, Eddie might've been self-conscious, but here, under Steve, with the all-encompassing love in his eyes as his golden gaze fell over Eddie's body, he couldn't be anything but proud of them. He'd survived, with Steve's help, he'd crawled out of hell, beaten and bloody, and made it through, gaining so much from it, gaining everything.

“They're a lot.” Steve had muttered, before he pulled back, letting out a soft breath. “They're not pretty.”

Eddie grinned, his thumbs drawing circles into Steve's thighs. “Everything is pretty on you, Stevie.”

Steve rolled his eyes, his smile giving him away for how pleased his words made him. “You're cleaning up the mess of them, then.”

With that, Steve's shoulders rolled back, every muscle relaxing, and Eddie realized just how tense he always seemed to be then, just before the soft sound of feather against skin. They were giant, taking up nearly all the space in their tiny bedroom, brown and gray with speckles of green, feathers bent in places, scars in others, rash like redness under where feathers molted out, raining down onto Eddie like individual kisses. Air punched out of him, and Eddie reached a hand from Steve's thigh to trace along the edge of one, feeling too soft feather and pebbly skin below. “Beautiful...” Eddie breathed.

Steve flushed, golden glow lighting up the room, becoming so bright Eddie had to squint against it, but he kept looking, almost greedy for it as he traced the scars, pleased as Steve shuddered.

“They're pretty.” Eddie commented, then, giggling as Steve pressed their lips together, muttering praise and compliments into Steve's plush mouth, his touch never leaving the wings.

“You don't have to say that.” Steve whispered, pulling back just enough to say the words between them, his bright eyes looking over Eddie's face. For the first time, Eddie saw the scared look on Steve's face, uncertain and worried. Eddie dragged his hands down to cup Steve's face, rubbing his thumbs along Steve's jaw, dragging him into a kiss he hoped to convey everything he felt, everything he knew he could never hope to word right.

“I mean it.” Eddie muttered, once they parted. “You're amazing, Steve Harrington. My angel.” He kissed him again, hoping to kiss away the unsure expression. “My hero.”

Steve let out a breath, relaxing, wings spreading out like a blanket, soft and warm, like all of Steve. Completely different from the last time he saw them, how last time they stayed firm, wrapping tight around him to guard him. They were like a old band shirt now, like the old Metallica shirt Wayne gave him to sleep in when Eddie showed up on his doorstep, the one he still had after all this time, worn and tattered, tucked away in the salvaged things from his trailer.

“Love you.” Eddie whispered, sealing the words with another kiss, another skirt of fingers along the soft outline of wings, downy feathers warmed from Steve's skin.

Steve's breath caught, and he let out a soft, shocked little laugh, before diving in, kissing Eddie with urgency, stealing away his breath. He was burning, exactly like Icarus, wishing for the sun to melt away his armor and send him falling. “Love you, too.” The sun answered, catching him from his free fall, wrapping him up in it's searing embrace.

[cinnaminsvga]

🌷 social media au where y/n posts an advertisement looking for a new place to stay that is closer to campus, causing seven upperclassmen to make it their mission to recruit her into their dormitories 🌷

A/N: THIS TOOK FOREVER AND I KINDA RUSHED IT AT THE END BUT HOPEFULLY IT MAKES SENSE?? anyway, yoongi didn’t do anything stupid (depending on your definition of stupid) so no need to worry about him being cringey,,, i spared you all from the secondhand embarrassment but i won’t be so kind next time!! anyway... enjoy || W.C. 3.8K

prev // part 11 // next masterlist here.

By the time Seokjin’s phone begins to ring, Yoongi can already feel the dread settle deep inside his bones. The familiar coil of anxiety tightens around his throat like a vice, and Yoongi has to remember how to breathe to keep himself from fainting like a corseted Victorian lady. 

“Well, that must be her!” Seokjin chimes, promptly declining your call without a glance. Yoongi catches a glimpse of your contact photo anyway: it’s an unflattering angle of you from below your neck, giving the illusion of a multitude of chins. If it were any other time, Yoongi might have smiled like a lovesick fool. 

“Don’t you dare let her in here,” Yoongi seethes. He tries to sound menacing, but the effect is severely diminished by how badly his voice cracks. He tugs at Seokjin by the sleeve, but the older man refuses to budge. “Hyung, I’m serious. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Are you done live-tweeting your confusion now? Finally got the memo? I always knew you were a smart boy,” Seokjin laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder with his tomato sauce-covered tongs. “Since we’re on the same page now, why don’t you change clothes while I finish cooking? I know your entire wardrobe is composed of the free t-shirts you got from job fairs, but it would do well to wear a clean, unstained shirt.”

Yoongi swipes at him, hissing like the catboy that he is. “You’re the one who wiped shit on me, asshole. And yes, I figured out what you are trying to do. You think you’re so slick, but I know that you’re just trying to embarrass me in front of Y/N!”

Seokjin shrugs. “It isn’t like I’m trying to be slick. I embarrass you all the time. Besides, I’m setting you up on a date with the love of your life! You should be thanking me, if I’m being honest.”

Yoongi stammers, his jaw dropping in shock. “Love of my–?”

Seokjin waves his tongs in his face, silencing him. “Oh, hush. Don’t even try to hide it, Yoongi. I figured out that you like Y/N. Your weird behavior finally makes sense! After years of you avoiding her, I always thought you were just bad at forming human connections, but turns out you’ve got a gigantic heart boner for my best friend!”

“Please don’t phrase it like that,” Yoongi groans, smashing his head against his kitchen counter. He hopes a few brain cells might have died, just so he can stop processing the words coming out of Seokjin’s mouth. “Actually, just please stop talking.”

Seokjin snorts in exasperation as if Yoongi was the dramatic one between them. “Point is, this is a favor that I’ve chosen to grant you from the goodness of my heart! As I said, I’m giving you the love life you deserve! So stop whining and get moving before Y/N gets up here.”

“There isn’t any goodness nor a heart inside of you. And more importantly, when was the last time you did anything for free, you capitalist bastard!”

Seokjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Yoongi-chi. You’ve already paid me for my services by offering me front row seats to watch you lose your fucking mind. And that, my friend, is priceless.”

“Aha! So you do admit that this is all just a ploy to humiliate me!” Yoongi shouts. He grabs a knife from his scabbard, pointing it threateningly at Seokjin. He doesn’t even flinch, instead gently guiding Yoongi by the wrist over to the chopping board where he had placed some garlic cloves beforehand. Without prompting, Yoongi’s hand begins to move, his culinary instincts taking over.

“Yes and no,” Seokjin admits as he grabs Yoongi’s cast iron pan from the top shelf (which he has never gotten to use since he bought it, ever since Seokjin had borrowed it once and placed it too high for him to retrieve.) “I’m honestly trying to help you out here, my dude. Besides, even if shit hits the fan, Y/N isn’t gonna think any less of you. She’s too much of an idiot to resent anyone.”

“Speaking from experience?” Yoongi huffs, eyeing him with intense vitriol. “Can’t say I understand how she’s gone this long without killing you.” The next time the two of them are alone together in the wilderness, he can’t promise that his hands won’t find their way around Seokjin’s throat, and it won’t be sexy.

“Hmm. Yeah, definitely,” he says, nodding absentmindedly. As he begins to season the steak, he hands the cast iron pan to Yoongi. “Start preheating this. We need it to be smoking hot before we can place the steak on there.”

“I know how to cook a steak, fucker. And who said you’re allowed to serve my Wagyu steak? I was saving that for a special occasion!”

Seokjin looks up from his ministrations long enough to raise a brow at him. “So going on your first ever date with Y/N isn’t considered a special occasion?”

Yoongi falters, eyes widening. “N-no, that’s not what I mean!” he defends hotly, but he quickly snaps out of it. “Wait, no! This is not a date! Not when both parties did not agree to any of this!”

Seokjin pauses from his cooking to place a perfectly manicured hand on his hip. “I mean, Y/N agreed to it, so are you going to reject her? Huh? Too good for her and my spaghetti?”

Yoongi scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No, she did not agree to this. She doesn’t even know you’re forcing her to eat lunch with me.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” Seokjin challenges, puffing his cheeks. “You don’t even know what I told her!”

Except I do know what you said, Yoongi thinks darkly to himself. And more importantly, I know what she thinks you were implying. He is pretty sure that the words “crush on him during high school” have seared themselves underneath his eyelids forevermore.

But instead, he says, “Yeah, well. If what you told her is as vague as what you told me, I have a pretty good hunch that this is going to blow up into a huge misunderstanding.”

Like the absolute menace that he is, all Seokjin does is shrug nonchalantly. “Suppose you are right… Who cares? It’s not like the two of you are strangers, so I’m sure this is going to go great!”

“What the fuck? She is a stranger! I’ve literally only spoken two words to her in the past four years!” Yoongi seethes, his temple throbbing from an oncoming migraine. 

Seokjin ignores him, as per his want. “Grab that plate, will you? I gotta plate the pasta before Y/N starts calling again to let her into the building,” he says, nudging the tongs into Yoongi’s hands. Yoongi squawks, quickly turning the stove off to keep the food from burning. 

Seokjin tears off his (read: Yoongi’s) apron off, wiping his hands on his jeans with a quick smile. “Great! While you finish up here, I’ll distract Y/N for a bit in my room before I lead her in here, alright? You better hurry unless you want to keep her waiting!”

“Oh, like how you kept her waiting downstairs for the past–” Yoongi checks his wall clock, “–seven minutes?”

Seokjin cackles madly, rushing out the door. “Well, that’s where you and I differ, Yoongi-chi! I give no shits about how Y/N thinks about me, so good luck!” After sending Yoongi three flying kisses for good measure, Seokjin slams the door shut, leaving Yoongi to simmer in his bad life choices.

The worst choice that he’s ever made? Being friends with one (1) Kim Seokjin.

“God, just end me,” Yoongi mutters, placing his $80 steak on his pan. It sizzles deliciously, much like how his (nonexistent) love life is about to get burnt to a crisp.

x x x x x

“Took you long enough.” You watch as Seokjin taunts you with a funny little dance by the lobby of his dormitory, the building receptionist not even batting an eye at his eccentricity. That’s the sad side effect of living in close proximity with Seokjin: you start getting desensitized to most things, not even flinching at the sight of a man without a functioning central nervous system.

Seokjin slides his card to open the door, finally allowing you entry. “Sorry. Got busy preparing your lunch! Which by the way, you should be thanking me for.”

“The moment I thank you for anything is the day that you slip on your own cum and die,” you grouse, nudging past him to get on the elevator first. You punch the button for the 5th floor before rapidly trying to close the elevator door on him. Unfortunately, Seokjin makes it in time before his ass gets clamped by the two steel doors.

“Thinking about my cum? Oh my, Y/N… I know you’ve had a dry spell for too long, but I didn’t think you’d be that desperate for some of my butter,” Seokjin says, leaning closely to wink at you.

Against your will, your cheeks brighten furiously, weakly pushing Seokjin away from you. “You wish. At least I don’t spend my spare time loitering outside the campus gym to ogle all the sweaty hot people.”

“And the invitation to join me still stands by the way!” Seokjin singsongs, leaping out of the elevator once you reach his floor. You walk side by side until you reach his room, but you catch him shooting a furtive glance at his next-door neighbor.

“Is Yoongi joining us for lunch?” you ask, failing to keep your curiosity from showing in your voice. If Yoongi does end up joining you for lunch (which has never happened in the past four years, convincing you that he must have a personal grudge against you), then at least it can confirm to you straight away that whatever this “date” is just another prank by Seokjin. You don’t know if you should be disappointed or grateful if it is just a joke.

Seokjin beams in response, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You know what? He is going to join us, actually!” 

He had been in the midst of unlocking his dorm when he changes direction, leading you to Yoongi’s door instead. He rifles through his other keys, and you notice one of them looks similar to his own house key, except with a Hello Kitty sticker on it. He pulls that key out and promptly unlocks Yoongi’s door without missing a beat.

What kind of weirdo must Yoongi be to give Seokjin a spare key to his dorm? You’d rather shit out a cactus than let Seokjin have free entry to your home whenever he pleases.

You hesitate by Yoongi’s door, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “Um, Seokjin? Are you sure it’s okay for me to–?”

“HONEY I’M HOOOOME!” Seokjin’s loud guffaw cuts you off before you can finish your question. He bursts through the door and leaves you by the hallway, and you watch as he nearly tackles Yoongi to the ground.

Yoongi, despite looking like he’s half the size of Seokjin on a good day, manages to keep upright despite how his back is now bent parallel to the floor. “Get off me!” he yells, roughly pushing Seokjin off of him. 

Seokjin tumbles to the floor, but the shit-eating grin on his face hardly wavers. He points at you by the doorway, a cheeky grin on his lips. “Look, Yoongi-chi! I brought a guest!”

Yoongi spares you half a glance before returning his attention to whatever he was cooking. “I suppose you did.”

Okay, this date is definitely a joke. Why the hell did you even think for a second that Seokjin might have been into you?

“Um,” you stutter nervously. You grind your heel into the carpet self-consciously, your gaze downcast. “Hello, Yoongi. Sorry for the intrusion, by the way…”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi replies, albeit a little curtly. He clears his throat, his face still tilted away from you so you can’t tell if he’s genuinely annoyed or not. 

You point a glare at Seokjin, who looks shamelessly pleased with himself. After taking a deep breath, you take your first steps into Yoongi’s home before gently closing the door.

As you look around at your new surroundings, you notice that his home is a lot cleaner than you would have expected, though you’re not exactly sure what you should have expected in the first place. It’s minimalist, but not in a barren type of way; it’s seems like Yoongi is fond of simple designs more than anything. It’s certainly a nice change of pace compared to Seokjin’s abomination of a room, with his vaguely yellow-stained bedsheets. 

The smell of freshly cooked pasta and meat being grilled catches your senses immediately. You watch as Yoongi flips over a hefty piece of steak, the aroma causing your mouth to salivate instantly. 

“I… What is… Huh?” you start, not knowing what to ask. You catch Seokjin snickering quietly to himself, but promptly shuts up when you mime punching him in the dick.

“It’ll be finished in a second. Why don’t you sit down?” Yoongi announces quietly, his gaze still fixed away from you. Confused but left with no other choice, you tentatively make your way to his couch, unable to relax as your spine remains ramrod straight and your jaw stays clenched. 

You hear Seokjin shuffling behind you until he eventually makes his way to sit with you, plopping onto the couch as if it were his home. “Ah… I’m soooo hungry. Smells good, doesn’t it?” he asks you, his brow wiggling too much to be considered normal. Either that, or he was having a stroke.

“Yeah, it does,” you say, greatly uncomfortable. You peek at Yoongi once more, who is still dutifully attending to the steak. Making sure he isn’t looking, you twist Seokjin by the nipple, causing the elder to let out a high-pitched squeal. To an outsider, it might have almost sounded like he was being pleasured. 

“Ouch! What the fuck was that for?” Seokjin whines, rubbing his tenderized nipples. 

“You know what that was for,” you hiss, keeping your volume low. “What the hell are we doing here? Why are you making Yoongi cook for us?!”

“For us? It’s for you!” Seokjin snaps back. “Didn’t you say you would only come over if you got fed? Well, this is how you get fed!”

“I was under the assumption that you would be feeding me, not him!” you seethe. You check back on Yoongi, who still hasn’t looked your way once. “The poor boy… No wonder he doesn’t like me! He must think I’m as bad as you!”

Seokjin snorts. “Of course he likes you! This whole lunch date wouldn’t have even fucking happened if he wasn’t assdeep in lo–”

“Lunch is finished,” Yoongi interrupts loudly, his spatula rattling loudly against his pan. The sudden noise makes you jump away from Seokjin, who appears vaguely triumphant. 

“T-thanks,” you stutter, standing up and resisting the random urge to shake his hand. Everything about this situation is so tense and awkward that it feels like you’re being filmed for a prank Youtube video or something. Knowing Seokjin, the odds of that happening are great. 

“That’s my cue to leave then! Bye! You guys have fun!” Seokjin says, jumping to his feet. 

You vaguely hear Yoongi gasp quietly when you launch yourself at Seokjin, just narrowly keeping from escaping. “Oh no, you don’t! Who said you could leave? You’re not going anywhere!”

But like the slippery snake that he is, Seokjin manages to wriggle out of your arms and hop over Yoongi’s coffee table to get to the door. “Too bad! I have classes to get to, so I gotta blast! Use this time to get to know each other or whatever it is that kids do these days,” he says, winking salaciously. With one final sputter of (evil) laughter, Seokjin makes his exit, leaving you and Yoongi to fester in some good ol’ fashioned discomforting silence.

“Um,” you say, just as Yoongi opens his mouth to say something too.

“No, you go first–”

“You go ahead–”

The two of you pause mid-sentence, staring at each other. You grin sheepishly at him, motioning for him to speak first. 

He returns your smile half-heartedly. “So, um… I just wanted to say I’m sorry for letting Seokjin rope you into this. I tried stopping him, but… You know how he is.”

You laugh, sounding a little crazed even to your own ears. That’s the longest sentence you’ve ever heard him speak! 

“Yeah, believe me… I am intimately aware of how he is. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” you joke. 

Amazingly, your little quip makes his smile widen, his cheeks puffing up imperceptibly. “Glad we can agree that Seokjin has the amazing ability to ruin people’s lives. It’s almost welcoming to find solidarity in a shared experience.”

“Shared experience? Try shared trauma. That dude is a walking serotonin sucker,” you say dryly. 

You don’t think what you said was remotely funny enough to warrant a laugh, but it causes Yoongi to let out a loud snort regardless. But the amusement on his face is short-lived, his cheeks going red in embarrassment. He slaps a hand to his mouth, breaking eye contact once more. “Oh fuck, that was so unflattering,” he groans, clearly mortified.

His blush, multiplied by his shy demeanor, makes you want to coo at him, but you doubt he’d take that too kindly. So instead, you change the subject to save him. “So, uhh… The food? You don’t have to give me any, by the way. I wouldn’t want you to waste your lunch on me or anything.”

Yoongi snaps out of his previous embarrassment, returning to the more familiar stoic expression you’ve come to associate with Yoongi. “No, that’s fine. Seokjin–er, rather… I made enough for two people, so it would be a waste if you didn’t eat at least some of it. But I don’t care either way if you want it or not.”

For two people? you wonder. So Yoongi had known Seokjin wasn’t going to join for lunch?

“Oh, if it’s fine with you…” you trail off, meekly making your way towards him. The spaghetti and steak look absolutely delicious, though you don’t need to tell him that when your stomach speaks for you. “Oh shit, that’s so embarrassing,” you say, your cheeks heating up this time.

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “Haven’t eaten breakfast yet, I assume? That’s pretty stupid if you ask me. Don’t you have class until 5? How the hell would you have survived until then?”

You choke in surprise. Where did all that sass suddenly come from? “Excuse me? I’m not stupid! I would’ve been fine with a sandwich from the cafeteria if you must know!” you say indignantly. You’re too busy being offended that you don’t fully comprehend his words, failing to notice how he had known you had class until 5 in the first place.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Rolling his eyes, Yoongi starts shifting through his cupboards and pulling out a pink tupperware. He begins to load them with food, nearly overflowing the containers with how much he tries to stuff in them.

“H-hey! What are you doing?”

“Packing your lunch. You have class in a bit, yeah? It’s almost 11:50 and it takes around 15 minutes to get to the main campus. You won’t have time to eat here and make it in time,” he says, pointing you with a look. “Wait. Did you have coffee this morning?”

“Yeah? So?” you ask, defensive. “Are you gonna call me stupid again for not having caffeine or something?”

“No,” he grunts. “If you’re caffeinated, then that means it should only take you 7 minutes to get to class.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you exclaim, but you can’t help letting out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. You’re kinda weird, did you know that?”

“You barely even know me, so how would you know?” he retorts. He finishes placing food into the tupperware and promptly clicks the lid in place. He offers it to you, smirking slightly.

You huff, but your ire is all for show. You aren’t actually annoyed by him–he’s just… different from what you expected. A little shy, a little rough around the edges… but you can tell he isn’t a bad guy. You understand why Seokjin loves to torment him; he seems like a fun person to tease. 

“That can be amended,” you respond, taking the tupperware from him. Your fingers graze the backs of his hand by accident, causing him to quickly retract his hand as though he’d been burned. You nearly drop the container in surprise, but luckily your reflexes save your precious food just in time. 

“Sorry. About… you know.” Yoongi gesticulates wildly, his gaze darting anywhere but at you. 

You smile secretly to yourself, amused. Ah. He’s like a human seesaw. Blushy one second and grumpy the next. “No worries, Yoongi. I’ll be sure to return this container soon, so don’t you worry.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Keep it if you want. I don’t care either way.”

Says the guy who has an entire cupboard full of color coordinating food containers. “Roger that, Yoongi.”

Yoongi walks you out the door, pausing outside the hallway with you. “Do you…” he hesitates, swallowing loudly enough for you to hear. “Do you… want me to walk you out?”

His sudden offer almost makes you want to laugh, but you have a feeling he wouldn’t find it amusing at all. Instead, you just shake your head with a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t get lost. I think I remember where the door is.”

He pouts, his lips jutting out cutely. “Yeah, well. I was just trying to be nice, but you do you.”

You giggle lightly, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You were more than nice,” you say, winking for added effect. It does more than you thought it would, causing Yoongi’s cheeks to bloom once more.

With one last wave, you make your way out of the dormitory, your heart a little lighter than before. 

“Huh. That was weird.” You glance at the pink little tupperware in your hands, its warmth keeping your hands safe from the winter chill. As you walk to class, your thoughts are filled with nothing but a shy boy with soft hands and even softer cheeks. Maybe Tuesday isn’t going to be so bad after all.

[llazyneiph]

September CC Pack

it’s been a hot minute since I’ve actually had time to make proper cc lol also sorry bc this post is gonna be so long

Included:

Gutter Cruiser Boots (2 different sole styles, available for M&F & comes in English and Simlish swatches) + PSD

Narcissa Hair + Overlay Acc + PSD

Dead Inside Mesh Top + PSD

Machete Shirt

Take Your Goddamn Shoes Off! Gameplay Mod

Narcissa Hair

Named and inspired by Narcissa Malfoy. 

MM Colours

New Mesh (besides bangs)

PSD included for recolours

Basic swatches come with white sides but overlay (in accessories) change the colour to other MM swatches)

All hat chops

Spec map + shadow map

DOWNLOAD

Gutter Cruiser Boots

a bunch of cool boots with various alternative sayings on the tongue! a couple different coloured options for the sole of the shoes but all colours come with english + simlish options for the text.

New Mesh

Male + Female for both soles

Come in chunky ‘cut out’ type sole and solid sole

Sayings on tongue are; Made in Hell, Gutter Cruiser, Anti-You & RIP. Also a plain tongue for each swatch. 

Text is also in Simlish (Says (Simlish) on thumbnail)

CAS thumbnails on each swatch so you know what text you’re picking

Correct cuts

PSD included for both Sole types

(Also just an FYI, in CAS the solid sole has weird artifacting on it, I think it’s just from the CAS lighting since it’s not actually in game.)

(also also sorry some of the pics of the boots are blurry, I had to upload a bunch in one long photo so I could include everything within the 10 pic post limit lol)

DOWNLOAD

Dead Inside Mesh Top

a slightly risque mesh top for ur alt sims :)

6 different swatches

‘Dead Inside’ logo has a shiny spec map to mimic that like kinda vinyl material stuff lol

PSD included

Not much to say abt this, u can see what it is lmao

DOWNLOAD

Machete Shirt

I made this a lil while ago and forgot abt it, I think it was kinda based off those nineties romeo & juliet shirts yaknow? or maybe u dont, i dont really either so

25 different swatches

spec + normal maps

again not much to talk abt, except the patterns are all p cool so u should check them out :)

DOWNLOAD

Take Your Goddamn Shoes off! Gameplay Mod

a simple mod I made after watching the lil paralives Sebastian (great name btw) dude take off his shoes in the trailer and everyone proceeded to lose their minds. I know there is another mod for taking shoes off but it works automatically as soon as the sim enters the house.

I like to play with more realism mods so this gives u custom shoe racks that have the option to simply put on and take off shoes! Works on all ages.

Can find in buy mode by searching [LN] Usable Women's Shoe Rack OR [LN] Usable  Men's Shoe Rack

DOWNLOAD

i think thats it?? its kinda sad to sum up all ur hardwork into one lil post fkjdhvg

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

care less, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, implied taehyung x reader

summary: There are countless partings in this world. People come in and out of your life, impacts large and small. But there is one where you could care less. You really could. And that’s Min Yoongi, your high school ex-boyfriend, the one who took something from you and promptly disappeared, only to come back with a furious declaration, on the night you’re supposed to teach Kim Taehyung how to eat pussy.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; mentions of slut shaming; reader is pansexual; rough angsty smut (fem reader, slight dom/sub themes, m-receiving oral, overstimulation, hair-pulling, cowgirl); regrets everywhere; non-idol!AU; exes-to-lovers; pianist, softsub!Yoongi

inspired by “I get mad when I see you, and even madder when I don't”, wet-haired Yoongi in Run BTS! 131, ONEWE’s song ‘소행성 (Parting)’, and you’re probably wondering how these things go together. 

–

"How do you eat a girl out?"

"I... what?"

"How," Kim Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable with his impossibly deep voice. "Do you eat a girl out?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. "Because you've hooked up with tons of girls. You must have eaten out at least one of them." You blinked at him as he continued. "I figure you have a unique perspective because you're a girl whose probably been eaten out and whose eaten out other girls."

You put down your spicy chicken. "Is this why you offered to buy me lunch?"

Taehyung's giant brown eyes shifted around uncomfortably. "Look," he said in a hushed tone. "I took this girl on a nice date and then it got to the spicy bit–"

"Leading her on, yes, yes, continue."

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you but ignored your comment, barreling on. "And she asked me to eat her out, but I didn't know what I was doing."

"An absolute tragedy for sex god Kim Taehyung," you mocked. He growled and threw one of his chicken bones in your direction as you laughed. 

"Oi, this is serious!"

You kept cracking up, taking a bite of spicy crispy meat. "Yes, seriously funny." He kept glaring at you, so you relented a little. "She didn't ask for the dick like everyone else?"

Taehyung pouted. "Well, she did, after I spent twenty minutes doing what she called, basically nothing," he scowled. 

You shrugged. "Then you redeemed yourself, so what's the problem?"

Taehyung crouched over the table, stabbing your plastic tray. "The problem is, she's gonna tell other girls I can't eat pussy."

"Nah, she won't," you chewed, relishing the spiciness of the chicken. "She'll be too busy daydreaming about your giant dick."

Taehyung frowned, obviously not believing you. You casually are another piece of chicken, watching him contemplating. He was wearing cream slacks and a beige sweater, casually handsome with his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his eyebrows. His fried chicken was already demolished into bones. He always got his not spicy. 

You never understood that. 

"Why didn't you ask me to eat you out?"

You shrugged. "We were only hooking up. I wanted to sit on your dick like everyone else."

"Teach me."

Your fingers were turning bright red with the crispy breading on the meat. You could feel the tingle of the spice on your puffy lips and throat, a measured fire burning. You didn’t bother to reach for your drink. Better to lull in the fire for a bit.

"Taehyung, it's just practice."

"Then let me practice on you."

You sucked out a bit of chicken from your teeth as you gave him a disbelieving look. "Thought your policy was to never fuck twice?"

He shrugged. "Not technically a fuck? Besides, you're the Sex Teacher," he added with a snicker.

You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that. Some dudes started calling me that just because I took some guy's virginity."

"You've probably taken several virginities with your track record."

"Speak for yourself."

"Do you or do you not know how to eat a girl out?" Taehyung asked, brown eyes boring into you.

You picked up the toothpick the restaurant had provided you and stuck it between your teeth. Brushed the crumbs off your flannel dress and picked up your tray, standing up. 

"'Course I do."

-

Thus, you were now in your apartment with Kim Taehyung, several days later, wondering why you agreed to this nonsense. 

"Do I just whip off your pants or what?"

You rolled your eyes, keeping a firm grip on your gray sweatpants. He had arrived in a long black coat and brown turtleneck, black billowy slacks. Kicked his shoes off and presented you with said question.

"What do I get out of this?" you grumbled, turning around and heading into your apartment, shivering a little because of your loose white t-shirt that you had cut in half ages ago, turning it into a crop top. It had a stain at the bottom, so what better way to fix it than chop it off? Still, you should have opened the front door with your hoodie on, but it would warm up soon with the door now closed. 

"What do you what? Money?"

"I'm not a prostitute, Taehyung," you muttered. "Even if you think I am."

"I don't," Taehyung said coolly. "But money happens to buy things, so maybe you want some to buy something for yourself."

You pursed your lips, grabbing your mint thermos of warm water. It was a bit weird, but you preferred warm water over most drinks, except soda. But you couldn't be binging on soda all day, unfortunately, so you tried not to buy it and stuck with the water. Kept you from getting diabetes. Damn you, weak human body!

"Nice nips."

You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip. You weren't wearing a bra. Your hard nipples were poking through the t-shirt thanks to the cold.

"Are they distracting your fragile mind?"

Taehyung smiled, dark curls around his teasing brown eyes. "No, I'm simply appreciating them. A lot."

You looked down. Taehyung opened his coat. You sucked in the side of your lip, seeing his bulge. Maybe he was too chill with you now. Ever since you two realized your sex partners overlapped, a strange friendship developed. You’d talk about it casually with him, as if you two were discussing Pokémon trading cards instead of one-night stands. He would advise you against so-and-so and you would warn him about who-the-fuck-ever. Of course, you two only figured that out after you sat on his dick, but, hey, it was a nice dick. Lived up to the hype.

Unlike Taehyung, you didn't really have any weird rules when it came to hooking up. You went with the flow, and if you were feeling it, then you did it. Didn't really matter who it was, what gender, if they wanted to be upside down on a park bench as you sucked their balls and they jacked off into their own face (happened once, was kind of interesting to be honest). Taehyung, however, had some kind of conquest thing going on, numbers and all that, and needed everyone to know he was good at it. Insanely good. Mind-blowingly good. 

Taehyung closed his coat, tilting his head. "Whatchu want then? Not another fuck. Something else."

Your doorbell rang. 

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, slamming your thermos down and marching to the door. "What is this, a fucking zoo, I swear–"

You wrenched the door open. 

"Fuck you."

Slightly slurred, husky, deep. 

Okay, well, yeah, sure, after I teach Taehyung how to–

The black head of hair raised and your thought disintegrated into pure shock.

"I get mad when I see you," the man growled. "And even madder when I don't."

He was holding a half-full bottle of soju.

"I... what?" was your incredibly weak reply, because you were staring at the hunched form of Min Yoongi. Black hair longer than the last time you saw him, styled over a clean undercut, wearing a torn-up black bomber jacket and a green t-shirt, acid-wash jeans with giant holes, revealing his pink, slightly bruised knees. He was breathing hard, glaring at you. 

Accusing you. 

Suddenly the years without him felt like an eternity.

"Hyung?!"

Oh right. Taehyung existed. 

But you couldn't react, couldn't breathe, starstruck, awestruck, dumbstruck at seeing Min Yoongi at your doorstep. Yoongi cocked at eyebrow, looking past you, and Taehyung's body was suddenly pressed against your back, reminding you, yes, he was real, actually there, why was he there again? What was life?

"Hyung, holy shit! I haven't seen you in ages, since..." Taehyung's voice suddenly died, baritone vanishing into nothing. 

"Why the fuck is he here?" Yoongi grunted.

"I... was going to ask her to–"

"He was leaving," you interrupted, shoving Taehyung from behind you to in front of you. "Taking his coat and leaving."

"What?" Taehyung sputtered, brown eyes wide, confused, blinking rapidly. "Hyung, why do you have a bottle of soju–"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, very loudly. 

"Forget this."

He turned, but Taehyung grabbed his arm. 

Not you.

Taehyung stopped Yoongi. 

The world was so cold. Your arm outstretched but touching nothing, because Taehyung was faster, Taehyung was closer, and you were so very far away from Min Yoongi. Yoongi turned his head slowly, venom in his gaze. 

"Hyung."

Yoongi's eyes locked with yours, making you breathless. 

"I don't understand," Taehyung said quietly. "What's going on? I thought you didn't care about her."

Those cat-like eyes narrowed, expression cold and emotionless. "Is that what you told them?"

It was airless and then the world burst into flames.

"You didn't tell me until the last day," you hissed, curling your hands into fists, voice rising. "You told all your friends, but you didn't tell me until the last day, not until the very last second before you flew to fucking Europe to go to university for that fucking music program!"

Taehyung's eyes widened. "Y-You said she didn't care..."

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi," you snarled, every muscle in your arms tensing, remembering all the moments, the gentleness that turned to coldness, the last night and what he took from you, turning into years and years of not caring about anything, fucking everything in sight, anyone who said yes, trying to forget his kiss and his memory before he got on a fucking plane and flew time zones away, never trying to contact you after. 

"Fuck you for thinking you can be angry at me for any reason at all, fuck you for thinking I did anything, fucking anything, to deserve that shit, taking my fucking virginity and leaving me!"

"I didn't take your virginity," Yoongi spat back, spinning around, hair bristling. "You lost it to that–"

"Maybe you should have fucking asked me instead of believing stupid fucking rumors!"

The human body was useless, but also driven by emotion, and you didn't even feel cold anymore, years of anger piled up, rumors that you were a whore, so you became that whore, owning it, doing it all, because why did it fucking matter when everyone already thought that? Sex Teacher they called you and your first teacher was standing in front of you, completely clueless. 

Fucking idiot.

Yoongi glared at you. You glared back. 

Taehyung stood there, gawking.

Yoongi's eyes dropped. He shoved the half-empty bottle of soju into Taehyung's arms and pushed Taehyung aside, Taehyung flailing to prevent dropping the glass bottle, and closed the distance between you and him, and now you could see, older, more tired, still handsome, still the same dreamer from years ago who traced your fingers and placed them on the keys, slowly helping you play the notes even though you didn’t know jack shit, and you enthralled with his smile, his laugh, his dream of becoming a world-renowned pianist.

Yoongi grabbed your face and kissed you. 

The first was the scent of alcohol, a subtle sweetness on his lips, but alcohol nonetheless. The second was the softness, the faint flush of his cheeks paired with his lips on yours, dainty despite the strength in grip on your cheeks. The third. 

Heat.

The years-old iceberg of 'I-don't-give-a-shit' melting faster than the polar ice caps, sheets and sheets of ice crashing into the sea of emotions, youth and stubbornness combined, melted in his kiss, you grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him in your apartment, Taehyung calling after you both.

"Um, guys? Hello?"

"Go drinking Taehyung," Yoongi growled and slammed the door. 

-

Taehyung held the half-bottle of soju.

What now?

What about his reputation?

He frowned. 

Maybe he should call up Park Jimin. 

Taehyung took a sip of the soju as he walked away. He made a disgusted face. Ugh. Why did hyung like such strong shit? The flavor was unique and rich, but his throat felt like a layer of skin was being sloughed off.

One would only drink something like this if they were depressed. 

Oh.

-

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Fuck off."

"You became quite a woman."

"And you're still an insensitive shit."

You yanked his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fists back in his green shirt, biting his lip, kissing him hard, him gasping in your mouth, his hands on your breasts, kneading them through the t-shirt, fingertips brushing over your hard nipples, sparks of pleasure crackling through you. 

"I was trying to protect you," Yoongi snarled, just as angry as you, both frustrated at time lost, both knowing it was for the best, both realizing that his misunderstanding and your reaction was just shitty communication of stubborn youth and time past that couldn't reset.

But still. 

Anger doesn't care about reason. 

"Protect me, my ass," you scowled, dragging him into your kitchen, pinning him against the counter. "What do you think I am, emotional fragility queen?"

"You wouldn't have cared?" he shot back, gripping your shirt and flinging it up, sucking in a breath as he revealed your tits. 

"Obviously! Why would I spend years being a slut to forget about your stupid hands?" you scowled, grabbing his wrists, planting said hands on your breasts, shuddering at the cold touch, chilled by night air, not exactly the same hands as back then, but better, rougher, strength of a man and not a high school boy, thumb and index finger rolling your hard nipples. Once again, fistfuls of his shirt, shaking him aggressively through heavy breaths. "You and your stupid mouth."

Kissing him, not the same, but better, stronger, more intense, stained with alcohol and regrets, devouring your tongue hungrily, intertwining.

"It would have ended the same," Yoongi murmured, the hurt creeping in his grating voice. 

It would have. 

And that was the shittest bit.

Knowing that even if he told you earlier that it would hurt no less, knowing that you would have gone and fucked other people anyway, because even if you tried to make it long distance, it wouldn't have worked. Some people could do it, but not young you and young Yoongi, too immature to know the meaning of wait.

"Still gives you no right to believe the words of others instead of asking me outright," you muttered, bending him backwards on the counter with your weight and he was letting you do it, hands still glued to your tits. "Why would believe that shit?"

"Because it was easier to leave you that way," Yoongi admitted, shame flitting in his dark eyes. 

"Fucking shit, you're an idiot."

You already knew that. Guessed, after years of agonizing over it. Easier to be angry than understanding. Easier to feel pain than to acknowledge it. What could you do? Tell him not to go to Europe? Not when his parents, his family, his friends, his neighbors, fuck, the whole damn school was ecstatic and congratulatory for him, everyone except you, not because you didn’t want Yoongi to follow his dreams, but because you wanted him to stay.

With you.

Selfishly.

And so, it was so much easier to be mad, so much easier for the two of you to fight until he tumbled on top of you, kissing you, tearing off your clothes as you tore off his and the first time hurt, it hurt but not as much as you thought, maybe because there was so much adrenaline from the anger and because he was so careful and loving about it.

He really was.

And there was pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain you felt the next day and the day after, and the next month, years, numbing everything, agreeing to really stupid propositions like the thing with Taehyung, all because you knew and he knew, but you both chose to be mad over being reasonable.

You hauled Yoongi up onto your kitchen counter, him kicking the side of the cabinets to lift himself up, not speaking. One look in his eyes and you saw yourself reflected in them, so close to tears that you kept your mouth shut and he kept his shut, preferring the anger to the sadness.

Because deep down, you were so, so happy to see Yoongi again.

It didn’t discount any of the wrongs though.

You fumbled with the button of his jeans and his hands came to help, unzipping, fingertips tracing over yours, more agile than before, swifter than an amateur. You raised your head, locking your gaze with his.

Yoongi was panting, cheeks flushed, guilt consuming his features.

It stung.

You yanked his pants down unceremoniously, not caring right now about stupid young you and stupid young Yoongi, gripping his underwear and dragging them down, his hard cock springing up, bigger than you remembered, thicker, red tip twitching, still wanting it just as bad, not looking at his face and closing your mouth in on it, gripping his hips and pulling him closer for better leverage. His scent and moan encompassed you, your eyes shutting as your tongue circled around his hot length, swallowing it up, oh so good, so good, better than anyone else’s because it was the one you tried to forget, entranced by the way Yoongi’s cock slid down your throat and filled your mouth, hearing his ecstasy from your touch, gasps of pleasure as you began to bob your head up and down, tongue going from the bottom of the head, down the quivering veins, all the way to the base, nudging his balls with the tip of your tongue, a skill you learned from many, many blowjobs.

You opened your eyes and you knew your guilt was in them. Yoongi could see it with every mouthful of his cock disappearing into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated, empathizing.

“Yeah, so what if we’ve fucked other people?” he grunted, rolling his hips into your face and making you growl in your chest. “I could care less.”

Yeah, you could, and me too.

Faster and tighter, suffocating him with your mouth, hands flat on the counter, blowing him at the same spot you were eating a fucking salad two hours ago before Taehyung’s arrival and contemplating tongue techniques, back when your iceberg of uncaring was still intact but now it was part of the ocean of emotions once more, watching Yoongi unravel, rubbing his fists into the granite, crying out and arching his back, black hair fanning out with every harsh swallow and throat clench around the head, leaking pre-cum into your throat and throbbing into the roof of your mouth.

“F-Fuck me…”

He hissed out your name and snapped his chin to his chest, thrusting into your mouth, exploding, salty thickness coating your tongue and down your tight throat, you gulping it down with a choked gasp, his taste a part of you now after all this time, an edge of bitterness that you welcomed, who knew what the fuck he was eating before this, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, you had Yoongi’s cock in your mouth and every second was worth it.

Your tongue coated the head, collecting the dribbling cum and you swallowed that too, glaring at him. Lowering down once more, swallowing him to the base once again, him sucking in a pained breath at the sensitivity because your throat was unforgiving, constricting him as forcefully as you could, tongue sliding up, teasing right under the head, the thin skin that make Yoongi squirm and hiss under you, spreading the slit with the tip of your tongue. Yoongi slapped his palms onto the counter, clenching his jaw to avoid screaming.

But he didn’t stop you.

He simply watched you with pained eyes, letting you do whatever you wanted, thrashing under your merciless mouth, rutting the sensitive head against the roof of your mouth roughly, his body thrashing to try to get away, but still Yoongi said nothing, thin moans escaping his closed lips, even twisting his hips back and rocking them into your face to let you abuse him more, manhandling him to your heart’s content. You kept going, long agonizing minutes, strongly sucking the head, shoving it all the way to the back of your throat, teasing it with your tongue, swirling around and around, pressure, roughness, tightness, aggravating the sensitive skin until you saw Yoongi on the verge of tears.

He still didn’t stop you.

You retreated, your lips now only around the head, tongue ghosting over the pulsating, inflamed tip, drenching it with saliva.

“You deserved that,” you muttered.

“I deserve a lot of things,” Yoongi grunted, finally relaxing his shoulders and laying flat against the counter, panting hard, cheeks still flushed, staring at the ceiling.

Neither of you were saying sorry.

You gave him one last painful suck and he swore under his breath, but didn’t say anything else, biting his lip hard as you popped your mouth off his cock. For a few moments, there was nothing but oppressive, irate panting. Yoongi’s dick was still hard and sticking straight up, he himself spread out on your kitchen counter like a fucking buffet, still wearing his shirt and half-wearing his jeans. You were shirtless, tits out, gray sweatpants slung low on your hips.

“When are you going back?”

Yoongi was still staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t know.”

“Liar.”

Dark eyes flickered down.

“If you asked me five minutes ago, the answer would have been in two weeks.”

Your eyes narrowed, boring into his. “How many blowjobs have you gotten overseas, huh? One hundred? Five hundred?” Frustration, grief, vehemence, all rolled into one, turning your voice into ice, sheets of frozen water churning and reforming, snapping together one by one with each word, your hands coming up and digging your nails into his thighs, racking them down, bright red scratches in your wake. “How many people have you fucked? Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Yoongi?”

He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, fingers curling onto fists at the pain.

“I really thought you didn’t care,” was his distressed hiss.

You stopped; nails sunk into his pale skin, creating dark crescents with how hard you were pressing.

“I thought you would hate me forever.”

Your hands left his thighs, glaring scarlet lines of your pain on his skin now.

“And I thought it would get better, but it didn’t.”

His fingers uncoiled, one by one. Long, deft digits, practiced, trained, beautiful, crescents of pink from his own nails in his palm. Eyes opening, lash by lash, lifting, dark, pained, regretful, drifting down to you and his exposed, still-hard cock, just there, ignored, surrounded by scratch marks.

“I was mad that you didn’t try to contact me,” Yoongi mumbled. “And madder at myself for not trying to contact you.”

Ice cracking, melting off, crashing back down into the vast ocean of emotion.

You reached into your pocket.

Your name, tumbling from his lips, his eyes shifting to you.

“In between countless partings, the one I always remembered was you.”

You climbed onto the counter, sweatpants and underwear on the floor. Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock, so stunned that he couldn’t stop staring at you, knees, thighs, crotch – clean, you were always clean-shaven, but he didn’t know that, a habit you developed without him and now you felt weird with hair down there – and so he could see everything, wet lips glistening. Up to your waist, a pattern of small moles above your bellybutton that high-school Yoongi had danced his fingers over.

Saying, “My Milky Way, my galaxy.”

This was after you called him an insensitive bastard and he accused you of losing your virginity to some athletic jock kid, as if high-school you would ever have a chance with someone like that.

Up your tits, your collarbones, your face.

Determined.

Yoongi jumped, realizing you had wrapped your hand around his cock and pumped it a few times before rolling down the condom, angling your pussy above the purple-red head. He made eye contact with you.

“I can’t go back if you do this,” he whispered.

“Boo-fucking-hoo, shut your trap.”

You sank down and he clamped his jaw shut, veins on his neck popping out in strain as Yoongi tried not to cry, your previous ministrations amplifying the sudden hot, wet pleasure that overwhelmed him, you sighing in bliss as he filled you, nicer than before, better because you knew what to do now, relaxing your muscles before pulsing around him, his eyelids fluttering, whines in his throat, palms flat on the granite, such beautiful hands that you reached down and put them on your thighs, wanting him to touch you.

Dark brown eyes shaking, pupils dilated, fingernails digging into your skin.

“Isn’t that what you do? Use your hands all day?” you taunted.

He gripped your thighs tight, apology flashing across his features.

“You better not cum before I do,” you snapped, rocking your hips a little.

Yoongi sucked in a breath. “I’ll try.”

You leaned forward, one hand on the counter, the other closing in on his black hair. Twisting the black locks in your fingers, gripping so hard your knuckles were white, but you weren’t pulling on his hair, only holding it, but your eyes told him everything.

“You fucking owe me.”

Him staring into your blazing eyes.

“I owe you for the rest of my life.”

You rolled your hips into his crotch, hard, smacking your ass down on his balls and he whimpered, jerking his head to the side and pulling his own hair, whimper turning into a wounded gasp.

“Shut the fuck up. We both know you deserved that scholarship, you talented asshole.”

You began your pace, bruising and intense from the start, unforgiving, but you had already forgiven him, years ago, by yourself with no one else to know, now your hand in his hair with Yoongi writhing under you, causing his own pain flaring across his scalp because your grip was so tight, his hands on your thighs, his length sliding out and then shoved back in. You could feel him getting harder, swelling more, the sensation unbearable so he kept igniting the pain to prevent himself from orgasm. You made sure to let the maximum amount of your skin to hit him – clit on his crotch, pussy enveloped around his cock, the tip hitting your deepest, most pleasurable spot, ass smacking against his balls – so that even you moaned, shivers of ecstasy layering on top of each other, climbing notes of a song from long ago.

Now continuing.

From that night at your parents’ house that bedroom of painful and lovely memories, his hands on your wrists, telling you that he could go slow until you felt better, how could he not know? Yoongi just assumed it was because you weren’t aroused since you were so angry at him, and you never accused him of having any experience before you, and to be honest you didn’t give a shit; if that was society’s fault or your feelings for him, you didn’t know. It all seemed so foolish back then, stupid, why were you so attached to a high-school boy when there were thousands of other men and women out there, and you tried, you fucked them, but in the end.

In the end, it wasn’t the roars of pleasure or multiple orgasms or big dicks or sweet pussy that made you feel the same as you felt when you looked down at Yoongi, eyes rolling back, biting his lip so hard the skin was white, black hair bunched around your fingers, his fucking green t-shirt still on but you could tell every muscle was tensed and he was barely breathing, anything to prevent himself from orgasm, knuckles white on your thighs, clutching them so hard they would surely leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

Yoongi was a genius. He could play the piano like no one else.

Someone could be technically better, someone could be more experienced, someone could be more nuanced, but no one felt music like Yoongi felt music, no one loved piano like how Yoongi loved piano.

He deserved every cent, every experience, every year he spent overseas.

He seemed to feel your gaze on him and his eyes found yours, black pupils nearly overtaking the irises, sweating so bad that his t-shirt was soaking down the front.

“Hold on,” you breathed. “Hold on for me, Yoongi.”

He whined pathetically.

Did he love you as much as he loved piano or was it the soju talking?

Who are you kidding?

Yoongi would never love you as much as the piano.

You set your jaw and leaned down a little more, bending his cock the tiniest bit, more leverage to go harder, rougher, rolling your spine down, smack! Onto his crotch, Yoongi’s mouth flying open and crying out your name in shock, your knees screaming on the harsh granite but you didn’t care, fucking Yoongi for all you were worth, using every muscle and every technique you knew to apply as much pressure as you could, choking his dick. Yoongi’s hands jolted off your thighs, hitting your open thermos on the counter, both of your forgetting it was there this whole time, the double-walled, stainless steel, mint thermos.

It toppled and spewed warm water all over your thighs, your joined crotches, part of his shirt, probably leaking down his ass and onto the counter.

You yelped at the sudden unexpected wet warmth. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, wild moan escaping his lips and your pussy spasmed, orgasm plummeting into you, a sudden avalanche that made your eyes roll back and a guttural groan vibrate your chest, both hands inadvertently clasping and yanking on Yoongi’s hair, and he lost it, whining your name as he came, hard cock lurching and convulsing against your walls, shooting his load into the condom, his cries extending to wanton, pained moans. It took everything in you to at least loosen your fingers, spreading them on his scalp and holding his head as gently as you could, whole body shuddering, even your jaw, not able to say his name properly because your teeth were clattering uncomfortably against each other.

You closed your eyes.

Listening to Yoongi’s strained breathing. Hearing pain, sadness, his raspy voice from long ago, words in the seconds before you feel asleep in his arms from being worn out from anger and losing your virginity. All this time, wanting to believe it was silence, wanting to believe he said nothing, letting yourself believe in your lie to fuel your rage.

“I am sorry.”

You opened your eyes, lowering your chin. Yoongi’s dark orbs, glassy and spent, trying to focus on your face. His hand came up, still wet with the spilled water, and you realized you had pitched forward a little from the force of your orgasm.

His fingers danced on the small mole pattern above your bellybutton.

“My Milky Way. My galaxy,” he whispered softly.

Lovingly.

Guilt all over his face.

“I have to go back. I have performances, opportunities.”

You leaned down. “Stop lying, Yoongi.” Eyes locked with his and a smile. “You want to go back. Because you are an ambitious, talented asshole.”

You knew you were right. You could see it in his eyes, the quickness as he looked away, not wanting to face you. You slumped down, knees giving out, Yoongi’s cock half-buried in you, slowly softening, but it didn’t matter. You put your full weight on him, fitting your chin on his shoulder, not quite looking at his face, nose far too close to your fucking kitchen counter. Yoongi grunted uncomfortably, but didn’t tell you to get off. There was water everywhere and the mint thermos was on the tile floor and somehow neither of you had noticed. It must have made a very loud sound.

“I hate my job anyway. Might as well run away to a different continent for some stupid boy.”

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m not asking.”

He chuckled.

“You really have changed.”

“Sucks for you.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“Guess so.”

-

“Why was Taehyung here anyway?”

“I was supposed to show him how to eat pussy.”

Yoongi blinked at you, holding a damp rag. Both of you were kneeling on the floor, naked, attempting to sop up the mess. “How?”

“He was going to practice on me.”

“I can give a live demonstration instead,” Yoongi growled, an edge possessive.

“Yeah, no, I think my night is booked. Emergency appointment.”

You picked up your kitchen towels and wrung them out in your sink, looking down at him, raising your eyebrow. Yoongi’s hair was messy and curled, wet from sweat and water. He gazed up at you. You saw him shiver. You kept your expression neutral despite your heartbeat racing.

“Have some catching up to do.”

--

masterpost

[bksdworldtour]

By Moonlitmantras 

“Oh no.” Denki suddenly whined as he stifled through his carry-on bag, “oh noooooo.”

“Hate what you’re doing dude, stop it.”

Denki’s eyes snapped to Sero’s, sheer panic written all over his features, “I think I’m about to meet my end dude.”

“What’s wrong?” Mina asked from the third row of the van after pulling out an ear plug.

“I—uh,” he cleared his throat as his eyes flickered to the driver, “I forgot—“

“You forgot what?!” Bakugo predictably shouted, making everyone in the vehicle jump.

“I’m sorry!” Denki immediately cried, “I didn’t—I thought I had it!”

“Dunce face, so help me, spit it the fu—“

“Relax and focus on the road man,” Kirishima interjected before looking over his shoulder at his frazzled friend, “what’d you forget?”

Denki chewed his bottom lip, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he mumbled, “my boarding pass…”

Shockingly, the van remained in one piece and Denki’s head was still on his shoulders.

“Dumb ass, we can get another one at the airport.” Bakugo hissed as his grip lessened on the steering wheel.

Sero patted Denki on the shoulder as everyone sagged in relief, “you passed your first trial, mortal. Only 599 more to go.”

“Shut up,” Denki huffed, shoving off Sero’s hand with a small smile.

Twenty minutes passed in comfortable silence, signs of the airport approaching flicked by, indicating that they had about 15 minutes to go.

“Oh shit,” Sero exhaled with a groan as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt frantically moving on to his pants, then finally his carry-on bag. 

“Hate what you’re doing dude, stop—hyack!” Denki coughed as Sero chopped him in the throat for mocking him.

“What the fuck now?!” Bakugo snapped as Sero kept shuffling through his things with much more vigor than anyone was used to.

“Your boarding pass is sticking out—“

“I /know/!” Sero cut Mina off as he continued to look through his things before throwing his head back against the headrest, “I’m doomed, can I just jump out of the car instead of telling you what I forgot?”

“Yes.”

“/No/.” Kirishima said at the same time as Bakugo, glaring at his friend before checking on Sero, “just tell us man, we can figure it out—“

“It’s my wallet dude.”

Silence fell over the van and Sero swore he could hear his minutes ticking away as smoke came from the driver's seat. 

“You sure it’s not—“

“I looked everywhere, Denks.”

“Have you tried up your—“

“Maybe it’s in someone else’s bag!” Mina suggested over Bakugo’s crude comment before jumping to look in hers.

Sero looked all but defeated, staring out the window like he was in Kelly Clarkson’s Breakaway music video. 

Kirishima was looking through his things, even the glovebox and the center console when Mina jumped in her seat with an excited yelp that had Sero and Denki reflexively shrieking.

“You better have found a fucking wad of money Pinky!” Bakugo growled out as Kirishima laughed.

“Sero, Sero, Sero,” she sang as she rested her forearms against the middle seat with her chin propped, “tell me, what would you do without me?”

Sero stared for a moment before huffing out a breath, “probably still be washing my hair with a 2-in-1.”

“Diabolical,” Denks commented with a scrunched face while Bakugo mumbled, “disgusting” before glaring at Kirishima when he asked what was wrong with convenience.

Mina eyed the back of Kiriishima’s head for a long moment before turning her attention back to Sero, “you’re very right and you’d probably still be thinking that America and Canada are the same place, but without me you would also be wallet-less.”

She beamed as she dangled his wallet in front of his face, reveling in the way his face lit up with shock, relief, then gratitude.

“Mina, you’re a freakin God! Where did you—?”

“It was under your seat,” she giggled, sticking her tongue out as he snatched it from her fingers then proceeded to hold it in his lap for the remainder of the ride.

They arrived without further incident until Bakugo parked the car, grumbling something only Kirishima could hear.

“—No, that’s not necessary—Bakugo!” Kirishima called after him as he jumped out of the driver's seat before stomping to the back of the van where everyone’s suitcases were.

Sero, Denki, and Mina filed out with confused expressions, gathering around the grumbling blond.

“I’m /not/ going in and finding out you assholes forgot something else so we’re going to go through our shit right now since we’re early.” Bakugo barked as he opened the back hatch before turning towards his friends, “show me your wallets, /with/ your ID’s.”

Mina giggled as she pulled hers out while Sero held his like it was his only lifeline as Denki and Kirishima grumbled under their breaths when retrieving theirs.

“Okay, now passports.”

“Boarding passes minus the electric slide.”

“/Hey/—!”

“Now, open your suitcases.”

Mina squeaked, “right now?!” As her eyes darted around the long-term airport parking lot.

“It’s either right now or inside.” Bakugo stood firm with crossed arms.

“You’re going to do it too, right?” Kirishima challenged, seeming to puff his chest out as if he had won something, but deflated immediately when Bakugo pointed to his open suitcase that was immaculately packed.

After minutes of grumbling complaints and shuffling Kirishima coughed awkwardly and Bakugo had to fight the urge to smack him upside the head and laugh at the same time.

“Stop,” Kirishima whined as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Ohohoho, what happened?” Denki asked, nosing his way between his friends to see that Kirishima had a bunch of pants, shorts, swim trunks, underwear, but only one shirt.

“So you planned to shit yourself at least once a day—“

“/Dude/—“

“But didn’t think to pair it up with a shirt,” Bakugo chided, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Man, I get it, you have gains for days but don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Sero teased, sending all but Mina into a fit of giggles.

“Kiri, can I pout with you?”

All four looked over to find Mina, arms heavy at her sides with 6 inch heels and a pout on her face.

“What exactly were you planning for?” Denki asked with a tilt of his head and a teasing grin.

Mina, very maturely, stomped her foot, huffing as her cheeks colored a dark red, “To look good, obviously!” 

Kirishima couldn’t help but drape an arm across her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug before offering, “Trade you a shirt for a pair of shoes?”

Bakugo rolled his eyes while Denki and Sero bounced to ask if they could pick which shirt he borrowed after Mina answered with an affirmative nod, “Deal.”

[namjoonchronicles]

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’ 

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

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copyright © 2020 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading

[taiyakiiwrites]

— angsttober day #7: bloody

pairing(s): tenya iida x gn!reader

wc: 0.8k+ words

summary: an alternate timeline where stain attacks without manual around, everyone is 3rd years (letting them patrol alone), the reader is with iida, and things turn out for the worst

content: reader death, gore warning, blood warning, mentions of helplessness, iida is even more emotional than in the canon timeline 😀

notes: i hope i gave iida’s character justice 🤞🤞 some characters i really have to sit dow and think how they’d react in situations, verbally and physically—this was one of those times ;-; also secret-not-so-secret note at the end ;)

⇉ requests are open!! || main masterlist || angsttober masterlist || rules

bloodshed, among other things, was bound to be something the students of UA had to get acquainted with—it’s something all heroes had to get acquainted with. society demanded them to be. it wasn’t the best thing to learn how to accept, but when push comes to shove, there’s only so much they can do.

they’re only so much iida can do.

“i’m so tired, iida kun,” you whined, dragging your feet along the sidewalk and barely keeping up with your patrolling partner. as you shrugged down the street, he still held his head up high, even after the hours you two had spent without breaks.

he chuckled. “well, we still have another hour until we go back to the dorms. we must push forward and continue looking out for the citizens of this city!” his hand gestures were as exaggerated as always, hand chops in every direction. this brought a smile to your weary face.

“you’re too heroic sometimes,” you mentioned. he quirked an eyebrow.

“there’s such a thing as ‘being too heroic’?” he asked.

shrugging your shoulders, you let out a small laugh. “i mean, yeah! like…” you searched for an example. “you push yourself too far for people who don’t deserve it, or you wear yourself out to exhaustion.”

if you did have anything to continue with, you would’ve kept talking. however, iida’s gaze made you think twice. he was listening so intently into what you were saying that you got shook up. you shuddered.

he’s had his moments, whether in class or out,where his desire to learn and improve shone much brighter than usual. it was almost scary at times. it was admirable too. “sorry,” you chuckled. “just don’t burn yourself out.”

he hummed, then nodded his head. “why, of course! i can’t work myself to the brink. otherwise, who will take care of the class?”

you groaned lightheartedly. “another example: you’re too selfless.”

iida retorted: “why is that so bad?”

you found yourself pressing your tongue into the inside of your cheek. were you contradicting yourself in any way? “listen: i just care about you and i don’t want you going too far. you may not be aware of it, but you rarely do put yourself first.”

blood rushed to your cheeks, and if you weren’t too cuaght up in trying to hide that, you would’ve seen that iida was dealing with the same predicament. he cleared his throat after an odd beat of silence and processing what you just annouced.

“well…” he turned to you. you looked back at him curiously, and he smiled. “i’ll do my best. i can’t go disappointing you, now can i?”

you were caught off guard, your eyebrows raising slightly and your mouth agape. you tried to utter a response, but simply laughed nervously instead. “…i—”

static hit your ears like a wave crashing down. “jesus!” you shouted, picking up your walkie talkie. you held down the button and spoke. “what’s going on? over.”

a familiar voice was on the other side. “dude! cellophane here! we’re getting some signals of a suspicious character near your area!” sero warned. “be careful of alleyways and largely crowded areas!”

you nodded, taking a breath. “got it, cellophane. keep your walkie talkie on you—we may need back up if something happens.” you really didn’t expect anything to happen today, but you couldn’t ignore the sightings reported. you looked to iida, and seeing your off put expression, he put a hand on your shoulder.

“hey, it’s going to be okay. we’re prepared if anything does happen,” he reminded, concern in his eyes. reluctantly, you nodded again.

“alright… alright!” you patted the hand on your shoulder. “you’re right. we’re going to be fine—”

iida’s eyes darted over to something behind you, his reassuring smile dropping. you whipped around. whatever he saw behind you, it wasn’t anything good. exchanging one quick look, you two crossed the street carefully, looking around.

you did your best to keep your breathing under control, making sure you were ready to use your Quirk. iida walked in front of you—you let him. neither of you dared to say anything, and you kept your walkie talkie in hand.

the sunlight shining down on the city didn’t reach the alleyway you two walked into; you were now surrounded by darkness and an awful scent of trash. there was one more thing, but it took you a minute to identify. after all, it was an odd scent of… iron—

a shadow suddenly dropped down from above you a good meter away. it crouched down on the cold concrete, what looked like a scarf blowing… in the wind…

iida spoke up before you could. “stain.”

he was enveloped in rage. he couldn’t recall what happened in that alleyway even now. his mind was blank during the whole encounter.

the only thing he could remember was horribly vivid: your scraped up and bruised body.

laying lifelessly on the ground.

drenched in a puddle of your own blood.

—

a/n: PART TWO TOMORROW: “recovery status — failed”

(because i can)